Jane Goes Batty

by Michael Thomas Ford

  “Easy,” said Shirley. “We said it was all a bad dream Vivienne had after being bitten by a werewolf.”

  “Do you think Julia would let you work a werewolf into this script?” Jane said.

  Shirley laughed. “Don’t tempt me,” she said.

  “Quiet on the set!” someone yelled as Jane stifled a giggle.

  Once more the scene began. This time Tucker and Chloe were only a few seconds into the kiss before Chloe began beating at him with her hands. As soon as he let go she leapt from the car and ran toward her trailer, her hands clawing at her face as she shrieked in pain.

  “Get her back here!” the director barked.

  An assistant started toward the trailer, but Jane intervened. “I’ll get her,” she said. As she walked away she heard Tucker Mack say loudly, “It was only hummus, for Christ’s sake!”

  Jane found Chloe scrubbing her face with a washcloth. “Don’t,” she said. “It will just make it worse. We need to put some calamine lotion on it.”

  “It burns,” Chloe whined as Jane took the washcloth away. “I thought you said it wouldn’t.”

  “I said it probably wouldn’t,” said Jane. “Apparently you are allergic.”

  “Great,” Chloe said. “How am I supposed to get through the scene?”

  Jane thought for a moment. “Maybe if you feed,” she said. “You might be particularly sensitive to the garlic because you’re hungry.”

  Chloe scratched her chin. “And how am I supposed to do that?” she said. “I can’t just go off looking for someone to bite.”

  “No, I suppose you can’t,” Jane agreed.

  Chloe brightened. “I could bite Tucker,” she said. “When he’s kissing me. I mean, his neck will be right there.”

  “That’s a splendid idea,” said Jane. “And it will all be caught on film, so the entire world can see it.”

  “Oh,” Chloe said. “Right. I forgot about that.”

  “It’s all right,” said Jane kindly. “Being hungry makes you a little stupid.” She batted Chloe’s hand away from her cheek as the girl went to scratch it again.

  “What are we going to do?” Chloe moaned. “Julia’s going to have a fit if I don’t get back out there soon.”

  As Jane searched for a solution there was a knock on the door. A moment later a young man’s face appeared. Jane recognized him as one of the several assistants who always seemed to be trailing after the various producers. “Chloe, she wants to know how long you’re going to be,” the young man said. “We’re losing the light, and we can’t afford to get behind.”

  “Tell her she can go—” Chloe began.

  “Actually, I’ll go speak to her,” Jane interrupted. She looked at the boy. “What’s your name?”

  “Cedric.”

  “Well, Cedric, would you be a dear and help Chloe apply some lotion?”

  Chloe looked at Jane with a confused expression. Jane leaned down. “He’s already half in love with you,” she whispered. “I can tell. He’ll be very susceptible. But just drink a little, do you understand?”

  She turned to Cedric. “I believe there’s a bottle of calamine lotion in the bathroom,” she said. She stared into his eyes and cast a glamor. Cedric’s eyes glazed over and he nodded. “I can do that,” he said.

  Jane looked at Chloe. “Five minutes,” she said. “And not too much.”

  She left the trailer, shutting the door behind her. She hoped Chloe would do as she was told. If not, it would be a disaster, or at least a very big mess. She was taking an enormous risk leaving the girl alone for her first feeding, but it was the only way.

  “Where is she?” Julia Baxter asked as Jane came up to her.

  “She’ll be out in a few minutes,” said Jane. “She just needs to put some calamine lotion on.”

  The director shook her head. “I hate working with pop stars,” she said. “If it isn’t allergies, it’s cocaine addiction or being in a cult or some other bullshit.”

  “She’s trying very hard,” Jane said, suddenly feeling very protective of Chloe. “It’s not her fault she’s allergic.”

  Julia snorted. “It’s never their fault,” she said. “It’s not their fault they can’t remember their lines. It’s not their fault they got drunk and fell down. It’s not their fault the sex tape got leaked the week before the premiere and Disney totally freaked out. It’s never their fault.”

  Jane tuned Julia out as she continued to rave about the irresponsibility of pop stars, how no one respected directors anymore, and how she ought to have signed on to the independent film about the Brazilian street orphan who was found to be the reincarnation of the Dalai Lama.

