Jane Bites Back

“He’s gone,” Walter repeated. “He left last night. Apparently there was some kind of family emergency back home. I went over this morning to do some final touch-up work on the veranda railing, and I found this taped to the door.” He waved a crumpled piece of paper at them.

Jane stifled a smile. “It was a bit rude to just leave you a note,” she said.

Walter sniffed. “Writers,” he said. He looked at Jane. “Sorry.”

Lucy, busy unpacking a box of books, said, “That’s too bad. He seemed like an interesting man.”

“That’s not the word I’d use,” said Walter. “I mean, I understand if there’s an emergency, but to just take off like that?”

Jane was having difficulty containing her excitement. If Byron really had gone (and she wasn’t completely convinced that he had), then her plan had worked more beautifully than she’d hoped. But she couldn’t appear too pleased in front of Walter, who had no idea what Byron had wanted to do to him.

“I have to get back to work,” Walter said testily. “I just had to tell somebody.”

Jane affected a look of pity. “It’s all right, Walter,” she said. “These things happen.”

Walter mumbled something unintelligible in reply. “I’ll see you later,” he said.

When he was gone, Lucy turned to Jane. “We did it!” she squealed, jumping up and giving Jane a big hug.

“Possibly,” Jane agreed. “We still need to keep our eyes open. I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

“Too bad we didn’t have him autograph a few of these before he left,” Lucy said. She dropped a copy of The Complete Poems of Lord Byron on the counter. Jane looked at it for a moment.

“So you did hear me,” she said. “I wondered.”

“You know, I thought he seemed a little familiar,” said Lucy. “But I figured he just looked like some actor I’d seen or some guy who’d come into the store before. Then when you called him Byron it occurred to me where I’d seen him before. On this book jacket.”

Jane studied the portrait on the cover. “He’s awfully handsome, isn’t he?” she said.

“Mmm,” said Lucy. “He’s a hottie all right. A lying, cheating, blood-sucking hottie.” She leaned against the counter. “So, who does that make you?”

“Why do I have to be somebody?” Jane asked. “Perhaps I’m just some ordinary woman who got involved with the wrong kind of man. Is that so unusual?”

“You could be,” Lucy admitted. “But I don’t think so.”

Jane squinted her eyes. “And why not?” she asked.

“Because,” Lucy replied, squinting back, “I found this on your dresser.” She held up a locket. It was open, and inside was a small watercolor portrait of Cassie.

“You spied!” Jane yelped.

Lucy shook her head. “Actually, I didn’t. I went into your room to see if you had a hairbrush I could borrow. This was open on the dresser.”

“But you stole it,” Jane said. “That’s even worse.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “I didn’t steal it,” she said. “I borrowed it. To compare it to the portrait in this.” She held up one of the several Jane Austen biographies the store carried. It was opened to a portrait of Cassandra. “They’re practically the same,” Lucy said.

“So I have a picture in a locket that resembles that one,” Jane said. “What of it?”

Lucy snapped the book shut. “The jig is up,” she said. “Out with it.”

Jane shuffled some papers on the counter. “Oh, all right,” she said. “Yes, that’s Cassie. And yes, I’m …” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.

“Jane Austen,” Lucy said in a gloating tone. “You. Are. Jane. Austen.” She enunciated each word separately. Then she stood with her mouth open, staring at Jane. “You’re Jane Austen,” she said again, this time in a voice filled with awe. “Jane Austen. You’re Jane Austen.”

“I know,” Jane said. “You don’t have to remind me quite so many times.”

Lucy shook her head as if trying to wake herself up. “This is too weird,” she said. “I was okay with the vampire thing. I mean, that’s freaky, but I was okay with it. And I was even okay with the Byron thing. But this— this is just too much.” She stared at Jane. “You’re Jane freaking Austen!”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Jane said. “Yes, I’m Jane Austen. And I’m a vampire. And it is, as you say, too freaking much. But that’s how it is.” She was talking loudly. She took a moment to calm herself before speaking again. “I’m sorry,” she told Lucy. “I forget that you haven’t had as much time as I have to process this.”

“It’s all right,” said Lucy. “I think I’m over it.”

Jane looked up. “What? A moment ago you were acting as if you’d just seen Father Christmas.”

“Yeah, well, now I’m over it,” Lucy said. “I’m funny like that.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling well?” asked Jane. “Do you need to lie down or something?”

“You look different from your portrait,” Lucy said. “Prettier.”

Jane blushed. “Thank you,” she said. “Cassandra had some talent as an artist, but I’ve always thought that portrait makes me look a bit mousy. Also, I’ve changed my hair, you know.”

A smiled flashed across Lucy’s face. “Does Walter know he’s dating Jane Austen?” she asked.

“No,” Jane said quickly. “And he’s not going to. Lucy, promise me you won’t say anything. If you do, I’ll tell him you’ve gone mad or have a terrible addiction to painkillers or something.”

“Relax,” said Lucy. “I’m not telling anyone. For one thing, I wouldn’t do something like that. For another, I owe you for saving me from being the vampire love slave to Lord Byron.” She hesitated. “Actually, maybe I should be mad at you for that.”

“I just don’t know how I would tell Walter,” Jane said. “Of course I should tell him.”

“Are you kidding?” said Lucy. “Do you know what kind of pressure that would put on the poor guy?”

Jane shrugged. “Well, of course it would be difficult accepting the vampire issue.”

“The vampire issue?” Lucy said. “I’m talking about the Jane Austen issue. How would you like to be the guy dating Jane Austen?”

Jane was confused. “Would that be a bad thing?” she asked. “I mean, apart from the obvious.”

“Um, yeah,” said Lucy. “And it’s your own fault for coming up with Mr. Darcy. He’s every woman’s ideal. Some men’s too. What man can live up to that? You ruined it for every man on the planet when you wrote him up.”

Jane put her hands on her hips. “Are you accusing me of making it impossible for men to live up to an image?” she said.

“Yes,” Lucy replied simply. “Don’t deny it.”

“I do deny it,” Jane objected. “He’s just a character in a novel.”

Lucy looked shocked. “Just a character?” she said. “Just a novel?” She located a copy of Pride and Prejudice and waved it around. “This is only the greatest novel ever written,” she said.

Jane blushed. “You’re not the first to say so,” she said, trying to sound modest.

“Trust me,” said Lucy. “Do not tell Walter anything. At least not until you’re married.”

“Married?” said Jane. “Whatever makes you think I’m going to marry him?”

“I’ve read your books,” Lucy said. “This is exactly like one of them.”

“How so?” asked Jane. “I’ve never written about a vampire in my life.”

“Forget the vampire thing,” Lucy said. “You’ve got the lovely, kind man who adores you but whom you find a little bit boring.”

“I do not,” Jane denied.

“Yeah, you kind of do,” said Lucy. “And that’s okay. On the other hand, you have the incredibly sexy but totally-bad-for-you guy you can’t quite get out of your mind.”

“Go on,” Jane said. Now that Lucy had pointed it out, she had to admit that it really was a bit like something she might write.

“Well, now you just have to realize that the nice guy is a much better match for you,” Lucy concluded. “Then you marry him.”

“He hasn’t even asked me,” said Jane. “Not exactly.” She didn’t tell Lucy that Walter had as good as done so several times, and that she had simply pretended he hadn’t.