Little Vampire Women Page 18

  I think that’s enough information for one missive, for it’s late now and I must go to my coffin if I am to get any rest at all this day. Please know that so far my big-city adventure is shaping up to be most happy and productive and yet I still miss you all dreadfully. I will promise not to get into any mischief if you will all promise to be well and not change. (That goes double for you, Bethy!) Send my love to Laurie, who I hope is happy and busy, that he has given up smoking and lets his hair grow. Read him bits of my letter. I haven’t time to write much, and that will do just as well.

  Bless you all! Ever your loving…Jo

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  FRIENDS

  Though very happy in the social atmosphere about her, and very busy with the nightly work that earned her blood and made it sweeter for the effort, Jo was profoundly disappointed with her New York adventure, for she had made no progress in her objective to find Bang. She readily admitted to an initial hesitance, for being in a great, vast city and away from her family were two large changes that were entirely intimidating, and she wanted to first feel comfortable with them before bearding the lion in his den.

  Perhaps she would have been a little braver had her first visit to the New York affiliate not been so unsettling, but she hadn’t anticipated that the building would be so large and imposing. And yet the immense gray structure, smoked black with pollution and hemmed with bars, was a welcoming little cottage compared with its overseer, Mr. Dashwood, the smokiest gentleman in a room full of smokers. Carefully cherishing his cigar between his fingers, he advanced with a nod and a countenance expressive of nothing but sleep. Feeling that she must get through the matter somehow, Jo produced her letter of introduction and, growing more and more inarticulate with each sentence, blundered out fragments of the little speech carefully prepared for the occasion.

  “A friend of mine desired me to come—some training—just a few weeks—would like your help—be glad to do more if it suits.”

  While she babbled and blundered, Mr. Dashwood had taken the letter, and was turning over the leaves with a pair of rather dirty fingers, and casting critical glances up and down the neat pages.

  “Not a novice, I take it?” observing that Gentleman Jackson called her by her first name.

  “No, sir. I’ve had some experience.”

  “Oh, have you?” and Mr. Dashwood gave Jo a quick look, which seemed to take note of everything she had on, from the bow in her bonnet to the buttons on her boots. “Well, you can fill out an application, if you like. We’ve more cadets than we know what to do with at present, but I’ll run my eye over it, and give you an answer next week.”

  Now, Jo did not like to leave an application, for applying for a program much like the one she’d already graduated from didn’t suit her at all, but, under the circumstances, there was nothing for her to do but fill out a form and walk away, looking particularly tall and dignified, as she was apt to do when nettled or abashed. Just then she was both, for it was perfectly evident from the knowing glances exchanged among the gentlemen that a female aspiring to be a defender was considered a good joke, and a laugh, produced by some inaudible remark of the headmaster, as he closed the door, completed her discomfiture. Half resolving never to return, she went home, and worked off her irritation by stitching pinafores vigorously, and in an hour or two was cool enough to laugh over the scene and long for next week.

  When she went again, Mr. Dashwood was alone, whereat she rejoiced. He was much wider awake than before, which was agreeable, and was not too deeply absorbed in a cigar to remember his manners, so the second interview was much more comfortable than the first.

  “We’ll take you, if you don’t object to repeating a few classes,” he said, in a businesslike tone.

  “Thank you, sir. I appreciate the opportunity,” she said, for repeating classes meant extra training, which translated into extra preparedness and to that she could have no objection. But her visit to New York, though interestingly educational in many ways, had a precise purpose from which she would not be swayed by other concerns. “I wonder, sir, if you’ve had any time to think about the matter Gentleman Jackson discussed in his letter.”

  “Eh?” asked Mr. Dashwood, frowning.

  “Dr. Bang, sir. He’s a pernicious slayer from up north who knows the formula for the chilly death. Perhaps you’ve heard of vampires dying, human-like, of a strange disease similar to scarlet fever?”

  Mr. Dashwood shot up from his chair and called for his assistant, saying excitedly to her, “You know of this illness?”

  “Yes, yes, my father and sister suffered from it.”

  “Good. Very good,” he said, then immediately apologized for implying that it was good that her father and sister had suffered. “I meant only that it was good that you had information, for we’ve had one case and have been much puzzled by it.”

  The headmaster’s assistant came into the room and took notes while Jo answered a dozen questions about the chilly death, explaining all she knew and detailing her pursuit of Dr. Bang. She could not recall the precise measurements for the antidote and strongly urged that he write immediately to Gentleman Jackson to discover the exact recipe.

  When the interview was over, Mr. Dashwood stood again and offered his hand. “Thank you, ma’am, for coming in. With your help, we’ll be able to stop this plague before it begins.”

  Jo assured them she was glad to help, then reiterated why she was there and requested his assistance in apprehending Dr. Bang at his Waverly Street residence.

  The headmaster was surprised to hear that Miss March had such detailed information about their enemy and assured her they would take care of the matter right away. He pulled out his poison-dart gun, affixed it to his belt, and ordered his second in command to secure a warrant to provide them access to the establishment, for as vampires they could not enter without an invitation from the city. Then he called for his team to follow him to Waverly Place. He paused at the door for the address, which Jo, realizing now that she wasn’t part of the squad even if she was a cadet, withheld, for it was her only bargaining chip and she refused to let them go without her.

