His eyes are peculiar. There is nothing in them, like an eclair without the cream filling. It's wrong, lack of cream.

As if being a former vampire drone in a werewolf household were not shocking enough, the maid then opened her mouth and proved that she was also, quite reprehensibly, French.

Alphas simply did not grovel; arrogance was part of the job description.

If there is gossip to be garnered, garner it. If there are new dress styles to be imitated, imitate them. If there are hearts to be broken, break them. That's my girls.

Which was why, some six hours later, Alexia Maccon's daughter was born inside the head of an octomaton in the presence of her husband, a comatose werewolf dandy, and a French inventor.

Oh, dear me, no. Then I should be known as that vampire with all the cats.

Quietly Sophronia added, "And the soot on my dress, sir?" "I didn't see anything." Professor Braithwope smiled down at her, showing a small hint of fang. Sophronia grinned back. "I'm glad we understand each other, sir." The vampire looked out into the night. "This is the right finishing school for you, isn't it, whot?" "Yes sir, I think it might very well be." "A piece of advice, Miss Temminnick?" "Sir?" "It is a great skill to have friends in low places. They, too, have things to teach you." "Now, sir, I thought you didn't see any soot.