Ted’s eyes darted to Byron, who stood in the doorway.
“Don’t look at him,” said Jane. “Just do as I say.”
Ted stood, gave his brother a worried look, and walked out of the room. Jane waited until she heard the front door open and close before she continued.
“Do you have any idea how much inconvenience you’ve caused?” she asked Ned. “Not to mention what you did to Chloe. You do realize she’s one of the biggest pop stars in the world, don’t you?”
“I didn’t know that at the time,” Ned told her. “I just thought she was pretty.”
Jane made a noise of disgust. “You thought she was pretty,” she said, the sneer in her voice only partially manufactured. “Perhaps in the future you should do your thinking with this,” she said, rapping Ned on the head with her closed fist, “and not with … little Ned,” she concluded, glancing meaningfully at the young man’s crotch.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Byron trying very hard not to laugh. This caused her to want to begin laughing, and she was forced to turn her back to Ned and bite her lip while she regained her composure. Clearing her throat, she said, “I have half a mind to stake you.”
“No!” Ned said, clearly startled.
Jane winked at Byron and turned back to face the now frightened young man. “And why not?” she asked. “You’ve broken one of the vampire commandments. The punishment for that is staking.”
Ned looked at Byron. “But he never told me about any command—”
“And that’s his failing,” Jane snapped. “But my concern is with you.” She clasped her hands and tapped the tips of her index fingers together. “I’m afraid we have no choice.”
Ned began to weep. It broke Jane’s heart to see him cry, and she had to try very hard not to sit beside him and comfort him. It occurred to her that perhaps she had not fully considered the difficulty of playing the bad guy.
“Wait a moment,” Byron said. He moved to the couch and took the place to Ned’s right, putting his arm around the young man’s shoulders. “He’s right,” he said, looking up at Jane. “It’s my fault for not instructing him properly.”
“He still should have known,” Jane argued. “It’s only common sense.”
“Please,” Ned said, sniffling. “There must be some way I can make up for what I’ve done. I’ll do anything. Just tell me what to do.”
Jane and Byron exchanged glances. It was time for Byron to take over, and Jane wondered what he’d come up with.
“There might be an alternative,” Byron said cautiously.
Ned looked up. “What?” he asked. “What is it?”
Byron appeared to think. He shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “Perhaps not.”
Ned looked as if he might burst into tears again as he said, “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”
Byron looked at Jane. “There is the option of penance,” he said. “If the guilty party commits an act of selfless devotion to our people, he might be forgiven. Is that not correct?”
Jane had no idea whether it was or was not. As far as she knew, they were making the entire thing up out of whole cloth. “I suppose so,” she said.
“Then perhaps he could assist us in the matter of Beverly Shrop,” said Byron.
“How so?” Jane asked, wanting very much to hear the answer herself.
Byron addressed Ned. “We’ve recently discovered that Beverly Shrop is one of our kind.”
Ned blinked. “She’s a vampire?” he said.
Byron nodded. “Yes. But in name only. I’m afraid she’s aligned herself with a human vampire hunter.” He looked at Ned, appearing concerned. “I don’t know if I can ask this of you,” he said.
“You can,” Ned assured him. “What is it?”
Byron took a deep breath. “If we had someone who was close to Beverly, someone in whom she might confide, we might be able to find out exactly what she and her human master have planned.”
Jane realized what Byron was asking before Ned did. The idea sickened her, but she said nothing. It was Byron’s game to play out now.
“Why would she tell me anything?” asked Ned. “She doesn’t even know who I am.”
Byron stroked the young man’s arm. “That’s exactly the point, my boy,” he said. “She already knows who—and what—I am. I could never gain her trust. But you are a complete mystery to her. Fresh blood, as it were.”
Ned swallowed hard. “What makes you think she would be interested in me?” he asked.
Byron laughed lightly. “You’re a very attractive young man,” he said, stroking Ned’s neck. “As you know, I myself was overcome by your considerable assets.”
“You thought I was my brother,” said Ned.
