Worse, she began to consider what her father would say. "Court-martial, definitely," Jane remarked to herself. "With no Van Helsing honors and no French horns playing taps." He had really become quite the bear after her mother died.
Now he was autocratic, fanatical and would be permanently disturbed to know that his daughter was fantasizing about the Earl of Wolverton, aka Dracul—most especially since the major was patting himself on the back over his newest plan. He called it Out on a Limb. The point being to penetrate the six-foot-two vampire from above, in a tree. The strategy had been adopted due to Jane's being too short to stake accurately any six-foot-something creature, even standing on tiptoe. And this would give her momentum, diving down from above.
Yes, like the name implied, to accomplish her mission Jane would have to climb a tree and go out on a limb. It was not a bad plan, really, Jane told herself halfheartedly, trying to be fair to her zealot father as she approached the large oak at the end of Berkeley Square. She'd attempted worse. She was simply branching out.
"Maybe if I were a monkey," she mused. "Or what if I were an acrobat at the circus—or that attractive though rather apish Tars, Lord Graystroke, fellow? The major's plan might just be perfect." But Jane was all too aware that she hadn't climbed a tree since she'd left the schoolroom. This was bound to end in disaster.
Stopping at the massive oak and glancing about, she noted that only fog filled the night. No one was around. That's one good thing, she thought as she stared up, up, up the huge trunk. But she couldn't think of any other good things.
Jane sighed in resignation. It didn't matter that she was rusty at climbing trees; she could just as well forget her insecurities and fears. "Tonight's the night. It has just got to be all right." She had to have a reason to believe that. She knew the rules. The first cut must be the deepest, and must be true to destroy that which was forever young. Her father's vampire-assault trainer, Mr. Stewart, had cautioned her that to spare the rod was to spoil the sneak attack. Then Mr. Stewart had patiently gone over the rules again and again, despite her telling him that she didn't wish to talk about them anymore.
"There had better not be any spiders or cobwebs in that oak tree," she called out dramatically, hoping those things would take it as a warning and flee. She could really use a nice piece of chocolate about now. That was her cure-all for feeling overwhelmed.
"Bah! Humbug!" Disgruntled, she tucked her skirt ends under her belt. Mr. Stewart had suggested she wear breeches like a boy. Horsefeathers to that! She would be a very old maid before she let herself appear in public in pants. Vampire-hunting might be a messy, dirty job, but she would still be the same dignified lady she'd always been. Or that she'd tried to be.
No, just because she was a slayer, that didn't mean she had to ignore fashion. She wouldn't. Thus her silk gown of pale peach had lace at the neckline and sleeves. The dress was of the first water, meaning the design had only recently arrived off the boat from Paris. Her one concession to practicality had been to wear her hair in a single long braid, rather than atop her head as usual.
"All dressed up and no place to go but up a tree. Humph!" she muttered.
Checking once more to see if she was alone in the square, Jane unslung the black bag of tools on her shoulder and set it on the ground, then removed a rope. As she began fastening the rope to both her body and the bag, she pursed her lips, her expression one of supreme irritation.
"There is another problem with being a well-dressed vampire hunter," she realized, preparing to climb the tree. "I bet I chip my nails or bark my shin."
She stifled the mad urge to kick her black bag, for it held all of her work tools: silver crosses, chains, holy water vials, garlic, all manner of stakes. She had so many different kinds of stakes, all made by her family. Each was specialized.
Jane began to climb the tree, her gown tucked between her knees. After several awkward starts, she finally reached a limb she felt reasonably certain would be a good perch: She would have a bird's-eye view of her hapless victim's approach. Unluckily, she not only chipped her nails in the effort, but also skinned her knees and tore her gown. Muttering unladylike curses, she vowed this time her father would outfit her with three new silk dresses for the one she'd ruined on his stupid, stupid plan.
"That is, if I live to see the dawn and Madame Burton's dressmaking shop again," she admitted.
Cautiously, Jane settled back against the harsh bark of the tree, wishing she was home in her big soft bed with its plump pillows. She would so much rather be there with a good novel and a nice cup of cocoa. Or she could be working on her drawings of the yellow-bellied sapsucker to add to her beloved collection.
Realistically, Jane knew she lived with her head in the clouds, but it was so much prettier up there. There, life was beautiful, filled with light, laughter, dignity and serenity. Make-believe was much dreamier than her cold, bleak life of cemeteries and walking corpses. Well, Lord Asher was somewhat dreamy, but she had to kill him.
Leaning her head against the oak, Jane decided that if she survived this night, she could have a treat. She would have both cocoa and chocolate bonbons. Imagining the rich taste of the chocolate on her tongue enabled Jane to forget her circumstances momentarily, until a realization called out for immediate attention. She'd forgotten her bag on the ground.
Swearing and slapping her hand against her head, she leaned over and struggled with great effort to haul the tools up to the limb where she was perched. Once she and the bag were securely settled, she began to check the supplies. Her father had warned her time and again that her tools must be kept clean, in mint condition and in alphabetical order. She hoped she'd been listening the last time she used them.
Opening her case, she winced at the smell of garlic wafting forth. That was another downside to being a vampire slayer—she absolutely hated garlic: the smell, the taste, the way the ugly little plant was shaped. Jane rummaged quickly through her bag, noting that she was short a stake or two.
"Curses!" she exclaimed. She didn't have Van Helsing models #3 or #4. She didn't think that was a good thing. The #2 was thinner, generally used for staking extremely thin or short vampires. The #1 was an economy model, was not particularly sharp and was used only to stake mummies, who were often very ancient vampires in disguise.
Jane knew the #1 was definitely out, and the #2 wasn't much better. She could only hope it would work on such a big, healthy specimen as the earl without a wooden mallet, since she had also neglected to pack those. She supposed her nosedive attack would be enough. She hoped.
Staring dejectedly at her two small stakes, Jane felt cords of apprehension tighten the muscles in her neck, and she admitted that the odds of her mission's success had just been greatly reduced. Still, jumping from a tree and attacking from behind might give her the leverage she needed. "I can only hope that gravity will do the trick," she said.
Jane's brow wrinkled as she tried to recall her Staking 101 class for any other tricks, but it was useless; her mind was a blank. Not surprising, since Staking 101 had been held in the long-ago spring, when the red-breasted robin was first spotted bob, bob, bobbing along through Hyde Park. Jane's mind had been on its rocking, not on her studies.