Jane Goes Batty

  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.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said stiffly. “We’ll talk later.”

  She hung up.

  The happiness she’d felt from sharing Lucy’s excitement about her new relationship had completely disappeared. Now all she could think about was how she was, in essence, Jessica Abernathy’s employee. Added to the fact that she had to spend the rest of the day keeping an eye on Chloe, this put her in a decidedly unpleasant mood. Maybe I’ll bite somebody, she thought darkly.

  She got up and opened the office door. A woman was browsing the fiction shelves. Deciding it might cheer her up to help someone find a good book, Jane approached the customer.

  “Are you looking for anything in particular?” she asked.

  The woman turned around, and Jane was horrified to discover that it was Miriam Ellenberg. Miriam presented Jane with a tight smile. “Do you have Jane Eyre?” she asked. “It’s by Charlotte Brontë.”

  “So it is,” said Jane. “I believe we do have a copy or two.”

  “It’s such a good book,” Miriam remarked as Jane led her to the appropriate section. “I don’t know why, but I woke up this morning with a desire to read it again.”

  “Probably because of the festival,” Jane said. “It starts on Friday. You likely saw posters for it all over town.”

  “That’s probably it,” said Miriam as Jane found the novel and handed it to her.

  Of course she’s a Brontëite, Jane thought as she watched Walter’s mother examine the book as if she were checking it for defects. She wondered if Miriam had come by herself and if she was there for any other reason.

  This question was answered a moment later when Walter entered the store. He was holding two cups of coffee from the bakery a few doors down. When he saw Jane standing beside his mother a decidedly uncomfortable look crossed his face.

  “Good morning, Jane,” he said stiffly.

  “It is, isn’t it?” said Jane.

  “Did you find the book, Mother?” Walter asked Miriam.

  Miriam nodded. “Yes. But I think perhaps I don’t want to read it after all.” She handed the book back to Jane. “I’ll just look around.”

  Walter watched his mother wander over to the gardening books. “How are you?” he asked Jane.

  “I’m well,” Jane told him. “And you? Your mother seems to be enjoying her visit.”

  “At least one of us is,” said Walter. He looked at Jane. “I know my mother has a lot to do with what’s happened between us,” he said. “I should never have lied to her about you, and I should never have asked you to think about converting. I’m sorry.”

  Jane didn’t know what to say. How could she tell Walter that the reason she couldn’t be with him was because his mother knew she was a vampire? He would think she was insane.

  “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” she said. “Sometimes Mother knows best.”

  Walter reached out and took her hand. Jane found herself glancing toward Miriam to see if they were being watched. Walter’s mother, however, seemed engrossed in a book about the successful growing of daylilies.

  “Jane, it doesn’t matter to me what she thinks,” Walter said. “So if that’s the only reason you don’t think you can be with me, don’t let it come between us.”

  Jane squeezed his hand. “Walter, she’s your mother,” she said.

  “Do you love me?” Walter asked, surprising her.

  Jane looked into his eyes but said nothing.

  “Because I love you,” Walter continued. “You know that. And I think you love me. So if my mother is the only thing keeping us from being together, then just say so. Because I can handle my mother.”

  I’m not so sure you can, Jane thought as she struggled for words.

  “It’s a simple question, Jane,” said Walter. “Do you love me?”

 
Jane glanced at Miriam. The woman had put the book down and now was staring at Jane and Walter. Jane saw a look of pure hatred on her face. What Miriam knew about her could be disastrous for all of them.

  Then she looked at Walter. His blue eyes were pools of still water, but there was worry reflected in them, as if a storm were gathering. Jane longed to hold him and tell him that everything was going to be all right. But it wasn’t. It couldn’t ever be.

  She opened her mouth to tell him this but heard herself say, “You know I do.”

  Walter embraced her. “Then everything will be all right,” he whispered in her ear. “You’ll see.”

  Jane looked over his shoulder. Miriam met her gaze. She shook her head once, then turned and walked out of the shop.

  Jane closed her eyes and let Walter hold her.

