Jane Goes Batty

“Mmm,” Jane said, drinking more wine. “Your dedication is awe-inspiring. You can see why I was so anxious to remain by your side.”

Byron tried very hard not to laugh but was unable to maintain his composure. “I really am a shit, aren’t I?” he said when he could speak again.

“You are,” Jane said. “But I do love you.”

Byron looked at her. “I love you too,” he said.

He continued to look at her, so Jane added, “This doesn’t mean we’re going to kiss.”

“I know,” said Byron. “I wasn’t thinking that. I was just thinking how lucky Walter is to have you.”

“I don’t want to talk about Walter,” Jane said.

“Now who’s evading the subject?” Byron said.

“I’m not evading the subject because it never was the subject,” Jane argued. “We were talking about what a frightful shit you are.”

“Which I acknowledged,” said Byron. “Now it’s your turn to acknowledge that you love Walter.”

“Of course I love Walter,” Jane said. “That doesn’t change the fact that our relationship is impossible.”

“Let me ask you this,” said Byron. “Would you marry Walter if you knew he had cancer?”

Jane didn’t even have to think about her answer. “Yes,” she said. “That wouldn’t make any difference to me.”

“Then why should the fact that you’re going to outlive him because you’re a vampire?” Byron asked. “In either event he’s going to die before you do.”

“You know it’s not that simple,” said Jane. “Death from cancer is natural. It’s terrible, but it’s natural. Living forever because you’ve been turned into a monster isn’t.”

“We aren’t monsters,” Byron said.

“They don’t know that,” said Jane. “All they know is what they see in the movies.”

“There’s also that television show,” Byron said. “The one with the girl with the odd name. Spooky? Cookie?”

“Sookie,” said Jane. “Her name is Sookie. And there were books before there was a television show.”

“Really?” Byron said. “I didn’t know. Anyway, it’s very popular, and we’re portrayed very sympathetically.”

“That’s beside the point,” Jane snapped. “Walter isn’t some giggly little goth girl who thinks it would be neat to have a vampire boyfriend.”

“Lucy doesn’t think we’re monsters,” said Byron.

Jane sighed. “I know all of this,” she said. “But I just can’t.”

Byron cocked his head. “You don’t have to tell him, you know.”

Jane snorted. “I think he’d notice eventually,” she said. “If his mother doesn’t tell him first.”

“Forget her for a moment,” Byron said. “She can always be dealt with. Has it occurred to you that Walter might like having a young, beautiful wife for the rest of his life?”

“He’s not shallow,” Jane scoffed.

“You don’t have to be shallow to appreciate a young, beautiful face,” said Byron.

“You know what we should do?” Jane said. “We should make a pact. If neither of us has found someone by the time we’re, I don’t know, four hundred years old, we should get married.”

“That’s nearly two hundred years from now,” said Byron.

“Exactly,” Jane said. “Which gives us plenty of time to worry about it.”

“You’re just postponing the inevitable,” Byron told her. “You’re not going to meet a nice vampire man and fall in love. You’ve met the love of your life. He’s right here, right now—and he’s human.”

He put his arms around Jane and pulled her closer, so that her head was against his chest. She closed her eyes as he stroked her hair. “I didn’t give you, or Our Gloomy Friend, or Ted—”

“Ned.”

“Ned a chance to say yes or no,” Byron said softly. “But it’s time you gave Walter his chance.”

Jane said nothing. But in her head she spoke the words she couldn’t say out loud: What if he says no?

Chapter 27

“Croquet?”

Jane looked at the playing field. Instead of bases and a pitcher’s mound there were six perfectly laid out croquet pitches outlined in white chalk. At each one a man dressed all in white was inspecting the six wickets and the striped peg.

“I thought you said croquet was too difficult to arrange,” Jane said to Beverly, who was watching the proceedings with a keen eye. Like the referees, she too was dressed all in white, although she wore a full-length dress instead of trousers.

“Did I?” Beverly said. “I don’t know why I would have said that. At any rate, we’re playing croquet.”

Jane looked down at the T-shirt, shorts, and tennis shoes she was wearing. A softball glove—bought just that morning at P.J.’s House of Sports—was tucked under her arm, and her hair was pulled back into an unflattering ponytail and hidden by a baseball cap (purchased along with the glove) emblazoned with the name and logo of a team she had never heard of but which the salesman helping her had assured her was very popular.

“You asked me to be a team captain not two weeks ago,” Jane reminded her. “Remember, it was going to be the Janeites versus the Brontëites?”

“Oh, it still is,” said Beverly. “And you’re still captain of the Janeites. But we’re playing croquet. You do know how to play, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Jane said. “But I look ridiculous.”

Beverly looked Jane up and down. “I’m sure no one will notice,” she said.

They’ll notice, Jane thought. And you did this on purpose to make me look like a fool.

“This is so exciting,” said Beverly. “There will be six matches played concurrently, with four players per match. Whichever team wins the most matches will be the victor.”

“And if each team wins three matches?” Jane asked.

“Then we’ll have a playoff game, of course,” said Beverly.

“That’s sensible,” Jane said. “Who is the captain of the Brontëites?”

“Why, I am,” Beverly replied. “Oh, and did I tell you that we have mascots?”

“Mascots?” said Jane.

Beverly nodded. “Every sports team needs a mascot,” she said. “The fans love it. It generates excitement.”

“I suppose,” Jane said doubtfully. “What are they?”

Beverly craned her neck. “There they are now,” she said, pointing behind Jane.

Jane turned to see two creatures walking toward them. One of them was pink and tubular, with a large flared head. The other seemed to be some kind of bird. It was black with an orange beak.

Jane indicated the pink mascot. “Is that a—”

“It’s a squid,” said Beverly. “See the tentacles?”

“It looks like a—”

“It’s a squid,” Beverly said.

Jane decided not to press the issue. “And is the other one a crow?” she asked.

Beverly sighed and rolled her eyes. “It’s a moorhen,” she said. “It’s the mascot for the Brontëites. I think it’s very appropriate.”

“You were able to find a moorhen costume?” said Jane.

“I had it made,” Beverly explained.

“And why a squid for the Janeites?” Jane asked. She found it a peculiar choice, and wondered why Beverly thought it appropriate to represent her work.