Jane almost choked on her cider.
“What?” Byron asked.
“The bairn,” Jane said. “I mean Walter. He’s not a vampire.”
“More’s the pity,” said Byron.
“You’re missing the point,” Jane said. “This proves that vampires and humans can … well, you know.”
“Make bairns?” Byron suggested.
“Precisely,” Jane said. “What’s more, it apparently doesn’t mean the child will turn out like us. And Miriam knew all along and didn’t say a word. That horrible old woman!”
“Now, now,” said Byron. “Can you blame her for being suspicious of our kind after what William did?”
Jane started to reply, but stopped. “I suppose not,” she said after a few moments. “Poor Walter,” she added. “What must he think?”
“You’ve told people about yourself before,” Byron said.
“Just Lucy,” Jane said. “And she’ll believe anything. I mean, she’s willing to believe anything. Walter’s different.”
“Is he?” asked Byron. “Maybe you just need to give him a chance.”
Jane shook her head. “It may be too late,” she said. “I’ve been lying to the poor man for years. His mother has been lying to him for years. He’ll probably never trust a woman for as long as he lives.”
“That will take him far,” Byron remarked. “And speaking of the devils, here are William and Miriam now.”
Walter’s parents came to the table and sat down, Miriam next to Jane and William next to Byron. Both of them looked exhausted.
“Well?” Byron said.
Miriam looked up. “It went fairly well until we got to the vampire part,” she said.
“We considered not telling him about that, but it would have been rather difficult to explain why his father is the same age he is,” William added. “Also, he was a wee bit curious about the fact that his mum was kidnapped by Charlotte Brontë.”
“He must think we’re all mad,” Jane said.
“I don’t think he knows what to think,” said Miriam. “He’s probably hoping it’s all a dream.”
“Where is the boy now?” Byron asked.
“Taking a walk,” said Miriam. “With Lilith. She seems to soothe him for some reason.”
“That’s because he can’t hear her talk,” Jane said. She hesitated before asking, “Does he know about me?”
William shook his head. “We thought it best to leave that to you,” he said.
“He thought it best,” Miriam said, cocking her head at William. “I was all for getting everything out in the open.”
“I guess I should go find him,” Jane said. “Do you have any idea where he went?”
“Kensington Gardens,” William answered. “He said he wanted to see the statue of Peter Pan.”
“It was his favorite book when he was a boy,” said Miriam.
Jane stood up. “Wish me luck,” she said.
It wasn’t difficult to find Walter. For one thing, he was letting Lilith walk on her own three legs, which meant they couldn’t walk terribly quickly. For another, he was exactly where William had said he would be, near the statue of Peter Pan. As Lilith sniffed around Walter stood looking at the figure of the little boy who never grew up.
“If you’re looking for Neverland, I believe it’s second star to the right and straight on to morning,” Jane said.
Walter turned around. “You know they added the word ‘star’ for the Disney film,” he said. “It’s not in the book.”
“I know,” Jane said. “I tried to get him to put it in, but he wouldn’t have it.”
Walter, apparently either not hearing her or not registering the meaning of her words, went back to looking at the statue.
“I used to pretend I was Peter,” he said. “My mother bought me a cap like his and I found a cardinal feather in the yard and stuck it in the band. I even had a little bell I carried around and rang whenever Tinker Bell was part of the game I was playing.”
“You had quite an imagination even then,” Jane remarked.
Walter looked over at her. “My mother told me a pretty unbelievable story today,” he said.
“Did she?” Jane said.
“She claims she’s a vampire hunter,” said Walter. “And William, he’s supposedly a vampire. Also, he’s my father.”
Jane tread carefully, unsure of how solid the ground on which she now walked was. “You do resemble him,” she said.
To her surprise, Walter laughed. “Oh, and Suzu was really Charlotte Brontë. I forgot that part.”
Jane waited for him to question her about her role in the drama that had unfolded in the pet cemetery, but he didn’t. She wondered if perhaps he’d forgotten. He seemed transfixed by the statue of Peter Pan.
“What would you say if your mother sat you down and told you that story?” he asked, breaking the silence.
Jane thought for a while before speaking.
“Did you read the Narnia books when you were small?” she asked Walter.
“Yes,” he answered. “I loved them. Why?”
“Do you remember in the first book when Lucy has told the others that she’s found Narnia inside the wardrobe? They don’t believe her, so they go to the old Professor and ask him what he thinks. He tells them that there are only three possible explanations for what she’s said—she’s telling lies, she’s mad, or she’s telling the truth.”
“I remember that,” Walter said. “And they decide that since they’ve never known her to tell lies, and she isn’t crazy, then she must be telling the truth.”
“Right,” said Jane. “Well, suppose we apply those same rules to what your mother told you today. Have you ever known your mother to lie?”
“Not until today. She never even tried to get me to believe in the tooth fairy or the Easter bunny or Santa Claus. She never let me believe in them. She always told me that I should know the difference between what was real and what was imaginary.”
“All right,” said Jane. “And although it pains me to say this, I don’t think she’s mad. Which leaves the possibility that she’s telling the truth.”