“Yes, well, there was a great deal of wine involved,” Byron replied testily. “Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that Beverly Shrop is sure to find you desirable.”
Ned, understanding dawning on him, wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You want me to sleep with her?” he said.
“Crudely put,” said Byron. “But yes.”
Ned shuddered. “But she must be at least fifty,” he said. His eyes darted to Jane. “No offense,” he added.
Jane started to speak but was cut off by a look from Byron. Fifty! she thought. He thinks I’m fifty!
“I realize that the idea of romancing Miss Shrop may be distasteful,” Byron told Ned. “But it would help us—all of us—immensely. Besides, the alternative is not entirely pleasant.”
Again Ned looked at Jane. She saw fear in his eyes, and in order to keep herself from telling him that this was all a ruse she reminded herself that he thought her too old to be attractive.
“Byron is right,” she said firmly. “It’s either penance or staking. The law is very clear on the matter.”
Ned swallowed hard. “All right, then,” he said. “I’ll do it. I’ll be Beverly Shrop’s cougar bait.”
Byron smiled at Jane. “See?” he said. “I knew we could work something out.” He ran his fingers through Ned’s hair. “Grrrrowwwllll,” he purred.
Chapter 19
When Jane walked into Flyleaf Books on Tuesday morning she found Lucy in a peculiar mood. The manager was going through the mail and humming a tuneless but cheerful little song as she tossed the various envelopes into two piles. She seemed slightly more dressed up than usual, having traded her habitual summer combination of jeans and a T-shirt for a short-sleeved white silk shirt and a flowy skirt made out of deep purple batik fabric patterned with orange and gold birds. Her dark curly hair hung loose about her shoulders, and even from forty feet away Jane’s keen nose detected the scent of violets rising from her skin.
“What’s going on?” Jane asked, setting the cup of takeout coffee in her hand on the counter.
“Hmm?” Lucy said. “Nothing. Why?”
“You’re wearing real clothes,” said Jane. “And you smell nice.”
“Are you saying that I usually stink?” Lucy asked.
“Something’s up,” Jane insisted. “Out with it.”
Lucy smiled. “Ben and I have a lunch date,” she said. She then made another sound that turned into a cough.
“Did you just giggle?” said Jane. “And then try to cover it up?”
Lucy coughed again, but her attempt was halfhearted at best. “I did not giggle,” she said. “I do not giggle.”
“How many times have you seen him?” Jane asked.
Lucy shrugged. “Twice, I guess,” she answered. “Why?”
“Twice?” said Jane. “In the past year you haven’t gone out twice with anyone. You’ve gone out twice with Ben in five days. Three and a half, really, since you met him Friday night and it’s not even nine o’clock yet.”
“To be fair, one of those times was a picnic with Sarah,” Lucy said. “That’s not really a date date.”
“What did you do on the date date, then?” asked Jane.
“We were going to go out to dinner,” Lucy said. “But we ended up orderi
ng in Chinese and watching a movie.”
“Interesting,” said Jane. She was enjoying teasing her friend. She didn’t often get to do it, so now she wanted to make the most of it. “And what was the movie?”
“I don’t remember,” Lucy said.
“Liar,” said Jane. “What was it?”
Lucy sighed. “I don’t want to tell you,” she said.
“Why not?” said Jane.
“Because,” Lucy replied, “I know what you’re going to say.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible,” Jane told her, trying not to smile. “How can I have an opinion when I don’t even know what the movie is?”
Lucy took the largest pile of mail and dropped it into the recycling bin beneath the front desk. “Fine. We watched Tarantula. You know, the one with John Agar and Mara Corday.”
“Yes. And Leo G. Carroll,” Jane said. “There’s a line about him and the movie in the song ‘Science Fiction/Double Feature.’ ”
“From The Rocky Horror Picture Show,” said Lucy. “I know. When I was in college I used to play Magenta in an audience participation show every Friday night at the local dollar movie theater.”
“I played Magenta in an actual stage version,” Jane countered. “Well, a touring company, anyway. In England.”
