Miss Stoker
In Which Miss Stoker Is Twice Surprised
Neither Miss Adler nor Miss Holmes had indicated if or when we should meet again, so after the events at the museum, I was in no hurry to return to Grantworth House to sleep. Probably the two had plans for the next day—likely exciting tasks such as visiting the Hodgeworth family home, getting to know each other better, and searching for beetles. Miss Holmes could search for clues by interviewing every young woman in London if she wanted to. I had more important things to do, like saving unsuspecting mortals from the fangs of demonic vampires.
Barring that, at least I might be able to interfere in a mugging or other criminal assault between two mortals. I had to find something to do with myself.
After Pix melted into the shadows and left me wiping all trace of his soft, arrogant lips from the back of my hand, I took my time walking home. Unfortunately, nothing dangerous or exciting presented itself. By five o’clock, I gave up and returned to the house I shared with Bram and his family.
Though it wasn’t necessary that I climb the oak tree growing outside my balcony, I did so simply because I could. It seemed only right that a vampire hunter should be sneaking in and out of the house, rather than walking through the front door. My brother Bram knew how I spent my nights, but his wife, Florence, did not. Even though she was like a mother to me, Bram and I chose to keep her in the dark about my vocation.
I’d been living in London since I was ten. Born to an elderly mother and father, I’d been raised by a variety of young relatives, most recently Bram and Florence. My brother was twenty-five years my senior and more of a father to me than my blood parents, and I’d come to love Florence as a mother as well. She was sweet and practical, though she was more interested in marrying me off than I was in finding a husband. Our family life was simple and uneventful until a little more than a year ago. I’d had a series of terrifying dreams in which I was being chased by a vampire, and that was when I learned not only of our family legacy, but of my calling to be a vampire hunter. When I told Bram about the dreams, at first he seemed surprised and then a little disgruntled. But apparently he knew what to do and arranged for my introduction to Siri.
The woman who became my mentor had trained other vampire hunters. Siri taught me that the UnDead tend to collect in populous areas, where their victims were less likely to be found or missed. She also arranged for our household to move into the spacious Grantworth House, which had been in the Stoker family since before my great-great-aunt Victoria. Not only did it give me space to practice, but it was almost like an inheritance I gained after learning I was the next vampire hunter. The move to the mansion had coincided with my debut into Society and gave me access to the upper crust of London. Florence couldn’t have been happier with this turn of events, and she and I spent far too many hours shopping for clothing to wear to balls, dinner parties, the theater, and even summer picnics in Hyde Park.
My real parents still lived in Ireland, unaware of the secret legacy of vampire hunting by select members of our family. I wasn’t certain how Bram even knew, and he never bothered to tell me. Although it was nice having someone I could talk to about my vocation, I also felt awkward. He believed it should have been he who’d had the calling.
But Bram had a wife and child. He couldn’t put himself in the way of evil and danger. Who would take care of them if something happened to him?
I didn’t have anyone to worry about. Just me.
Bram might love me as a sister and even as a daughter, but he was so enamored with our family legacy and the unnatural skills that came with it that he seemed more interested in encouraging me than protecting me. Sometimes I wondered if he was too certain of my abilities and assumed I was infallible. And since Siri had disappeared shortly after my encounter with a vampire, there really wasn’t anyone else to worry about me.
I had dark moments when I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d given up on me. Or had there been a mistake? Maybe I really wasn’t a vampire hunter after all, and she’d moved on to train someone more worthy.
My mouth turned down, and I brushed away the unpleasant thought. I was a Venator.
I’d prove myself worthy. Somehow.
I slept well and woke when the sun raged through the window of my bedchamber. It was hours past noon, as well as being an unusually sunny day in our dreary London. Bram would be at the Lyceum Theatre, where he was the manager, and Florence would be shopping or making social calls. I considered myself fortunate that my sister-in-law hadn’t awakened me to join her. My nephew, Noel, would be at school, and my maidservant, Pepper, was likely off with the cook, Mrs. Bullensham, on their daily errands.
I anticipated a quiet afternoon wherein I could sharpen some extra stakes and perhaps practice some of my fighting skills in the music room. Even though I wasn’t a cognoggin by any means, I was looking forward to using a new device Bram had found for me. It was designed for gentlemen who liked to spar in a boxing ring and wanted a way to practice at home. Mr. Jackson’s Mechanized-Mentor was a life-size machine sporting two “arms” and self-propelling wheels, along with the ability to squat or duck from side to side. With a small adjustment, it also could be used to practice the waltz, which was the excuse Bram had given Florence for acquiring the contraption. Her delight had likely been due to visions of me dancing flawlessly with some eligible duke or viscount.
When I came downstairs, our housekeeper, Mrs. Gernum, gave me a thick, white folded notecard. Another invitation to a ball or dance or picnic that I had no interest in attending. I would have tucked it away so Florence wouldn’t see it, but I noticed the seal of the British Museum.
It is necessary to our recent appointment for you and I to attend a f
—M. Holmes
My response ranged from vexation at the tone of her letter to exasperation that I’d have to subject myself to the fawning attentions of anemic, boring young men who had no idea how easily I could outdo them . . . and ended with me rolling my eyes. What possible reason could there be for us to attend a party at the home of Lord Cosgrove-Pitt, the leader of Parliament?
. . . at which time I will give you further details.
And was it just my imagination, or was that phrase laden with smugness? Mina Holmes seemed like an insufferable know-it-all who ordered people about and rolled over anyone who disagreed with her . . . like one of the Refuse-Agitators that moved along the sewage canals and flattened everything into muck.
Right, then, Miss Holmes. I glanced down at the masculine writing, taking a page from her book and examining it. I sneered. One would have expected Mina Holmes to write with precise, neat characters instead of such a scrawl.
Then a prickle of guilt trickled over me, and my irritation evaporated like a puff of steam. Had I not promised my services to Princess Alexandra only hours ago? And here I was, grumbling about the next task set before me simply because it was not to my liking.
Maybe I wasn’t the right sort of person for this assignment. Maybe I didn’t quite fit in Miss Adler’s society. After all, I couldn’t even look at a dead body without turning into a jellied mass of paralysis.
I sat up straight and glared down at the letter as if it were Miss Holmes herself. No. I was just as able as she. Probably more so.
I wasn’t going to let that gawky brain-beak show me up.
As I dashed off a quick response to Miss Holmes, I couldn’t help but smile. I might prefer to be doing something other than having Pepper attend to my hair and then making conversation with a roomful of people I hardly cared to know, but Mina Holmes was bound to be even less enthusiastic about the idea. From our conversation last night, it was obvious she didn’t know anyone in Society, nor did she seem comfortable with the idea of interacting within it.
My smile turned into a smirk. At least I had something suitable to wear.
When Miss Holmes climbed into my carriage at eight o’clock, I goggled at her, and my snide thoughts about the contents of her closet evaporated. Her gown was one of the most gorgeous pieces of up-to-the-date,
