The Reluctant Miss Van Helsing

by Minda Webber

  Tomorrow she would let it slip to Renfield that she was going to a dinner party at the Huntsley household, but in reality she would hide by the stables and follow her husband on his search. If tomorrow night didn't net Dracul, then she would visit this bird club Asher had alluded to. Once inside, perhaps she could determine if Dracul was a frequent visitor. It shouldn't be too difficult to wing it inside a bird club. After all, she was a member of the Hummingbird and Parrot Society herself; this Birds of Paradise Club shouldn't be all that different. She was a little surprised that she hadn't heard of the club, since she was familiar with most of the bird-watching societies of London and the surrounding countryside, but there was nothing to be done about it.

  As she opened the door to her bedchamber, Jane smiled. Her father would be proud of her. She was finally taking the vampire by the fangs—and the right vampire. She would lead her brother to Dracul's lair, and she could hardly wait to see her cousins' faces when she and Brandon returned victorious. She could even envision her husband thanking her for ridding him of his deadly foe. He might even begin to trust her then!

  Her smile grew wider. Yes, life was going to be good once all this blood and gore was behind her. Perhaps Brandon wouldn't even need her help in the staking. Then she wouldn't have to ruin anyone's cape by throwing up all over it.

  The Cemetery Club

  The night breeze was cool almost to the point of being chilly. The day before, it had rained in London, leaving a slight smell of damp earth wafting in the wind. The rain had packed the fallen leaves into a spongy cushion, and Jane's feet were silent as she walked. She was dressed to the nines in her fashionable ebony velvet spencer and skirt; if her wily husband did end up spotting her, she wanted to look her best.

  Curling mists of gray gave the night a depressing sameness as Jane walked. She followed her husband with a natural grace from years of strict training, flowing from shadow to shadow just as she'd been taught. (This was easier said than done, loaded down with her vampire kit and long skirts.) But her training paid off, as always. She had hated her lessons when she was thirteen, hated the funny little men from the Orient dressed all in black who taught the Van Helsing children in silent stalkings and intricate swordplay. But they were worth it.

  She even appreciated some of the later things she'd been taught, the weirder stuff. At age nine, her mother had made her walk with a book on her head for ladylike deportment, while her father made her walk with eggs in her pockets.

  Jane smiled suddenly, remembering another of her mother's lessons. But she already had on her best chemise and clean petticoats, just in case the night turned ugly and she was injured.

  Her smile faded. There was one thing to count on with the count: He was devious. Jane knew that Dracul had slaughtered much better vampire hunters than herself. And what if he hurt Asher? she wondered. Even though still angry with Asher, she cared deeply for him. Stupid, perhaps, but true. He had stolen into her heart and someday she would steal into his—even if it killed her. But if he was hurt… ? She remembered a case where a distant cousin found Dracul's daytime resting place. His head had been sent home in a hatbox. Shuddering, Jane knew she did not want to be face-to-face with her husband in that way.

  She lifted her chin, strengthening her resolve. Asher had his wife to back him up, even if he was unaware of the fact.

  Watching the gaslights dancing about the figure of her moonlit husband, Jane concentrated on pretending that she was the fog, flowing forward unnoticed. So far, she had followed Asher from his favorite club to another less savory club in the East End. So far there had been no sighting of Dracul, but she knew her husband well enough to know that he would leave no gravestone unturned.

  Asher walked along the cobblestone streets, his attention on the darkness before him. Few people were out. London had begun growing quieter in direct proportion to the lateness of the hour, and no longer were merchants hawking their wares or dozens of carriages crowding the lanes. His mind was distracted… focused on Jane.

  He couldn't help but think about her, and about the way she looked last night. Her smile, rare and fleeting, had been filled with warmth for him alone. Until he had mocked and hurt her. Yet his feisty wife had borne the weight of his cruelty like Atlas. That was a rare ability in his exalted world, where everyone seemed so cruel and evil to one another.

  She had called him an ass, and had been correct. He'd behaved callously to this woman who now bore his name. He shook his head with real regret. He would make it up to her. At times he found the strange tenderness growing inside him for Jane overwhelming. His plain Jane was neither plain, nor so ordinary. She might not be the usual catch of the day, but perhaps her own rare loveliness was more priceless.

