Jane waited impatiently for the group of teenagers to cross the street. Although it was true that pedestrians had the right of way despite the absence of a stop sign or light, this particular group seemed to be taking advantage of their position. They moved more slowly than Jane had thought possible, oblivious to everything but their own conversations and the screens of their cellphones. Worst of all, just as one group made it across the street and Jane started to inch forward, another gaggle would step directly in front of her without so much as looking—like wildebeest crossing a river.
Her stomach knotted up and she gripped the steering wheel tightly. As she did so she inadvertently took her foot off the brake and the car jumped forward. Startled, the group of teenagers jumped back, some of them shouting obscenities. One of them—a girl wearing a T-shirt that read NO HATE!—banged her fist on the hood of Jane’s car and gave Jane the finger.
Jane hit the gas, roaring through the now enraged group and sending them scattering. Watching their indignant faces in the rearview mirror, she felt a not-insignificant measure of satisfaction. Her joy was short-lived, however, as a moment later she saw, too late, that she was traveling past a stop sign at which she ought to have paused and was about to be hit on the passenger side by a silver Ford Eclipse.
The impact was not as bad as she would have thought, most likely because neither she nor the other driver was going terribly fast. Still, the sound was unsettling and the resulting crash pushed Jane’s car sideways and sent bits of window glass raining around her.
The driver of the Eclipse emerged from his car, paused for a moment to survey the damage, and then walked around to Jane’s window. In his forties, he was short, stout, and balding. His face, which Jane imagined was usually a pinkish color, was now red. One eye twitched as he stood staring down at Jane.
“Nice stop,” he said.
“I’m very sorry,” Jane said. “I’m afraid I—”
“Save it,” the man snapped. “I don’t have time to hear about how you’re late picking your kid up or how you have to get your husband’s suit to the dry cleaners, or whatever bullshit excuse you’re going to use.” He turned to look at his car. “Jesus Christ,” he said. “I hope you’ve got good insurance.”
Jane, who was looking in the glove box for her insurance card, said, “If you’ll just calm down, we—”
“Calm down?” the man said, his voice rising. “
“I really don’t think—” Jane replied.
“No, you don’t think,” said the man, interrupting. “That’s the problem. If you
“I understand that you’re upset,” Jane said. “But there’s really no need—”
“Just shut up,” the man snapped. “I’ll deal with this.”
Anger rose in Jane’s chest, and she made a decision. “You will not call the police,” she heard herself say in a commanding tone.
The man glared at her, started to speak, and then stopped. Something in his expression changed, becoming almost childlike. He closed his cellphone. “I guess we don’t have to,” he said.
“Now get back in your car,” Jane said, focusing her glamoring abilities.
The man turned and walked back to his car, opening the door and sliding into the driver’s seat. A moment later Jane opened the passenger-side door of the Eclipse and got in beside him. So far no other vehicles had come through the intersection, but she knew it was just a matter of time. She had to act quickly.
As she leaned toward the man her fangs clicked into place, piercing his skin and causing the blood to flow. Jane didn’t take much, just enough to stave off the hunger pangs. It took only a minute. When she was done she turned the man’s head so that she was looking directly into his eyes. “You’re going to forget,” she told him. “In thirty seconds you will wake up and not remember what happened.”
The man’s eyes clouded over and he seemed to fall asleep. Quickly Jane got out of the car and went back to hers, looking around first to make certain that there were no witnesses. She turned the key in the ignition and was relieved when the engine came to life. There was a scraping sound as she pulled away, and the Eclipse’s bumper fell to the pavement with a clatter.
She wasn’t out of the woods. She would still have to explain the state of her car. But she would worry about that later. The important thing was that the immediate problem was taken care of and she had been able to feed. All things considered, she was actually rather proud of herself for handling it with such aplomb.
Besides, he was quite rude, she thought. Speaking to a lady that way was most uncalled for.
She did need to get another car, though. She didn’t want to show up for the tour of the Carlyle House in her damaged vehicle. Not only would it cause Walter to worry, it would probably give Miriam the impression that Jane was unreliable.
She elected to go to the bookstore. When she arrived she parked in the back, out of sight, and entered through the rear door that led into the storage room. Peering out, she made sure there was no one in the store she wished to avoid.
“Don’t worry,” she heard Lucy say. “They’re gone.”
Jane looked into the office off the hallway and saw Lucy sitting at the computer. “Who’s gone?” she asked.
“Ant and Shelby,” said Lucy. “They were here looking for you about twenty minutes ago.”
“How did you get rid of them?” Jane inquired.
Lucy’s fingers tapped on the keyboard. “I told them you were meeting with your parole officer,” she answered. “I thought it would add some color to their profile of you.”
“How very kind of you,” Jane said. “May I borrow your car?”
Lucy looked up. “My car? Why? What’s wrong with yours?”
“I had a small—
Lucy opened the desk drawer and removed a set of keys. “I don’t even want to know,” she said. “Go. I haven’t seen you all day. I don’t know where you are or when you’ll be back.”
“Thank you,” said Jane, taking the keys. “I promise to bring it back in one piece.”
“Put gas in it,” Lucy called after Jane as she left. “And not the cheap stuff!”
Lucy’s car—actually a fire-engine-red 1963 Ford F-100 pickup truck—was parked near Jane’s old Volvo. As she got in, Jane wondered if perhaps she should also disguise herself, perhaps with a wig. Then she spied a baseball cap lying on the seat next to her. It bore the logo of the Boston Red Sox, the team to which Lucy was devoted. Jane picked it up and placed it on her head. Looking at herself in the truck’s side mirror, she adjusted the brim, pulling it lower over her eyes.
She started the car and left the parking lot, keeping her eyes peeled (a loathsome expression, she thought) for Ant. Perhaps one of these days she could get Shelby alone and have a nice chat with her. Until then, however, Jane wanted to avoid running into the pair.
She drove without incident to the Carlyle House and parked in front of it. Walter’s car was already there, and before Jane was even halfway up the stairs to the front porch the door opened and Walter stepped outside.
“Right on time,” he said. “Are you ready for the grand tour?”
“Absolutely,” said Jane, taking his arm. “I’ve been dying of curiosity.”
Walter escorted her into a foyer paneled in mahogany. A blown-glass chandelier in the shape of an open poppy hung from the ceiling. Seeing Jane looking at it, Walter said, “It’s meant to be a lamp. I turned it upside down. What do you think?”
“I think it’s beautiful,” Jane told him.
“Do you?” Miriam emerged from another room. Lilith followed alongside, using her single front leg much as a human might use a crutch.