  “I bet Kathryn Bigelow doesn’t have to put up with this crap!” she raged. “I’m giving that girl two minutes to get out here or I’m quit—”

  “Here I am,” said Chloe.

  Jane looked up to see the girl standing there smiling. The hives were gone and her skin was flawless. There was a glow about her that hadn’t been there five minutes before. Jane recognized it at once, and she looked at Chloe with raised eyebrows.

  Chloe nodded slightly. Then she looked at Julia and said, “I’m sorry about before.”

  “Then you’re ready to shoot now?” asked the director.

  Chloe beamed. “Of course,” she said. “I just needed a little snack.”

  IF THE HEART-SHAPED GATES FESTOONED WITH HUNDREDS OF RED and pink roses weren’t enough to let anyone entering the fairgrounds know that love was the theme of the carnival, the half dozen men dressed like cupids walking around handing out candy hearts would have provided an additional clue. One—an attractive, well-muscled redhead wearing a short white tunic and little else—approached Jane and held out a basket. Jane shook her head firmly and walked away.

  Lucy, however, took a handful of hearts. She handed one each to Byron, Ben, and Sarah. “What do they say?” she asked.

  Ben peered at his. “ ‘Kiss Me,’ ” he read.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” said Lucy, giving him a peck on the cheek.

  “Mine says, ‘You’re Cute!’ ” said Sarah. “I already know that. I should get another one.”

  Lucy looked at the candies in her hand. “This one is perfect for you,” she told the little girl as she handed her another heart.

  “ ‘Girl Power,’ ” Sarah read. “Only it’s spelled G-R-R-L. I like that.” She popped the candy into her mouth, then growled. “Grrrl power,” she said.

  “And what’s written on your hard little heart?” Jane asked Byron, smiling tightly.

  “Mine is slightly less thrilling,” Byron said. “It says ‘Love Bug.’ I have absolutely no idea what that means.”

  “It means you’re infested,” said Jane.

  “You’re just determined to have a horrible time, aren’t you?” Lucy said to Jane. She hooked her arm through Jane’s and walked beside her. “Come on. It isn’t that bad.”

  “It’s worse,” Jane countered.

  Lucy laughed. “Cheer up, or I won’t tell you what my heart said.”

  “Let me guess,” said Jane. “It said ‘Sour Puss.’ ”

  “That would be for you,” Lucy teased. “Guess again.”

  “I don’t want to guess,” said Jane. “I want to go home.”

  “Quit being a big baby,” Lucy said. “Revel in the hideousness of Beverly Shrop’s festival of romance.”

  “It’s more like a nightmare,” Jane groused.

  “Fine, I’ll tell you,” said Lucy. “It said ‘Marry Me.’ ”

  Jane raised an eyebrow. “No wonder you ate it so quickly,” she said.

  “Oh, I didn’t eat that one,” said Lucy. “I saved it. The one I ate said ‘Tell Jane to take the stick out of her butt and have a good time with her friends.’ ”

  “Cheeky candy,” Jane said, feigning offense. Then she laughed. “And why are you saving the other one?”

  Lucy leaned in. “Maybe I’ll give it to Ben later.”

  “You wouldn’t!” said Jane.
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br />   Lucy shrugged. “You never know,” she replied. “I’m feeling impulsive.”

  “What are you two whispering about?” Ben called out.

  “Yeah,” Sarah agreed. “Whispering is rude.”

  “I’m just telling Jane that she needs a funnel cake,” said Lucy.

  Jane groaned. “You live to see me suffer, don’t you?” she said.

  The five of them continued to stroll through the festival. Jane had to admit—albeit very grudgingly—that Beverly Shrop had managed to put together a fairly impressive event. Although many of the vendors and attractions were typical of any small carnival, they had been altered slightly to highlight the theme of romance. A ring toss game was played with giant fake diamond rings. Pink cotton candy was puffed into the shape of hearts. Strolling clowns made balloon flowers and handed them to happy passersby.

