Little Vampire Women

by Louisa May Alcott

  “Don’t think of me at all. I’d rather you wouldn’t,” said Meg.

  He was grave and pale now, and looked decidedly more like the novel heroes whom she admired, but he neither slapped his forehead nor tramped about the room as they did. He just stood looking at her so wistfully, so tenderly, that she found herself doubting her own conclusion. What if he weren’t a slayer but a genuine suitor? What would have happened next I cannot say, if Aunt March had not come hobbling in at this interesting minute.

  The old lady couldn’t resist her longing to see her nephew, for she had met Laurie as she took her airing, and hearing of Mr. March’s arrival, drove straight out to see him. The family were all busy in the back part of the house, and she had made her way quietly in, hoping to surprise them. She did surprise two of them so much that Meg started as if she had seen a ghost, and Mr. Brooke vanished into the study.

  “Bless me, what’s all this?” cried the old lady with a rap of her cane as she glanced at the departing young gentleman.

  “It’s Father’s friend. I’m so surprised to see you!” stammered Meg, feeling that she was in for a lecture now.

  “That’s evident,” returned Aunt March, sitting down. “But what is Father’s friend saying to make you look like a peony? There’s mischief going on, and I insist upon knowing what it is,” with another rap.

  “We were only talking. Mr. Brooke came for his umbrella,” began Meg, wishing that Mr. Brooke and the umbrella were safely out of the house.

  “Brooke? That boy’s tutor? Ah! I understand now. I know all about it. Jo blundered into a wrong message in one of your Father’s letters, and I made her tell me. You haven’t gone and accepted him, child?” cried Aunt March, looking scandalized.

  “Shan’t I call Mother?” said Meg, much troubled.

  “Not yet. I’ve something to say to you, and I must free my mind at once. This Cook is a vampire slayer and he’s only interested in you as a means to kill me,” said the old lady impressively.

  Meg had thought very much the same thing only a moment before, but her aunt’s vehement insistence made her reevaluate the validity of that conclusion. The paranoid old lady thought every maid, cook, valet, and butler in Concord was a vampire slayer; naturally, she would think the same of a lowly tutor (whom she seemed to have mistaken for a cook anyway). But like almost all maids, cooks, valets, and butlers in the city, he was merely a hardworking man struggling to make ends meet. Shame on Jo for making her think any differently.

  “I shall sire whom I please, Aunt March,” she said, nodding her head with a resolute air.

  “Highty-tighty! Is that the way you take my advice, Miss? You’ll be sorry for it by-and-by, when you’re pulling a stake out of your chest.”

  “It can’t be worse than having a conversation with you,” retorted Meg.

  Aunt March put on her glasses and took a look at the girl, for she did not know her in this new mood. Meg hardly knew herself, she felt so brave and independent, so glad to defend John and assert her right to love him, if she liked. Aunt March saw that she had begun wrong, and after a little pause, made a fresh start, saying as mildly as she could, “Now, Meg, my dear, be reasonable and take my advice. I mean it kindly, and don’t want you to spoil your whole life by aligning yourself with a man who means to end it. This Rook30 is a slayer and has dastardly plans to do you and your family—and by family, I of course mean myself—harm. I don’t doubt that he’s part of the group that’s been trying to decapitate me since they removed the head from your poor uncle’s body.”

  “Father and Mother don’t believe John is a slayer.”

  “Your parents, my dear, have no more worldly wisdom than a pair of babies.”

  “I’m glad of it,” cried Meg stoutly, although, of course, she would like them to be able to spot a slayer should one appear to court her.

  Aunt March took no notice, but went on with her lecture. “I realize you are having your first romance and cannot thusly be relied on to be logical. You are, in fact, poor and young and silly, and I will not stand for this another moment. From this minute on, you are not to see any more of this Hook. He is banished forever, do you understand?”

  “The only thing I understand is how egregiously you’ve misjudged Mr. Brooke, Aunt March. John is good and wise, he’s got heaps of talent, he’s willing to work and sure to get on, he’s so energetic and brave. Everyone likes and respects him, and I’m proud to think he cares for me, though I’m so poor and young and silly,” said Meg, looking prettier than ever in her earnestness.

