Curled in the corner of the bay window, she would look like a statue from the street, were anyone able to see in. But she was confident that the lamp reflecting off the ripples in the glass, plus the heavy curtains behind her, made her invisible from inside or out.

Two gentlemen alighted from a carriage and walked up the front stairs. The conveyance was expensive and discreet – not Lord Akeldama’s (he favored the first but not the second).

One of the men wore equally expensive and discreet evening dress. A gentleman of quality and means but not flash. He wore discretion awkwardly, as ill fitting as a cheap waistcoat.

The other gentleman was Lord Akeldama – an undersized absurdity, all pompadour and no circumstance. He sported a monocle he didn’t need, an accent not his own, and an attitude forever tempting disregard. He was also the deadliest creature Preshea knew. And she knew a great number of deadly creatures, including herself.

Soon enough, they entered her sitting room. Their conversation was a flow of erudite commentary, moist with the syrup of a superior education.

She recognized Lord Akeldama’s melodic tenor with excess cadence. “Please sit, my lord.”

Deferential, thought Preshea. His visitor is a man of property and power or the old vampire wouldn’t bother with such niceties.

“I prefer to stand.” This voice was deep and tinged with a quiver of fear or age.

There came the clink of glass decanter on silver tray. “Claret?”

“I think not. How long will this take?”

“Not long.”

“Where is she?”

“It’s not yet two. Dear Lady Villentia is never late.”

Preshea smiled at Lord Akeldama’s confidence. As a matter of fact, sometimes Lady Villentia is intentionally early.

“Women are always late.”

“Perfection takes time.”

“Will she do this for me?” He was nervous about her reputation. Or Lord Akeldama’s. Or both.

“If we provide the right incentive, all things are possible, even perfection.” The vampire liked to play with his food.

“Isn’t she required to obey you?”

Behind her curtain, Preshea’s lip curled.

“You misconstrue, my dear lord. That brightest of jewels is no longer under my indenture. I have requested that she attend us, not ordered it. She will come because she is bored.”

Preshea, annoyed that he knew her so well, nevertheless conceded that this was a fair assessment.

“You could not change the rules?”

“My dearest boy! Seven years and seven years only – apprenticing, articling, binding, or indenture. You know that, you wrote it into law. For the protection of werewolf clavigers and vampire drones, if I remember. It applies to intelligencers as well.”

“You have been known to bend the rules to your own ends in the past.”

“What a charming compliment. However, I would never presume. Lady Villentia values her freedom. She has certainly earned it.”

“Flat on her back.”

Ah. A man who believes in performance piety.

“Now, now. No call for vulgarity. Isn’t that the exact skill you wish activated on your behalf?”

She heard a sharp clink. A glass set down hard on a tabletop. The visitor had taken claret after all. “I did not think I would have to woo her.”

“Out of practice, are we? Don’t you worry, my boy, I am never out of practice with wooing. And in this instance, I am moved – quite moved – by your plight.” Condescension entered the vampire’s tone. “You may even find her demands pleasurable.”

The visitor sputtered.

Preshea decided that she was going to enjoy this. Whatever Lord Akeldama’s friend wanted, he wanted it badly enough to deal with two very tricky devils.

“Of course, there is always the possibility” —the vampire was like a fussy eater, picking at his meal— “she may find your troubles unworthy.”

“This is an affair of great distress.”

“To you.”

“My family is—”

“Yes, yes. Well regarded, pillars of the community, must avoid all appearance of moral turpitude.”

The conversation was becoming dull. So, perhaps I should provide proof of my skills. Preshea pulled a sharp silver pin from the end of one sleeve. Good for encouraging werewolves to see her point of view, particularly when applied to delicate areas of the body. She pricked the back of her wrist.

Would it be enough?

“But wait. What blood from yonder mortal drips?” Lord Akeldama misquoted. “Perhaps we were hasty in our assessment of the lady’s tardiness.”

He drew back the curtain.

Preshea allowed a humorless smile to spread over the tinted perfection of her lips.

“Ah, my precious gem.” The vampire held out a hand, his fingers white.

Preshea was not afraid of vampires. Or at least, not this one. Monsters came in all shapes and sizes, and very few of them were actually supernatural.

She took his hand and gave him her full weight. He stood her up effortlessly. That was always fun. “Lord Akeldama, I was enjoying your view.”

“Not so fine as it might be.”

“But sir, the road is very street-like and the conversation scintillating.”

He smiled, tight-lipped, showing no fang and no threat. “No need to be flippant, my pearl.” He escorted her forward.

His visitor was older, with a linear face. Frown lines marred his wide forehead. More lines were grooved into his sallow cheeks, running along his nose down to the sides of his mouth. He had a full head of grey hair brushed up at the front, and trailing muttonchops. It looked as if a frustrated painter had smeared him downwards.