Free Timeless by Gail Carriger

distress, and he knew her name.
    “Lady Maccon! Lady Maccon.”
    He spoke with a Scottish accent. His voice was vaguely familiar, for all that it was faint and cracked. For the life of her, Alexia couldn’t place that gaunt, cooked-lobster face, not under all that unkempt.
    She looked down her nose at the man. “Do I
know
you, sir?”
    “Yes, my lady. Dubh.” He cracked a weak smile. “I’m a mite different from when you saw me last.”
    The werewolf could not be but understating the case. Dubh had not been a particularly handsome or agreeable man, but now he was positively unsightly. A Scotsman, to be sure, and Alexia acknowledged her preferences seemed to lean in that direction. In the past, the man had not behaved much to Alexia’s taste, having engaged in a bout of fisticuffs with Conall that destroyed most of a dining room and an entire plate of meringues. “Why, Mr. Dubh, what has brought about such a need for the barber? Are you unwell? Have you been the victim of an anarchist outrage?”
    Alexia made to move over to him, for he had propped himself against the jamb of the door and seemed likely to slide right down it and fold up upon the floor.
    “No, my lady, I beg you. I could not stand your touch.”
    “But, my dear sir, let me summon help. You have been much missed. Your Alpha is here in London looking for you. I could send Major Channing to fetch—”
    “No, please, my lady, only listen. I have waited to catch you alone. ’Tis a matter for you alone. Your household… your household is nae safe. It is nae contained.”
    “Do go on.”
    “Your da… what he did… in Egypt. You need tae stop it.”
    “What? What did he do?”
    “The mummies, my lady, they—”
    A gunshot fired clear and sharp in the silence of the station. Lady Maccon cried out as a bloom of red blood appeared on Dubh’s chest. The Beta looked utterly surprised, raising both hands to cup over the wound.
    He pitched forward, facedown, showing that he had been shot in the back.
    Alexia clasped her hands together and willed herself to stay away, although all her instincts urged her to help the injured man. She yelled out at the very top of her lungs, “Major Channing, Major Channing, come quickly! Something
untoward
has occurred.”
    The Gamma came dashing in using speed only supernaturals could achieve. He immediately crouched over the fallen werewolf.
    He sniffed. “Kingair Pack? The missing Beta? But what is he doing
here
? I thought he went missing in Egypt.”
    “It appears he recently returned. Look—beard, tan, loss of flesh. He’s been mortal for some length of time. Only one thing does that to a werewolf.”
    “The God-Breaker Plague.”
    “Can you think of a better explanation? Except, of course, that he is back here, in the country. He should be a werewolf once more.”
    “Oh, he is, or I wouldn’t be able to smell the pack in him,” answered Major Channing with confidence. “He’s not mortal, only very, very weak.”
    “Then he’s not dead?”
    “Not yet. We’d better get him home and the bullet out or he might well be. Take care, my lady. The assailant may still be out there. I should go first.”
    “But,” said Alexia, “I have Ethel.” She withdrew the small gun from her reticule and cocked it.
    Major Channing rolled his eyes.
    “Onward!” Alexia trotted out of the waiting room, eyes alert for movement in the shadows, gun at the ready.
    Nothing happened.
    They made it to the waiting hackney easily. Major Channing offered the driver triple the fare for double the speed. They would have made it back home in record time had there not been a fire in Cheapside that caused them to double back and go around.
    Once home, a single yell from Lady Maccon brought all the werewolves and clavigers running. It was getting near to dawn, so the house was full, clavigers waking up and werewolves preparing for bed. The injured Kingair Beta caused quite a hubbub. He was taken carefully inside and into the back