realize that the all-pervading silence was not one of prayer but one of impending disaster. Her first warning came in the form of a volatile four-legged duster that hurtled into the library, breaking the calm quiet with a bout of such crazed yipping that a lesser dog would have become ill at the effort.
“Poche? What are you doing here, you vile animal?” Alexia fiddled with her snuffbox of tea.
Apparently, Poche’s current and sole desire in life was to launch a vicious attack on Alexia’s chair leg, which he got his little teeth around and was gnawing on passionately.
Alexia contemplated whether she should attempt to shake him off, kick him with her foot, or simply disregard him entirely.
“Good evening, Female Specimen.”
“Why, Mr. German Specimen, what an unexpected surprise. I thought you had been excommunicated. They let you back into Italy?”
Mr. Lange-Wilsdorf walked into the room, stroking his chin with the air of one who has suddenly acquired the upper hand and was reveling in the state of affairs. “I found myself in the possession of some, shall we call it, negotiating power, ya?”
“Ya?” Alexia was irritated enough to mimic him.
Mr. Lange-Wilsdorf came to stand near her, looking down. Which must be a particularly unusual experience for him given his diminutive stature, Alexia thought nastily.
“The Templars will, with the information I provided, convince His Holiness Pope Blessed Pius IX to repeal my excommunication and accept me back into the fold.”
“Will they, indeed? I had no notion they possessed such influence.”
“They possess many things, Female Specimen, many things.”
“Well”—Alexia was suddenly quite nervous—“felicitations on your reintegration.”
“I have my laboratory back,” he continued proudly.
“Good, perhaps you can figure out how—”
The preceptor came into the library. Alexia stopped midsentence and looked him over, noticing bandages about his limbs and scrapes across his face. He was clearly a little worse for his encounter with the vampire and subsequent fall from the carriage.
“Ah, how are you feeling, Mr. Templar?”
Not bothering to answer, the preceptor came over, crossed his arms, and looked down at her as well. Eventually he spoke to her as though she were a recalcitrant child. “I am confused, My Soulless One.”
“Oh, yes?”
“Yes. Why is it you chose not to inform us of your delicate condition? We would have taken far greater care of your person had we known of it.”
Oh, mercy me. Alexia shifted, wary. She put down the snuffbox and grabbed her parasol. “Would you, indeed? Do you imply that you would not have, for example, used me as bait in a vampire trap?”
The preceptor ignored her barb. “Mr. Lange-Wilsdorf informs us that not only are you with child, but that the child’s father is a werewolf. Is this—”
Alexia held up a commanding hand. “Do not even begin that line of questioning with me. My husband is a werewolf, and despite any and all accusations to the contrary, he is undoubtedly the father. I will neither argue nor tolerate any insinuations against my integrity. I may be soulless, gentlemen, but I assure you I am faithful. Even Conall, blast him, has finally admitted that.”
The Templar snapped his mouth shut and nodded. She wasn’t convinced that he believed her, but frankly she didn’t care.
Mr. Lange-Wilsdorf rubbed his hands together. “Indeed, in conjunction with your insistence, I have devised a new theory as to the nature of soul that I believe not only supports but indeed relies upon your avowal that the child has a supernatural father.”
“Are you saying the only way I could still be pregnant is if I were telling the truth?” Alexia felt her breath quicken in anticipation. Vindication at last!
“Well, ya, Female Specimen, precisely.”
“Would you care to elaborate?”
The little German seemed a tad taken aback by her calm acceptance. He did not notice how one of Alexia’s hands was now delicately fiddling with the handle of her parasol. She was also watching the Templar almost as closely as she watched him.
“You are not angry with me for the telling to the Templars of your little secret?”
Alexia was, but she pretended to be blasé. “Well, it was all over the London papers. I suppose they would have found out eventually. Still, you are a bit of a repulsive weasel, aren’t you?”
“Perhaps. But if this theory is correct, I will also be a most famous weasel.”
The Templar had taken a fascinated interest in Alexia’s snuffbox full of tea and was examining it. Alexia gave him a narrow look, daring him to comment on her idiosyncratic solution to the fact that none of the temple