"She hung, suspended, her back against the ship's side. Carefully, cautiously, she twisted, climbing her own body with hands, seeking out the spur of metal, until she could wrap her arms around it. She reflected that this was probably the first and last time in her life she would have cause to value the ridiculous fashions society foisted upon her sex. She realized she was still screaming and stopped, slightly embarassed with herself. Her mind became a blur of worries. Could she trust in the security of the little metal spur to which she now clung? Was Madame Lefoux safe? Had her parasol fallen over the edge with her?
She took several calming breaths and assessed the situation: not dead yet, but not precisely safe either. "Halooo", she called out. "Anyone? A little assistance if you would be so kind?"
En ce moment je suis trèèèèèèès occupée avec lord et lady Maccon... Do not disturb!
Alexia Tarabotti, the Lady Woolsey, awakens in the wee hours of the mid-afternoon to find her husband, who should be decently asleep like any normal werewolf, yelling at the top of his lungs. Then he disappears - leaving her to deal with a regiment of supernatural soldiers encamped on her doorstep, a plethora of exorcised ghosts, and an angry Queen Victoria.
But Alexia is armed with her trusty parasol, the latest fashions, and an arsenal of biting civility. Even when her investigations take her to Scotland, the backwater of ugly waistcoats, she is prepared: upending werewolf pack dynamics as only the soulless can.
She might even find time to track down her wayward husband, if she feels like it.
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