“I shall like them better when I have a chance to sew in hidden pockets and holsters, and determine a way to hang my chatelaine from those cloth belts.”

“Yes, you like them.” Dimity bounced onto her bed, grinning. She possessed a generous and happy spirit that allowed her to enjoy a friend’s good fortune.

“I wonder what was in Monique’s letters. The ones she hid in her reticule at breakfast.”

Dimity smiled. “You mean the ones that had been opened and looked at before she got them?”

“You saw them, too? Do you think she’s begging to become someone else’s drone? After all, she and Professor Braithwope have broken off.”

“Does it work like that? I heard vampires come after you,” said Dimity, playing with her bangles.

“Could be negative replies to her ball, I suppose. Did you get a look at Pillover’s letter?” Sophronia closed the wardrobe door on her new dresses and went to the looking glass to prepare for evening lessons. They had Professor Braithwope next, and he was very particular about appearances.

“Yes. Mummy’s still working on aetheric communication, and Daddy’s on mechanical protocols. It’s all rather dull. They’ve been stuck on those subjects for absolutely ever, since before I started school here. Is it relevant?”

Sophronia sat down on her bed in shock. “Relevant? Relevant!” She remembered that it was after visiting Dimity’s house that Monique had first taken possession of the prototype valve. It must have come from Dimity’s parents! They were the ones building them.

“Oh, good, it is? How nice!”

“Dimity, Vieve thinks your parents’ activities are part of Giffard’s upcoming dirigible test. They’ve invented new mechanical protocols to help negotiate the aetherosphere currents. Do you remember the prototype all the fuss was about at my sister’s ball?”

“Of course I remember. Monique hurled a cheese pie at you.”

“Well, that’s your parents’ device. Someone is using a smaller version of that device to help Giffard float.”

Dimity blinked. “And someone else is trying to get at me to stop them?”

Sophronia nodded. “Pillover, too, don’t forget.”

“Poor Pill. He’s such a little guy, and he’s no training at all.” Dimity sounded almost as if she actually liked her brother.

“Did the letter say whom your parents are working for?”

“No, they’d never tell Pillover that. Too adult for a child to understand and what not.”

“Would either of them work for the vampires?”

“Mummy might,” said Dimity. “Daddy wouldn’t.”

“How about the Picklemen?”

“The reverse.”

“And the government?”

Dimity nodded, blushing. “It’s embarrassing, and I’m only saying this because we are alone, you understand? But it would depend on the remuneration.” She lowered her voice. “We aren’t made, you know? We’re earned.”

Sophronia steered the conversation delicately. “Your parents are divided in their political leanings?”

“It’s why unions between Bunson’s boys and Geraldine’s girls are not encouraged. We are allowed to flirt, but that’s only to practice. We aren’t meant to marry. Mummy and Daddy are aberrant. Kind of like Romeo and Juliet. Only with less poison. Well, less poisoning of each other.” Dimity was proud of this fact. “The rumor is, Daddy gave up becoming a high-ranked Pickleman for love of Mummy. Very romantic, don’t you feel? He might even have achieved Gherkin status.”

Sophronia was enthralled. “Are you two the only siblings with a boy at one school and a girl at the other?”

Dimity nodded.

“Sadly, this doesn’t help us determine which camp is trying to push your parents’ hand.”

“They could be working for any of the usual suspects, thus alienating any of the others. Hundreds of depraved people could want to kidnap us.” Dimity sounded almost philosophical.

“What a mess,” said Sophronia. “Why did your parents have to be evil geniuses? Good geniuses are much easier to keep track of.”

“All the best geniuses are evil,” replied Dimity confidently. “Oh goodness, we’re late for lessons. Should we tell a teacher any of this, do you think?”

Sophronia shook her head. “With no proof and no certainty as to who is after you? I’m afraid you simply must be careful, Dimity. And keep an eye on Pillover.”

Dimity sighed. “And here I was so excited to be away at finishing school so I didn’t have to spend time with my brother.” She stood and checked in the looking glass to ensure her hair was in place, all her buttons secured, and her lace tuck lying flat.

Sophronia stood as well, wrestling a stray lock of hair back under her cap. “What subject do we have tonight?”

“Oh, Sophronia, didn’t you do Professor Braithwope’s reading?”

“I was out late.”

“Hive and pack dynamics as part of the modern aristocratic system.” Dimity waved a copy of the Evening Chirrup at her. “We were to read six articles written over the last twenty years from the gossip column. We’re to present on the treatment of supernaturals as teased out from society papers. It was actually kind of interesting.”

Sophronia took the parchment from her friend. “Did we all have the same six pamphlets to read?’

“Of course.”

“Who knew to collect and keep multiple copies of the same newspapers at various points over two decades?”

“You think these are fake?”

Sophronia raised one eyebrow; she was getting better at the maneuver. “Or Professor Braithwope has hidden quirks.”

“Sometimes I hate the way your mind works.”

They made their way to the lessons. Dimity guided Sophronia by the arm, so she could read while they walked. It wasn’t entirely successful, as Sophronia bumped into a wall, a statue of a nymph, and lastly Felix Mersey. She wasn’t entirely certain Dimity hadn’t guided her into the young lordling on purpose. Dimity thought rather too highly of Felix for Sophronia’s good.

“Why, Lord Mersey. How nice to see you this evening.” Dimity pinched Sophronia to make her pay attention.

“Miss Plumleigh-Teignmott. Miss Temminnick, are you all right?”

Sophronia, caught by a particular line in one of the older columns, looked up at him. “Oh, no need to apologize, my lord. My fault entirely.”

