Minda Webber - The Reluctant Miss Van Helsing

Actually, she thought as she glanced down at herself, it was a bad name for the operation, as she had no petticoats at all. In fact, she felt almost naked as she inspected her Cleopatra costume, tailored by Miss Elizabeth Burton. The gown's material was a shimmering green that clung to Jane's body while baring her right shoulder and arm. The left side of the garment had a rich golden wrap attached, hiding the deep pocket where Jane had stashed her flask of holy water. It was a costume designed to entice, yet to hide what needed to be hidden. The outfit had been specified by the major, her father, after he'd reviewed military tactics and decided to use holy water as the instrument of destruction for the Prince of Darkness. That decision had been reached after the major had painstakingly discussed in vivid detail with Jane the misstakes of her last two vampire slayings, and how this time everything would go just right.

To complete the outfit, Jane wore on her upper arm two golden serpentine bracelets. A dark golden mask covered most of her face and, to her relief, her freckles. A long black wig hung silkily down her back. In truth she looked like another woman, which gave her confidence. But, she reminded herself, "Though a daffodil may want to be a rose, it will be a daffodil even if it can somehow change its petals."

Still, she was in fine looks tonight. Earlier, when she had inspected her reflection like a general inspects his troops, she had decided she did look rather enticing. She felt almost mysterious, and attractive enough to be a seducer of Anthonys and Caesars. She hoped the subterfuge would work, and that she would be able to lure the lusty Earl of Wolverton into a secluded room. Once there, she would then do her duty, hoping not to actually have her virtue or life compromised by the earl's legendary appetites.

Jane took a deep breath. It was going to be quite a messy night. Especially for Count Dracul, alias the Prince of Darkness, alias the Earl of Wolverton.

"Impatience is the hobgoblin of little minds," Jane reminded herself, scanning the crowded ballroom. As of yet, the Earl of Wolverton had not put in an appearance. This left Jane to ponder if the posthumous prince was out having a midnight snack while she was stuck pretending to be the Queen of the Nile. At the rate the night was going, she would have been better off having herself rolled up and delivered to the earl in a carpet, as the real Cleopatra had done with Julius Caesar. After all, Jane just wanted this whole unpleasant business over and done with as quickly as possible. Then she could go home and be privately sick.

"Humbug!" she groused. "Can't a vampire be counted on to cooperate just a tad? All he has to do is show up and be wooed. I'm the one who has to do the hard part—playing a wanton woman." It would not be an easy role for a lady who'd never even seen her brother's mistress.

Playing with the pocket of her gown, Jane continued to scan the ballroom. She noticed a tall man dressed in a knight's costume. His mask hid his face and hair, but the chilling blue of his eyes struck her strangely, with both menace and an air of foreboding. The knight was whispering to Lady Veronique—a French widow with few morals, or so it was said. The lady was wearing a half-mask of gold with a gypsy costume.

Jane shuddered, wondering who the black knight was, and at her strange reaction to him. But a few seconds later both he and Lady Veronique were gone, the black knight escorting the notorious French widow from the room, and Jane felt relieved that they were gone.

Again she scanned the room, and suddenly her face lit up in a smile. It appeared that Clair Frankenstein Huntsley had arrived in London a day earlier than expected!

In spite of her apprehension and dread of the messy task ahead, Jane knew that the new Mrs. Huntsley was bound to improve her humor. Clair was one of her few close friends, since friendships were hard to form and maintain as one of those mortals living on the boundaries of the supernatural world. It was a hard life when one couldn't tell others much about oneself, unless one's friends were also familiar with familiars, werewolves and vampires. Even now, from her bosom friend, Jane still had many secrets bound by Van Helsing blood oaths that couldn't be repeated to another living soul unless they too were vampire slayers.

Yes, without Clair, Jane's life would have been much lonelier. Fortunately for her, her friend had burst into her life like a raging thunderstorm. Blithely and in her very unique manner, Clair Frankenstein had mischievously opened Jane's eyes to the absurdity of English society and their part in it. From early childhood the two girls had shared laughter and—in later, more mature years—light despair at the various eccentricities of both their families. Clair didn't care that Jane wasn't a beauty of the two. Clair didn't care that Jane was a round peg trying to fit into a square hole. Clair didn't care that Jane had yet to live up to her family motto; A vampire a day is the Van Helsing way .

Of course, the girls were very different in some ways. Clair was a Frankenstein, and Frankensteins rarely cared about anything not directly related to their studies of supernatural monsters. Jane's family just staked them, make no mistake about it. Clair would say, "Every vampire tells a story." Jane would say, "Watch where you stand if you don't want to ruin your gown."

And now too, Clair Frankenstein was a Huntsley, since she had recently married Baron Harold Ian Huntsley, whom she called Harry whenever she was angry or very merry. Quite appropriate, the Harry bit, Jane mused, since Clair's husband was sometimes the hairiest thing in London.

Jane giggled, watching Clair converse with two gentlemen who were dressed as a sheik of Arabia and a Roman centurion. Clair herself wore a shepherdess costume, complete with crook.

Jane laughed louder, saying to herself, "Only Clair would be outrageous enough to dress as a shepherd when she is married to one of the biggest wolves around." But then, Clair had seen the sheep in wolf's clothing that was the baron's good nature and kind heart after he'd fallen in love. Jane had heard many a rumor that Baron Huntsley was one of the biggest rakes in London before he met Clair, but he'd fallen head over paws for her. Now his wolfish tendencies were reserved for full moons.

As Jane strolled toward Clair, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of the green-eyed monster, jealousy. Less than a year ago her friend had been involved in one of her usual supernatural research projects, trying to prove scientifically the presence of vampires and werewolves in London. Clair had not known with any certainty if monsters were lurking in the city's graveyards and doorways, but had set about proving it. And Clair's comedy-of-errors experiments had yielded results she hadn't expected: marriage to the man of her dreams. Well, to the werewolf of her dreams. And Jane was jealous of her friend's happiness.

It was lucky, for Jane and Clair's friendship that the Van Helsings only hunted vampires and occasionally, demons. Werewolves and other hairy shape-shifting creatures were off-limits. Not one of Jane's antecedents had ever harmed a shape-shifter—not with the skeletons in the Van Helsing closet. A fact her mortal-purist father discouraged having disclosed was that the great monster-hunting Van Helsings had werelionesses for both a great-grandmother and a great-aunt. This ancestry Jane took great pride in. Just as she was proud that neither of her feline relatives had ever run tame, and that they lived their lives exactly as they wanted, walking on the wild side of life with their mates.

As Jane approached Clair and the two gentlemen, she craned her neck trying to spy Frederick, the Frankenstein monster. Freddie was Clair's adopted cousin, and he loved masquerade balls. He always dressed up in the most outlandish costumes. Since he was well over six feet tall, he always stuck out like a sore thumb, and was about as attractive.