  Mr. Dashwood furrowed his brow and calmly explained the immodesty involved in a woman, a mere slip of a girl, really, pursuing such a dangerous course of action, but Jo, no mere slip of a girl, despite her girlishness, stood her ground and was soon issued a battle jacket36 that the defenders in the city wore, a sort of vest made of material impenetrable by wood.

  Two hours later, Mr. Dashwood’s team had swept the home, which was a four-story townhouse in an area known as Greenwich Village, and secured the perimeter, but the hideout had been recently deserted, for only a large family of rats remained to gorge on stale bread and cheese. The team questioned the neighbors using a potion that ensured that only the truth would be spoken, which Mr. Dashwood himself had invented. The interviews revealed Bang to be a secretive man who kept the blinds drawn and received visitors at all hours of the night and day.

  “Other collaborators,” Mr. Dashwood said. “Don’t lose heart, Miss March, the trail is still hot. I will put a detail on this building in case he comes back and pursue all the clues left in the abandoned house.”

  Jo didn’t lose heart, for she knew what he said was true, that the house was a treasure trove of leads to follow up on, and while the members of the New Institute for Vampire-Slayer Hunting searched for answers using all the resources at their disposal, she searched using all the resources at hers.

  Eager to find material, any material at all, that might be relevant, she searched newspapers for reports of accidents, incidents, and crimes that might be linked to Dr. Bang. She excited the suspicions of public librarians by asking for works on poisons, seeking additional information about the chilly death. She studied faces in the street, and characters, good, bad, and indifferent, all about her, hoping that a greater understanding of humanity might give her insight into Bang’s mind. She delved in the dust of ancient times to learn about tricks and ploys
so old that they were as good as new, and introduced herself to folly, sin, and misery, as well as her limited opportunities allowed, by going to bars and taverns where Bang and his gang might frequent. She accompanied Mr. Dashwood and his team on raids of suspected headquarters and hideouts and received as compensation a nice stipend that she put toward taking Beth to the mountains next summer. She descended into the depths of the New Institute laboratory, where Dashwood’s people ran tests on the slayers they’d captured. She thought she was prospering finely and acquiring new skills, but unconsciously she was beginning to desecrate some of the womanliest attributes of a woman’s character. She was living in bad society, and though in the pursuit of good, its influence affected her terribly, for she was feeding heart and fancy on dangerous and insubstantial food, and was fast brushing the innocent bloom from her nature by a premature acquaintance with the darker side of life, which comes soon enough to all of us.

  Jo told nobody in the house why she was so busy. If anyone in the boardinghouse noticed her distraction or that she seemed to always be on the go, always on the point of arriving somewhere or leaving somewhere else, he or she didn’t say. She didn’t share her occupation with Professor Bhaer because previous conversation with him led her to believe he would not approve. The Professor was a traditional gentleman vampire from Transylvania, centuries old and committed to the ancient ways, and she could tell from the disgust in his voice when he spoke of truth potions and poisoned darts that he didn’t have much respect for vampires like Gentleman Jackson with their scientifical methods and their newfangled inventions.

  After a month of acquaintance, Jo longed to confess her secret to the Professor, for she found him to be as attractive as a genial fire and as happy-hearted as a boy. The pleasant curves about his mouth were the memorials of many friendly words and cheery laughs, his eyes were never cold or hard, and his big hand had a warm, strong grasp that was more expressive than words. She had great respect for his intellect, for she knew that in his native city he had been a vampire much honored and esteemed for learning and integrity.

  She had a chance to witness his impressive intelligence and integrity one night when, in the course of an evening at a philosophical symposium, she heard him defend religion with all the eloquence of truth against those who would reason it into nothingness and replace God with intellect. She began to see that character is a better possession than money, rank, intellect, or beauty, and to feel that if greatness is what a wise vampire has defined it to be, “truth, reverence, and good will,”37 then her friend Friedrich Bhaer was not only good, but great.

  She valued his esteem, she coveted his respect, she wanted to be worthy of his friendship, and just when the wish was sincerest, she came near to losing everything. It all grew out of a cocked hat, for one evening the Professor came in to give Jo her lesson with a paper soldier cap on his head, which Tina had put there and he had forgotten to take off.

  Jo said nothing at first, for she liked to hear him laugh out his big, hearty laugh when anything funny happened, so she left him to discover it for himself, and presently forgot all about it, for to hear a Transylvanian read Slaj38 is rather an absorbing occupation. After the reading came the lesson, which was a lively one, for Jo was in a gay mood that night, and the cocked hat kept her eyes dancing with merriment. The Professor didn’t know what to make of her, and stopped at last to ask with an air of mild surprise that was irresistible…

  “Mees Marsch, for what do you laugh in your master’s face? Haf you no respect for me, that you go on so bad?”

  “How can I be respectful, Sir, when you forget to take your hat off?” said Jo.

