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Lulu lumbered gracefully into the dinner party on four furred legs.
A select crowd mingled in the salon of the Camelot mansion, where drawn curtains and a glittering chandelier provided tastefully dim lighting. Members of the House of Lords, wealthy businessmen, the Minister of Defense himself, and assorted wives socialized in clusters.
In the center of the room, Minister of Foreign Affairs Sherril Camelot, accompanied by his wife Tricia, held court in a half-circle of their guests. “My daughter Rhode is so silly,” Sherril was saying, teary-eyed with emotion as he touched a tiny black bow on the side of his head.
Upon Lulu’s entrance, all heads turned, and not for the usual reason.
“Lulu dear, would you mind doing me a favor?” Sherril had asked the day before, having invited her to his mansion for “a discussion of strategy.” If the invitation had not involved practical matters that advanced the plans of the Millennium Earl, Lulu wouldn’t have bothered showing up.
“What,” said Lulu. She sat in a plush armchair in Sherril’s office.
Rhode too was present, sitting on her erstwhile father’s desk and kicking her legs as she licked a red lollipop and watched Lulu and Sherril with amusement.
“I’d be ever so grateful if you attended my dinner party tomorrow,” Sherril said, “in the form of a panther.”
The Millennium Earl or Sherril often invited Lulu to parties, where she made a striking figure in a suit or evening dress. Although others appreciated her presence, Lulu herself did not care to mingle with others for too long; she found little to say in conversation, and the eagerness of men to make her acquaintance left her cold. Never before had anyone invited her to attend an official function as a panther.
Intrigued, Lulu leaned forward. “Why a panther?”
“For too long, the Lord Aynesworth has been rallying others against my proposals, such as simply tossing debtors into the sea. It’s time I sent him a message.” Sherril’s grinding of teeth was replaced by a wicked smile. “As it happens, Lord Aynesworth once encountered a black jaguar on a hunt in the jungles of India, where the noble beast nearly mauled him to death. We can only wish it had succeeded. The next best thing is terrifying him half to death at a dinner party.”
“Embarrassing him in front of the other Lords,” said Lulu.
“Precisely!”
“Plus, it’ll be funny,” said Rhode. “Jasdevi will be sooo jealous they didn’t come.”
“They aren’t even invited this time,” Sherril snapped. “I don’t need anyone throwing hors d'oeuvres at the nobility.”
“Boo. Oh well, a bloodthirsty panther is even better.”
“Do you want me to draw his blood?” Lulu asked, for clarification.
“Oh no, that’s not necessary,” Sherril said. “The important part is terrifying him with your presence. Although, if it makes sense at the time, perhaps you could claw him a little?” Light glinted off his monocle, and Rhode sucked on the rim of her lollipop with renewed enthusiasm. Trust the Camelots to appreciate blood.
“Understood.”
“So you will be attending?” Sherril said eagerly.
Lulu gave a cool nod.
“May I tie a little bow around your head?” asked Rhode. “Even panthers can dress up for a party, in my opinion.”
Lulu shook her head just as coolly.
“You can tie a little bow around my head, darling,” Sherril cooed, correctly recognizing the risk to Lulu’s participation in his scheme.
“Hooray!”
Lulu excused herself before the Camelots could plan any more outfits in her presence.
And so she found herself the center of attention as guests in tweed suits or tasteful gowns turned to look at her. A hush fell over the room, followed by murmurs and exclamations. Although Lulu didn’t care for the attention in this form either, she contented herself with the fact that panthers couldn’t talk. Besides, her mission would soon be over, with no need to mingle afterwards.
“Oh! This is the ‘special guest’ you promised!” said a man with prominent white sideburns.
“Is it quite tame?” asked an elderly woman Lulu vaguely recognized as a rich philanthropist. She sipped her champagne with perfect calmness.
“Why, Camelot, I’ll never call your parties dull again. Ha-ha!”
“Didn’t you say, however—”
Conversation swelled again, louder and more delighted than before. Sherril’s glare bored into Lulu as if spurring her on to find her target. The Noah of Desires would owe her for this. Specifically, he would owe her tins upon tins of Chat Heureux brand cat food, trout flavor, imported from France.
