Jane Goes Batty (21 page)

“You probably have all kinds of questions about what it means to be—like we are,” Jane said.

Chloe lit another cigarette, her fourth in half an hour. “Not really,” she said. “I mean, what is there to know? You bite people and drink their blood. How hard can it be?”

“Well, that’s a good question,” said Jane, relieved to have found an opening. “It’s easy to think of feeding as simply—”

The sudden appearance of Byron in the trailer startled her, and she stopped talking.

“Now
that
is cool!” Chloe exclaimed. “How do you do that? Show me.”

“Later,” said Byron. “Right now we have more pressing matters to attend to.” He looked at Jane. “We’ve found Ned,” he told her.

“Where?” Jane asked.

“At the train station,” Byron explained. “He was heading to Montreal.”

“Ned,” said Chloe. “He’s the one who made me like this.”

Byron glanced at Jane. “You didn’t tell her yet?”

“I was getting to it,” Jane said.

Chloe tapped some hot ashes onto the carpet, where they burned for a moment and fizzled out, leaving a black circle in the pink shag. “Tell me what?” she said.

“It’s too complicated to get into right—”

“Ned bit you, but Jane turned you,” Byron said. He ignored the furious look from Jane. “But she had to do it to save your life,” he added. “So don’t blame her. We’ll talk about it later.”

“She—” said Chloe.

“I—” said Jane.

“
Later,
” said Byron. “Jane, you come with me. Chloe, don’t eat anyone. We’ll be back for you later.”

“Fine,” said Chloe. She pouted and kicked at the spot on the carpet. “Whatever.”

“Then it’s settled,” Byron said. He looked at Jane. “Best go invisible so no one sees you running away,” he said.

Jane sighed, closed her eyes, and concentrated. To her great satisfaction, she disappeared almost immediately.

“You have to teach me how to do that!” Chloe called out as Jane and Byron left the trailer.

When they were several blocks away Byron materialized behind a hedge. Jane followed suit.

“You’re getting very good at that,” Byron remarked as he walked toward his car, which was parked at the curb.

“Aren’t I?” Jane agreed. “I’ll be turning into a bat in no time.”

“A what?” said Byron as he opened the door.

“A bat,” Jane repeated. “You promised to show me how, remember?”

“Of course,” said Byron, starting the car. “It slipped my mind.”

He pulled away from the curb and started driving. “Ned is at my house,” he explained. “With Ted, of course. They’re still dressed alike, and I’ll be damned if I can tell one from the other even now.”

“We should tag one of them,” said Jane. “Through the ear. Like they do with cows.”

“We could brand them, I suppose,” Byron said thoughtfully. “We used to do that with sheep, remember?”

“I do,” said Jane. After a moment she sighed. “It all seems so long ago,” she said.

“It
was
long ago,” Byron replied.

Jane looked out the window at the passing houses. “Do you ever get tired of it?” she asked.

“Of what?” said Byron.

“Living,” Jane said.

Byron stopped at the corner, looked for oncoming traffic, and turned left. “No,” he said. “I never tire of it.”

“I don’t believe you,” Jane said. “But let’s assume for the moment that you are not lying to make me feel better—which you are. Don’t you ever think about that last day?”

“You’re a confounding young woman,” Byron said. “What last day?”

“
The
last day,” said Jane. “Of existence. Of everything.”

“We’re immortal,” Byron said. “There doesn’t have to be a last day.”

“I don’t mean
our
last day,” Jane said. “I mean, I do, but I’m speaking about the last day of the world. It has to end sometime. At some point the sun will die and everything will go black and freeze, or whatever happens when suns die. I don’t know. But it’s sure to be grim and very final.”

“Oh, that,” said Byron as he turned onto his street. “I don’t worry about that.”

“How can you not?” Jane asked. “If we indeed live forever, we’re going to be here when it all comes to its dreary end.”

“By then we’ll have figured out how to live on the moon, or Saturn, or somewhere else,” Byron said.

He reached his house and drove up the driveway, coming to a stop and turning the car off. “Look,” he said. “I know you’re going through this existential crisis about Walter, and that’s to be expected, but—”

“This is
not
about Walter,” Jane exclaimed.

“Yes it is,” said Byron kindly. “You just haven’t figured that out yet. But you will. Right now, however, we need to go deal with our wayward child. Would you like to be the nice parent or the mean parent?”

Jane stared at him. She wanted to argue with him some more about what he’d said about Walter. To her annoyance, however, she realized that he was right. “I’ll be the mean parent,” she said. “He won’t be expecting that.”

“Frankly, neither was I,” said Byron as they got out of the car. “I must say it’s rather arousing.”

“Shut up,” Jane snapped.

Byron smiled seductively at her as he opened the front door and waved his hand. “After you,
mistress
,” he purred.

Ted and Ned were in the living room, seated next to each other on the J. and J. W. Meeks sofa Byron had recently purchased from an antiques store in New York. He’d had it reupholstered in garnet velvet, and it reminded Jane of a sofa that had been in the villa at Lake Geneva the summer she’d met Byron. She vaguely remembered him making love to her on that sofa, and for a moment she became flustered.

She calmed herself, stood in front of the boys, and looked down at them with what she hoped was an expression of disappointment and anger.

“Just where did you think you were going?” she asked. Unable as yet to determine which brother was which, she addressed the space between them.

The brother on the left lifted his head and looked at her. “I was afraid you would be angry,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Jane narrowed her eyes. “Fangs,” she barked. “Show me.”

The young man opened his mouth. A second later a pair of fangs clicked into place. Jane nodded. “Ned,” she said. She looked at the other brother. “You can go,” she said sharply.

Ted looked up. “But—”

“Go!” Jane repeated. “Back to the store. Lucy will be wondering where you are.”

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.

W
HEN
J
ANE WALKED INTO
F
LYLEAF
B
OOKS ON
T
UESDAY 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.”