Story: Forever Autumn - Chapter 1

Copyright (C) 2010 by Kevin L. O'Brien

Prolog
"My life will be forever Autumn, 'cause you're not here."


Aelfraed drove the Phantom slowly along the cemetery lane while Sir Differel Van Helsing gazed out the window. She wasn't interested in the scenery, in fact she barely noticed it. It was just something on which to rest her eyes, and a distraction from her reason for being there. Cemeteries did not depress her, as they did most people. Perhaps it was because she spent so much time when younger in the family graveyard on the estate. Perhaps it was because she believed death was not the end, but only the beginning of eternity. Whatever the reason, she found them peaceful, perfectly conducive for meditation and reflection. She would have been content to walk from the entrance gate, except Aelfraed would have had kittens at the idea, and she didn't want him following her with the car like some harbinger of death. At least she could see him, not like the spectre that had haunted her for the past six years.

The saloon finally stopped next to a grassy rise towards the top of a small hill.

"This is it, My Lady," Aelfraed said. She glanced towards the driver's seat and saw him in the rearview mirror, his sea-green eyes watching her from behind his pince-nez spectacles.

"Thank you," she replied, and made to open the door.

"Are you sure you'll be all right?" he persisted yet again. He had been asking her that all morning.

"Yes, Aelfraed, I'll be fine," she said, imitating his deadpan voice.

He ducked down slightly to examine the sky. "It looks like it might rain. Perhaps —"

"It's Autumn, Aelfraed, it will look like it might rain until Christmas. Now, enough. Leave me in peace."

"Yes, Madam, as you insist. But I will remain here in case you need me."

"You needn't bother, I don't know how long I'll be."

"It's no bother, Madam."

"I insist, butler. I have my cell phone, I can call you when I'm ready."

He turned around to look at her, his face, with its classical patrician features creased with worry lines, serene and self-controlled as ever. "With all due respect, My Lady, unless you order me to leave, I intend to wait here however long it takes. It's my duty, and my pleasure. Do you wish to give me that order?"

She flashed him a weak half-smirk, the first time she felt like doing so in months. Maybe she was on the mend after all. "Why bother, when you'll probably defy me and stay anyway. Do as you please."

"Very well, Madam. And I hope it goes well."

She nodded, opened the door, and stepped out. She hoped so as well.

As she closed the door, a breeze ruffled the folds of her long coat and skirt, and toyed with the veil as she lowered it over her face, to become just another faceless spectre drifting among the tombstones. It was only late September, but already the weather was cooling. She looked up at the sky; the sun was just visible through the overcast, a pale silvery disc, much faded from summer. The days were noticeably shorter now too, and getter darker and more dismal as winter approached.

A memory came unbidden to her mind's eye. The day it snowed, a rare event for Norfolk even in January. She took the day off, also a rarity, and she and Victor went out to play like kids. They built a snowman, had a snowball fight, and made snow angels. Afterward, they hiked out to the cabin in the woods. They built a fire and sat in front of it, wrapped together in a blanket, drinking mulled wine. They made love there and spent the night in connubial bliss, wrapped in a warm glow of love and body heat, as the frigid north wind blew the snow around them like the mini-blizzard in a snow globe. She reflected those winds would feel much colder with Victor gone.

She started up the hill towards the marble obelisk at the top, partially obscured by the five mausoleums that surrounded it. A flock of birds flew overhead, heading south; ducks, by the look and sound of them. She paused in her ascent and watched them disappear. For a moment she wished she could go with them, to escape the pain of her loss of Victor.

She passed between two of the tombs and approached the cenotaph, bearing the name "Plunkett" on the side. Between the monument and the crypts lay three generations of graves, surrounded by a white gravel walkway. She walked around until she came to Victor's grave. He was the fourth generation; there was just room enough for Henry and his family nearby. There was no plot for her. As a Van Helsing, she would be buried in the family tomb on her estate, next to her father and mother. Besides, Muriel would die before allowing her to rest beside her son.

A marble bench rested at the foot of the grave, and Differel sat down and lifted the veil, gazing at the inscription recently carved into the side of the obelisk: Victor Edward, 63rd Viscount Dunwich, Born October 18, 1972, Died March 15, 2004.

The Ides of March. Except, unlike Caesar, he did not deserve to die.

