Free Little Vampire Women by Lynn Messina Page A

time.”
    The evening for the ball came, and Belle insisted Meg wear a “sweet blue silk” dress that, she claimed, she had long since outgrown. Meg knew that was not true because vampires never outgrew anything, but thedress was so dear and her morals so easily overcome she readily agreed.
    “Now do let me please myself by dressing you up in style,” Belle begged. “I admire to do it, and you’d be a regular little beauty with a touch here and there.”
    Belle shut herself up with her maid, and between them they turned Meg into a fine vampire lady. They crimped and curled her hair, they polished her neck and arms with some fragrant powder, touched her lips with coralline salve to make them redder, and Hortense would have added “a soupçon of rouge,” if Meg had not rebelled. They laced her into a sky-blue dress, which was mortifyingly low in the neck to modest Meg. Gold filigree was added to her fangs, bracelets, necklace, brooch, and even earrings, for Hortense tied them on with a bit of pink silk which did not show. A cluster of tea-rose buds at the bosom, and a ruche, reconciled Meg to the display of her pretty, white shoulders, and a pair of high-heeled silk boots satisfied the last wish of her heart. A lace handkerchief, a plumy fan, and a bouquet in a shoulder holder finished her off, and Miss Belle surveyed her with the satisfaction of a little girl with a newly dressed doll.
    “Mademoiselle is charmante, très jolie , is she not?” cried Hortense, clasping her hands in an affected rapture.
    “Come and show yourself,” said Miss Belle, leading the way to the room where the others were waiting.
    As Meg went rustling after, with her long skirtstrailing, her earrings tinkling and her curls waving, she felt as if her fun had really begun at last, for though she couldn’t confirm the notion with a mirror, as she had no reflection, she suspected that she was indeed “a little beauty.” Her friends repeated the pleasing phrase enthusiastically, and for several minutes she stood, like a jackdaw in the fable, 18 enjoying her borrowed plumes, while the rest chattered like a party of magpies.
    Careful of the unfamiliar heels, Margaret got safely down stairs and sailed into the drawing rooms where the Moffats and a few early guests were assembled, most of whom were vampires but some mortals as well. She very soon discovered that there is a charm about fine clothes which attracts a certain class of people and secures their respect. Several young ladies, who had taken no notice of her before, were very affectionate all of a sudden. Several young gentlemen, who had only stared at her at the other party, now not only stared, but asked to be introduced, and said all manner of foolish but agreeable things to her, and several old ladies, who sat on the sofas, and criticized the rest of the party, inquired who she was with an air of interest. She heard Mrs. Moffat reply to one of them…
    “Daisy March”—for the Moffats called her Daisy forreasons known only to themselves; perhaps because she reminded them of the fresh, spring flower, perhaps because they found her given name repugnant—“father a colonel in the army, one of our first families, but reverses of fortune, you know, and full of unusual ideas about the treatment of humans. That will change soon enough, I don’t doubt, as Mrs. M. has made her plans and will play her cards well. The Laurence fortune will be hers as soon as dear Daisy alters the boy. Her younger sister has already gotten her fangs into the grandfather, who seems a little mature for a vampire of only three-and-forty, but the child was always queer.”
    “Dear me!” said the old lady, putting up her glass for another observation of Meg, who tried to look as if she had not heard and been much disturbed by Mrs. Moffat’s shocking lies. Agitated, she tried to forget what she’d heard but could not and kept repeating to herself, “Mrs. M. has made her plans,” till she was ready to rush