Jane Vows Vengeance

Crispin’s Needle. This Ratcliffe was indeed a hunter—a vampire hunter. And apparently he had been convincing vampires that he could save their souls. But really he was murdering them, Jane realized.

“You must have seen this letter and photo somewhere,” Walter said, bringing her back to the moment. “In a book, maybe?”

“It’s possible,” said Enid. “It has been reprinted in one book about the theater. But it’s rather obscure. I don’t know where someone such as yourself would have come across it.”

“Jane owns a bookstore,” Walter said.

“Yes,” Jane said. “I believe I remember now. A customer—the drama teacher at the university—special- ordered a book and it was in there. How odd that the name stuck in my head. I guess because it’s such an unusual one.” She laughed lightly, hoping her deception would pass muster.

“It isn’t really,” said Enid. “Crump is actually quite common.”

Jane ignored the slight. Something more pressing was on her mind. “What happened to Argyll and Maisie?” she asked, her voice tight.

“Peploe and Longmuir?” said Enid, her tone suggesting that Jane was being far too familiar with these greats of the theater. “That’s a tragic story. Two years after the success of He Thinks He’ll Keep Her Longmuir too succumbed to morphine addiction. Peploe’s end was even more tragic. He died onstage during a performance of The Black Bird Sings. Someone substituted a real knife for the prop knife during the climactic fight scene, and he was stabbed through the heart by his best friend, Cecil Baggs-Cowper.”

I bet I know who substituted the knife, Jane thought. Ratcliffe. Bloody vampire hunter.

She looked over at Miriam, whose smug expression showed Jane that she was thinking the same thing, although with the opposite reaction. Jane wanted very much to bite her at that moment, but there was too much to think about. Also, of course, it would likely alarm Walter. But she would talk to Miriam later. She had questions, and she was fairly certain that Miriam had answers.

“We still don’t know who Jane’s look-alike is,” Brodie said, bringing things back to the matter at hand.

“Probably just some tart,” Enid said dismissively. “Shall we move on? There are far more interesting things to see than these old photos.”

As the group walked away, Jane took a glance back at the photo of herself, then at Runciman’s journal. Not to me, she thought, a thousand questions swirling in her head.

Chapter 16

Saturday: Edinburgh

The steam rising from the haggis brought with it the scent of oatmeal, onions, and meat. It was not unlike the smell that came from the can when Jane fed her cat, Tom, his dinner. Ben, who had insisted on ordering the haggis, now looked a wee bit discomfited.

“On second thought, maybe this isn’t kosher,” he said.

Lucy poked a fork into the haggis and held it to Ben’s mouth. “Just try it, you big baby,” she said.

Ben shut his eyes and opened his mouth. Lucy fed him the bite of haggis, then watched him chew. His expression changed from one of apprehension to guarded relief and finally to enjoyment. He took the fork from Lucy and attacked the haggis with gusto.

“Isn’t he just the cutest thing?” Lucy said. “My little Jewish William Wallace.”

“Next year in Edinburgh!” Ben said, raising his glass of whiskey.

“I’m so getting you a kilt tomorrow,” said Lucy, kissing him.

Jane laughed. Seeing Lucy and Ben so happy together made her happy. She wondered when they would be getting married. It seemed inevitable. They were perfect for each other.

She looked at Walter, seated next to her. He too was laughing at Lucy’s remark. Jane reached over and rubbed his neck. “Do you want one too, dear?”

Walter cocked his head. “There is a Fletcher tartan,” he said. “My father had a tie made from it. Do you remember that, Mom?”

“No,” Miriam said. She stood up. “I need to use the restroom.”

Jane, who had been waiting all evening for an opportunity to speak to Miriam, stood as well. “I’ll go with you,” she said.

Miriam eyed her warily. “I think I can manage this on my own,” she said.

“Just walk,” Jane said sternly under her breath. She took hold of Miriam’s upper arm and steered her away from the table.

“Unhand me!” Miriam snarled.

Jane let go and pushed open the ladies’ room door. Miriam went inside and whirled around as Jane entered behind her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she said.

“Tell me about Ratcliffe,” said Jane, crossing her arms over her chest and fixing Miriam with a hard stare.

Miriam turned and looked at her face in the mirror over the bathroom’s lone sink. She smirked as she fixed her hair. “I wondered when this would come up.”

“He was no dope peddler,” Jane said. “We both know that.”

Miriam turned. “Well, aren’t you clever?” she said. “No, he most certainly was not. Peter Ratcliffe was one of the most successful demon hunters of all time. He’s a legend.”

“Demon hunter,” Jane said, rolling her eyes. “He killed vampires.”

Miriam shrugged. “That’s what they assumed your kind were back then,” she said. “And I’m not entirely sure they weren’t right.”

“I’ll have you know that several of the demons he killed were my friends,” Jane said, baring her teeth.

“Yes,” said Miriam. “I gathered by your reaction to seeing the photograph.”

“Runciman knew what he was,” Jane said. “Why didn’t he just kill Ratcliffe?”

Miriam laughed. “That’s the best part,” she said. “He didn’t kill him because he couldn’t be killed.” She paused for dramatic effect, but Jane guessed what she was going to say and beat her to it.

“Because Ratcliffe was a vampire,” she said. “Of course. Now it makes sense. And this needle Runciman wrote about—I assume he means Crispin’s Needle.”

“Crispin’s Needle is a myth,” said Miriam. “Ratcliffe invented it to trick vampires into killing themselves. He told them it would free their souls or some such nonsense, but all it did was send them back to hell.”

“He could hardly send them back when they didn’t come from there in the first place,” Jane said. “All he did was murder them.”

“They murdered themselves,” Miriam argued. “He just convinced them to do it.”

“That’s despicable,” said Jane.

“It’s ingenious,” Miriam countered. Then she added, “If it was real, would you use it?”

Jane was surprised by the question. Of course, she had been asking herself the same thing ever since Gosebourne had first told her about the Needle, but she never expected to be having this conversation with Walter’s mother. And she wasn’t sure how to respond. She really didn’t want Miriam to know what her thoughts were on the matter. She did, however, want to know what Miriam was thinking.

“Would it make a difference to you if I did?” she said.

Miriam looked at her, saying nothing, and Jane understood that she was having the same reservations about revealing her hand. Now Jane really did wonder whether it would make any difference to Miriam if she could become mortal again. Would her having been a vampire still be a reason for Miriam to hate her? Or would that all be left in