"I'm here, Victor. Finally, after all this time. I'm sorry it took so long; I've been busy, but that's no excuse. It really is a beautiful place, I wish you had brought me here, before. . . . This Autumn is turning out lovely, you would have loved it, but then it always was your favorite season. I remember the walks we took, kicking at the piles of leaves and making them fly in the breeze. There's nothing to disturb them now. I don't have time anymore for walks, or the desire. It didn't matter to me which season it was, your love was like the sun, bringing warmth and light to my dark and dreary life. That all ended when you blew away, like one of these leaves in the wind."

She paused to steady her breathing, which threatened to explode into a series of sobs.

"I wonder if you can even hear me. I have no doubt you are in Heaven. I hope your father introduces you to mine. I would really like for you two to get to know one another.

"But can you hear me? Do you still have any awareness of the mortal realm? I wish you could tell me. I really need to know that you can. It would allow me to believe you were not completely gone, that there was still some small part of you I —"

She cut herself off as she choked up, tears brimming in her eyes. She rubbed at them for a moment, then gave a short, nervous laugh.

"I really need to talk about something else, before I make a fool of myself in front of your family. Do you remember how we first met? Perhaps it's foolish of me to believe you do. Your former life is probably just a dream to you now, the memory of which is fading fast. No matter, I can remember for the both of us.

"It was four and a half years ago, that conference on the challenges facing the United Kingdom and the Commonwealth in the new millennium, at Inverknochy Castle. As I remember, a fine hotel, quite swanky considering it was out in the middle of nowhere and security was tighter than a drum. I had hoped we could have gone back some time. In any event, I had been invited to speak on paranormal affairs, and to sit on a number of discussion panels. Mid-week they had that bloody banquet. I wasn't going to go, but Lord Steele insisted, and gave me that dress to wear. I'm sure you remember that, assuming you're allowed carnal thoughts in Paradise. You told me later I was the sexiest bureaucrat you had ever seen."


Chapter One
"The first time ever I saw your face . . ."

Sir Differel stood off to one side of the reception room, sipping a glass of champagne, and watching the other members of the conference mingling before the banquet. She wasn't hiding; not exactly. She just felt out of place. They were virtually all men, with a few minor exceptions, with a minimum age twice her own twenty-four years, and they were all peers. Technically, so was she, but it was merely a life peerage; the rest were all hereditary, with long family pedigrees. As well, it was bad enough that during the seminars they all stared at her, wearing her suits and smoking her cigarillos, like she was some kind of sideshow freak. Now, at the reception, when she had been required to wear an actual dress, and a formal sheath-style evening gown at that, she was convinced they were undressing her with their eyes. Not that there was all that much to admire. The garment only accentuated the fact that she had no figure to speak of, except for what the bodice managed to push up and the non-existent neckline revealed. She hated this sleeveless design, with no shoulders and the exposed cleavage; even if the hem did fall to her ankles, she still felt naked. At least it didn't have a slit half way up her arse. She was also surprised the strapless costume stayed in place, considering that there was nothing to hold it up, but it was pretty tight, so perhaps that shouldn't have surprised her. The only part of her accoutrements that she felt comfortable with was the L117A2 semi-automatic pistol she had strapped to the inside of one thigh and the Fairbairn-Sykes fighting knife strapped to the opposite calf. She just hoped she wouldn't need to use them. She would have to take the outfit off to get to them and move around, and aside from glasses, gloves, stockings, and shoes, all she wore was a pair of knickers.

In any event, it didn't really matter whether it was due to age, gender, outfit, or social standing; she just didn't have anything in common with these people, and she abhorred mindless chit-chat. The very thought of it gave her a headache, and she had a good one right then.

Jeremy Steele, the Earl of Strattmoore and Lord President of the Privy Council, broke away from the throng and approached her. His stern, chiseled, lined face, with its domed forehead, Roman nose, block chin, and wire-rimmed glasses, always reminded her of a statue, but for once he was smiling.

"I'm so glad you decided to attend," he said, when he got close enough to speak over the babble of conversation in a normal voice.

"As I remember it, you ordered me to come, and to wear this nightmare."

"You look lovely —"

"Please don't say that," she said, pressing the fingers of her free hand into her temple.

"— and you really should make more of an effort to socialize with these people. They practically run the government."

"You mean the bureaucracy."