“You?” said Lucy, her mouth agape. “You played Magenta? In The Rocky Horror Picture Show?”
“It was just The Rocky Horror Show then,” Jane said. “But yes, I did. Why are you so surprised?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Lucy. “Maybe because I’ve never heard you sing. Maybe because you’ve never mentioned it. Maybe because the idea of Jane Austen playing Magenta in The Rocky Horror Picture Show is so freaking awesome I could die.”
Jane rolled her eyes. “I told you, it was The Rocky Horror Show. And it was for a very short time. I might as well have been an understudy.”
“How did you even get involved in it?” asked Lucy.
“Well, you know the show,” said Jane. “It’s really all about monsters of one kind or another. There were several vampires in it. Real ones, I mean, not characters. One of the creators was—is—a vampire as well. Lovely fellow.”
“I’m still not sure I believe you,” Lucy said. “It’s too weird.”
“Please. It was the seventies,” said Jane. “We did all kinds of peculiar things.”
“What name did you use?” Lucy asked. “Jane Fairfax?”
“Heavens, no,” said Jane. “I really don’t remember what I called myself.”
“Now you’re lying,” Lucy said.
“I am not!” said Jane.
“Are too,” Lucy argued. “Out with it. You made me tell you something I didn’t want to. Now it’s your turn.”
Jane sighed. “Oh, all right,” she said. “Meadow Brightstar. I was Meadow Brightstar.”
Lucy paused only a moment before laughter poured from her mouth. “Meadow Brightstar!” she shrieked.
“I told you, it was the seventies!” said Jane as Lucy laughed even harder. She waited for the young woman to calm down. This took a good minute and a half, during which Jane tried very hard to remain dignified in the face of Lucy’s mirth.
Finally Lucy stopped laughing and took a deep breath. “Meadow Brightstar,” she said hoarsely. “I am never going to forget that.”
“Oh, good,” Jane said. “Now, enough about my illustrious theater career. Let’s get back to you and Ben. A giant spider movie is an interesting choice for someone who doesn’t care for the creatures.”
“It gets worse,” said Lucy.
“Worse?” Jane asked.
“We might have watched some of Deadly Mantis,” Lucy said. “And possibly Them!”
“Three giant-insect movies,” said Jane. “It really must be love.”
“They were running a B-movie marathon!” Lucy said defensively. “And you know I love those campy monster movies from the fifties.”
“Oh, yes,” said Jane. “You talk about them all the time.”
Lucy made a face. “I do,” she insisted. “Anyway, Meadow, it’s your fault for introducing us in the first place.”
“My fault?” Jane exclaimed. “Are you saying you’d like me to get rid of him for you?”
Lucy pouted. “Okay,” she said. “I don’t like movies about giant bugs. But Ben does, and it wasn’t like that’s all we were doing.”
“Oh?” said Jane, raising an eyebrow.
“We were talking,” Lucy said. “He is a rabbi, you know.”
“What, rabbis don’t like to kiss pretty girls?” Jane said, feigning—badly—a Yiddish accent.
“Ha ha,” said Lucy. “For your information, he kisses quite well. He also fed me walnut prawns using chopsticks and didn’t drop a single one. That’s talent.”
“Prawns?” Jane said. “Prawns aren’t kosher.”
Lucy waved a hand at her. “Please,” she said. “Everyone knows it doesn’t count if it’s in Chinese food.”
“Since when?” asked Jane.
“Since forever,” Lucy said. “Ask anyone.”
“I might have to,” said Jane. “So you had a good time. And now lunch today. This sounds serious.”
Lucy shook her head from side to side but said nothing.
“Is that a yes or a no?” Jane asked.
“It’s a ‘we’ll see,’ ” said Lucy.
“That means yes,” Jane teased.
“It means we’ll see,” Lucy repeated.
“Are Ted and Ned in?” Jane asked.
“They are,” said Lucy. “I put them to work in the storeroom packing up all the books that have to go back to the distributor. It was the nastiest job I could think of.”
“They really don’t like to get dirty,” Jane said. “Good thinking.”
