Lady Killer by Michele Jaffe

anything. I can see your pain in your eyes. The eyes of a baby butterfly who has lost his way.”
    “There is no such thing as a baby butterfly,” Clio pointed out.
    Mariana ignored her. “Poor, dear, misguided Clio. Remember how you used to pretend to get presents on my birthday? My birthday. Just so people would pay attention to you. I never begrudged you that. I was always content to share with you, even though I knew you made it all up. How sad I felt for you that there was no one who would bother to send you gifts. That no one ever wished you a happy birthday.”
    Her words, or rather their truth, stung Clio, but she hid her reaction under a blanket of sarcasm. “Your kindness to me was really astonishing.”
    “I know.” Mariana prided herself on her graceful acceptance of compliments. “Even now, I feel sorry for you and the ruin of your plans.”
    “What plans were those?”
    “To wreck my wedding, like you always try to wreck everything of mine. That is why you came to the ball last night. I understand you cannot help it. That, like the baby duck, it is in your nature to follow me everywhere and nip at my heels. But it shall not work. Everyone is too busy discussing the Vampire of London.” Mariana leaned forward. “Do you know when he first appeared?”
    “Three years ago,” Clio answered, without enthusiasm. This quiz did not seem poised to expedite her leaving, or her devouring the hazelnut cakes.
    “No!” Mariana said triumphantly. “He first appeared the year I was born. When I was a baby duck myself. In my village. Isn’t that exciting?”
    Clio refrained from pointing out that she had herself been born that same year, just a week earlier in fact, and in the same village. “Are you sure?”
    “Of course. And I know why.” As if to build suspense, Mariana leaned over to study the plate of hazelnut cakes, picked one of them up, broke it in half, sniffed each half suspiciously, tried a taste, made a noise that indicated it was delicious, ate both halves, and then returned her gaze to Clio. “I fear what I am going to say will upset you, dear Clio, but you are not the only one who feels a fascination for me. There are others. I think the vampire is one of them. I think he has come back for my wedding.”
    A guttural noise, almost like a sob, came from Lord Edwin’s corner. Everyone turned to where he was sitting, his eyes glassy, his face blanched, his mouth working. “Mother,” he said finally in a voice that sounded like it had traveled miles. “Mother.”
    “Speak of this no more,” Lady Alecia commanded with a frown at Mariana.
    “Why?” Mariana tossed her head adventurously. “I have no fear of his acollation.”
    Doctor LaForge sighed. “Adulation.”
    “It is upsetting your father.” Lady Alecia leaned toward her granddaughter and explained in a furious whisper. “You know very well that his sister, Clio’s mother, was killed that same year by that horrible, horrible man—”
    “My father,” Clio volunteered, in case Mariana did not understand.
    Lady Alecia glared fulsomely at her before resuming, “—and that he has never recovered from the blow of her loss. One shall not speak of anything that happened in those dark days.”
    “But—” Mariana began to protest and was cut off.
    “Was the vampire caught?” Clio asked, despite this warning.
    “One shall not spea—”
    “Like the fly, like the fly, like the fly,” Lord Edwin chanted from against the wall, as if it were a nursery rhyme.
    “That is enough, Edwin,” Lady Alecia told him, then turned to Clio. As she did, her face changed into what Clio thought of as her “wicked abbess” expression, a mask of beneficence barely concealing a core of cruelty. “Now Clio, we summoned you to inform you that as a result of your behavior yesterday your allowance has been revoked. However, in honor of Mariana’s wedding, we deem it appropriate that you share in our good fortune. In commemoration of the happy day we