"Same thing."

"And I have more important duties elsewhere. What if there's an incursion tonight, or —"

"Then your agency should be able to handle it themselves. You need to delegate your authority, Differel. You can't run it all yourself."

She choked off a particularly biting retort by taking a drink of champagne. It wouldn't do to antagonize him.

Before she could think of a suitably harmless topic for idle banter, however, Lord Steele said, "Ah, I see someone I'd like you to meet." And he signaled to the crowd. A moment later, a man walked out. He was a young man, no more than a decade older than she, if that much. He was tall and lean, though not as tall as Vlad had been (the top of her head would just barely brush the bottom of his chin) or as thin (he had an athletic build, muscular but svelte). His face was boyishly handsome with the chiseled features of a cinema star, framed with a thick head of walnut-brown, collar-length, wavy hair and a short Mephistophelian beard and mustache, and two bright neon-blue eyes that sparkled at her from across the floor. He wore a mischievous smile as if it was part of his full evening dinner dress, but she found it odd he wore no gloves; everyone else did, though currently hers were more feminine than she normally wore.

"My dear, let me present the son of an old friend, Victor Edward Plunkett, 63rd Viscount Dunwich, and Attaché and Special Envoy for the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. Victor, I have the honor of presenting Baroness Sir Differel Van Helsing, Second Baronetess of Denver and Director of the Caerleon Order of the Companions of St. George." She cringed mentally at his mention of her life peerage, but she was grateful he didn't bring up her knighthood or other honors.

His smile broadened as he inclined his head. "The honor is all mine, I assure you, Sir Differel," he said as he held out his hand. His voice was a rich, melodic, mid-range baritone. At least he used the address she preferred, and he didn't seem to find it shocking, unless he had been well briefed. She kicked herself for entertaining such a suspicious thought, even if it was a sensible supposition.

"I am very pleased to meet you, Lord Dunwich," she said as she took his hand and bowed. It was only afterward she realized the eyeful her bosom must have given him, such as it was, but she refused to curtsey in that dress. God only knew if it would hold together.

"Please, there's no need to be so stuffy. My name is Victor."

She bristled at being called stuffy, but her retort and anger were swept away when he raised her hand and kissed her gloved fingers. She would have pulled her hand away and slapped anyone else who even tried to be that forward, but for some reason he so disconcerted her that her normal reaction short-circuited, and all she could do was just stare at him like a wax dummy while her head throbbed.

"Well," Lord Steele said, "I have other attendees I need to schmooze, so I shall leave you two to get better acquainted." And he left, a bit too quickly Differel thought.

She almost panicked and ran after him.

She pulled her hand from his grip as she calmed herself. "Victor, is it? You may call me Differel."

"Yes, I was named after an ancestor that fought with the Royalists during the Civil War."

"Hmph. I believe I had an ancestor who fought with the Parliamentarians."

"Is Differel a family name?"

"No, my father gave it to me."

"Yes, Sir Henry Van Helsing. I remember my own father speaking of him when I was younger. He admired him greatly."

"He was something of an amateur mathematician. My name is based on differential and is a cognate to integral."

"Of course, I see what he was getting at."

Differel smirked. "You do, do you? And pray tell, what was that?"

"Integral denotes completion and wholeness, while differential denotes change. He wanted you to be forever changing, adapting, growing, never complete, finished, or whole."

"You do understand!" she said, surprised. "Most people don't see it even after I explain it to them."

"It seemed obvious to me, I wasn't even sure I was right at first. But the lack of wholeness must be hard to live with."

His remark hit too close to home, but she doubted he understood its ramifications, so she suppressed her irritation. "One gets used to it. Special envoy, Lord Steele said. That sounds exciting."

He favored her with a lopsided smile, indicating he knew she had lied. "It has it's moments, but mostly it's just dull routine. I'm more a troubleshooter than an actual envoy."

"Troubleshooter?"

"Yes, I go wherever there's a problem and fix it. Occasionally it's a real crisis, but most of the time it turns out to be nothing, something the local diplomatic staff could have taken care of themselves, except they didn't have the spine, or the stomach. I would imagine it's similar to what you do."

"Something like that, except for me it's usually the other way around." And involves shooting, she thought as she took a sip.

"Would you like a drink?"

