Suzu clapped her hands together. “I’m impressed,” she said. “You figured out in a handful of hours what some people”—she glanced triumphantly at Jane—“didn’t even suspect.”
“But the hair,” Jane said. “And the … eyes,” she finished, wondering if drawing attention to them was racially insensitive.
“Makeup and a wig, you idiot,” Suzu said. “And before you ask, yes, I was the one who threw Ryan McGuinness from the tower.”
“See?” Jane said to Walter. “I was right all along.”
Walter was staring at Suzu. “She’s Charlotte Bro—”
“Our Gloomy Friend!” Jane said.
“And that thing she’s holding?” he asked.
“It’s called Crispin’s Needle,” Jane answered. “It’s a kind of relic.”
“If you don’t mind telling us, why
“For the simplest reason of all,” Charlotte told him. “So that no one else can have it.” She sneered at Jane. “Especially you.”
“Now it makes sense,” said Byron. “You think that by denying Jane her mortality that you’ll ruin her life because then she either won’t marry Walter or will have to turn him.”
“Something like that,” Charlotte said.
“Turn me into what?” asked Walter.
“Well, now you have the Needle,” Byron said. “Give us Miriam.”
“I really should kill her,” said Charlotte. “Do you know what she is?”
Byron nodded. “I do,” he said.
“She’s my mother!” Walter cried.
“Oh, she’s far more than that,” said Charlotte. “You have no idea the treachery the women around you have wrought.”
“Just hand her over,” Byron said firmly.
Charlotte huffed. “Fine,” she said. “She’s tied up behind that tree over there.”
Walter handed Lilith to Jane and ran in the direction of Charlotte’s pointing finger. A minute later he returned leading a very annoyed Miriam. She was cursing and gesturing with her hands.
“I should never have taken my eyes off that little bastard!” she shouted, pointing at Bergen.
She rushed at him, her hands clawing the air, and knocked him down. Immediately Byron and Walter leapt forward and tried to pull her off.
“I’m going to stake him!” Miriam shouted. “I don’t care if he isn’t a bloodsucker. He deserves it!”
“She’s much stronger than she looks,” Byron remarked as Miriam and Bergen rolled around on the ground, wrestling madly. Finally they managed to pull Miriam off the architect, who lay on the ground, whimpering softly.
“Where’s the other one?” Miriam asked. “That one I
Jane looked around for Charlotte, but she was nowhere to be found. In all of the commotion, she had disappeared.
Miriam, searching the cemetery, stopped short when she saw William. Jane was surprised to see her start to tremble. She shook her head back and forth.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“Hello, Miriam,” William said. “It’s lovely to see you again.”
Walter looked at his mother. “You know him?”
Miriam nodded but said nothing.
“Mom?” Walter said. “Are you all right?”
Miriam took a deep breath. “No,” she said. “I’m not all right.”
Walter pointed at William. “Is it him? Is he what’s upsetting you?”
When Miriam didn’t reply, Walter turned to William. “What’s going on here?” he said, his voice heavy with confusion and anger. “How do you know my mother?”
William looked at Miriam, who nodded. “Tell him,” she said. “It’s time he knew.”
Chapter 26
Saturday: London
Jane drained the rest of the pint of cider and set it down. Byron, seated across from her at a table in the Tipsy Shrew, bit a pickled egg in half and offered Jane the smaller of the two pieces. She took it and popped it into her mouth.
“I haven’t had a pickled egg in ages,” she said. “I’d forgotten how dreadful they are.”
“Every twenty years or so I have one to remind myself,” said Byron.
Jane took a sip of his ale to wash away the bitter taste of the egg. “How do you suppose he’s handling it?”
Byron shrugged. “How would any man handle being told his father isn’t really his father and that, by the way, his real dad is a vampire?”
“And that’s just the beginning,” said Jane. “Then I have to tell him about myself. His entire world is being turned upside down.”
“Yes, well, perhaps if he’d been told sooner …” Byron said.
Jane wagged a finger at him. “Don’t you even start with that,” she said. “I still can’t believe that it never occurred to you that William might be Walter’s father.”
“Why would it?” Byron asked. “Fletcher is a very common name.”
“Still, it never crossed your mind? Not even in a ‘wouldn’t it be funny if’ kind of way?”
“No,” Byron said. “It really didn’t.”
“I’ll never understand men,” Jane said. “William Fletcher was your almost constant companion from the time you were sixteen. And apparently you’ve kept in touch ever since. Are you saying that not once did he mention to you that he seduced a vampire hunter who shared his last name?”
Byron looked uncomfortable. “He might have mentioned the seducing a vampire hunter part,” he admitted. “But that must have been at least forty years ago. I can hardly be expected to have remembered it.”
“I’m assuming you turned him,” Jane said.
“Surprisingly, no,” said Byron. “That was just a happy accident.”
“How did Miriam find him anyway?” Jane asked, signaling the waitress that she would like another pint.
Byron leaned forward. “Apparently after she married George Fletcher she became interested in researching the family tree. Our William was George’s sixteenth uncle thrice removed or some such thing. When Miriam couldn’t find a death certificate for him, or really any information on him at all, she became suspicious and did some more digging. This brought her to London, where she managed to track William down. Her plan was to stake him, but as you know he’s a man of considerable charms.”
“So I’ve heard,” Jane said.
“William managed to seduce her,” Byron continued. “And apparently it took, if you catch my meaning.”
The waitress arrived with Jane’s drink and took away the empty glass. Jane held the glass in her hand, feeling the coolness of the sides and thinking.
“I assume George never knew,” she said.
“I would think not,” said Byron. “That would certainly be awkward. Can you see Miriam sitting him down and saying, ‘Dear, the bad news is that I’ve had an affair. The good news is that he’s an ancestor. Oh, and by the way, the bairn has a good chance of being a vampire.’ ”
Jane almost choked on her cider.
“What?” Byron asked.
“The bairn,” Jane said. “I mean Walter. He’s
