Jane Goes Batty (37 page)

Back on the deck they found Walter, Ben, and Byron talking to Miriam. Seeing her there, Jane bristled slightly. Although she and Walter’s mother had declared a truce of sorts, her presence still made Jane uncomfortable. She would be relieved when Miriam was safely on a plane back to Florida.

“Jane,” Walter said, “my mother just gave us some wonderful news.” From the tone of his voice, Jane sensed that the opposite was true.

“I’ve decided to move to Brakeston,” Miriam announced. She fixed Jane with a steely stare. “I’m tired of the heat in Florida.”

Jane forced a smile. “That’s wonderful,” she said. She embraced Miriam, feeling the woman tense beneath her touch.

“Remember, a grandchild or I stake you,” Miriam whispered.

“Walter and I will get to work on that immediately,” Jane whispered back, “Mother.” She emphasized the final word and gave Miriam a peck on the cheek.

“Well,” she said, letting go of Miriam and lifting her glass. “Let’s have a toast, shall we?”

The others, even a reluctant Miriam, raised their glasses.

“As an old friend once said to me, ‘Forever is composed of nows,’ ” Jane said. “Here’s to the many nows to come.”

They all drank. Afterward their various conversations resumed. Jane separated herself from the group and stood at the edge of the deck, thinking about her future and what it might hold. A minute later Walter walked over to her.

“That quote,” he said. “It’s from an Emily Dickinson poem, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Jane nodded. “I’d forgotten that.”

“You said it came from an old friend,” Walter continued.

Jane thought back to the lovely fall day that she and Emily had enjoyed together in Amherst. “I suppose that’s how I think of her,” she told Walter. “Isn’t that what our favorite writers become to us, old friends?”

Walter smiled. “I suppose they do,” he said. “Does that mean you and I are old friends?”

Jane took his hand. “We will be,” she said. “We will be.”

Writing a sequel to a book has been, for me, an undertaking fraught with peril. Often I have forgotten what characters look like, what they did in the previous book, and sometimes even what their names are. This admission frequently horrifies people, but it’s true. I am not a good literary parent.

Therefore it is an enormous relief to me that there are people to keep me from doing irreparable damage to my hapless creations. Chief among them are my editor, Caitlin Alexander, and my agent, Mitchell Waters. I cause them no end of worry, and they are very kind about not yelling any more than is absolutely necessary. I also owe a debt of gratitude to the copyeditors and proofreaders who caught my errors and made sure everything came out all right in the end.

Finally, I am enormously grateful to every single person who read and enjoyed
Jane Bites Back
and wrote to say so. Thank you.

Read on for an excerpt from
Jane Vows Vengeance

by Michael Thomas Ford
Published by Ballantine Books

“W
HAT ABOUT THIS ONE?
”

Jane glanced at the magazine Lucy was holding up, opened to a picture of a bride standing in a field of daisies. She wore a sheath-style dress of ivory silk and a birdcage veil to which was affixed a huge pale pink gardenia. Not far behind her stood a Holstein cow, gazing at the camera with a disinterested look.

Jane grimaced. “I don’t think I have the upper arms for that,” she said.

“Of course you do,” said Lucy. “Well, with a little work you could.”

Jane ignored her. “Why would a bride go tromping around in a field of cows?” she said irritably. “If there’s any train at
all
on that dress she’s going to drag it right through a pile of—”

“It’s
one
cow,” Lucy said wearily. “And it’s a photo shoot for a fashion magazine, not an article in
National Geographic
. Get a grip.”

“I’m sorry.” Jane sighed, closing the magazine she was paging through and tossing it onto the pile covering the top of the kitchen table. “It’s just that they’re all starting to blur together. Cap sleeves. Bateau necklines. Basque waists. Mermaid this and sweetheart that and princess whatever. It’s maddening.”

Lucy picked up another magazine. “
Victorian Bride,
” she read, looking at the cover. She glanced at Jane. “Really?”

