“Point taken. If you ladies would please stand?”

Mystified, Rue and Prim stood, skirts rustling.

“And open your parasols?”

When Mother got this way, it was best to play along. Rue opened her second-hand parasol, surprised at how heavy it was – full of deadly fluids and armaments.

Primrose objected. “Lady Maccon, we are indoors!”

“This will only take a moment.”

Prim popped open her own lavender confection, edged in black chiffon ruffles and black velvet bows to match her dress.

Lady Maccon looked like she would blush if her complexion allowed it. “Please spin your parasols three times and repeat after me: I shield in the name of fashion, I accessorize for one and all, pursuit of truth is my passion, this I vow by the great parasol.”

Wide-eyed with suppressed amusement, Rue and Prim did as requested, reciting the strange pledge in unison.

“Here I was worried about Paw going balmy. Now I think it might be you, Mother.”

“Hush, infant. Now, raise your parasols to the ceiling.”

Rue and Prim raised happily. But when Lady Maccon produced a small knife from her décolletage and unsheathed it to show a sharp silver blade, they exchanged worried looks.

The strain of Paw’s illness was too much for her – Mother really has gone barmy.

“Come here, girls.” Lady Maccon gestured.

They pottered reluctantly over, baffled.

“May the blood of the soulless keep your own soul safe.” Lady Maccon sliced into the pad of her palm. She grabbed Rue’s hand and did the same, pressing the two cuts together.

“What!” said Rue. But then it was over.

Lady Maccon gestured at Prim in her most commanding way.

After a long stare, Primrose reluctantly took off her glove and allowed the same.

“Mother, you’re a loon.” Rue sucked the cut to stop the bleeding.

Lady Maccon sighed. “Let me explain. Sit down, both of you.”

They sat.

“For years now I’ve been running a sort of secret club. It’s for emergency use, communication, and generally keeping an eye on things around the empire. Your mother is a member, Lady Primrose. She goes by the moniker Puff Bonnet.”

Primrose tied a silk handkerchief in a neat bow about her own cut. “Not a very covert name. Anyone could guess.”

“Yes, well, she hasn’t made many contributions since turning vampire. I go by Ruffled Parasol. And Biffy by Wingtip Spectator.”

Rue was startled into commenting. “Uncle Rabiffano is part of your club?”

“Indeed, as are you two now. You’re all grown up, infant dear. Gained your majority and all that entails. I thought it time to pass along my connections. I have a feeling you will need them more than I.” She handed over a stack of documentation. “Other informants of note: the top sheet lists those in Egypt, plus any additional code names I know of. These aren’t members, mind you, just contacts. Not all are trustworthy. Watch out for the Wicker Chicken in particular, very tricky, that one. Weapons and weaknesses are noted in cipher. It uses the Isinglass cypher. I fancy you are already familiar with that.”

Primrose took the package delicately. “I’m better with paperwork.”

Rue only stared at her mother.

“You’ll need code names.” Lady Maccon cocked her head in enquiry.

Rue and Prim exchanged glances.

Eventually, Rue gestured at her friend with a thumb. “The Ledger for that one.”

Prim grinned. “Makes me sound all dark and ominous. And organised. I like it. And you, Rue, you should be… ?” She trailed off, frowning.

“Hot Cross Bun.” Rue was firm on this.

Lady Maccon sputtered. “Infant, that sounds quite rude.”

Rue was unwavering. “I always said I’d rather be called a hot cross bun than a bit of crumpet and I’m sticking to it.”

“Tradition demands you both be accessories of some kind.”

Prim produced a dainty little ledger from her reticule, the one with the lavender leather cover in which she tallied the daily accounts. “Ledgers are accessories.”

“So,” added Rue, “given the right set of circumstances, are hot cross buns.”

Lady Maccon could not argue with that.

Rue pressed for further information on this club of her mother’s. “Dama is a member? I learned Isinglass from him.”

“Somewhat. We do share the cypher, just in case. He has a code name, Goldenrod, but I didn’t give it to him. It doesn’t pay, my dear, to involve Lord Akeldama in all one’s secrets, much as I adore him.”

“You adore someone who isn’t me, wife?” Lord Maccon returned, Percy in his wake.

Rue looked to her mother.

Lady Maccon shook her head. Nothing else needed to be covered that afternoon on the subject of secret societies and code names.

Primrose squinted at her brother suspiciously. “Percy, you look priggish. Well, more priggish than usual. It’s unsettling. Stop it at once.”

“I’ve had some good news, sister darling.”

“That’s no excuse.”

Rue made the motions of departure. It was past time to make their farewells. Prim and Percy could argue for hours if given the right incentive, like priggishness.

“Mother, Paw, it’s been a pleasure transporting you here. I shall be certain to visit as often as I can. I do hope your tea endeavours prove both profitable and distracting.”