  JANE AND BYRON KNELT BEHIND THE PEONY BUSHES AT THE SOUTH end of Walter’s yard. Very old and very large, the bushes sported huge pink and white flowers, and their dark green leaves provided excellent screening from the house. The only drawback was the bees, which buzzed sleepily around the flowers like tiny astronauts exploring new worlds. Jane eyed them warily as she peered through the bushes.

  “Tell me again why we can’t just go invisible,” she said. When Byron had suggested the mission to her earlier that day she’d assumed they would make use of their ability to disappear. He, however, had insisted on maintaining corporeality.

  “It’s difficult to use two abilities at once,” he said. “For instance, invisibility and glamoring. You end up making both weaker. You can do it, but it takes practice.”

  “But you’ve had a great deal of practice,” Jane reminded him.

  “Not with this particular ability,” said Byron. “I’ve done it, but not often.”

  Their conversation was cut short by the opening of the back door. Miriam appeared on the porch, and a moment later Lilith descended the short flight of stairs into the back garden. She ran using her peculiar three-legged hop into the grass, where she began sniffing around.

  “This is a terrible idea,” Jane whispered. “Miriam is watching. There’s no way we’ll be able to get the dog.”

  “Just be quiet,” said Byron. “And have the bag ready.”

  Jane was holding a pet carrier of the kind used to take cats or small dogs on airplanes. Entrance was through a rectangular opening on the top, and mesh panels on all four sides let in air. The bag was unzipped and waiting.

  Lilith had moved farther away from the porch. Miriam watched her as she explored the garden. “Go pee, sweetie,” she called out to the Chihuahua.

  Lilith ignored her, smelling a clump of lavender and moving on. She spied a butterfly and barked at it, sending it fluttering away. Lilith chased it as it came toward the peonies.

  “Just a little more,” Byron said softly.

  “Lilith!” Miriam called. “Not too far!”

  “Shut up, old woman,” Byron hissed.

  Lilith was only a few feet away now. The butterfly had flown off, but the little dog had found something new to investigate. She’s a nosy thing, Jane thought. No wonder Miriam uses her as a spy.

  Miriam’s voice rang out again. “I’m going to get my hat,” she shouted. “You stay right here.”

  “Now’s our chance,” said Byron. “Ready?”

  Jane nodded. As the back door shut Byron reached through the bushes and grabbed Lilith. The dog gave a sharp yip and tried to bite his hand, but Byron held tightly as he pulled her through the leaves and dropped her into the open bag. Jane zipped it shut as Lilith snapped at her fingers.

  “Go!” Byron said.

  They dashed out of the garden and made their way around the side of the house. Byron’s car was parked on the street parallel to Walter’s, and they had to cut through a neighboring yard to reach it.

  Jane jumped into the front seat just as Miriam’s voice rang out. “Lilith! Lilith!” she cried. “Come here!”

  In the bag Lilith growled. Byron started the car, drowning her out, and drove off with a whoop of triumph. “We got her!” he said.

  “But what are we going to do with her?” asked Jane.

  “I told you, we’re going to interrogate her,” Byron replied.

  “I thought you were being metaphorical,” Jane said. “You’re serious?”

  “Of course,” said Byron. “I told you, we can communicate with animals. What did you think I was doing back there?”

  “Sitting behind a bush,” Jane said.

  “I was using my ability to call the dog,” Byron said. “Honestly, do you ever listen to me? When I said I was going to use an ability, which one did you think I meant?”

  “It’s just that I didn’t hear you,” Jane explained.

  “That’s because it’s all done in here,” said Byron, tapping his head. “You don’t actually speak to them. Well, you can, but why bother when you can do it psychically?”

  “So what has Lilith told you?” Jane asked.

  “Nothing yet,” said Byron. “I used a very gentle call to get her to come to us. I haven’t actually spoken with her yet.”

  “Miriam is going to be frantic,” Jane said. “I feel bad for Walter. She’ll probably make him drive all over town looking for the dog.”

  “That’s not our problem,” Byron said. “We just need to find out what she knows.”

  Because they suspected that Miriam and Beverly might be watching their houses, and because they didn’t want to cast suspicion on Lucy or the twins by involving them in the dognapping, Jane and Byron had rented a room at a motel outside of town. They went there now, parking the car behind the main building and walking quickly to room 119. Lilith had stopped growling and was now resting quietly in the carrier.