  What was he to do with her? He laughed, the sound harsh. He knew exactly what he wanted. He would do it from dusk until dawn's first light, and the next night and the next one after that. If only Jane were Clair. But then, Clair didn't have Jane's magnificent neck or marvelous green-silver eyes. Clair wasn't Jane.

  "I'll be double deuced," he muttered. He was going insane. "To think, I prefer a Van Helsing to a Frankenstein!" One family created monsters, the other family killed them.

  Jane hurried to catch up. All at once, Asher had turned off the beaten cobblestone street onto a gravel path with heavily foliaged trees, leaving Berkeley Square. His long legs ate up the ground, his black cape flowing behind him. Jane, with her short legs, was hard-pressed to maintain speed. Her breath came faster as she concentrated on not tripping.

  Suddenly, bird song caused Jane to halt. The beautiful notes… Jane would bet her last chocolate that the bird who was warbling was indeed a nightingale. Yet how could that be? The species had not been heard in London for over thirty years.

  Jane scanned the darkness, trying to discover the source of the sound. To her left she saw a white owl rise like a plume of smoke and become a faint hint of white against the glittering stars as it winged upward. For an instant she longed to fly free with it, to feel the night breeze in her face.

  Scanning the tree line, she tiptoed to a stand of large oaks where the notes might have originated. Once there, she realized that the nightingale must be farther away than she'd thought.

  Cocking her head and listening intently, she was disappointed when the notes suddenly vanished. Worse, Jane realized that she was alone—the bird had flown the coop, and so had her husband!

  The notion of her husband flying away suddenly struck her. She wondered if that were possible. Had Asher just turned into a big rodent and soared off?

  "Curses! Foiled again! He's driving me batty," Jane griped. She had always longed to see the transformation of a vampire into a bat. Everyone in the Van Helsing family had laid odds on which of them would be first. Jane's name was always last. Still, so far none of the illustrious Van Helsings had witnessed the mysterious feat.

  "How could I be so stupid?" Jane asked herself morosely. Not only had she lost the nightingale, but her husband as well. He might have to face Dracul alone!

  "I should have known that a vampire bat in hand is worth some bird in a bush! What a fowl mistake," Jane grumbled as she walked along the deserted path.

  Suddenly she caught sight of a wrought iron arch among the trees, and she grinned as she recalled what it signified. "Of course! It's the Rest in Peace Cemetery. Well, Dracul, I think I may have just found your day-time resting place, you crafty old count. Your peace will be anything but restful from now on, if I know my brother."

  Her steps considerably lighter, Jane hurried along the pathway into the cemetery. Halting abruptly, she shook her head—it was trouble ahead. Here were the proud and the profane, the glory brigade: her Van Helsing cousins.

  "Curses and double curses! Foiled again!" she muttered, taking in the sight before her. Digging in the dirt about five feet away was the dirty half dozen. They were covered in grime, with their cravats askew and mud on their faces. They looked like little boys playing in the sandbox, but then her cousins had always l
iked having mud on their faces—and getting it on hers. And as they'd matured, their tastes hadn't changed; playing in graves was not only a duty for them, but a joyous hobby.

  Jane knew she should make her great escape, run silent, run deep before her cousins discovered her behind enemy lines at the cemetery. But the sight of all her brave-hearted cousins so focused on that one hole gave her pause. Worriedly, she wondered whose grave they were digging up. Had they too unearthed the fact that Dracul had come to Town?

  She wanted to kick herself, knowing that cemeteries were one of the top three spots her cousins liked to play, even topping the gaming hells. Of course, their all-time favorite remained brothels.

  Her frustrated sigh alerted Jane's cousins to her presence. Her eldest cousin, Dwight, waved her over. Reluctantly Jane obeyed. She really disliked Dwight, with his bullying ways and bulging eyes.

  "Well, well, little Ethel Jane," he said. "What are you doing out and about? Or should I call you Countess?"

  Jane eyed her cousin's portly figure. Apparently he'd lost the battle of the bulge since she'd had seen him two years before. His waistcoat had popped two buttons, his protruding stomach a clear winner.

