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appearance seemed even more unkempt than usual. In the dim light, it also looked as though his canines
were showing—a certain sign of distress. Alexia squinted to make certain. She wondered how close they were to full moon. The
worry in her dark eyes, expressive even in their soullessness, softened her teapot-inspired disapproving expression.
    â€œBUR business.” Lord Maccon endeavored to explain away Professor’s Lyall’s absence and the state of his office in one curt
phrase. He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.
    Alexia nodded. “I did not really expect to find you here, my lord, in the daytime. Shouldn’t you be sleeping at this hour?”
    The werewolf shook his head. “I can take the full sun for a few days running, especially when there’s such a mystery as this.
Alpha’s not simply a meaningless title, you know? We can
do
things regular werewolves cannot. Besides which, Queen Victoria is curious.” In addition to being BUR’s supernatural liaison
and Alpha of the Woolsey Castle pack, Lord Maccon was an agent of Queen Victoria’s Shadow Parliament.
    â€œWell, never mind that; you look positively ghastly,” said Alexia baldly.
    â€œGee, thank you very much for your concern, Miss Tarabotti,” replied the earl, straightening up and widening his eyes in an
attempt to look more alert.
    â€œWhat
have
you been doing to yourself?” asked his lady guest with all her customary bluntness.
    â€œI have not slept since you were attacked,” said Lord Maccon.
    Alexia blushed slightly. “Concerned for my well-being? Why, Lord Maccon, now it is I who am touched.”
    â€œHardly,” he replied ungallantly. “Overseeing investigations, for the most part. Any concern you may note is over the idea
that someone else may be attacked. You can obviously see to yourself.”
    Miss Tarabotti was torn between being crushed that he did not care one fig for her safety and pleased that he trusted in her
competence.
    She gathered up a small pile of metal slates from a side chair and sat down. Lifting one roll of thin metal, she held it open
to examine with interest. She had to tilt it away from the shadows in order to make out the etched notations. “Rove vampire
registration permits,” she remarked. “You think the man who attacked me last night might have had a permit?”
    Lord Maccon looked exasperated, marched over and snatched the stack of rolls away. They fell to the floor with a clatter and
he cursed his sun-born clumsiness. But for all his sham annoyance at her presence, the earl was secretly pleased to have someone
with whom to talk out his theories. Usually he used his Beta in that capacity, but with Lyall out of town, he’d been pacing
about muttering to himself. “If he does have a permit, it is not in the London registry.”
    â€œCould he have come from outside the capital?” suggested Alexia.
    Lord Maccon shrugged. “You know how territorial vampires are. Even without any hive ties, they tend to stay in the area of
original blood metamorphosis. It is possible he traveled, but from where and why? What grave purpose would drive a vampire
from his natural habitat? That is the information I’ve sent Lyall to hunt down.”
    Miss Tarabotti understood. BUR headquarters were stationed in central London, but they had offices all over England that kept
tabs on the supernatural set in other parts of the country. During the Age of Enlightenment, when the supernatural became
accepted instead of persecuted, what had been born out of a need to control turned into a means of understanding. BUR, a creature
of that understanding, now employed werewolves and vampires, as well as mortals and even a ghost or two. Alexia also suspected
there were a few sundowners still left among the ranks, though not used much anymore.
    Lord Maccon continued. “He will travel by stagecoach during the day and in