A veritable roar emanated from the guest quarters across the hall.

Tasherit’s voice went bland in an effort to hide amusement. “I believe your father may be objecting to something.”

“Probably my mother.”

Rue went and knocked on the door opposite.

The roaring continued.

Rue knocked louder. With no response forthcoming, Rue let herself in.

Paw was striding about the chamber yelling, mostly dressed and no longer covered in slime.

His wife sat in calm tolerance at her dressing table, brushing her hair and replying in a maddeningly reasonable tone. “Conall, do put a cork in it. People will hear you.”

“Too late.” Rue shut the door behind her without bothering to ask if she could stay. It was, after all, her ship. And these were, after all, her parents. “Must you make a scene, Paw?” She walked over to him for a hug. “It is good to see you looking so well.”

“Ah, little one!” He snaked her into a smothering embrace.

Rue relaxed against his familiar rough affection. He did not smell quite as he used to – a product of mortality or time in a Lefoux tank; it was difficult to know which.

“Are you feeling better?” The question was partly muffled against his broad shoulder.

Paw released her. “I’m as hale as a man one third my age.”

Lady Maccon began coiling and pinning up her hair. “One sixth, my dear, I think it is.”

Paw shrugged. “Mathematics never was my strong suit.”

Rue didn’t know quite how to ask if he was still suffering Alpha’s curse. How did one enquire as to the mental capacities of one’s own father?

“Do you have any odd inclinations?”

Paw looked confused. “Pardon?”

Rue scrambled for some other delicate way of putting it. “Oh, I don’t know. A preference to don one of Aunt Ivy’s hats? The sudden feeling of euphoria and an inclination to polka with a palm tree?”

Mother put down her pins. “Your daughter would like to know if you are still going insane, dear.”

Paw considered this. “I’ve been married to your mother for over two decades. You might allow me certain dispensation for eccentricity.”

“Paw, please be serious. I must consider the welfare of my ship.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Rue crossed her arms and glared, looking, many might have pointed out, rather more like her Paw than she ought being half his size and female.

He grinned. His Scottish burr became more prevalent. “Och, you fretful bairn. Whatever it is that pulls the senses out my head, ’tis linked to pack. I’m mortal, so that’s all gone, along with my pack.” A flash of pain cut across his face, quickly smoothed away with long practice.

Rue had felt that same pang when Uncle Rabiffano turned his back on her. And she’d had only a short time within a pack. Paw had been with a pack for hundreds of years, in some form or another. He must be awfully lonely.

Mother clearly thought the same, for she stood and walked to her husband, slipping her hand into his.

Dama had once said, “Although they’re careful not to use the word tether, never you forget, Puggle, that werewolves are tethered to pack, just as vampires are tethered to place. That’s why they get stuck. It’s a tragic weakness.” Dama had looked thoughtful rather than sad. “You may need to exploit it someday. Of course, it’s also a strength, like Hollandaise sauce.”

Rue hadn’t followed. “What’s like Hollandaise sauce, Dama?”

Her vampire father had given one of his tight secret smiles. “The thing that links us up. Wolves to the packs. Queens to the hives. Even me, in my way, to my darling drones and beloved home. Hollandaise sauce – delicious and a vital part of many superior dishes.”

Rue understood that reasoning, being a frequent partaker of sauces. “But?” she’d prodded, knowing a classic Dama analogy was imminent.

“Well, my buttercup, it splits easily, does Hollandaise, if you aren’t careful. Just divides up into its component parts and becomes inedible.”

Rue hadn’t asked how he knew so much about cooking a sauce, being one who didn’t eat anything. But she did take his point.

Paw had gone and split. The question now being, was he edible any more? She tried to catch her mother’s eye, get her assessment, but Lady Maccon was focused on her husband.

Rue prodded. “Well, if you aren’t deranged, what are you in a temper about?”

Lord Maccon looked confused.

“I heard you from across the way, howling like a buffoon.”

Lady Maccon looked suspicious. “What were you doing in Miss Sekhmet’s room?”

“Talking to Miss Sekhmet.”

“Just talking?”

Now what is Mother on about? “Yes. Now stop avoiding the question. Paw?”

“Oh, I was just yelling a bit. Alexia and I were discussing the pack transition. Ill handled, I think. I could have stayed longer, seen young Biffy settled into his new position.”

Lady Maccon snorted. “Don’t be preposterous.”

Rue said simultaneously, “Oh, Paw! Even I know the old Alpha can’t be overseeing the new one.”

Lord Maccon harrumphed. “Well, still, I might have done some good.”

“You see what I put up with?” Lady Maccon appealed to her daughter.

Rue knew an exit cue when she heard one. “Supper will be served at nine tonight. Spotted Custard is assuming daylight hours while everyone is mortal. There’s a great deal to see in Egypt; might as well take it in. Although, we’re under quarantine for the next twenty-four hours.”