  “He knows you have got important relations, child. That’s the secret of his liking. He wants to kill me in my coffin.”

  “Aunt March, how dare you say such a thing? John is above such meanness, and I won’t listen to you a minute if you talk so,” cried Meg indignantly, forgetting everything but the injustice of the old lady’s suspicions. “My John wouldn’t kill you, any more than I would. We are willing to work and we mean to wait. I’m not afraid of being poor, for I’ve been happy so far, and I know I shall be with him because he loves me, and I…”

  Meg stopped there, remembering all of a sudden that she hadn’t made up her mind, that she had told “her John” to go away and that he might be overhearing her inconsistent remarks.

  Aunt March was very angry, for she hated her advice not to be heeded, especially on a topic as serious as her life and possible assassination. Clearly, she would have to increase her own security to balance the greater threat to her welfare. It was all she could do.

  “Well, I wash my hands of the whole affair! You are a willful child, and you’ve lost more than you know by this piece of folly. No, I won’t stop. I’m disappointed in you, and haven’t spirits to see your father now. Don’t expect anything more from me. I’m done with you forever.”

  And slamming the door in Meg’s face, Aunt March drove off in high dudgeon. She seemed to take all the girl’s courage with her, for when left alone, Meg stood for a moment, undecided whether to laugh or wail. Before she could make up her mind, she was taken possession of by Mr. Brooke, who said all in one breath, “I couldn’t help hearing, Meg. Thank you for defending me, and Aunt March for proving that you do care for me a little bit.”

  “I didn’t know how much till she abused you,” began Meg.

  “And I needn’t go away, but may stay and be happy, may I, dear?”

  Here was another fine chance to make the crushing speech and the stately exit, but Meg never thought of doing either. “Yes, John,” she whispered and hid her face on Mr. Brooke’s waistcoat.

  Fifteen minutes after Aunt March’s departure, Jo came rushing into the house, paused an instant at the parlor door, and hearing no sound within, knocked down the door, terrified that she might find the glutinous remains of her dear sister upon the carpet and sofa. Instead, she beheld the enemy serenely sitting on the sofa, with her soon-to-be-decapitated sister enthroned upon his knee and wearing an expression of the most abject submission. Jo gave a sort of gasp, as if the hot sun had suddenly shined on her, for such an unexpected turning of the tables actually took her breath away. At the odd sound the lovers turned and saw her. Meg jumped up, looking both proud and shy, but “that man,” as Jo called him, actually laughed and said coolly, as he kissed the astonished newcomer, “Sister Jo, congratulate us!”

  That was adding insult to injury. It was altogether too much, and making some wild demonstration with her hands, Jo leaped into the air and landed on Mr. Brooke’s chest, propelling him to the floor, where he lay stunned for the merest moment before grabbing a small side table and smashing it over Jo’s head. The table split with a resounding crack and wood shards rained on the carpet as Jo’s fist connected with Mr. Brooke’s chin. His head dropped but his back arched, and with a mighty heave, he rolled over, pressing Jo into the carpet with a gleeful chuckle.

  “Filthy vamp,” he muttered.

  Jo raised her knee and applied forceful pressure on the part of a man that Gentleman Jackson described as “most v
ulnerable to injury” and heard his pained wail. She kicked him twice, then flipped him over, her arm against his throat, slowly depleting his weak human body of more air.

  When the fight began, Meg vanished without a word. Rushing upstairs, she startled the invalids by exclaiming tragically as she burst into the room, “Oh, do somebody go down quick! Jo is acting dreadfully!”

  Mr. and Mrs. March left the room with speed, hastened down to the parlor, where they found Jo slowly choking the life out of Meg’s suitor. Mr. March immediately ordered his daughter to cease and desist, and although Jo was far too angry to respond the first time, she quit her occupation without delay when he threatened to leave her outside for one full hour in the bright midday sun.

  Meg arrived in the room, followed by the other two girls.