“I also turned the air conditioner off,” Lucy continued. “I told them it was broken. That should make it even more pleasant. By noon it will be ninety-five degrees in there.”
“I heartily approve,” said Jane. “And now I am going back to the set to make sure Chloe doesn’t undo us completely. I just stopped in to see how things are going.”
“Before you go you might want to call Kelly back,” Lucy said. “He called about ten minutes before you got here. He said he tried you at home first, but you must have just left.”
Jane groaned. She really didn’t want to speak to her editor-turned-agent, but she knew she had to, if only to settle the situation with Jessica.
Kelly answered on the second ring. “I was just going to lunch,” he said when he heard Jane’s voice. “But that Reuben sandwich can wait until I’ve had a chat with my favorite client. How’s everything?”
“Somewhere between dreadful and unbearable,” Jane answered. “Jessica Abernathy is here. She’s trying to pry the manuscript out of me, and I have no doubt she would insert a probe into my brain if she thought she could siphon the words out that way.”
“Wouldn’t that be fantastic?” said Kelly. “Imagine if you could just think a story and have it appear on your computer screen.”
“A novel idea,” Jane said. “Oh, and she apparently decided that I was too busy to do any work on the film script and very thoughtfully suggested her friend Posey Frost for the job.”
“Yes,” Kelly said. His voice had an odd tone, as if he were suddenly occupied with doing something that required all his attention.
“Yes what?” asked Jane.
“Yes,” Kelly said again. “I know about Jessica. And Posey. I meant to tell you.”
“You knew?” said Jane. “So Jessica wasn’t making that up? Why didn’t you say something?”
“I said I meant to,” Kelly reminded her. “I just didn’t exactly get around to it.”
“You knew she was coming here to ambush me and you didn’t think I might want to know about it?” she said, the anger in her voice making it tight.
Kelly sighed. “Jane, it’s complicated,” he said. “You are very late with the manuscript, and we don’t have a lot of
options at this point. Jessica thought that if she could speak with you face-to-face it might light a fire under you.”
“That’s not the point!” said Jane. “The point is that none of you told me what was going on. Can you imagine how I felt seeing that woman on my doorstep? And the way she spoke to me at lunch, I—”
“Jane, it’s going to be all right,” Kelly said. “You just need to calm down.”
“I will not calm down!” Jane said loudly. “And if you even think about uttering the word hysterical I will not hesitate to get on the next train to New York and show you exactly how not calm I am!”
“I’m sorry,” said Kelly. “You’re right. I should have told you what was going on. But Jessica is there now and she’s more than willing to work with you on hammering out a plot for the new book.”
“I don’t want her help,” Jane snapped. “I want her to go away. As soon as possible. Preferably yesterday.”
“I wish I could make that happen,” said Kelly. “But I can’t. So please, just try to work with her. You don’t want to antagonize your publisher.”
“What about my publisher antagonizing me?” Jane asked. “Why can’t we just get another publisher? Surely someone else would want me.”
“Someone probably would,” said Kelly. “But switching publishers never looks good. I’d rather stick with Browder.”
Jane tapped her fingers angrily on the desk while she tried to compose herself. “In other words, I have to play nicely with Jessica Abernathy,” she said.
She considered telling Kelly about Jessica’s connection to Violet Grey. But that would complicate things too much, and besides, she was no longer sure she entirely trusted Kelly. She had yet to tell him that she was a vampire, and although a week earlier she would have entertained doing so with no reservations about his ability to keep her secret, now she had doubts.
“That’s pretty much where things stand,” Kelly said in answer to her question.
Jane considered this. Did she really care if she published another novel? She’d waited almost two hundred years to see Constance published. She could do it again.
No, she told herself. You couldn’t.
This was true. Having once again tasted the joy of seeing her words in print, she was not willing to give that up. She would write the novel for Jessica Abernathy, and it would be a good novel. Better than anything she’d yet written. But she wasn’t going to be happy about it, and she wasn’t going to let Kelly off the hook quite yet.
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