  Lifting his hand to his head, the absentminded Professor gravely felt and removed the little cocked hat, looked at it a minute, and then threw back his head and laughed like a merry bass viol.

  “Ah! I see him now, it is that imp Tina who makes me a fool with my cap. Vell, it is nothing, but see you, if this lesson goes not vell, you, too, shall vear him.”

  But the lesson did not go at all for a few minutes because Mr. Bhaer caught sight of a picture on the hat, and unfolding it, said with great disgust, “I vish these papers did not come in the house. They are not for children to see, nor young people to read. It is not vell, and I haf no patience with those who make this harm.”

  Jo glanced at the sheet and saw a pleasing illustration composed of a lunatic, a corpse, a vampire, and a viper. She did not like it, but the impulse that made her turn it over was not one of displeasure but fear. For a minute she fancied the article that accompanied the picture, which was the image the New Institute used to represent itself, might mention her, for the press often reported on, and sensationalized, the frequent raids into the lairs of suspected slayers carried out by the Dashwood Dozen, as journalists liked to call the band of devoted defenders. It did not, however, and her panic subsided as she remembered that there was nothing to connect her. She had betrayed herself, however, by a look, for though an absent vampire, the Professor saw a good deal more than people fancied. He knew that Jo was in town to accomplish a very important task, and had met her down among the streets in the unsavory part of town more than once, but as she never spoke of it, he asked no questions in spite of a strong desire to know more about her work. Now it occurred to him that she was doing what she was ashamed to own, and it troubled him. He did not say to himself, “It is none of my business. I’ve no right to say anything,” as many people would have done. He only remembered that she was young and poor, a girl far away from mother’s love and father’s care, and he was moved to help her with an impulse as quick and natural as that which would prompt him to put out his hand to save a baby from a puddle. All this flashed through his mind in a minute, but not a trace of it appeared in his face, and by the time the paper was turned, and Jo’s needle threaded, he was ready to say quite naturally, but very gravely…

  “Yes, you are right to put it from you. I do not think that good young girls should see such stories, which turn these Dashwooders into heroes. You should be protected from such sordid filth.”

  “All may not be bad, you know. Groups like the Dashwood Dozen serve a purpose. Someone must rid society of slayers or we are all at risk,” said Jo, scratching gathers so energetically that a row of little slits followed her pin.

  “Visky sellers satisfy a need for liquid, but I think you and I know that’s not the vay to quench a thirst. Slayers must be captured, yes, but not using these scientifical methods which erode our natural abilities. A vampire who relies on a serum of truth loses the ability to glamour and control minds. Ve are not meant to vear masks to filter out garlic. Ve haf the natural ability, but vhy learn and study if you can buy an instrument at the store? The old vays are dying and vith it our identity. The new ones see these stories about the Dashwooders and their ilk and think this is vhat it means to be vampire. They don’t learn to develop their powers. Ve are holy creatures. Humans are damned. If ve continue to become more like humans, ve vill be damned, too.”

  Mr. Bhaer spoke warmly, and walked to the fire, crumpling the paper in his hands. Jo sat still, looking as if the fire had come to her, for her mortification remained long after the cocked hat had turned to smoke and gone harmlessly up the chimney.

  Jo had never encountered a vampire who felt as he did, for the reliance on potions, instruments, and scientifical investigation was hailed by many, if not all, of her acquaintances as a breakthrough in slayer hunting. Employing the very tools on slayers that slayers used on them was seen as a way of leveling the playing field. The old method of relying on instinct and honing natural abilities had been deemed a failure by Bloody Wobblestone, and she had believed it. But now she had to reconsider her beliefs, for she respected the Professor’s intellect far too much to dismiss his words. They stayed with her during her lesson and, after another unsuccessful raid on Bang’s supposed hideout, she asked the Professor to elaborate on his philosophy so that she herself might come to share it.

  He did not look surprised by
her request, which proved to her that he knew everything, even though she had spoken none of it. “Ve are vampires,” he said, echoing his words from the earlier evening but with a new emphasis and pride. “Ve can do many things which these humans cannot and that is how ve catch our enemies. Not by the vials and potions. Dashwood and his dozen vant glory, not justice.” He launched then into such a fantastic account of the ways vampires had evolved through millennia to survive among humans, charmorization39 and transmogrification among them, that Jo felt as though she was listening to a tale from one of Madame de La Fayette’s books.

  “Can you really change into a bat?” she asked excitedly.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” he said solemnly.

  “Can you do it here? Right now?” Her enthusiasm was such that she charged forward with her request, never once considering the propriety of it, and it was only when he looked slightly abashed that she realized it might seem to him as if she considered the great wonder a mere parlor trick. “I didn’t mean…I’m sorry…” she stuttered.

  The kindly gentleman smiled, revealing those beautiful fangs, shook his head gently, and disappeared into thin air, reappearing a moment later as a furry, winged creature a few inches above her head. And it looked as if to be grinning at her!

  Proper or not, Jo clapped her hands, for it seemed like the most glorious thing she’d ever seen. “How marvelous,” she shouted, for she knew nothing of a bat’s ability to hear and its ears were so small.