  Marmee helped a wheezing John to his feet and led him to the couch while Jo looked on with burning eyes. His assurance of health was sought and attained before anyone turned to her to inquire after her well-being. She tapped her toe impatiently as Meg tore off a piece of her skirt and dabbed at his bleeding lip and her father offered him a cigarillo.

  When John was comfortably situated, her mother turned to her, her voice bathed in disappointment, for she had been so proud of Jo for controlling her bosom enemy and now this shocking display of unrestraint. “Jo, you may now explain to us how came you to attack John, a visitor in this house, and a dear and wonderful friend to all of us.”

  “As I’ve mentioned several times before, though you refuse to listen to me, Mr. Brooke is a vicious vampire slayer responsible for Father’s and Beth’s illness. I didn’t have evidence before but now I have proof taken from his own room,” she announced.

  With a shake of her head, Marmee said, “Jo, I realize you are determined to pursue a career as a defender, but that doesn’t excuse you from basic propriety. It is not suitable for a young lady to enter a gentleman’s rooms unaccompanied, nor is it proper for her to rifle among his things.”

  Jo impatiently accepted her mother’s criticism. Marmee was the best and goodest creature in the whole world, which was sometimes, only at the rarest times, of course, a little difficult to live with. “It was not my intention to rifle but to find evidence that would save all our lives. And I did,” she explained, producing from her pocket a slip of paper which she passed to her mother for examination. “The recipe for the chilly death. I found it in a small case in his closet hidden under a false floorboard. I also discovered some of the formula itself but I destroyed it immediately, lest it do further harm.”

  While Marmee read the ingredients, Brooke laughed viciously. “You’ve stopped me. Oh, you have. I’m your prisoner now. But you’ll never stop us all. I am one among many and we are legion, and we won’t rest until we’ve wiped all you filthy demons, you grotesque abominations, you monstrous insults to God, from the face of the—”

  His speech cut off suddenly as Meg dove for his throat, her fangs driving into his flesh as if trying to tear out his very soul. Intent on his rant, Brooke hadn’t seen it coming, nor had any of the occupants in the room. Father took a step forward, to chastise or comfort, Jo did not know, but before he could do anything, Marmee squeezed his arm and shook her head. Their kind, wonderful, oh-so-very-good mother understood her daughter’s intent before the girl herself even understood it, and she had no desire for her husband to interfere with the natural order of things.

  Jo’s heart cheered in joy at the slaying of their enemy, the man who had wrought so much damage and caused so much grief. But then her joy turned to misery as Meg cut open her vein and pressed Brooke’s lips to her arm. “No!” cried Jo, rushing forward, but she, like her father, was intercepted by the gentle Mrs. March, who patted her daughter’s arm and promised softly that everything would be all right. Meg was acting in a way most natural to a young girl in love who discovered her lover was not all he seemed. Of a certainty, she felt betrayed and was driven in part by a desire to punish him for his treachery by making him the thing he hated most. But a larger part of her simply wanted to keep him beside her for always. Marmee knew neither motivation was a bad thing. Many a satisfying union had begun with one spouse resenting the other for a premature death and unasked-for rebirth. She herself had borne a grudge against Mr. March for two whole days before she acknowledged that her new condition was wholly superior to her old one.

  But her mother’s confident assurances did little to calm Jo down. She saw the fear in Brooke’s eyes as he, like so many weak humans before him, drank the blood of a vampire to survive. His terror was palpable, for clearly he had long ago resigned himself to a violent death at the hand of a vengeful vampire but had never come to terms with the possibility of change, of being turned into one of them: a filthy demon, a grotesque abomination, an insult to God.

  Hannah came in to see what all the commotion was about and tsked disapprovingly at the damage done to the little room. The sound seemed to wake Meg from a stupor and she looked up at her parents, then down at her fiancé, then up at her parents again. For a moment, she seemed confused by her own actions, as if they were done by someone else, but then she smiled, blood dripping from the corners of her mouth, and said, “I know we were meant to wait three years, but this simply felt right.”

