mocking her for failing to do it? Did he know she was bluffing?
“Walter is surprisingly open-minded,” she said.
Byron rolled onto his side, pushing Tom off the bed. The cat padded from the room, leaving them alone. Jane tried to avoid looking any lower than Byron’s face, but he was making it difficult.
“And have you told young Lucy?” he asked.
“Not yet,” said Jane.
Byron rubbed his fingers over his chest. “Then I can still pay her a visit,” he said. “That’s certainly an
“Don’t you dare!” Jane exclaimed. “I’m going to tell her.”
“Ah, but you haven’t,” said Byron. He sat up and reached for his pants, which were on the floor.
Jane grabbed his arm. “No,” she said. “Please.”
Byron stroked her face with his free hand. “Sweet Jane,” he said. “My beautiful, sweet Jane. For you I would do most anything.”
“Then leave Lucy alone,” Jane pleaded.
“Very well,” said Byron. “But if I’m not to share her bed, then I require a substitute.”
Jane, understanding all too well his meaning, started to pull away. Then Byron’s lips parted to reveal two sharp fangs.
“I’m hungry, Jane,” he said, his voice low and seductive. “Oh, so hungry.”
Jane imagined Lucy asleep in her bed, Byron looking down at her. He had already fed from her once. Another bite and she was likely to turn. Unless he killed her. And the thing that would decide the matter was whatever words Jane next spoke. She closed her eyes and pictured Lucy laughing and smiling.
“All right,” she said. “Stay with me.”
Chapter 16
She wondered if there really was such a thing as atonement. Would Charles, if he knew who she really was, forgive her?
Byron was gone in the morning, the only proof of his having been there the pounding in Jane’s head like the clanging of church bells. Her whole body ached, and she could barely stand the light. She’d forgotten what it was like when two of her kind joined together. All of their senses became heightened, but the drawback was that their frailties did as well. Jane was ravenously hungry. She hated searching for food in the morning, but she would have to if she wanted to get through the day.
First, though, she had to make sure that Byron had kept his end of their bargain. She reached for the phone and dialed Lucy’s home number. As she listened to it ring, she scratched idly at the tiny bite marks on her thigh.
“Hello?”
“Lucy?” Jane said. “It’s me.” She realized then that she had no excuse prepared for why she was calling Lucy at—she glanced at the clock—8:22 in the morning.
“Hey, Jane,” said Lucy. “What’s up?”
“Well,” Jane replied, trying to get her foggy brain to work, “I, um, just wanted to see if you’d like me to pick you up a bagel on my way to the store.”
“Oh,” said Lucy. “Sure, I guess.”
“Great,” Jane enthused. “What kind?”
“How about raisin?” said Lucy. “With plain cream cheese.”
“You got it,” Jane said, much too enthusiastically. “I’ll see you in about an hour. Oh, say, how are those spider bites?”
“Gone,” Lucy said. “No more itching.”
“And you slept well?”
“Like a baby,” said Lucy. “Anything else, Mom?”
“Very funny,” Jane said. “I’ll see you in an hour.”
She hung up, feeling like a complete fool. What must Lucy think of her? “And you slept well?’” she said, mimicking her own voice. “Honestly, sometimes you’re a right fool, Jane Austen. Jane Fairfax,” she corrected herself. Her head resumed pounding.
After a hurried shower she drove to the deli and picked up some bagels and cream cheese. The smell of the food made her queasy, and she knew she couldn’t hold out much longer. She had to feed, and soon.
The problem was that there wasn’t enough time for her to drive to any of her usual places. She would have to hunt locally. That was a huge problem under the best of circumstances. In the daylight, with only twenty minutes before she had to be at the shop, it was almost impossible. But she had no choice.
She drove around for a few minutes, hoping against hope that breakfast would fall into her lap. She considered and rejected a jogger, a drunk asleep at a bus stop, and a man delivering fruit to a grocery store. She was just about to go back to the drunk when she found herself in front of Our Lady of Perpetual Peace. A sign outside said: GOD IS ALWAYS READY TO LISTEN. CONFESSION ALL DAY.
Despite this, she found herself driving around the corner and parking the car in a spot reserved for patrons of the hair salon that had yet to open for the day. Reaching into the backseat, she retrieved her bag of hunting clothes and selected from it a short blond wig, which she pulled on and arranged as best she could. She was already wearing sunglasses to shield her increasingly sensitive eyes, and she added a scarf so that her face was almost entirely concealed.
Getting out, she walked quickly to the church and up the steps. Inside, she scanned the sanctuary. It was empty. The confessional was to the right. The curtains on the penitents’ chambers on either side were pulled back, but the one covering the central priest’s chamber was closed.
Jane went to the left-hand chamber and pulled the curtain shut behind her. Kneeling on the narrow padded rail, she waited until the small window in the wall separating her from the priest slid back. She could just make out the outline of his face as he said, “What have you to confess, child?”
Focusing her mind, Jane spoke in a voice very unlike her own. “Forgive me, Father,” she said, the words sounding more like an incantation than a confession. “I have sinned.”
She seldom used her glamoring ability. Usually the men she chose were already otherwise incapacitated. But occasionally she had to use more esoteric means. She did so now. She knew that as she spoke, her words were fogging the priest’s mind.
“Yes?” the priest said. He sounded confused.
“I have lied,” Jane said. “Forgive me.”
“You are forgiven,” said the priest, although he did not sound at all sure about this. “You must…” His voice trailed off.
Jane exited the confessional and slid soundlessly into the priest’s compartment. He sat on an ordinary folding chair, looking straight ahead with a peaceful smile on his face. Jane bent and removed the collar from around his neck. Then, holding his head gently in her hands, she fed.
Almost immediately she felt better. Within a minute her head ceased to ache and her eyes no longer burned. She took only a little more blood from the priest before releasing him. Taking a tissue from her coat pocket, she held it to the two small punctures on his throat. When she was satisfied that there was no more bleeding, she replaced his collar and fastened it.
“Forgive me, Father,” she said as she turned and fled from the church.
She made it to the bookstore just as Lucy was unlocking the front door. Lucy waited for Jane to get out of the car. “What’s with the cut-and-dye?” Lucy asked.