Lulu raised her snout and sniffed the air. A long table to the left bore food and drink, and servants, two of whom were Akuma, carried trays of hors d'oeuvres about. Salmon, berries and cream, wine. No scent of fear threaded through the tempting pungency of food and drink—perhaps Lord Aynesworth hadn’t laid eyes on her yet.
Tricia Camelot broke away from her husband and approached Lulu. She wore a teal dress with a high-cut bodice, silver chains dangling from her ears. As usual, her blonde hair was tied back in tight braids. “How darling!” Tricia said.
“I say, the Minister’s wife is a brave one!” said a young man who Lulu assumed was the tedious son of someone important.
Tricia reached out and patted Lulu on the head. “Nice kitty!”
The nearby guests broke out in laughter that was more uproarious than these words deserved. Lulu’s gums itched with the urge to rear up and rip Tricia’s throat out for calling her darling, but Sherril hadn’t invited her here to maul his wife, so she settled for growling and clawing through the carpet.
“Oh!” exclaimed Tricia, and withdrew her hand from Lulu’s fur.
“Perhaps it’s purring,” suggested the young man, who Lulu now assumed was an idiot as well as tedious.
Lulu brushed past Tricia and circled a knot of wide-eyed guests to head towards the long table.
Behind her, Tricia was happily saying, “Sherril, dear, I think we should have large animals at all our functions.”
Next time, Lulu would leave the role to a real animal. Such as a lion from the circus, or a random cow.
Near the other end of the table stood the Lord Aynesworth, whom Lulu recognized from a photograph Sherril had shown her. A suntanned older man, his face clean-shaven, candlelight glinted off his forehead just below his receding hairline. Three thin scars, courtesy of a long-ago jaguar, faintly marked his jaw. Smell told Lulu that his plate was piled with cream-slathered scones.
A pair of women and a man with a cane made a hasty retreat as Lulu barreled towards Aynesworth. He was so absorbed in appreciating a scone that he didn’t notice Lulu until she was nearly upon him.
Although he jumped and nearly choked on his bite of scone, his reaction was otherwise underwhelming. Managing to swallow, he lifted his plate well above Lulu’s head and said, “No, you can’t have any.”
Lulu was taken aback by his priorities. Where was his sheer terror? Had the past jaguar incident left no fear of predators in this stupid man?
Lulu remembered visiting the menagerie at the Jardin des Plantes de Paris as a young girl, tugging on her father’s hand as she caught sight of the carnivores in their cages, thrilled by the great and powerful beasts. The memory had returned to her vividly when she’d shapeshifted in a stuffy guest room earlier.
Ears flattening in irritation, Lulu reared onto her hind legs and placed massive paws on the man’s shoulders.
Sweat beaded and ran down his forehead, but rather than flee screaming like prey should, he set the plate of scones behind him and said, “Er, Minister Camelot? Can’t you control this beast? I swear, this is your worst idea yet.”
Worried voices muttered around them. Lulu swung her head and made out Sherril twitching his hand horizontally in a frantic stop that gesture before declaiming, “No need to be alarmed! She’s simply very friendly!”
Of course. Terrifying Lord Aynesworth into running away when the other guests understood Lulu to be tame would embarrass Sherril’s enemy; mauling him would embarrass Sherril, saddling him with a medical bill and a reputation for terrible party ideas.
Sherril’s message had not gotten through to this blockhead. Lulu growled, but returned to all fours. Aynesworth sighed loudly, then said even more loudly, “An even worse idea than your spending proposal!”
That was when Lulu saw Rhode in the corner past the table, beckoning Lulu closer by waving a piece of salmon.
Far be it from Lulu to ignore the eldest Noah—or pass up a tasty fish. Mouth watering, she went over to her. Dressed in a pink dress with black lace at the collar and hem, Rhode smelled like nail polish and a clinging hint of blood. Much to Lulu’s disappointment, she hid the fish behind her back.
Rhode leaned down to whisper in Lulu’s ear.
“Lulu,” she hissed, “you’re a bear.”