“I didn’t.”

“Mmm? Ah, well, I’m that clumsy when I read and walk.” She gave him a winning, if absentminded, smile.

“Fascinating transcript?” ventured Felix, slightly alarmed by her pleasant demeanor.

Sophronia thought he looked disturbingly adorable when confused. “Indeed it is. Ever heard of the Westminster vampire hive?”

“Of course, hasn’t everyone? Not exactly my social circle, Miss Temminnick.” The boy’s lip curled slightly.

“Are there many hives in London, do you know, Lord Mersey?”

“My dear Ria, one would be too many.”

“Well, perhaps Professor Braithwope will enlighten me. I take it you won’t be attending our lesson with him?”

“Wouldn’t be permitted, Miss Temminnick.”

“Pity, he’s a very entertaining teacher. If you would excuse us?” Sophronia and Dimity curtsied and made their way into the vampire’s classroom.

“Now what are you about, Sophronia?” hissed Dimity, as soon as they were out of earshot.

“Me?” They took their seats, Sophronia back to reading.

Professor Braithwope entered wearing a velvet smoking jacket, an expertly tied Indian silk cravat, and a pathologically unsteady mustache. “Welcome, little bites, welcome. Today we are on to an extremely interesting topic, whot. But first, your thoughts on the reading? Miss Pelouse?” The mustache arrowed in Monique’s direction.

Monique made some offhand comment. Preshea was up next, equally vague.

The mustache drooped. “Ladies, this is vital high-society survival information. Even should your paths take you into a duplicitous union with a conservative family, you must know who sits where in government. Not to mention, who came out of which families into which hives and packs. Did anyone read the articles? Miss Temminnick.” He turned the mustache on Sophronia.

Sophronia looked up at the mercurial little man from the wingback love seat she shared with Dimity. “I think the articles are meant to demonstrate the gradual acceptance of vampires into London society via their image as presented in the popular press. The earlier articles emphasize vampires’ monstrous nature, feeding habits, and visiting hours. Shockingly late, says one line. And regrettable slurping, says another. This article was all about so-and-so being bitten after only three dances. The later columns focus instead on vampire influence on complexion and dress, particularly driven by one Countess Nadasdy of the Westminster Hive. A recluse who never leaves her secret home yet has a significant effect on fashion.”

Professor Braithwope stood silent under this assessment. “Excellent, Miss Temminnick.” His mustache vibrated in approval.

“Do you think you might tell us a little more about the Westminster Hive?” asked Dimity, all innocent and pure. It was the perfect setup, for while she turned wide, honey-brown eyes on the teacher, Sophronia watched Monique. The older girl went still, her expression impassive, which was a giveaway.

Now that the professor has dropped her as drone, I bet Monique wants to trade up to a hive. And she’d want Westminster. It’s clearly the most stylish. Sophronia would lay good money on it.

Monique fished about in her reticule, retrieving a golf ball–sized white powdery object, which she popped covertly into her mouth. She swallowed with the look of a cat forced to eat a carrot.

Professor Braithwope, in animated response to Dimity’s interest, said, “The queen of the Westminster Hive, Countess Nadasdy, is old, mean, and wise. However, her success in making new vampires is no better than any other queen’s. And therein, of course, is the immortal curse. Drones tend to die in the attempt, and she has to kill them. This makes most vampire queens a little funny about the head—all that murder.” He looked pointedly at Preshea and then went on to detail the male members of the Westminster Hive—age, holdings, undocumented trade, technological interests, and rank, if any.

This lesson left the six girls with the distinct impression that it was better to play nice with the Westminster Hive. Or avoid crossing them altogether.

They moved on to discussing the reach of the potentate, a rove vampire but a powerful one, who sat on Queen Victoria’s Shadow Council and advised Her Majesty on the running of the Empire.

The girls were beginning to look glassy-eyed. It was a great deal of information to absorb.

“There is one other rove of interest in London, no matter how frivolous he may appear at first. Lord Akeldama is a unique personage of considerable standing with a propensity to dandification—Miss Pelouse? Miss Pelouse, are you unwell?”

Monique had turned, throughout the course of the lecture, a chartreuse color not unlike that of Agatha’s dress.

“You are sweating, Miss Pelouse, whot. Young ladies of quality are not supposed to sweat!”

“Oh, Professor, I believe I’m unwell.” The blonde got shakily to her feet and then, in a dramatic show, fell forward in a dead faint.

Since they had been instructed many times always to faint backward, this was shocking. A forward faint was, to the best of their assessment, a real faint! Practically unheard of. Preshea bent over her friend, spreading her own lavender-and-blue skirts out prettily.

Professor Braithwope reeled, discombobulated by such frail mortal activity, and then minced out the door. “Matron! Where’s the matron, whot?” Sophronia and Dimity followed him.

At his yell several of the other teachers opened their doors. Sister Mattie’s round, friendly face was concerned. “Professor, may I be of assistance?”

“Miss Pelouse is unwell.”

Sister Mattie bustled across the hall and into the room.

Professor Shrimpdittle emerged at the far end of the passageway, followed by his boys. “What’s happening?”

Sophronia sent Dimity off. “Tell him something is terribly wrong with one of the girls in Professor Braithwope’s class. Use a tone that implies the vampire is to blame.”

Dimity gave her an odd look but did as requested. She wafted down the hall, smiled sweetly up at the Bunson’s teacher, and then whispered to him. She might not be the best at acquiring information, but she was deliciously excellent at disseminating it.