of exceptional social standing at the party had nothing to fear from her and her kind. It was the height of rudeness to dine on your guests, particularly if they were your social equal. Likewise, it was unforgivably vulgar to stake your host.
The poor were not afforded the same courtesy and frequently fended off attacks from vampires and nonvampires alike, both of whom fed on them, the former literally, the other metaphorically. For centuries, vampire philosophers had argued that their treatment of humans was kinder; they took only the blood in their veins. Nonvampires took the sweat of their brow, the fire in their belly and the joy in their heart.
Slayers swore nobly to protect the desperate and the destitute from predators, but in targeting vampires only, they revealed their bigotry. Some vampires were indeed the cruel and thoughtless killing machines that many in the sensationalistic press8 portrayed them to be, but what of the factory owner or the slave holder? Were they not also cruel and thoughtless? Yet they were exempt from retribution.
Jo, like her mother, knew vampire slayers were mere vigilantes. They dispensed justice as they saw fit, which naturally made it the opposite of just. Marmee’s way of helping the poor, providing them with food and shelter and solace, was the only method to save them from their despair. If the system itself was broken, it needed to be changed from the inside; randomly selecting vampires to assassinate wasn’t the answer.
When the March girls were cleared by the security agents, Mrs Gardiner handed them over to the eldest of her six daughters. Meg knew Sallie and was at her ease very soon, but Jo, who didn’t care much for girls or girlish gossip, stood about, with her back carefully against the wall, and felt as much out of place as a colt in a flower garden. A big redheaded youth approached her corner, and fearing he meant to engage her, she slipped into a curtained recess, intending to peep and enjoy herself in peace. Unfortunately, another bashful person had chosen the same refuge, for, as the curtain fell behind her, she found herself face to face with the “Laurence boy”.
“Dear me, I didn’t know anyone was here!” stammered Jo, preparing to back out as speedily as she had bounced in.
But the boy laughed and said pleasantly, though he looked a little startled, “Don’t mind me, stay if you like.” “Shan’t I disturb you?”
“Not a bit. I only came here because I don’t know many people and felt rather strange at first, you know.”
“So did I. Don’t go away, please, unless you’d rather.”
The boy sat down again and looked at his pumps, 9 till Jo said, trying to be polite and easy, “I think I’ve had the pleasure of seeing you before. You live near us, don’t you?”
“Next door, Miss March.”
“Oh, I am not Miss March, I’m only Jo,” returned the young lady.
“I’m not Mr Laurence, I’m only Laurie.”
“Laurie Laurence, what an odd name.”
“My first name is Theodore, but I don’t like it, for the fellows called me Dora, so I made them say Laurie instead.”
“I hate my name too, so sentimental! I wish everyone would say Jo instead of Josephine. How did you make the boys stop calling you Dora?”
“I thrashed ’em.”
“I can’t thrash Aunt March,” Jo said, although of course technically she could, for she led her sisters in the study of boxing and karate every morning in the attic room. “So I suppose I shall have to bear it.”
“Don’t you like to dance, Miss Jo?” asked Laurie, looking as if he thought the name suited her.
“I like it well enough if there is plenty of room, and everyone is lively. In a place like this I’m sure to upset something, tread on people’s toes, or do something dreadful. I’d much rather stay apart and watch for slayers.”
“Do slayers typically disrupt house parties? I’ve been abroad a good many years, and haven’t been into company enough yet to know how you do things here.”
“Not too often,” she said. “Thorough screening usually ensures peaceful evenings. But it does happen upon occasion. Just last month, the Phillipses‘ party was brought to a premature close when the host, Mr Phillips, was staked in his own ballroom. It was during the dancing, so everyone was very upset, especially his daughter Leticia, as she was about to have her first waltz.”
“Did they catch the culprit?”
“He escaped through the window while everyone was watching poor Mr Phillips’s guts explode all over the carpet. I don’t know if you’ve seen many stakings, but it’s a dreadful business. The maids always complain about how difficult it is to get melted flesh out of the curtains.”
At the words melted flesh, the boy’s eyes glowed. “I’ve never seen a staking. What’s it like?”
“Very unpleasant all around,” she said. “Staking is a terrible way to go. I’d much rather be decapitated. It still makes an awful mess but it’s a lot more dignified than your limbs twittering all over the place.” She shook her arms in approximation and Laurie laughed, appreciating her humour. Jo liked him tremendously, for most of the human boys she knew were particular about vampires and would rather be slayers than friends, which is why she counted so few of them among her acquaintance.
“I’ve never thought about it before, but I suppose I’d like to be decapitated too,” Laurie said. “One nice clean chop!”
“Oh, but the chops are rarely clean. Usually it takes several whacks before the connection is cut. You have to have a really sharp battle-axe.”
“I’ll remember that,” he said, then paled and stuttered, “N-not… th-that I plan on decapitating any vampires. I like them immensely. I’d love to be one myself.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t bite you. I’m a strict humanitarian, so it’s against my religion to eat humans. We stick to pig’s blood and have small animals only on very special occasions. My sister Beth loves kittens.”
“I’ve never met a humanitarian before. There aren’t any in Europe.”
“There aren’t a lot around here either. Just me and my sisters and my parents. It’s no big deal. I don’t even crave human flesh. Maybe if I’d gone without food for days on end, standing this close to you would give me ideas, but I had a snack an hour ago,” Jo said, with a smile to put him at ease. “Tell me about Europe. I love dearly to hear people describe their travels.”
Laurie didn’t seem to know where to begin, but Jo’s eager questions soon set him going, and he told her how he had been at school in Vevay, where the boys never wore hats and had a fleet of boats on the lake, and for holiday fun went on walking trips about Switzerland with their teachers.
“Don’t I wish I’d been there!” cried Jo. “Did you go to Paris?”
“We spent last winter there.”
“Can you talk French?”
“We were not allowed to speak anything else at Vevay.” “Do say some! I can read it, but