Walter shook his head. “That’s ridiculous. Jane, she wants me to believe that vampires are real.”
“How do you know they aren’t?”
“Everybody knows they aren’t,” said Walter.
“Who’s to say what’s real and what isn’t?” she asked him. “Some of the most unbelievable things are real. Did you know there’s a type of sea slug that eats anemones and then uses their stinging cells for its own defense? If you ask me, that’s far weirder than the notion of vampires. And what about the platypus? It’s the Frankenstein’s monster of the animal world, as if somebody sewed together parts of a beaver, a crocodile, and a duck and then added some poison sacs for good measure.”
“If I didn’t know better, I might think you want me to believe in vampires.”
“I’m just saying it’s an option,” Jane replied.
“Let me ask you this,” Walter said. “What would you think if your mother told you that vampires were real?”
“I wish she had,” Jane said, snorting. “Then I wouldn’t be here right now. Not that I don’t want to be here,” she added. “I mean I wouldn’t be here the way I am, although even if she had told me about vampires I wouldn’t have known Byron was one, so it probably all would have turned out like this anyway.”
“Are you going to start making sense anytime soon?” Walter asked.
“Walter,” Jane said, looking him in the eyes, “your mother isn’t lying to you. She is a vampire hunter, and William is a vampire. I know this because I’m a vampire. So are a couple of other people you know, but I’ll let them tell you themselves. We’re really not supposed to out one another.”
Having said it, Jane now wondered why she had worried so much about it. The words had come out fairly easily, and despite her fears she already felt immensely better.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,”
she said. “I know I should have. But now you know why I said no all those times you asked me out.”
Walter looked at her for long enough that some of her relief began to turn to worry. “I can’t believe you,” he said. “Here I am freaking out about the fact that my mother might very well be a raving lunatic, and you’re making fun of me.”
“I’m not making fun of you,” Jane protested. “I’m telling you the truth.”
Walter laughed. “You’re a vampire?” he said.
Jane nodded. “Yes.”
“You drink blood?”
She cringed. “Only when I have to. And never from you. I want you to know that.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” said Walter. “Anything else I should know? Is Lucy a werewolf? Maybe old Sherman at the paper is really Satan in disguise?”
“Now you’re being ridiculous,” Jane said.
“I’m being ridiculous? Are you listening to yourself? Have you heard anything you’ve said in the last five minutes?”
“This really isn’t going well.”
Jane looked down and saw Lilith looking up at her.
“Don’t you start,” she told the Chihuahua.
“Who are you talking to?” Walter asked. “The dog? Wait. Let me guess. She’s really an alien. From Mars or from Jupiter?”
“I told you it wasn’t going well,” Lilith said. “You should have quit while you were ahead.”
“I was never ahead,” said Jane.
“Would you please stop it?” Walter said. “You know, as odd as you can be sometimes, you’ve always been there for me. Now, when I need you the most, this is how you behave? I can’t believe you, Jane.”
He turned and started to walk away. Lilith trotted beside him, using her strange hop-skip-hop technique.
“Walter,” Jane called.
“Leave me alone,” he said.
Jane started to cry. “Walter,” she said. “Please come back.”
Walter whirled around. “You want me to believe that you’re a vampire?” he said. “Then bite me.”
Jane stared at him, unable to speak.
“Go on,” Walter said. He tilted his head, exposing his neck. “Go on, Jane. Bite me.”
Jane closed her eyes. No, no, no, no, no, she thought. This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen.
“Did you hear me, Jane?” Walter yelled. “I told you to bite me!”
Jane opened her eyes.
“I heard you,” she said, and her fangs clicked into place.
Saturday: London
WALTER OPENED HIS EYES, SAT UP AND GROANED.
“What happened?” he asked.
Jane, who was sitting on the side of the bed, handed him a glass of water and two aspirin. “Take these,” she said.
Walter swallowed the pills and handed back the glass. “I feel as if someone hit me in the head with a line drive,” he said, rubbing his temples.
“It’s the aftereffects from being bitten,” said Jane. “They’ll wear off in a couple of hours.”
“What bit me?” Walter asked. “It wasn’t Lilith, was it? I know she can be a little snippy, but—”
“It wasn’t Lilith,” said Jane. “It was me.”
“You?” Walter said. “Why would you bite me?”
“You’ll remember soon enough,” said Jane. “I didn’t glamor you, so eventually it will all come back. Probably in bits and pieces.”
Walter shut his eyes and groaned. His fingers went to his neck, where the two small puncture wounds caused by Jane’s bite had already healed. “It hurts,” he said.
“I’m sorry about that,” said Jane. “But you wanted proof.”
“Proof of what?” Walter asked, leaning back against the pillows.
“Try to remember,” Jane told him. “Just relax your thoughts.”
Walter took a deep breath, then another. He kept his eyes closed, but Jane could see that he was concentrating. Beneath the lids his eyes moved back and forth. After a minute or two his eyes flew open and he stared at Jane.
“You’re a vampire!” he said.
“I’m afraid so,” Jane said.
