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 liked 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?"