  Dwight, as eldest of all the cousins, had lorded over them mercilessly in the nursery days, and he still did now. But since Jane was a female, he was more ruthless to her. As a child, he had put spiders in her bed and caused her to go into fits. Frogs had gone into the fake coffins where she was to stake vampire mummy dummies. She had given those to Clair's uncle for experiments.

  "Well, well, it's just one big happy family," Jane retorted. She knew she needed to keep on her toes. Dwight wasn't the quickest guy around, but her third eldest cousin, George, was. She couldn't let any of them know why she was out lurking in the cemetery. She couldn't let them realize that Asher was a vampire, either. Dwight, the toadeater that he was, would take great delight in staking a noble.

  "Of course," George spoke up. "Jane, what are you doing out here alone?"

  "I was bird-watching. Following the song of a nightingale," she answered primly.

  Dwight grabbed her arm and yanked her to him, while the youngest and smallest, Jemeny, chortled. His nickname was Cricket, due to his large bug eyes and his habit of popping his joints. If Jane could wish upon a star, she would wish herself well away from here—far, far away.

  "Try again," George ordered coldly, moving to Jane's right while Dwight held her fast. George was bright, and loyal to the Van Helsing name, but had little compassion for the weak. He would die for her, if asked, but he could also be ruthless. Most times Jane admired George's intensity. Tonight was not one of those times.

  "I find it highly suspicious that a new bride would be out in a cemetery at night. Where is your husband, the earl? Why aren't you with him?" George questioned.

  Dwight laughed. "If I were married to Jane, I'd be out and about too."

  Jane, George and Jemeny all glared indignantly at him.

  "Well, I would," Dwight said. "Besides, you didn't answer the question. Are you hunting? Is there a vampire you're seeking? Perhaps the one we think is taking the prostitutes? The one who no doubt made Lady Veronique one of his own?"

  "Why are you so sure it's vampires?" she asked.

  "Who else? Some Nosferatu nest must have moved into London," Dwight answered. "But we Van Helsings will show them what's what." He finished, squeezing Jane's arm tighter, pinching her flesh in his strong grip.

  Jane jerked her arm back with all her strength, dislodging Dwight's grip, but she tumbled back into the opened grave with a muffled shriek. With a loud bump, she landed on the coffin inside. Luckily for her tailbone, there was a thick pad of dirt.

  Feeling the casket underneath her, Jane began to panic. What if her uninvited visit had alerted or awakened a vampire within?

  "Get me out of here now!" she cried.

  Throwing her arms upward toward the yawning opening above, she leapt; listening to her cousins' guffaws. Once again, she had provided her barbaric cousins amusement at her expense. Just once she wished she could see pride in their eyes instead of derision.

  Hopping up and down, she managed to see four of her cousins. They were lying on the ground, rolling about with tears of mirth streaking down their faces. George, the least dirty of the half dozen, was still on his feet. He stood near Douglas, the second youngest, who was braying like a jackass.

  "Don't look now, Ethel Jane, but you fell into a grave," Douglas mocked.

  "Wonder what will pop up this time?" Steven Ray added.

  Jane was beginning to feel like a bouncing ball. "Please, please, give me a hand and get me out of here."

  "Tell us the truth and we will," George advised, his laughter fading as he bent over the grave. Soon Douglas joined his brother. To Jane, they were silhouettes in black against the soft glow of the moon. "You see, Jane, we've heard a rumor that something wicked this way is coming. Something big with big, white fangs. Have you heard anything to that effect?"

  "I am a new bride. The only big thing I've heard about is Orville. Asher let him come live with us."

  Douglas shook his head. "Jane, Jane, your nose grows when you tell a lie."

  "It's really long right now," Jemeny added, his face a dark blob at the top of the grave.

  "Quit pulling my strings. I'm not lying. I know nothing of any rumors," Jane managed, crossing her fingers behind her back. "I'm your cousin, a blood relation. Get me out of here. It wouldn't do the Van Helsing name any honor if I were found frozen to death in this grave. Or worse." Worse being, having her throat torn out. The thought made her queasy, and she leaned against the cold dirt wall of the hole.

  "It's not that cold," George argued pragmatically.