  Even the prizes for winning the games were apropos of the romance motif. Those who were able to hit a target, select the winning rubber ducky from a pool, or correctly guess under which coconut shell the red ball was hidden received copies of popular romance novels instead of stuffed bears or tacky plastic toys. Beverly had thoughtfully provided each booth with stacks of pink canvas book bags embroidered with her website’s name and logo. Everywhere they went Jane and her friends were among a sea of advertisements for ShropTalk.com.

  Jane very much wanted to talk to Byron about Beverly, specifically about the progress Ned was making with romancing her. She knew that he had asked Beverly out for dinner the night before last, but she’d had no report on his results. She wondered now if it had been worth trying. Given Ned’s past behavior, Jane feared he might inadvertently give them away.

  Not that she and Miriam don’t already know Byron and I are vampires, she reminded herself. But they don’t know that we know that they know that we’re vampires. That’s something. And hopefully they don’t know about Chloe.

  Although Lilith had seen Jane bite Chloe, it seemed she had not realized that Jane was turning the girl and not just feeding on her. Further discussions with the little dog had turned up no evidence that Miriam knew anything about any other vampires being in Brakeston (and they had been careful not to let Lilith know that there were any, lest she tell her mistress). Jane found this both interesting and befuddling, as they still didn’t know how Miriam had found out about Byron. Lilith didn’t know either, or was lying when she said she didn’t, but Jane was fairly confident the dog was telling the truth. Bacon had a way of bringing out the truth in her.

  She was trying very hard not to imagine Ned on a date with Beverly when they turned a corner and found themselves blocked by a group of women. They were all looking in the direction of a large tank of water. Perched above the tank on a small seat connected to a metal arm was Ned. He was dressed in the costume of a Regency gentleman, and above him was a sign reading DUNK DARCY.

  Beverly Shrop herself was standing on a raised platform beside the tank. She too was done up in a costume suitable for a woman of Jane’s time, although Jane thought the dress slightly too young for a woman of Beverly’s age.

  “Who will try to dunk our Mr. Darcy?” Beverly cried out, her amplified voice trembling with excitement as it trickled from a tinny speaker. “Five dollars gets you three chances to send him into the drink. As you can see, he is still dry. Won’t you be the first to get him wet?”

  “Well he’s gone and got himself into it, hasn’t he?” Byron remarked. “Good boy, our Ted.”

  “Ned,” said Jane. “I think.”

  “Come now,” Beverly called. “Surely there’s one among you who has always wanted to give Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy a good dunking. How about you, madam?”

  Beverly pointed to a middle-aged woman dressed in too-tight red pedal pushers and a T-shirt reading TEAM EDWARD. The woman giggled and covered her mouth with one hand, the other being occupied with holding a bulging pink ShropTalk.com tote. The woman’s friend, equally middle-aged and wearing what appeared to be a tribute to Scarlett O’Hara, nudged her friend forward. “Go on, Ellie,” she said.

  Ellie handed her bag to her friend and made her way through the crowd of onlookers. Beverly stepped down from the platform and handed the woman three softballs.

  “Take your time,” she said. “And make sure you hit it hard.”

  Ellie threw the first ball, which sailed very close to Ned’s head, making him duck.

  “No, dear,” Beverly said, laughing gaily. “Don’t throw the ball at Darcy. Throw it at the big red heart to the left of him. That’s the target.”

  Ellie, embarrassed, covered her face and turned to the crowd, which erupted in applause and urged her on. “Go for it, Ellie!” someone cried. “You can do it.”

  The second ball flew wide, missing the heart target by a good four feet. By the time Ellie took her third throw she was so anxious that the ball didn’t even make it across the tank, falling into the water with a soft plop as the crowd groaned its disappointment. Ned looked down at it bobbing beneath him and seemed relieved.

  A second woman, much younger and more athletic than Ellie, took her turn. All three of her pitches came close to the target, missing by only a few inches each time. Ned, apparently having decided that he was invincible, began calling out to the audience.

  “Can’t any of you throw?” he yelled, grinning madly. “Come on! Show me what you’ve got!”

  Beverly scanned the crowd, and her eyes stopped at Byron. “You, sir!” she called out. “Come up here.”

  Byron hesitated, but Jane whispered to him, “Don’t give her any reason to suspect we’re on to her.” Nodding his agreement, he walked through the crowd.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Beverly said, “I am very, very pleased and honored to welcome Mr. Tavish Osborn.”

