Chapter XXXVIII: Smell the Mouse

The London Den. Two hours later.

The clock chimed the hour. Ten o'clock. Langley was in the main hall, keeping busy despite fatigue, as ever listening for the master's bell to ring. Three days since he'd heard it; three days since he'd pressed a suit, mended a button, or made a bed. Instead, he dusted, swept, crawled, mopped—anything to keep Mrs. Fulligan from throwing him downstairs. She smelled mould; he cleaned mould. She smelled mice; he hunted mice. Through the kitchens, down the hallway, round the bend, following his nose until instinct told him it was cowering in the left-hand corner of the main hall, directly beneath the hat rack. He could get used to this job. Spending his days in the hallway, ceilings higher than a lamppost, the carpet warm, bits of light coming down from the stained glass, the kitchen smells coming from the right.

Only problem was the company.

Fanny.

She kept following him. She and that girl, Grace's daughter, always trailing after him round the hall, giggling whenever he had to bend over and check the corners. How was he supposed to get work done? Couldn't they see he was busy? Night and day, young ladies, old ladies…even the occasional love-sick boy, all trying to get into the master's quarters. Well he'd had it. No more. No one else. He knew how things were…and if Fanny wanted a piece of the master, she'd have to go run after him herself.

He was just bending over again when he heard the door-knocker, a great rap, rap, rap echoing down the front hall, faster than the mouse skittering out of reach, Fanny and the little one making themselves scarce. No footsteps. No butler running from the kitchens. It was not his job to open the door, but it was snowing. Practically a blizzard. Whoever was out there was probably hankering to get in here and if security had let them pass…well then, they couldn't be that bad could they?

Holding his breath, he stepped forward, took hold of the great handle and opened the door. His hair flat in an instant, a great gust of wind pushing him off his feet as the whole of winter hit him in the gut. And then, though he had nothing to do with it, the door closed. The snow out of his face and above him, a hooded figure dusting the white from her shoulders. Perfume wafting with her every move and he lost in the scent. So clearly, the sweetest thing he'd ever smelled, not too strong, not too faint.

Just right…

o…o…o

The Lycan Prisons. The Downstairs Office.

"Sir!"

"Blood almighty, soldier, what is it?" Arlington was bending over a mirror, examining his moustache with more care than he did his wife. Americans. Always so hasty, his wife included. "Don't you know how to knock?"

"Yes, sir." Taylor knocked his fist thrice against his superior's desk, his other hand shifting a small wooden box onto the table. "Permission to speak, sir?"

"Yes, yes, go on." Arlington waved a hand, picking up the trimmers and taking a snip off the right side. Almost a crime to trim the thing.

"I was… " He looked back through the door he had just come from. "…doing my rounds, sir." He swallowed. "You arranged for me to go to Poplar High Street this morning. Told me to get a more reliable description from Mrs. Grimsby…"

"I know what I said, soldier. Go on."

"Thing is, sir, I may have found something more…" For the first time in his life, no doubt, the boy seemed to weigh his words. "…more concrete "

"Of course, boy…we already know about the bone-shavings. You did a claw-rubbing?" Arlington trimmed the left side. Youth. Always running. Always trying to shock him. Three hundred years and he'd seen it all. They'd learn. Urgency was a way of life.

Taylor swallowed and then exhaled, his eyes a touch more silver, as though the excitement had gotten to him. "No, sir."

"Then what?"

"She got a package this morning." He had started whispering. "It was addressed to you, sir…your pseudonym, the one Mrs. Grimsby knows, but…well…the box fell open in her living room and…" He looked sheepish. "…well the old lady, for sure, can't see very well anyway, plus the curtains were closed, so not too much in the way of burning…and in a way, sir, it's not as though I directly tampered with it "

"What are you trying to say, soldier?"

"The box, sir…" He indicated the small box he had put on the desk. The one that Arlington was paying no attention to. " I put everything back, but…" He opened the lid, revealing the contents. "…look."

Arlington dropped his moustache-trimmers. "Blood take it." It was an eye. A perfectly round eye with only the singe marks to tell them what type of creature it was. That and the bloody scent-card with the words written on it. Another murder. Another vampire. This had to go straight to the top. He stared at the eye, and then looked at Taylor. "…did you follow a scent? Anything, Taylor blood, fur, a direction there has to be something." He grabbed the boy by the cuff. "Did you follow a scent?"

Taylor licked his teeth. "That's just it, sir." He was just as unnerved. "You can smell it for yourself. There's no scent. Not even in the box. I don't know how they did it but there's no scent."

o…o…o

Back in the London Den. The Main Hall.

