Minda Webber - The Reluctant Miss Van Helsing

Jane frowned, her brow creased with worry. "I hope so. Father will be quite displeased if anything goes wrong." At his command, she was attending this ball as Miss Paine. The subterfuge was to help her stalk the Earl of Wolverton, a surprising powerful member of the nefarious Nosferatu. With all her previous failed attempts at vampire-slaying, she knew she needed all the help she could get, for the earl was an intelligent predator and the kind of man capable of silencing a room full of people by simply walking through the door.

"You'll do fine, Jane. You are a Van Helsing," her grandfather reminded her proudly, patting her arm. "Just don't forget the holy water," he added.

She nodded, going over her father's grand scheme in her mind. After attracting the Earl of Wolverton's attention, she was to maneuver him into an empty room, where she would attack. She was then to pool her resources: pouring holy water on him and liquidating the earl. Jane shuddered. She would have to remember to step back so that the melting pieces of vampire wouldn't splash her costume. In the murderous schools of nineteenth-century real estate and vampire hunting, Jane had learned that location was everything.

These thoughts churning in her head, Jane grudgingly made her way down the stairs with her grandfather. On the last few steps, Ebenezer Van Helsing finally noticed where they were, the ladies and gentlemen swaying and whirling before them, adorned in everything from Louis XV costumes to demon garb.

"Why are all these people dressed so queerly?" he asked, perplexed.

"It's a masquerade ball, Grandfather. Remember? That's why I'm dressed like Cleopatra and you're the Grim Reaper," Jane reminded him calmly. She knew how he hated a fuss when he forgot things, or when he went off into one of his many flights of fancy. And despite the embarrassing things her grandfather did and said at times, Jane loved the crusty old man. Sometimes she adored him more for his imperfections. To her, the slightly off-center septuagenarian was a breath of fresh air in the live-and-let-vampires-die atmosphere of her home.

"Yes, I am the Grim Reaper. Quite appropriate for me. If I were one of those sneaky vampires, I would be running scared right now," Ebenezer bragged. "Yes, quite appropriate."

"Quite," Jane agreed, patting his arm again. He had been quite the vampire hunter in his day, slaying the infamous Nosferatu, Lugosi, Lee and Langella. However, age had taken its toll, and the sun had set on his glorious nighttime heroics. Which was another reminder that Jane was on her own tonight. She could not count on her grandfather for help, for she did not want to endanger him; and her brother was in Austria, and her father was at home with a raging case of gout.

Her grandfather, monocle in hand, surveyed the guests, as he pointed out a colorful costume here and there. Many of the outfits looked authentic, with a few demonic exceptions.

Ebenezer shook his head. "Humbug!" he said.

Jane, curious as to what had made him use his favorite epithet, glanced over at her grandfather. He was looking at two young bucks dressed as devils.

"Ignorance is never pretty, even if it is not their fault," he said.

Jane knew only too well that in the real-life world of vampires and shape-shifters, there was an unwritten law that the less said by those in the know to the rest of the world, the better. What mortal person in his right mind would want to learn the truth of many otherworldly creatures? Who wanted to know that the big bad werewolf really had eaten Little Red Riding Hood's grandma, and that Sleeping Beauty's prince was a vampire? Run-of-the-mill mortals were just too insecure to react with any sanity about the supernatural world. And thus you saw problems like the one capturing her grandfather's attention now. Obviously these two young men attired like demons, with their scruffy-looking tails and red pitchforks, knew nothing about Lucifer's strict rules.

"Hell might be sulphurous, and it might be unbearably hot, but a dress code is still a dress code," Jane agreed with her grandfather's unspoken criticism. "King Lucifer can't abide disheveled subjects. And these young bucks know nothing about Hell. Where are the ink stains on their devilish little fingers? Devils always have an ink stain or two on their index fingers from drawing up all those contracts!"

Her grandfather nodded wisely. "And I'll be deuced. Demons never carry pitchforks anymore. Lucifer certainly wouldn't call these the Devil's own. He would burn them to a crisp if he saw them dressed as such pitiful little beggars."

"I know. Lucifer would never accept such an… agricultural mode of dress. And no self-respecting devil would ever have a tail so unattended-looking." Jane shook her head. "Alas, they're tails we can never tell."

Ebenezer sighed. Then, spotting one of his old vampire-hunting cronies entering the card room, he said, "There's Gellar Buffyton!" And with those words he was off, hurrying to catch up with his old friend and leaving Jane alone to review her options.

After careful consideration, she recognized that she had none. Not with recent developments. Two days ago, her father had found out that the diabolical Dracul, who had used an alias since his infamy spread across the world, was none other than the celebrated rake Neil Asher, the very stylish Earl of Wolverton—the man Jane was now after. It was amazing that he'd hidden in London for as many years as he had, especially with the Van Helsings, the scourge of vampire-kind living there as well.

Gleefully, her father's network of spies had told the major of their astounding discovery. They had been so excited by their sleuthing, Jane was surprised they hadn't shouted their discovery from the rooftops of London. The celebrating spies had even written a poem for the occasion, which Jane could recite by heart now, since her father had made her memorize each and every word. She whispered it, prepping herself for her mission like a good officer prepping his troops before war:

"Oh, you better watch out. You better not die. You better not doubt, I'm telling you why. Dracul is coming to Town! He's making a list, and who knows who'll be first? He's going to find out whose blood will slake his thirst. Dracul is coming to Town: He bites you when you're sleeping. He knows when you're awake. So hang the garlic in your bedchamber, get a cross for goodness' sake. Dracul is coming to Town!"

She sighed. "It's not Shakespeare," she admitted. But she would give credit where credit was due. Finding Dracul was the most sought-after honor her father's employees could hope to achieve. Besides dispatching the monster, of course.

Yes, everyone who was anyone in the field of vampire-slaying wanted to be the one to put an end to this most heinous and debauched undead of all time. He was a creature so perverted and deranged, he'd let his three brides feed on children while he himself feasted on young virgins, terrorizing them before he took their life's blood and their maidenheads. He was evil to the core, a vampire who had never run tame, and who knew nothing of the quality of mercy.

And Jane was to dissolve the dissolute Dracul tonight, or so her father had ordered. It would be a major achievement, and would place Jane in the gloriously elite ranks of all the other Van Helsings. This was what her father sought: his daughter's destruction of the Prince of Supreme Evil. But Jane only wanted a cup of hot chocolate, a good novel to read and her trusted dog, Spot, by her side.

Sighing softly, she regretted again that life was never quite what one expected. But then, death probably wasn't either, she decided as she watched a guest stroll by in a black robe and with a sickle in his hand.

Taking a deep breath, she forced her chin up and straightened her back, pushing her gloomy thoughts away. She was about to put her father's strategy, Operation Petticoat, into effect.