Jane Bites Back

“Times have changed,” Lucy said. “Why don’t you ask him?”

“Times may have changed,” Jane agreed. “But I haven’t. At least not that much. Anyway, I don’t know that I want to marry Walter.”

“Don’t tell me there’s another hottie in the picture,” said Lucy.

An image of Kelly’s face popped into Jane’s mind. “No,” she said. “I just don’t know that I’m ready for marriage. Then there’s the whole … well, you know,” she concluded. She pushed her teeth out, her canines protruding over her lower lip.

“If you ask me, he wouldn’t care,” said Lucy.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Jane said. “There’s already been enough excitement for one day.”

“That’s true,” Lucy agreed. “I guess I have to get used to being your Alfred.”

“My what?”

“Your Alfred,” Lucy repeated. “As in Batman?”

Jane looked at her blankly. “Batman?” she said.

“Alfred was Bruce Wayne’s butler,” Lucy explained. “He knew Bruce Wayne was Batman, but he kept it a secret.”

“Ah,” said Jane. “I see. I hadn’t looked at it in quite that way.”

“We need a Batcave,” Lucy said. “A secret lair.”

“I think this is it,” said Jane, indicating the inside of the store. “I’m not a superhero.”

“You must have some powers,” Lucy insisted. “What are they? Ooh—can you fly?”

“No,” Jane answered. “Nor can I turn into a bat, so you needn’t ask.”

“Come on,” said Lucy. “Nothing? Really?”

“I don’t get cold,” Jane admitted. “I see very well, and I don’t have to sleep, although I can and do. My body heals itself quickly, at least for minor injuries. I’m strong enough that I never have to ask for help getting the tops off of jars. Other than that, no, there’s nothing extraordinary about me.” She didn’t mention her glamoring ability, and felt guilty about it, but she worried there might be a time when she would need to use it on Lucy.

“Except the part where you get to live forever,” Lucy suggested.

“Yes, except for that,” said Jane. “But believe me, it comes at a cost.”

Lucy made a face. “Can we at least have costumes?” she suggested.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying this,” said Jane. “But do try to remember that this is my life.”

“Sorry,” Lucy apologized. “It’s just that you’re my first vampire. And you’re Jane Austen. It’s hard not to be a little excited.”

“I may be those things,” said Jane. “But I’m still your boss, and this is still a bookshop. Let’s see if we can get some work done, shall we?”

She set Lucy to work reorganizing the children’s section, and went into the office to collect her thoughts. Everything had changed overnight. For the first time ever, someone besides Byron and a few other undead knew her identity. She was putting herself at great risk trusting in Lucy to keep her secret. She’s young, Jane thought. She could make a mistake. She wondered if maybe she should leave Brakeston after all. Then if Lucy said anything, everyone would just think she was crazy. I couldn’t do that to her, Jane thought. She also couldn’t leave Lucy or Walter exposed to the danger posed by Byron. Even if he really was gone, he could always come back.

No, she would have to stay and she would have to trust Lucy to keep her promise. It was the only honorable thing to do. But what about Walter? He knew nothing. Was it fair to keep the truth from him when Lucy knew? She knew it wasn’t. Yet she also knew that she couldn’t tell him.

“You’re a coward, Jane Fairfax,” she said. “You’re afraid he won’t love you if he knows.”

It was true. Although she wasn’t sure that she could ever marry Walter, she wasn’t ready to give him up. It was a horrible thing to realize about herself, but there it was. Once more Kelly’s face appeared in her thoughts. Yes, there was that as well. She did find him attractive, and she still believed that he was worldly enough to accept her for what she was. But he’d shown no romantic interest in her at all.

I really am living inside one of my novels, she thought.

Her moment of self-pity was interrupted by the arrival of the mail carrier. “Here you go, Jane,” Paula said, handing her a stack of mail. She held up a white envelope. “This one was dropped in the box at the station. No stamp, and just your name on it. Technically, I should charge you the cost of the postage, but I’ll let it slide this time.” She winked as she gave Jane the envelope.

“Thank you, Paula,” Jane said. She placed the stack of mail on her desk and looked at the envelope. As Paula had said, her name was written in black ink across the front of the envelope in spidery script. She slid her finger along the back and withdrew a single sheet of paper.

My dear Jane,  

At the risk of sounding melodramatic, by the time you get this I shall be gone. I’ve mailed it rather than leave it on your doorstep or some other more obvious place because I don’t want you to read it until I’m halfway back to England. My apologies for forgetting your address. I’m in a bit of a hurry. I’m sure this will find its way to you in due course.

You will of course be thinking that you have bested me. And perhaps you have. But this is only one battle. I am now determined more than ever that it is our destiny to be together.

For now I will leave you to the life you have chosen. But know that I will be thinking of you, and that one day I will return.

All of my love,

Byron’s signature was scrawled across the bottom of the page. Jane read through the note one more time, then crumpled it up and threw it into the trash. Only one battle, she thought. Who does he think he is, Charles de Gaulle?

Chapter 19

What kind of writer did she want to be? She had never considered the question. Now that it had been asked, she found that what she wanted was to tell the stories of women. Not women whose primary interest in life was marriage, but women like herself who wanted more than just a husband.

 —Jane Austen, Constance, manuscript

Winter gave way to spring, and eventually Jane stopped looking for Byron everywhere she went. She still did not tell Walter about herself, and after nagging her for weeks about it Lucy stopped, but mostly because she had something else to torment Jane about. The announcement of the publication of Constance appeared in Publishers Weekly the first week of March, with a full-page ad trumpeting it as “the must-read book of summer.” The cover was featured prominently, along with a photograph of Jane, which against her objections Nick Trilling had insisted they use. There were several flattering blurbs, and a box at the bottom announced a fifty-thousand-copy first printing.

“When were you going to mention this?” Lucy asked Jane the day the magazine arrived. “When I opened the box of books?”

Since then life had been a whirlwind. First the galleys arrived and Jane spent two weeks going over them. Several times she’d called Kelly in tears because she was convinced the novel was dreadful and should never be published. Each time he’d talked her down, assuring her that it was a very good book. After that had been the unpleasantness of the author photo, which Walter had taken with his digital camera and which Jane thought made her look like a woman who spent all her time knitting scarves and doing acrostics. Nick had proclaimed it just the