  Marmee quietly asked the girls to leave and with great reluctance they allowed themselves to be led out by Hannah. Nobody ever knew what went on in the parlor that evening, but a great deal of talking was done, and quiet Meg astonished her parents by the eloquence and spirit with which she defended her impulsive actions, pleaded her suit, told her plans, and persuaded them to arrange everything just as she wanted it. Mr. Brooke was unconscious and therefore unable to make his opinion of the situation known, but it was assumed that his sentiments had undergone a sweeping change with his own transformation into a demon and that he would be delighted to be accepted into one of Concord’s oldest vampire families, that he would happily comply with their strict humanitarian diet, and that he would eagerly supply the names of his coconspirators.

  The tea bell rang before she had finished describing the paradise which her fiancé would supply her, but the Marches left off their discussion to go into supper. Before they did, Marmee suggested they bury John in the back garden, where the transformation would be completed and where the whole family would gather the next night to greet him when he emerged from his grave, hungry and slightly discombobulated from the alteration.

  After Mr. March dug a shallow grave and Meg tossed her beloved in, they went in for their meal, Meg looking so happy that Jo hadn’t the heart to be angry or dismal. Amy was very much impressed by Meg’s dignity, Beth beamed at her from a distance, while Mr. and Mrs. March surveyed their daughter with such tender satisfaction that it was perfectly evident Aunt March was right in calling them as “unworldly as a pair of babies.” No one ate much, but everyone looked very happy, and the old room seemed to brighten up amazingly when the first romance of the family began there.

  “You can’t say nothing pleasant ever happens now, can you, Meg?” said Amy, trying to decide how she would group the lovers in a sketch she was planning to make.

  “No, I’m sure I can’t. How much has happened since I said that! It seems a year ago,” answered Meg, who was in a blissful dream lifted far above such common things as supper.

  “The joys come close upon the sorrows this time, and I rather think the changes have begun,” said Mrs. March. “In most families there comes, now and then, a year full of events. This has been such a one, but it ends well, after all.”

  “Hope the next will end better,” muttered Jo, who found it galling to call a slayer brother. Perhaps if he hadn’t so recently tried to kill Beth and her father, she could be calm about it, but he had, so she was not and she spent the entire meal brooding about the unhappy event.

  The front door banged to admit Laurie, who came prancing in, overflowing with good spirits, bearing a great bridal-looking bouquet for “Mrs. John Brooke,” and evidently laboring under the delusion t
hat the whole affair had been brought about by his excellent management.

  “I knew Brooke would have it all his own way, he always does, for when he makes up his mind to accomplish anything, it’s done though the sky falls,” said Laurie, when he had presented his offering and his congratulations, only noticing then his tutor’s absence and drawing the logical conclusion that he had once again missed out on all the fun. “Is the old fellow in the backyard, then?”

  Jo confirmed with a nod.

  “You don’t look festive, ma’am, what’s the matter?” asked Laurie, following Jo into a corner of the parlor, whither all had adjourned to greet Mr. Laurence.

  “I don’t approve of the match, but I’ve made up my mind to bear it, and shall not say a word against it,” said Jo solemnly. “You can’t know how hard it is for me to welcome a slayer into the family. Just a few hours ago he wanted us all dead and now we’re supposed to dance at his wedding,” she continued with a little quiver in her voice.

  “What’s this? A slayer?” asked Laurie.

  Jo realized then that her friend had not taken her concerns any more seriously than her family, though she had repeatedly aired them to him. Calmly, she related the series of events that had led to that evening’s impromptu siring. Laurie was aghast and apologetic for bringing such a creature into their midst, for he would never have hired, let alone befriended, someone with such archaic views on demonry. “I was positive you had it wrong. He seemed like an enlightened gus like me.”

  Of course she didn’t hold Laurie responsible in any way. How could she blame him for his doubt when she had been unable to convince her entire family? Her only concern had been for the safety of her family and, by extension, Mr. Laurence. But now, through her poor handling of the affair, her sister had changed John years before she was ready.

  “It can never be the same again. I’ve lost my dearest friend,” sighed Jo.

  “You’ve got me, anyhow. I’m not good for much, I know, but I’ll stand by you, Jo, all the days of my life. Upon my word I will!” and Laurie meant what he said.