Langley blinked, rubbing his eyes, unable to take his eyes off the visitor. Her hood fell back, revealing a face of purest bliss. Auburn hair. Lips like a goddess…like that painting Singe had shown him once. The loveliest woman he'd ever seen…smiling as though she had a secret just for him. Him with his gangly arms and skinny face. At the thought, he went red, trying unsuccessfully to look at the ground. No cause for him to be looking at her like that. Shameful, in fact. He recognised that face, if only from afar. The leader of the Viennese Den…and the ex-mistress of the lycan-master. It was said around the den, if anyone could have gotten ivory out of the lycan-master, it was her…and him gawking at her like she was marrow. The Lady Allegra…

"Langley, is it?"

She knew his name. His heart started beating faster.

Delicately, she began removing her gloves, finger by finger, shaking her hood when he tried to take her coat. "No, dear boy, this house is far colder than I remember it." She spoke English, but her accent was slightly…different…like she'd learned to cover something and you were never quite certain what. She handed him her muff, a dark red to match the velvet she was wearing, all of it trimmed with fur. Sable. "Tell me, is my husband back from his rounds?"

Her husband.

Raze.

Rendered mute, he shook his head. His mind was starting to panic, her question having reminded him of why he was the only one available to answer the door. No one was expecting her this early. She was meant to arrive this evening. He had to tell Mrs. Fulligan. The rooms were not ready. Where were her maids?

"Oh." She was looking dreadfully disappointed. "Perhaps he's forgotten the time. Oh, what a shame. I was so sure he said this morning…"

Langley tried to make a sentence. "That would be unlikely, ma'am."

"All the same…" Smelling forlorn, she turned, her skirt making a wide sweep of the front hall, her finger running along a table as if looking for dust. "All this way, and no one to welcome me and I suppose Sabine is not back from her morning ride yet?"

"N-no, ma'am…" For someone who unintentionally arrived eight hours early, she seemed to know a lot about the den schedule. "…but if it pleases you, I believe Mrs. Fulligan is…"

"Oh let us not trouble Mrs. Fulligan, dear boy." She touched his cheek. "That woman has enough on her shoulders without us spoiling her morning tea…" With the same finger, she indicated the ladies-bag she had dropped on the floor. Brown was so much more than 'brown' when it had roses and the bright red 'A' embroidered on the sides. "Take my bags to my quarters and expect the rest of my things to arrive this afternoon."

"Right away, ma'am." Serving her felt like a privilege. He dove for her bag, almost tripping over himself in his haste. Halfway up the stairs, he noticed her ladyship was not, in so many words, behind him. Instead, she had taken a seat on one of the hall-chairs, her eyes now casually directed at the ceiling. The western ceiling.

She was waiting for something.

He panicked again. What to do? Had he missed something? A pack-leader visiting the London Den. A high-ranking official. Usually the lycan-master would be awake to welcome her but it was morning. The lycan-master slept in the morning; everyone knew that, most of all, her ladyship. Was this excuse enough then to wake him? Was it protocol?

He blurted his next words, his voice sounding unusually high. "Shall I inform Mr. Kerr of your arrival, ma'am?"

"Mr. Kerr?" She looked towards the western ceiling again; her expression one of such sincerity that a lycan Bloodsweep could swear she'd never once thought of waking him. "What an engaging idea, Langley." She smiled, her teeth showing sharp and yet her smile so sweet. "Of course, I would not want to impose… "

"N-no, ma'am it would be my pleasure."

He felt awkward having said this. Only an idiot woke the lycan-master in the morning, whether it was a pack-leader or the Queen of England. It was worth it nonetheless. She seemed so thankful for his trouble. Uncrossing her legs those glorious long legs she stood from her chair and idled up to him and then, to his eternal embarrassment and bliss, kissed him on the cheek, like a cat playing with a mouse.

"Thank you, Langley," she said, and with a flick of her dress, she was heading up the stairs and down the western corridor. Purposefully…

…for a cat, at times, had greater things to play with than a mouse.

A/N: I have no excuses (lovely holiday that ended up turning into five months of having very little time to write, while dealing with real life. Fortunately, I'm back in story-land now. ^_^) Usually write responses to readers in the author's notes, but it's past 3 in the morning. Needless to say, many thanks to all who reviewed, favourited, and added story alerts over the past few silent months...you'll hopefully be pleased that there's another chapter about to be posted right after this featuring none other than Lucian and Allegra in the same room. (Special note to Mackenzie: Sorry it's taken so long to get back to writing...it's taken me a while, but the multiple posts are always a great incentive. Anyway, will reply to all responses in the bottom of the next chapter... )

As always, feel free to read and review.