Jane Goes Batty

“He still should have known,” Jane argued. “It’s only common sense.”

“Please,” Ned said, sniffling. “There must be some way I can make up for what I’ve done. I’ll do anything. Just tell me what to do.”

Jane and Byron exchanged glances. It was time for Byron to take over, and Jane wondered what he’d come up with.

“There might be an alternative,” Byron said cautiously.

Ned looked up. “What?” he asked. “What is it?”

Byron appeared to think. He shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “Perhaps not.”

Ned looked as if he might burst into tears again as he said, “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

Byron looked at Jane. “There is the option of penance,” he said. “If the guilty party commits an act of selfless devotion to our people, he might be forgiven. Is that not correct?”

Jane had no idea whether it was or was not. As far as she knew, they were making the entire thing up out of whole cloth. “I suppose so,” she said.

“Then perhaps he could assist us in the matter of Beverly Shrop,” said Byron.

“How so?” Jane asked, wanting very much to hear the answer herself.

Byron addressed Ned. “We’ve recently discovered that Beverly Shrop is one of our kind.”

Ned blinked. “She’s a vampire?” he said.

Byron nodded. “Yes. But in name only. I’m afraid she’s aligned herself with a human vampire hunter.” He looked at Ned, appearing concerned. “I don’t know if I can ask this of you,” he said.

“You can,” Ned assured him. “What is it?”

Byron took a deep breath. “If we had someone who was close to Beverly, someone in whom she might confide, we might be able to find out exactly what she and her human master have planned.”

Jane realized what Byron was asking before Ned did. The idea sickened her, but she said nothing. It was Byron’s game to play out now.

“Why would she tell me anything?” asked Ned. “She doesn’t even know who I am.”

Byron stroked the young man’s arm. “That’s exactly the point, my boy,” he said. “She already knows who— and what—I am. I could never gain her trust. But you are a complete mystery to her. Fresh blood, as it were.”

Ned swallowed hard. “What makes you think she would be interested in me?” he asked.

Byron laughed lightly. “You’re a very attractive young man,” he said, stroking Ned’s neck. “As you know, I myself was overcome by your considerable assets.”

“You thought I was my brother,” said Ned.

“Yes, well, there was a great deal of wine involved,” Byron replied testily. “Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that Beverly Shrop is sure to find you desirable.”

Ned, understanding dawning on him, wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You want me to sleep with her?” he said.

“Crudely put,” said Byron. “But yes.”

Ned shuddered. “But she must be at least fifty,” he said. His eyes darted to Jane. “No offense,” he added.

Jane started to speak but was cut off by a look from Byron. Fifty! she thought. He thinks I’m fifty!

“I realize that the idea of romancing Miss Shrop may be distasteful,” Byron told Ned. “But it would help us— all of us—immensely. Besides, the alternative is not entirely pleasant.”

Again Ned looked at Jane. She saw fear in his eyes, and in order to keep herself from telling him that this was all a ruse she reminded herself that he thought her too old to be attractive.

“Byron is right,” she said firmly. “It’s either penance or staking. The law is very clear on the matter.”

Ned swallowed hard. “All right, then,” he said. “I’ll do it. I’ll be Beverly Shrop’s cougar bait.”

Byron smiled at Jane. “See?” he said. “I knew we could work something out.” He ran his fingers through Ned’s hair. “Grrrrowwwllll,” he purred.

Chapter 19

When Jane walked into Flyleaf Books on Tuesday morning she found Lucy in a peculiar mood. The manager was going through the mail and humming a tuneless but cheerful little song as she tossed the various envelopes into two piles. She seemed slightly more dressed up than usual, having traded her habitual summer combination of jeans and a T-shirt for a short-sleeved white silk shirt and a flowy skirt made out of deep purple batik fabric patterned with orange and gold birds. Her dark curly hair hung loose about her shoulders, and even from forty feet away Jane’s keen nose detected the scent of violets rising from her skin.

“What’s going on?” Jane asked, setting the cup of takeout coffee in her hand on the counter.

“Hmm?” Lucy said. “Nothing. Why?”

“You’re wearing real clothes,” said Jane. “And you smell nice.”

“Are you saying that I usually stink?” Lucy asked.

“Something’s up,” Jane insisted. “Out with it.”

Lucy smiled. “Ben and I have a lunch date,” she said. She then made another sound that turned into a cough.

“Did you just giggle?” said Jane. “And then try to cover it up?”

Lucy coughed again, but her attempt was halfhearted at best. “I did not giggle,” she said. “I do not giggle.”

“How many times have you seen him?” Jane asked.

Lucy shrugged. “Twice, I guess,” she answered. “Why?”

“Twice?” said Jane. “In the past year you haven’t gone out twice with anyone. You’ve gone out twice with Ben in five days. Three and a half, really, since you met him Friday night and it’s not even nine o’clock yet.”

“To be fair, one of those times was a picnic with Sarah,” Lucy said. “That’s not really a date date.”

“What did you do on the date date, then?” asked Jane.

“We were going to go out to dinner,” Lucy said. “But we ended up ordering in Chinese and watching a movie.”

“Interesting,” said Jane. She was enjoying teasing her friend. She didn’t often get to do it, so now she wanted to make the most of it. “And what was the movie?”

“I don’t remember,” Lucy said.

“Liar,” said Jane. “What was it?”

Lucy sighed. “I don’t want to tell you,” she said.

“Why not?” said Jane.

“Because,” Lucy replied, “I know what you’re going to say.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible,” Jane told her, trying not to smile. “How can I have an opinion when I don’t even know what the movie is?”

Lucy took the largest pile of mail and dropped it into the recycling bin beneath the front desk. “Fine. We watched Tarantula. You know, the one with John Agar and Mara Corday.”

“Yes. And Leo G. Carroll,” Jane said. “There’s a line about him and the movie in the song ‘Science Fiction/Double Feature.’ ”

“From The Rocky Horror Picture Show,” said Lucy. “I know. When I was in college I used to play Magenta in an audience participation show every Friday night at the local dollar movie theater.”

“I played Magenta in an actual stage version,” Jane countered. “Well, a touring company, anyway. In England.”

“You?” said Lucy, her mouth agape. “You played Magenta? In The Rocky Horror Picture Show?”

“It was just The Rocky Horror Show then,” Jane said. “But yes, I did. Why are you