She held up the champagne glass; it was still three-quarters full. "I'm fine, thank you."

"Do you mind if I get one for myself?"

"Oh, please! Be my guest."

He gestured towards the liquor table. "After you."

"You want me to accompany you?"

His eyes twinkled as he gave her a mischievous smile. (She had never seen anyone's eyes do that before.) She got the idea he was playing with her, but in a facetious way.

"If you don't mind," he replied. It suddenly dawned on her that he was treating her like his escort for the evening, and expected her to reciprocate. Again, had anyone else made that kind of inappropriate assumption, she would have thrown her champagne in his face and walked away, but instead she found herself heading for the bar beside him before she even realized she was doing it. She figured her headache must have disoriented her.

"Scotch and soda, neat," he told the bartender. That piqued her interest. The rare times she had anything stronger than wine, it was usually Scotch.

"Yes, My Lord," he replied and began mixing it.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like something?" he asked her.

He certainly was trying rather hard to ingratiate himself with her. Her gut chilled and her head pounded when she considered that he might want to sleep with her. Good Lord, I've been watching too many movies lately, she thought. And why does that prospect scare me? The last time someone had tried to smarm his way into her bed, she put him in a half-nelson, pounded his face on a tabletop, and nearly broke his arm. Trepidation had never been her reaction before.

"Ur, no, thank you, I'm not much of a social drinker."

His expression turned contrite, like he was genuinely sorry for persisting. "Of course," he replied, giving her a nod, "my apologies."

"That's . . . quite all right, no harm done," she said as he accepted his drink. Was he for real? she wondered as the hammering in her skull beat harder. He wasn't like anyone else she had encountered on her rare social outings. They tended to fall into two groups: either people so stiff and formal she suspected they shitted marble, or so oily she wondered if the women they seduced kept slipping out of their arms. Assuming they weren't old enough to be her father, in which case they treated her like a child. That was the worst. Victor acted like a gentleman who seemed genuinely interested in her, as a woman, yes, but primarily as a person, not a paragon, a wench, or a nonentity.

The least she could do was be polite to him.

She set her glass down. "I've changed my mind; Scotch on the rocks, please." She then glanced at Victor. "You don't mind?"

He beamed a warm smile at her. "Of course not, it's a woman's prerogative."

She returned him a small, sheepish smile. Had anyone else patronized her like that — Bloody hell, now I sound like a broken record. But coming from him it didn't sound patronizing, just sincere.

An awkward silence filled the next few seconds, as Differel struggled for something to say. "So, how are you finding the conference?"

Victor nodded. "Interesting; informative."

She flashed him a half-smile. "In other words, boring."

He grinned. "That, too. And how about you?"

"Hmph. Bloody waste of time and money."

"You don't think it important to discuss possible challenges?"

"I guarantee you, whatever the future holds, it will not be anything like what we anticipate here."

"That's probably true," he said as she accepted her drink, "but is it not better to make plans, even if those plans are wrong, than hide one's head in the sand?"

They started back towards the milling crowd. "I have nothing against making plans, but I would rather spend our valuable time and resources preparing for what we know will come, not what might. And I assure you, I am not ignoring the situation, but whatever surprises are in store for us, Britain will meet them as she always has, with courage, determination, and fortitude."

"I suppose recent events bear that out."

Though he made no allusion, she was certain she knew what he meant. "How much do you know?" she asked, giving him a narrow-eyed stare.

"Possibly as much as you. My security clearance is quite high. It's a shame about Dracula, by the way."

That clinched it; he was referring to the invasion by the Fomorian wizard-king Grendel two years ago. She felt her anger flare. It was bad enough she had to endure the elation that came with his disappearance, but she'd be damned if she would put up with such disingenuous concern. Then she saw that same look she had seen earlier. Was he perhaps being sincere?

"How do you mean?"

"He was your greatest asset, and your most powerful weapon. We are all more vulnerable with his demise."

"Hmph. Everyone else was overjoyed."

"Not I. Diplomat I may be, but my family came from warrior stock. We believe in peace through strength; it's our family motto. What happens when the next Grendel invades Britain?"

Differel eyed him with a mix of appreciation and wonder. "Are you sure you're a government official? You don't have the typical attitude."

He chuckled. "I always was something of a maverick. Speaking of which, now that Dracula is gone, have you considered alternatives?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"For replacing him."

