The remaining young Templar drew his sword and dispatched Alexia’s noble scuttling rescuers with remarkable efficiency. He then whirled to face Alexia.
She raised her stool.
Behind them, in the cell, the preceptor groaned. “What is going on?”
Since the ladybugs might have been sent either by the vampires to kill her or by Monsieur Trouvé to help her, Alexia could not rightly answer that question. “It would appear you are under attack by ladybugs, Mr. Templar. What else can I say?”
At which moment they all heard the growl. It was the kind of growl Alexia was definitely familiar with—low and loud and full of intention. It was the kind of growl that said, clearly as anything, “You are food.”
“Ah, and now, I suspect, werewolves.”
And so it proved to be the case.
Of course, Alexia’s traitorous little heart hoped for a certain brindled coat, chocolate brown with hints of black and gold. She craned her neck over her brandished stool to see if the growling, slavering beast charging down the stone hallway would have pale yellow eyes and a familiar humor crinkling them just so.
But the creature that bounded into view was pure white, and his lupine face was humorless. He launched himself upon the young Templar, without apparent care for the naked blade, which was, Alexia had no doubt, silver. He was a beautiful specimen of Homo lupis, or would have been beautiful had he not been bent on mauling and mayhem. Alexia knew those eyes were icy blue without having to look. She couldn’t really follow, anyway, as man and wolf met in the hallway. With a vociferous battle cry, the preceptor charged out of the cell and joined the fray.
Never one to sit back and dither, Alexia grabbed the stool more firmly, and when the younger Templar fell back toward her, she clouted him with the stool on top of the head as hard as she possibly could. Really, she was getting terribly good at bashing skulls in her old age—rather unseemly of her.
The boy collapsed.
Now it was just the werewolf against the preceptor.
Alexia figured that Channing could take care of himself and that she’d better break for freedom while the preceptor was preoccupied. So she dropped the stool, hiked her skirts, and took off pell-mell down what looked to be the most promising passageway. She ran smack-dab into Madame Lefoux, Floote, and Monsieur Trouvé.
Ah, right passageway! “Well, hello, you lot. How are you?”
“No time for pleasantries, Alexia, my dear. Isn’t it just like you, to be already escaped before we had the opportunity to rescue you?” Madame Lefoux flashed her dimples.
“Ah, yes. Well, I am resourceful.”
Madame Lefoux tossed something at her, and Alexia caught it with the hand not holding up her skirts. “My parasol! How marvelous.”
Floote, she noticed, was carrying her dispatch case in one hand, and he had one of those tiny guns in his other.
Monsieur Trouvé offered Alexia his arm.
“My lady?”
“Why, thank you, monsieur, very kind.” Alexia managed to grasp it and her parasol and her skirts without too much difficulty. “I am rather grateful for the ladybugs, by the way; very nice of you to send them on.”
The clockmaker began hustling her down the hallway. It wasn’t until that moment that Alexia realized how large the catacombs were, and how far she had been stashed underground.
“Ah, yes, I borrowed the adaptation from the vampires. I put a doping agent in the antennae instead of poison. It proved an effective alternative.”
“Very. Until the swords came out, of course. I am afraid your three minions are no more.”
“Ah. Poor little things. They aren’t exactly battle-hardy.”
They ascended a steep flight of stairs and then dashed down another long hallway, one that seemed to go backward above the one they’d just run up.
“If you don’t find it impertinent of me to ask,” Alexia panted, “what are you doing here, monsieur?”
The Frenchman answered between puffs. “Ah, I came with your luggage. Left a marker so Genevieve would know I was here. I didn’t want to miss all the fun.”
“You and I clearly do not share a definition of the word.”
The Frenchman looked her up and down, his eyes positively twinkling. “Oh, come now, my lady, I think we may.”
Alexia grinned, it must be admitted, a tad more ferociously than genteelly.
“Watch out!” came Floote’s shout. He was leading the charge, closely followed by Madame Lefoux, but he had stopped suddenly ahead of them and, after taking aim, fired one of his tiny guns.
A group of about a dozen or so Templars was coming down the passageway toward them, preceded by the tweed-covered, dwarflike form of a certain German scientist. Adding to the generally threatening overtones of the party, Poche led the charge, yapping and prancing about like an overly excited bit of dandelion fluff wearing a yellow bow.