“Everything my mother told me is true,” Walter said, looking confused and hurt and angry all at the same time. “My father—”
“Is a vampire too,” said Jane. “And your mother is a hunter. Not the best pairing imaginable, but these things happen.”
Walter tried to get up but wobbled and lay back down. Jane moved closer, but Walter recoiled from her. She felt her heart break a little bit as she saw him move away.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “This isn’t the way I wanted you to find out.”
Walter laughed bitterly. “As if there’s a good way to find out?” he said.
“No,” said Jane. “I suppose there isn’t.”
“Who else knows?” Walter asked her.
“Lucy,” Jane said. “Ned and Ted at the shop. Brian.”
“So I’m the last one to find out,” said Walter.
“Not the last one,” Jane said. “Ben doesn’t know.”
“Ben has known you less than a year,” said Walter. “I’ve known you for ten. And Ben hasn’t been living with you for the past nine months and isn’t your fiancé. So excuse me if that doesn’t make me feel any better.”
Jane set the glass on the nightstand. “I really don’t know what to say,” she told Walter.
“Am I one of you now?” he asked.
Jane shook her head. “No. I didn’t take very much. Just enough to make you believe.”
Walter grunted. “I suppose I should be thankful for that,” he said.
“This probably isn’t the best time to mention this,” Jane said. “But you are half vampire.”
“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation,” Walter said. “Do you know how ridiculous this all sounds?”
“It’s a lot to take in,” said Jane. “I know it took me a long time to accept it after I was changed.”
“And when did that happen?” Walter asked.
Jane wondered if she should lie, then decided against it. There’s been too much lying already, she thought. He might as well know everything.
“Eighteen sixteen,” she said. “And there’s something else you might as well know. My real name isn’t Jane Fairfax, it’s Jane Austen.”
Walter stared at her.
“I know it isn’t terribly original,” Jane said. “At first I considered Sophronia Kindleysides, but it seemed a bit much. Besides, I was already used to Jane, so changing just the surname was easiest.”
“I suppose you’re the Jane Austen,” Walter said.
Jane nodded. “I’m afraid I am.”
“No wonder my mother doesn’t like you,” said Walter. “She hates your books.”
“Yes,” Jane said. “She’s made that clear on several occasions.”
“She thinks your characters are boring,” Walter continued.
“I believe I’ve heard her say as much,” Jane said, keeping an even tone.
“She also says there are far too many coincidences in your plots and—”
“I know,” Jane said. “And she’s one to talk. Too many coincidences! What about her plot? A vampire hunter marries a man who just happens to have a vampire in the family? She gets pregnant by that vampire and forty years later her child falls in love with another vampire? Oh, and the father of that child just happens to be the best friend of another vampire who lives in the same town? There are far more coincidences in that story than in any of mine.”
“William’s best friend is Brian,” Walter said, catching up with her. “Are you saying Brian is a—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, yes, he’s a vampire. And he happens to be Lord Byron. I know I said we aren’t supposed to out one another, but I think as far as this is concerned he owes me. After all, he’s the one who turned—”
“Brian?” Walter interrupted. “Brian turned you. But I thought he was—”
“He is,” said Jane. “Well, he mostly is. Ba
ck then he was a little less discriminating.”
“And my father?” Walter asked. “Who is he really?”
“Oh, he’s just William,” said Jane. “Well, not just William. He’s pretty extraordinary in his own right. Did you know Byron selected him to be his companion after seeing him working in the fields? He was extraordinarily good-looking. It’s no wonder Byron fell in love with—”
“La la la la la,” Walter wailed, putting his hands over his ears.
“Sorry,” Jane said. “I suppose thinking about that would be a trifle unsettling.”
“What?” said Walter. “You mean the fact that apparently both my fiancée and my father slept with the same man? Yes, I think ‘unsettling’ is a good way to describe it.”
“To be fair, he is Lord Byron,” Jane said. “I don’t know many people who haven’t slept with him at one time or another.”
Walter held up his hands and Jane stopped. She wasn’t doing a very good job of making things better. They sat in silence for a time as Jane waited for Walter to say something. But he didn’t. He just looked out the window. Finally, he cleared his throat.
“So how does this work?” he said. “Do I have to become a vampire?”
“No,” Jane answered. “You don’t.”
“But I’m guessing that you don’t get any older,” said Walter. “I mean, your body doesn’t. You stay the same, right?”
Jane nodded. “That’s right.”
“I see,” Walter said.
Jane knew that he was thinking about what it would mean for her to stay the same while he grew old and eventually died. “I thought there was a chance that I might be able to become mortal again,” she said. “I was going to try it.”
Walter looked over at her. “But you decided not to?”
“It turned out to be a legend,” Jane said. “An unfortunate bit of irony there, I suppose.”
“Is that what Suzu was talking about in the cemetery?” Walter asked. “That iron spike?”
“It’s called Crispin’s Needle,” Jane said. She didn’t correct him regarding Suzu’s identity, hoping that perhaps he hadn’t heard or didn’t remember. “But it’s a fake. We made it to fool her.”
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