  Once inside, Jane set the carrier on the room’s lone queen-size bed as Byron drew the curtains closed. He then turned on the overhead light, casting a yellow glow over the walls, which were painted a sickly coral color. It also did no favors for the faded brown carpet, although for some reason it improved the painting affixed to the wall over the bed—a poorly done scene of what Jane imagined was supposed to be a Mexican village market.

  “Let her out,” Byron told Jane, with a wave at the pet carrier.

  Jane glanced at the carrier. “Are you sure?”

  Byron nodded.

  Jane approached the bed and reached for the zipper on the top of the carrier. Lilith remained quiet. Cautiously, Jane unzipped one side, then an end, and then the remaining side. As soon as the carrier was open Lilith sprang out with a loud growl, landing on the hideous pink-and-brown-striped bedspread. Her three legs acting as a tripod, she glared at Byron and Jane, her teeth bared and her small ears sticking up. Jane backed away, but Byron calmly sat in one of the room’s two tattered armchairs.

  “Now then,” he said. “Let’s give this a try. Jane, you should be able to listen in.”

  “Me?” said Jane. “I can’t communicate with animals.”

  “I believe you can,” Byron replied. “Tom and Jasper tell me they sometimes get flashes of it from you.”

  “Tom and Jasper?” said Jane, shocked. “My cat and my dog talk to you about me?”

  “Don’t worry,” Byron said. “They haven’t said anything unpleasant. To the contrary, they’re both fond of you. Although Tom would like you to know that he doesn’t appreciate being called Mr. Fuzzybum. Just so you know.”

  Jane wanted to find out what else they’d said about her, but Byron was focused on Lilith, so instead she asked, “What do I do?”

  “It’s similar to when you go invisible,” said Byron. “Empty your mind and focus on Lilith. Let her thoughts enter your mind.”

  “That’s a little vague,” Jane said, taking a seat in the other chair and keeping her eyes on Lilith, who was looking from Jane to Byron as if deciding which would be easiest to take down.

  “It’s one of those things that can’t really be explained,” said Byron. “It either happens or it doesn’t. It helps if you make eye contact with the animal.?
??

  Jane tried. She looked into Lilith’s eyes and tried to empty her mind. At first all she heard was the little dog’s growl. But after a minute or two she thought she understood some words. She concentrated harder and the words came again.

  “Oh my,” Jane said. “That wasn’t very nice.”

  “So you heard that,” said Byron. “She has a filthy mouth for such a cute dog. Were you able to hear what I asked her?”

  Jane shook her head.

  “Try again,” Byron said.

  Jane took a deep breath and once again focused on Lilith’s eyes. For a few seconds she heard what sounded like static. Then Byron’s voice cut through.

  “Who is Miriam Ellenberg?” he asked.

  “You know who she is,” said a high, thin voice that could only be Lilith’s.

  “What is Miriam Ellenberg?” asked Byron.

  “Why should I tell you anything?” Lilith replied.

  “Because if you don’t I’m going to put you back in that carrier and toss it into the river,” Byron told the little dog.

  Jane was horrified. He wouldn’t do that, she thought.

  “Good to know,” said Lilith. “Thank you, Jane.”

  “You’re wel—” Jane began.

  “Jane!” Byron’s voice was sharp. “A little discretion, if you please!”

  “Sorry,” Jane said aloud.

  “Don’t speak!” said Byron. “Just think. Only don’t think about anything you don’t want overheard.”

  Immediately Jane began thinking about exactly those things.

  “Ted and Ned?” Lilith said.

  “Stop thinking!” Byron commanded. “Or focus on something to mask your thoughts. A poem or song, anything to occupy your mind.”

  “She really isn’t very good at this, is she?” Lilith remarked.

  Jane thought quickly, searching her mind for something to distract her from thinking about things she shouldn’t. She suddenly could remember not a single nursery rhyme or song, and although she searched and searched for a poem with which to occupy herself, the only lines she could recall came from Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, which she’d learned as a child. It will have to do, she told herself, and began to recite them in her head.