Jane chewed the nail on her left index finger. “I grabbed everything they had,” she said. “I think I have wedding sickness.”

Eight months had passed since she’d accepted Walter’s marriage proposal. Shortly before the Christmas holidays she’d moved into Walter’s house. It was now February, and although Walter was not pressuring Jane to pick a date for their wedding, a different deadline hung over Jane’s head like the ominous dark clouds of an approaching thunderstorm.

Jane had so far avoided telling her fiancé that she was a vampire. Her undead condition was, however, known to Walter’s mother. Miriam Fletcher had turned out to be even more of a challenge than mothers-in-law generally are. Miriam was a vampire hunter, and not surprisingly she disapproved of her son’s girlfriend. Initially she had vowed to dispatch Jane at the earliest convenience; however, after Jane had rescued Miriam from almost certain death at the hands of a deranged vampire–turned–book reviewer, a truce had been declared. With one condition: Jane had a year in which to produce a grandchild. Should she fail, all bets were off and Miriam and she would once again be mortal enemies.

In addition to not having planned a wedding, Jane had not become pregnant. She wasn’t even sure she
could
conceive. To make matters worse, Miriam had decided to move from Florida to upstate New York so that she could keep an eye on her daughter-in-law-to-be. Thankfully, Walter had not suggested that his mother move into the house with them. However, he
had
suggested that Miriam buy Jane’s former home. As neither Jane nor Miriam—despite both thinking very hard—had been able to come up with a good reason why this course of action should not be taken, a deal had been struck, and the week after Jane had moved herself, her pets, and her possessions into Walter’s house, a trio of anxious young men had unloaded Miriam’s belongings from a truck under Miriam’s scrutinous supervision.

The matter of Jane’s barren state was becoming a greater problem with each passing week. With only four months left in which to become pregnant, she felt Miriam becoming increasingly impatient. To her credit, Miriam had never once reminded Jane of the looming deadline, and she and Jane were cordial enough to each other that Walter had often remarked on how pleased he was that they were getting on so well. Still, Jane knew that she was being watched.

She was not surprised, then, when Miriam made an appearance in the kitchen just moments later. She was dressed in a variation of the peculiar ensemble she’d adopted following the first snowfall of the winter. Unused to cold, let alone snow, she had opted for warmth over fashion, exchanging the lightweight pant-suits that had served her well in Florida’s tropical climate for sturdy corduroy trousers and heavy wool sweaters in Irish fisherman and Norwegian ski patterns. At the moment she was wearing moss-green pants and a cream-colored Aran sweater with a rolled neck. Below the knees her pants were tucked into a pair of brown Wellingtons, and on her head was a black-and-red buffalo-plaid hunter’s cap with earflaps and a shearling lining.

“It’s cold enough to freeze a bear’s ass,” she said as she pulled the cap off and sat down. “I need some coffee.”

In addition to her new wardrobe, Miriam had also acquired a collection of sayings generally used only by residents of the New England states. No matter how many times Walter told her that New York—despite its name—was not considered part of New England, Miriam persisted in behaving as if it were, occasionally even taking on an accent that was more Maine lobsterman than Jewish mother.

Jane got up and poured Miriam a cup of coffee, then refilled Lucy’s mug. She herself was drinking hot chocolate. Although her vampire metabolism didn’t require that she eat, she still enjoyed the activity, particularly if it involved sweets.

“Still looking at dresses, I see,” Miriam remarked, nodding at the magazines.

“Yes,” said Jane. “Still looking.” This was not a conversation she wanted to have, yet she knew it was unavoidable.

“I really don’t see what the problem is.” Miriam sniffed. “Choosing a dress shouldn’t be any more difficult than choosing a paint color. Just pick the one that’s going to hide the problem areas the best. Take you, for example. You’ve got a wide—”

“I believe I’ve narrowed it down,” Jane said. “The dress choices,” she clarified as Miriam started to reply.

Miriam peered at her through the steam from her mug. “And have you set a date?” she asked. “Summer’s right around the corner, you know.”

