Gail Carriger - Timeless

The vampire arched a blond eyebrow at her haughtily. “Countess Nadasdy is not amused.”

“She wouldn’t be. Someone is essentially taking on her old role in society.”

“ Ivy Tunstell , no less.” Lord Akeldama frowned, one perfect crease marring the white smoothness of his forehead. “She is terribly interested in fashion, isn’t she?”

“Oh, dear.” Alexia hid a smile. “That, too, is your territory. I see.”

“An actress , my little blueberry. I mean, really. Have you seen her hats?”

“You paid a call?”

“Of course I paid a call! She is a new queen, after all. Etiquette must be observed. But really”—he shuddered delicately—“those hats.”

Alexia thought of Professor Lyall’s letter. “It is the modern age, my dear Lord Akeldama. I think we must learn to accept such things as a consequence of shifting times.”

“ Shifting times , indeed. What a very werewolf way of putting it.”

Rumpet opened the door and Prudence toddled sleepily into the room.

“Ah, puggle precious , how is my darling girl?”

Alexia grabbed her daughter’s arm before she could launch herself at the vampire. “Dama!”

At Lady Maccon’s nod, the vampire bent to embrace his adopted child, Alexia maintaining a firm grip the entire time.

“Welcome home, poppet !”

“Dama, Dama!”

Alexia looked on affectionately. “We’ve learned a few things about our girl here, haven’t we, Prudence dear?”

“No,” said Prudence.

“One of them is that she doesn’t like her name.”

“No?” Lord Akeldama looked very thoughtful. “Well, there you have it. I couldn’t sympathize more, puggle. I don’t approve of most people’s names either.”

Alexia laughed.

Prudence took sudden interest in Alexia’s parasol, sitting next to her on the settee.

“Mine?” suggested Prudence.

“Perhaps someday,” said her mother.

Looking at his adopted daughter thoughtfully, Lord Akeldama said, “Shifting times, my dear Ruffled Parasol ?”

Alexia did not bother to ask how he might know her secret code name. She only looked him straight on, forthright as always. “Shifting times, Goldenrod .”

Phrannish read this last book during the middle of production. Rach read it a week after giving birth. Iz did her rounds ill, having just returned from Israel and in the process of buying a house. So for all my girls, with lives more grown-up than mine, this writer beast is eternally grateful that you put said lives on hold… one final time. My personal parasol protectorate, thank you. We must do it again sometime.

MS. CARRIGER began writing to cope with being raised in obscurity by an expatriate Brit and an incurable curmudgeon. She escaped small-town life and inadvertently acquired several degrees in higher learning. Ms. Carriger then traveled the historic cities of Europe, subsisting entirely on biscuits secreted in her handbag. She now resides in the Colonies, surrounded by fantastic shoes, where she insists on tea imported directly from London and cats that pee into toilets. She is fond of teeny-tiny hats and tropical fruit. Find out more about Ms. Carriger at www.gailcarriger.com.

The Parasol Protectorate

Soulless

Changeless

Blameless

Heartless

Timeless