  At the mention of the name a collective gasp went up from the crowd. Byron, turning, waved at them all. “Hello!” he said cheerfully.

  “As you all surely know, Mr. Osborn is the author behind the Penelope Wentz novels,” said Beverly. “He will also be joining us for tomorrow morning’s panels, where he will be talking about the real Jane Austen.”

  Byron looked in Jane’s direction, caught her eye, and winked. Jane frowned. She’d forgotten about his talk. Now that she remembered, she was annoyed anew. I’ll have to have a chat with him about that, she thought.

  Beverly handed Byron three softballs. “Let’s see what a man can do,” she said. Jane thought she heard a note of mockery in the woman’s voice, but Beverly’s face was all smiles.

  Byron hefted one of the balls, aimed it at the target, and began to throw it. At the last second he cupped the ball in his hand and brought it back. “You know what I think I need?” he said loudly. “I think I need a good-luck charm.”

  “A good-luck charm?” said Beverly, clearly taken aback. “Such as?”

  “A kiss from a pretty lady,” Byron answered.

  Beverly blushed. “Well, I suppose I—”

  “Sarah, will you come help me out?” Byron interrupted.

  Beverly balked. “Sarah?” she said. “Who is Sarah?”

  Lucy, holding Sarah’s hand, called for the crowd to let them through. She led the little girl to the front of the tank, where Byron bent down and said, “How about a kiss for me?”

  Sarah kissed him on the cheek and Byron pretended to swoon. Sarah and the crowd laughed, but Beverly scowled at the little girl for a moment before the fake smile returned to her face. Jane, who had been watching her, was pleased to see that Byron’s stunt was annoying her.

  Byron took aim once again and threw the ball. It narrowly missed the target, eliciting oohs from the crowd, who were now hungry to see poor Ned get a dunking. Byron took up the second ball and once again knelt for Sarah to give him a kiss.

  “He certainly has a way with the ladies, doesn’t he?” Ben said to Jane.

  “By—I mean Tavish?” Jane said. “Yes, I suppose he does. And then some.”

  She wondered what Ben would say if he knew his daughter had just kisse
d Lord Byron. For that matter, what would he say if he knew he was standing next to Jane Austen? she thought. She felt sympathy for the rabbi. Having fallen for Lucy, he was getting far more than he’d bargained for. Unless we never tell him, Jane told herself.

  Suddenly she was overcome with a deep sadness. She was thrilled that Lucy had found someone she could love. But it meant that eventually Jane would have to give up their friendship. Unless Ben knew about her, he would start wondering why Jane never aged. Lucy would always be hiding something from him, and Jane knew from experience how difficult that was.

  This was exactly the situation she’d wanted to avoid. Telling Lucy about herself had been a great relief. But part of her had always worried that it would lead to heartache. Now it seemed destined to do just that. Expecting Lucy to keep such an important secret from the people she loved most was too great a thing to ask. And the more people who knew, the riskier it was for all of them.

  I’ve already put them in danger, Jane realized. Just by letting them be my friends.

  Another groan from the crowd snapped Jane out of her thoughts. Byron had missed again. With one ball left he once more bent down for Sarah’s kiss. This time, though, she said something in his ear. He nodded and, grinning, stood up.

  “Sarah has decided that the third and final throw should go to someone else,” he said. He paused a moment. “Miss Jane Fairfax, would you please join us?”

  Jane heard her name repeated by several people in the crowd. She also saw Beverly Shrop search the sea of faces, a bitter expression on her face. Jane had been tempted to slink away, but seeing Beverly’s reaction, the sadness in her turned to anger. Who does she think she is? she thought.

  “Excuse me,” she said firmly, making her way toward Byron and Sarah.

  “Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” Beverly announced. “Our very own Jane Fairfax, author of Constance, has joined us. Jane, say hello to your fans.”

  “Hello,” Jane muttered as Beverly thrust the microphone in her face. “Cheers. Thanks for coming.”

  She felt like an idiot. But there was no time to sulk. Byron was handing her the softball, and Sarah was tugging at her hand. Jane bent down to see what the girl wanted.