Was Miriam referring to the approaching anniversary of their agreement or just remarking on the fact that a summer wedding would be lovely? Jane chose to believe it was the latter, although Miriam’s tone could go either way.

“Why don’t you and Walter just elope?” Lucy suggested.

Miriam and Jane both turned their heads to look at her.

“What?” said Lucy. “It would save a lot of fuss and bother.”

“I thought you were excited about being my maid of honor,” Jane said.

“I am. I’m just saying, if this is making you so crazy, just get married at the courthouse and go to Tahiti for two weeks or something.”

“That
would
be nice,” Jane mused. “We could lie on the beach and have fruit drinks.”

“Nonsense,” said Miriam. “You’re going to be married right here so that I—so that all of your friends can join in the celebration.”

Jane looked at Lucy, who rolled her eyes and puffed out her cheeks. “It was just a suggestion,” she muttered.

“Walter’s
first
wedding was simply perfect,” Miriam informed them. “Evelyn was absolutely stunning.”

And now she’s dead
, Jane thought, immediately mortified that
such a thing would pop into her head. But it was true. Besides, it was becoming far too common an occurrence for Miriam to compare Jane to Walter’s deceased wife. The week before, when Jane had tried her hand at cooking a brisket because Miriam had mentioned how much she enjoyed one, Miriam’s response was to tell her how Evelyn’s brisket had been so much moister and how she had served small roasted potatoes with it instead of mashed.

“Miriam, what kind of dress do
you
think Jane should wear?” Lucy asked.

Miriam waved a hand at her. “Oh, you know I don’t care. I’m sure whatever she wants is fine.”

Jane felt her fangs click into place. She closed her eyes and concentrated on forcing them to retract.
You can’t bite her
, she reminded herself.

Miriam looked at Jane. “Do you have a headache, Jane?” she asked. “You look tense.”

“I’m fine,” Jane snapped. She opened her eyes. “I’m fine,” she repeated, giving Miriam a tight smile.

The front door opened and closed. “Jane?” Walter called out. “Where are you?”

“In here,” Jane called back. “With Lucy and your
mother.
”

Walter came into the kitchen, brushing snow from his hair. “I have great news,” he said as he bent to kiss first his mother and then Jane.

“You got the Thorne-Waxe House job!” Jane said. Walter had recently been asked to submit a proposal for restoring a rundown Victorian house that had been cut up into four apartments. The new owners wanted to bring it back to its original glory.

“Oh, yes, I did,” said Walter. “But that’s not the big news.”

The three women looked at him. “Well?” Jane said after a long pause.

“I’ve solved our wedding problem,” Walter said, beaming. “Well, not so much the wedding problem, but the honeymoon problem.”

“What do you mean the honeymoon problem?” Miriam asked.

“Jane and I have been trying to decide where to go on our honeymoon.”

“What honeymoon?” said Miriam. “You haven’t even set a date for the wedding!”

“We’ll figure that out,” Walter said. “The important thing is, I know where we’re going afterward.”

“Tahiti?” said Lucy. She’d been pushing that suggestion for months.

“Europe,” said Walter.

“Europe is a big place,” Jane reminded him. “Can you narrow it down a bit?”

“That’s the best part,” said Walter. “We don’t have to narrow it down. I’ve been invited on a tour of historic houses with the International Association of Historic Preservationists. They’re spending two weeks looking at homes in Ireland, France, Germany, Switzerland, Italy, and England. Maybe Scotland and Spain too. Oh, and Holland or somewhere. I can’t remember the exact details. Doesn’t it sound fun?”

“How many other people will be going on our honeymoon with us?” Jane inquired.

“I don’t know, two dozen or so, I guess. But we don’t have to do
everything
with the group. There’s a lot of free time built into the itinerary. And it’s not really our honeymoon. We can add another week on at the end for just the two of us. Anywhere you want to go.” He looked at the three women, who sat there saying nothing. “Well?”