She felt her temper flare again, but she beat it down. He didn't understand. "What sort of alternatives?"

"Surely, there must be other monsters or paranormal creatures you could ally with, those who's self interest coincide with our own?"

She resisted the temptation to utter a dismissive response. "There might be, but how could I trust any of them?"

"How could you trust the most powerful Vampire of all?"

"I'm not sure he was, but to answer your question, he had given his word, and my family had placed certain controls on him." She did not wish to elaborate. Most people were not comfortable with the idea of hermetic and cabbalistic magic, even those familiar with the paranormal. A Vampire with a materialistic, scientific explanation was one thing, but magic still struck many as superstitious nonsense. Of course, magic probably had its own mundane explanation, but no one had found it yet.

"So if you found an honourable monster you could control, would you accept it?"

"Are you serious?"

"Very much so."

She shook her head. "It was difficult enough getting the Privy Council to accept Vlad, but at least he was fait accompli. They couldn't risk him being beyond their control. I cannot see them accepting a replacement of their own volition."

"What about another fait accompli?"

"Hmph. They would probably move against me if I announced the Van Helsing Family had a new monster."

"Don't underestimate them. I think you would be surprised at what they would accept, given the right argument."

She almost said no, but caught herself in time. The logical answer was of course yes. There was no rational reason why she shouldn't accept a substitute for Vlad provided she could trust it. But where Vlad was concerned she was far from rational, and had accepted that years ago. The problem was, she couldn't just reject his suggestion out of hand. If even a suspicion of how she really felt about the Vampire got out, the Privy Council would move to have her replaced as Director of the Caerleon Order, and even the Queen couldn't prevent it. They would assume they had no choice, since even with Vlad gone, they would believe her feelings for him would make her a liability.

That in turn made her wonder if Lord Steele had had an ulterior motive for foisting Victor on her, other than trying to force her to socialize. What if he was trying to find her out? Then again, he was one of the few Council members who believed Britain needed a paranormal weapon to defend itself against paranormal threats. What if he was using Victor to sound her out, to see how willing she would be to find another. The many conflicting possibilities made her a headache worse.

In any event, she had to think of a way to respond that seemed to agree without doing so, if Victor would report on their conversation to Steele later.

At that moment, the doors that separated the reception area from the dining hall opened, and the maître d' stepped forward. Differel almost breathed a sigh of relief at the timely interruption.

"My Lords and Ladies, dinner is served." And he bowed low.

Victor offered his arm. "My I escort you to your table, Sir Differel?" he said with a crafty smile.

Differel returned a half smile and laid her hand on his elbow. "My pleasure, Lord Dunwich."

Being the closest to the doors, they were the first ones to enter the hall. They introduced themselves to the first of the footmen waiting in line, and he bowed and guided them through the maze of circular tables. He went to the table at the exact center and indicated a chair; Differel noticed her name on the place card. Victor held the chair for her as she sat down, and for a moment she thought he would be sitting with her, but then the footman took him to another table, two tables away, and showed him his place.

Lord Steele sat to her right, and the rest of the seats were taken up by dukes and three marquesses. Why she was allowed to sit with such hallowed personages she wasn't sure, however, she suspected it had something to do with her knighthood (she was one of the few knights present, and the highest ranking one at that), and quite possibly her gender. Of course, even a member of the Order of the Garter stood lower in precedence than a baron, so she assumed it was actually because, among the aristocracy, she was something of a celebrity, famous for being famous as the saying went. Though she loathed the thought, there was little she could do without giving offense.

As the guests were all being seated, waiters appeared to fill water glasses, deftly adding slices of lemon, while wine stewards followed and filled wine glasses. Differel noticed that some received white wine while others red, and she suspected they matched whatever dish they had selected on their RSVPs. That also suggested that this would not be a full course formal meal, with different wines for each group of courses, which would take almost forever with the number of people present. She scanned the room, and spotted where the chefs stood off to one side, behind tables covered with food warmers. Though not a buffet, it made sense that it would be easier for the waiters to fill plates in an assembly line to save time. The mixture of aromas did smell tantalizing, she had to admit.

When everyone was seated, but before the waiters began serving, Lord Steele rose and lifted his glass; the conversation stilled in anticipation. "My Lords and Ladies," he intoned in his official state voice, "I give you Her Majesty, the Queen!"

