Rue leapt off the post and wove through the mass of tussling males. A vampire lurched in her direction. However, when she drew her lip back from canines and growled at him, he reconsidered. He was diverted by Hemming, who crashed into his side with a howl.

Fur was flying, flesh was scoured, slow old black blood leaked everywhere.

They were all enjoying themselves immensely.

Rue ended her charge where Quesnel and Percy still grappled. Percy was yelling something about publishing rights and discovery notification and respect for intellectual property. Quesnel was yelling back about the public’s right to information and risk-aversion techniques and funding considerations.

Rue wormed her way between them and reared up. Rue the wolf on her hind legs was about as tall as Rue the human, which is to say still shorter than both Percy and Quesnel.

She did the only thing she could think of to distract them. She licked Quesnel across the face, a slobbering drenching wet slap. He smelled of lime and he tasted like meaty smoke. She rotated, put her paws on Percy’s shoulder, and did the same to him, knocking his glasses off. He tasted of leather and dust.

Percy, with whom she had grown up playing games of “knight errant with his faithful werewolf companion,” knew exactly what she looked like in wolf form even amid a brawl.

“Rue!” He slapped away the tongue. “Get off!”

Quesnel, thank heavens, had the grace to look ashamed and then the wherewithal to register the chaos around them.

“Good heavens,” he said. “What on earth is going on?”

That made Percy pause too. “What are Queen Mum’s drones doing fighting your pack, Rue? Is that Lady Maccon? Is that a parasol?”

He began shouting the names of his mother’s vampires and drones, instructing them to “stop it this instant!”

Realising that their precious charge was no longer grappling for his life, the vampires slowed their attack. Although really, Rue thought, Percy had been grappling for his academic reputation not his life. She sneezed out the wolf equivalent of a laugh.

The pack slowed as well. After all, it was no fun to hunt something that didn’t fight back. They weren’t cats.

The drones stopped with relief on their faces and began to tend to each other’s wounds, knowing the blood must be staunched before the vampires caught the scent and demanded second breakfast.

Percy marched up to one of the vampires and put his hands to his hips. “Gahiji, what in heaven’s name do you lot think you’re doing?”

“That man attacked you!”

The vampires all glared at Quesnel.

“Mr Lefoux,” said Percy, “happens to be a colleague both aboard my ship and in academia. We were engaging in a gentleman’s disagreement on a matter of grave import and no little delicacy. I should thank you, and my blasted mother, to keep your ruddy fangs out of it!”

Uh-oh, thought Rue, Percy has resorted to swearing.

Quesnel was annoyed at being defended by his rival but seemed to see the sense in it. After all, the vampires were most assuredly not going to listen to him. Besides, Channing, a great white wolf with cold eyes, was sitting uncomfortably close and staring at him.

Rue yipped at her uncle.

Channing twitched his fluffy white tail at her but did not move. Paw had ordered him to track Quesnel. Only Paw could call him off.

Rue rolled her eyes. Bloody werewolves.

Lady Maccon marched up looking horribly pleased with herself and swinging her ghastly parasol in a jaunty manner. “There you are, infant. My but I forgot how much fun adventuring was.”

Rue sniffed.

“Quite right, quite right. I’m far too old for this nonsense.”

Rue blew out air between her teeth in a canine raspberry.

Lady Maccon turned to Quesnel. “Good evening, Mr Lefoux. This mess is your fault, I take it?”

Quesnel was not afraid of Rue’s mother. Which was an incredibly attractive trait, Rue had to admit. He tilted his head and dimpled winsomely. “Why, Lady Maccon, how do you do? My fault you say? But, dear lady, I am neither a hive queen nor a pack Alpha and yet I see a number of supernaturals milling about. What have I to do with them? Professor Tunstell and I were having a philosophical discussion. No one else ought to have involved himself.”

Lady Maccon was taken aback. “Oh, well. Yes. I suppose I see your point.”

Tasherit trotted up to weave in and around, getting underfoot and underhand and generally in everyone’s way.

Lady Maccon was distracted. “Are you the lioness? Remarkable.”

Rue barked.

But Lady Maccon knew how to keep a secret. She made no illusion to Tasherit’s being a werebeast and only took great care not to touch the cat.

Tasherit reared away from Mother, realising the danger this statuesque woman represented. Rue could almost hear the werecat’s thoughts: Soulless, stay back!

Paw joined them. “So, young Mr Lefoux. Perhaps you and I should take a perambulation about this neighbourhood together?”

Rue placed herself between her father and her chief engineer. Things were confusing enough between her and Quesnel without Paw interfering.

Paw was not best pleased at being opposed by his own daughter.

When he tried to reach around her to grab at Quesnel, she growled.

“Don’t you dare threaten me, young lady!”

“Leave it, dear,” said his wife. “Remember back then, how you reacted to interference from my sainted mother?”

Paw looked shocked. “Are you comparing me to your mother?”