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grip.
    â€œThat was you in the
Morning Post
? The lady who found the dead man at the Duchess of Snodgrove’s ball last night?” Ivy was all agog.
    Alexia nodded.
    â€œWell, Lord Maccon certainly covered things up adequately. There was no mention of your name or family.” Ivy was relieved
for her friend’s sake.
    â€œOr the fact that the dead man was a vampire, thank goodness. Can you imagine what my dear mother would say?” Alexia glanced
heavenward.
    â€œOr the detrimental effect on your marriage prospects, to be found unchaperoned in a library with a dead vampire!”
    Alexia’s expression told Ivy exactly what she felt about
that
comment.
    Miss Hisselpenny moved on. “You do realize you owe Lord Maccon a tremendous debt of gratitude?”
    Miss Tarabotti looked exactly as if she had swallowed a live eel. “I should think not, Ivy. It is his job to keep these things
secret: Chief Minister in Charge of Supernatural-Natural Liaison for the Greater London Area, or whatever his BUR title is.
I am certainly under no obligation to a man who was only doing his civic duty. Besides, knowing what I do of the Woolsey Pack’s
social dynamics, I would guess that Professor Lyall, not Lord Maccon, dealt with the newspapermen.”
    Ivy privately felt her friend did not give the earl enough credit. Simply because Alexia was immune to his charm did not mean
the rest of the world felt such indifference. He was Scottish, to be sure, but he had been Alpha for what, twenty years or
so? Not long by supernatural standards, but good enough for the less discriminating of daylight society. There were rumors
as to how he had defeated the last Woolsey Alpha. They said it had been far too rough for modern standards, though still legal
under pack protocol. However, the preceding earl was generally known to have been a depraved individual wanting in all aspects
of civility and decorum. For Lord Maccon to have appeared out of nowhere and eliminated him, however draconian his methods,
had left London society part shocked, part thrilled. The truth of the matter was that most Alphas and hive queens in the modern
age held power by the same civilized means as everyone else: money, social standing, and politics. Lord Maccon might be new
to this, but twenty years in, he was now better at it than most. Ivy was young enough to be impressed and wise enough not
to dwell on his northern origin.
    â€œI really do think you are terribly hard on the earl, Alexia,” said Ivy as the two ladies turned down a side path, away from
the main promenade.
    â€œIt cannot be helped,” Miss Tarabotti replied. “I have never liked the man.”
    â€œSo you say,” agreed Miss Hisselpenny.
    They circumvented a coppice of birch trees and slowed to a stop at the edge of a wide grassy area. Recently, this particular
meadow, open to the sky and off the beaten track, had come into use by a dirigible company. They flew Giffard-style steam-powered
airships with de Lome propellers. It was the latest and greatest in leisurely travel. The upper crust, in particular, had
taken to the skies with enthusiasm. Floating had almost eclipsed hunting as the preferred pastime of the aristocracy. The
ships were a sight to behold, and Alexia was particularly fond of them. She hoped one day to ride in one. The views were reportedly
breathtaking, and they were rumored to serve an excellent high tea on board.
    The two ladies stood watching as one of the dirigibles came in for a landing. From a distance, the airship looked like nothing
so much as a prodigiously long skinny balloon, with a basket suspended from it. Closer up, however, it became clear that the
balloon was partly reinforced into semirigidity, and the basket was more like an overlarge barge. The barge part was painted
with the Giffard company logo in bright black and white and suspended by a thousand wires from the balloon above. It maneuvered
in toward the meadow and then, as the