Differel hated toasts almost as much as she disliked chit-chat, but this was one she approved of. She stood with everyone else, raised her own glass, and chanted with them, "The Queen!", before taking a sip. Looking over the rim as she did so, she noticed that Victor was watching her as he drank.

With the toast concluded, everyone sat and the dinner began as the waiters brought out the soup course: a creamy shellfish bisque. One nice thing about where she sat, her table was served first, though the peers were served before her. The conversation also began as soon as everyone had taken their seats. She felt even more out of place sitting there than she had in the reception room, and she found herself wishing she could exchange places with someone at Victor's table. At least they had developed a small rapport, and she was willing to risk the possibility that he would bring up the substitute monster topic again just to have someone to talk to. But she couldn't without insulting the others at her table and creating a scandal she could ill afford, so she opted for staying out of the conversations swirling around her. No doubt her table mates would consider her anti-social, but that was a lesser offense, and she had a built-in excuse: the dinner was delicious. As such, while she answered questions directed at her, she refrained from offering her opinion unbidden, and after a few early attempts to draw her out failed, she was largely ignored. It was probably just as well, because while the other guests no doubt had good intentions, she found their questions irritating, even insulting, and any discussion derived from them would likely end in her getting enraged and hurling epithets at them, which would not be a good thing.

The dinner progressed through the other few courses: poached sole on a bed of lightly sautéed squash, garnished with almond slices; her chosen entrée of roasted breast of chicken in a brandied mushroom sauce, with steamed asparagus in hollandaise sauce; sachertorte for dessert, with cream sherry or Recioto della Valpolicella dessert wine, both of which she declined; and a bowl of assorted nuts, served with coffee, cognac, or Nocello liqueur (she selected coffee). Throughout the meal, she caught Victor staring her whenever she glanced in his direction. At first she had noticed it by accident, when answering a question she glanced past her inquisitor towards Victor sitting behind him. Yet afterwards, whenever she looked in his direction, she found him gazing back. To begin with, she checked only occasionally, but as the evening wore on, her observations became more frequent, but whenever she glanced over, he always seemed to be watching her. That unnerved her, though she didn't know why. Her normal reaction would have been irritation, even anger, and only the fact that she didn't want to cause a scene prevented her from telling him off. Maybe that was it, she thought, the need to repress my usual response is making me nervous. But in fact she didn't feel angry, just anxious. That was unprecedented. She had never been intimidated by anyone, at least not since she was a little girl, and if it was going to be by anyone, it should have been the people at her table. But politicos and sycophantic peers she had learned to handle, if not always in the most diplomatic fashion; the unabashed adoration of an admirer was something new, and it gave her the willies.

Assuming that's what it really was; how could she know? What if it was a ploy to get close to her and learn her darkest secrets? Lord Steele was not above such tactics. He was not a friend, though he wasn't an enemy either. He was simply cold, ruthless, and calculating, despite his proper and genteel manner; the perfect government man. She was certain that whatever he did, he did in the best interests of Queen, Church, and Country, or at least as he saw it, and not to further his own personal ambitions. However, she was equally convinced that his ambitions and his vision of what was best for Britain dovetailed to a very minute degree. It was perhaps fortunate that he believed his own fate was wrapped up in the fate of the country, otherwise he could have been a very dangerous man. In any case, if he believed she was a liability, he would not hesitate to move against her, though he would want proof first. Her 'celebrity' status benefited him, and he would not willingly toss that away unless he benefited more by her removal. And with Vlad gone, there was nothing to make him hesitate.

But what if he wasn't involved? What if Victor was a lothario out to make a new conquest? And what greater coup could he achieve than the seduction of 'The Hero of Britain'? At that moment she remembered that after the dinner, the reception would resume over brandy and cigars, with dancing for those so inclined (partners being provided for those who had not brought their own escorts). Victor had treated her like his escort before the dinner; would he attempt to renew that however tenuous relationship, perhaps even ask her to —?

Her headache increased ten-fold as her stomach clenched, threatening to spill its contents all over the table. She rocketed to her feet, startling everyone at her table, and most at the nearby tables.

"Ah — my apologies, Your Graces, My Lords," she said, fighting to maintain control of her nausea, "I suddenly don't feel very well. Please, excuse me." And she took off while everyone was still too amazed to object.