  "Well, it wouldn't do my reputation any good if I was found not frozen in the graveyard, either. I don't think my husband, the earl, would countenance all the gossip that would ensue."

  Dwight seemed to consider. He wouldn't relish the Earl of Wolverton being angry with him.

  "Come on, Dwight, George, help me up," Jane begged. She wiped her dirty hands on her gown. Realizing that she had once again ruined dress, she muttered, "Humbug!" At this rate, she would be naked by January.

  Frowning, she tried and failed to tuck her hair back into its elegant French twist. Her dress was ruined, her hair was a mess, she was stuck in a grave, her cousins brayed like jackasses—this was not the way to spend a happy night. This was certainly not one of her finer moments.

  "We probably should let her out," Jemeny advised.

  "Yes, you should," Jane agreed. She had always liked Jemeny. He had a sweet disposition, except when he was playing a prank.

  Encouraged, Jane continued, "Uncle Jakob might wonder why his gentlemen sons were less than gallant to their female cousin, even to the point of endangering her. And my husband might call one or two of you out to a duel." He probably really wouldn't, since he could care less about her. However, her barbaric cousins didn't know that, Jane decided ruefully.

  "When Jane is right—which isn't often—she is right," George conceded.

  Jane sighed. Her calves were beginning to cramp from jumping up and down and she had hurt her leg slightly when she fell. She let out a shout. "All right, my fine fellows, I'm warning you that I've had enough. I don't intend to spend the night in the cemetery with whatever or whoever is or was in this grave. By the way, whose grave is it?" Hopefully it was someone of a cheerful disposition, if they were undead—a good-natured vampire or ghost who wouldn't be upset about her stepping on his home or her cousins' invasion of it.

  "The casket you're standing on belongs to a vampire fledgling. A babe in the tomb, so to speak. A prostitute—one of those prostitutes," George informed her. "We were going to stake her, but nobody was at home."

  "We were covering the grave back up when you dropped in," Jemeny stated.

  Jane exclaimed, "That's right. They found one of the prostitutes with holes in her neck."

  Dwight leaned over the grave, smiling smugly. "My
connections are superior to yours. They found one prostitute with holes in her neck, drained, and one dismembered. Definitely the work of vampires."

  "Yuck," Jane said, her face paling. "Get me out of here now." It had to be Dracul who was doing these heinous deeds. And they had to stop him.

  Reaching down, Jemeny gave Jane a hand up. They had apparently teased her enough.

  She smiled brilliantly at her bug-eyed cousin. "Thanks." She turned in a circle, glaring at the rest of her rambunctious relatives. "You should be ashamed of yourselves," she chided.

  "Do you think?" George asked.

  Jane shook her head. "Oh, never mind. I need to be getting myself home."

  "Do you need an escort?" George asked.

  "No, thanks. I'll be fine," she replied. And she turned and headed toward the cemetery gates, as dignified and ladylike as she could be with her gown torn and her hair hanging in tangled wisps around her face.

  Glancing up at the star-studded night, Jane made a wish. "I wish my cousins would all turn into frogs." The thought made her smile. Then, glancing back up at the heavens, she added silently, I wish my husband would love me, and that Dracul would die with a horrified frown on his fanged face.

  Now, if only her dreams could come true.

  Birds of a Feather

  "Curses! Foiled again!" Some wonderful subterfuge I planned, Jane thought sardonically as she eyed the overdone interior of the bedroom where she'd been forcibly placed. "A brothel by any other name would sell ass, teats."

  She had wondered at Asher's interest in bird-watching when she'd heard him and Renfield discussing this club. She had been so excited to think that they shared a love of feathered friends; they would have something in common to discuss over the upcoming years. But…

  "Humbug! Bird-watching, my aunt Fanny," she groused. "What a silly goose I am."

  Because of her husband's comment, Jane had come unescorted and in disguise to scout out this so-called bird club. And when Madame Saunders and her husband, the henpecked colonel, had asked if she was experienced, Jane had answered briskly, "Of course." After all, nobody knew birds better than she. However, it wasn't avian experience Madame Saunders was interested in. More like, experience in all kinds of cocks—large, small, fighting cocks or placid cocks, a veritable birdhouse full of cocks.