She ran as fast as her dignity, and the dress, would allow back up to her room. She just about pushed her thumb through the key-reader, then fumbled with putting the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the outside handle before slamming the door shut and locking it. She ripped off her glasses and tossed them onto the bed and almost tore the dress to pieces getting it off, then headed for the bathroom, leaving a trail of gloves, shoes, weapons, stockings, and underwear in her wake. She turned the water on in the shower and jumped in without letting it warm up. The shock of the cold water made her seize up, but as the water warmed, she relaxed as her headache lessened and her nausea subsided, and she slid down the side of stall until she was sitting under the spray.

What the bloody hell is wrong with me?! she thought. The possibility that Victor might have been an informer for Lord Steele had concerned her, but it hadn't thrown her into the panic that the thought of dancing with him did. There was no sense to either, but the latter was especially mystifying. She had danced with men before, though the last time was during the reception after her knighting two years ago, and only because it was expected of her and she didn't want to insult the Queen by refusing. She should have been able to tolerate it that evening as well, even use it to her advantage, to find out what Victor's real motives were. Now the chance was lost. Even so, she realized that he had lost his one chance as well. Throughout the rest of the conference, there would be no further opportunities for them to interact, and once it was over, she could return to Denver, and he to Dunwich or wherever he lived, and they would never see each other again. That thought brought a smile to her lips, and her headache finally disappeared.

The only odd thing was, she glanced at him before she left the room, and his expression looked more disappointed than surprised, and even a little hurt.

+++++     +++++     +++++

"Are you sure you didn't say anything to spook her?" Lord Steele asked Victor. He sat with the Privy Council President in his suite, enjoying a final drink after the soiree had ended. "She took off like a frightened hare."

"Hares don't frighten easily," he corrected.

"Very well, then, a deer."

"Deer don't frighten easily either, especially during rutting season."

"Now that's enough. You know very well what I mean."

Victor sighed. Despite his father's respect and admiration for the man, Victor had never learned to like the stiff-assed prig, only tolerate him. "Yes, Jeremy, I know exactly what you mean, and I can assure you, I broached no subject other than that which you asked me to."

"Then how do you explain it?"

Victor shrugged. "I can't; I just don't believe it needs an explanation."

Steele scowled. "Of course it does, otherwise we won't know what went wrong, and we won't know how to prevent it in future."

"I fail to see why we have to know that. She might really have been ill, in which case my interview had nothing to do with it. Besides, even if I had said something to disturb her, that was almost two hours before she fled; I would think she would have done so at the time I spoke."

Steele looked crestfallen, as if conceding to the inevitable. "Perhaps. In any event, it really doesn't matter. We've lost our one opportunity."

Victor smiled. "You know, my father often told me that defeatism was your biggest failing."

Steele shot him a cross look. "Edward never did learn to keep his opinions to himself."

Victor frowned. Few things could upset him, but criticism of his father was one certain method. "As you've told me on prior occasions," he replied in a dark tone.

Steele's looked softened, as if realizing he had crossed a line. "What did you have in mind?" he asked in a quiet tone.

Victor took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. Nothing would be gained by creating an altercation.

"Sir Differel gives her speech on future paranormal concerns tomorrow mid-morning. I plan to attend. At the very least, we may learn something you could find valuable; at best, she may open the floor to questions."

Steele nodded. "Yes, good idea."

"Then there are the daily lunch buffets. There's no reason she and I couldn't run into each other."

"Yes, of course."

"Finally, I understand you extended to her a guest membership to the Greyknights Club."

"As a courtesy only, for the duration of the conference. There is a satellite facility here in the hotel."

"Has she taken advantage of it?"

"The afternoon of the second day she joined a number of members in several fencing matches, but otherwise she has only made use of the lounge. There are no female facilities for her to change for swimming or exercise, or to wash afterward."

"Then I think I know how to arrange another interview. I am myself a member, though I've rarely exercised the privilege. Tomorrow evening, however, I believe I should change that."

Steele smiled in a cold manner and raised his glass. "Then here's to a successful operation."

Victor emulated him, but as he drank, he thought, But perhaps not the resolution you hope for. Sir Differel had intrigued him, he couldn't say exactly why, but before he committed to Steele's plan he wanted to learn more about her.