Jane and the Damned (18 page)

So, we go this way. Follow me.

“How do you know?”

“Ssh!” He removed his glove and touched her bare wrist.
Try to put a thought into my mind.

At the same time as I think about my feather?

Precisely.
He put his lips close to her ear and whispered, “You’re a butterfly of a woman, Jane, alighting on one subject and flying off to the next.”

“Nonsense. I merely think faster than most people.”

He smiled and led her down the street. They passed the Assembly Rooms, where sedan-chair carriers lounged against the walls, waiting for customers. Faint strains of music floated out from the building, and as they approached, a sedan chair arrived and a woman stepped out, wearing a mask and long cloak. A French officer, who had been waiting for her in the building’s portico, strode forward and bent low over her hand.

Too crowded.
Luke’s fingers touched her wrist.

I wish we could dance.
She cast a reluctant glance at the Assembly Rooms but let Luke lead her down into streets that rapidly became unfamiliar.

What we aim to do,
Luke said,
is to unnerve the French. They believe the city has surrendered, but they know their patrols are not safe. They are aware that the shadows hold dangers and that an attack may come at any moment, yet they cannot find the source. Ah, listen.

A group of soldiers approached at a march. Jane counted.
Six? But there are only two of us!

Keep trimming that hat, Jane. Half a dozen Frenchmen are no match for you and me with our superior powers and all the darkness of the night. Here they come. Watch.

The patrol approached and passed them, taking the next turn. Luke darted forward, a swift shadow, and in a few seconds, a soldier had fallen limp on the cobblestones, blood flowing dark from the wound in his neck. The man marching next to him whirled, musket waving randomly, and shouted in alarm. The rest of the patrol, most of whom had already turned the corner,
hesitated, and at a command from their officer, turned and closed ranks, muskets at their shoulders.

Luke took Jane’s hand and pulled her further into the shadows. She could smell blood on his mouth, hot and enticing.

The officer shouted another order and the patrol dispersed and ran down the street, searching for their attacker.

Take that one.
Luke pointed to a soldier running directly toward them.
Use your fangs and then throw him across the street.

Jane sprang forward and overpowered the soldier, one hand over his mouth, dragging him into the darkness she carried with her like a cloak. He barely had a chance to struggle as she bit down and gulped his blood and would have wanted more, but Luke’s blade flashed once, finishing him. She was glad she felt only the soldier’s surprise and shock, no panicked thoughts of his mother or his home, like that first French soldier she’d taken.

The soldier’s corpse flew across the street, landing with an ungainly thud in front of the officer, who swore violently, sword in hand, and yelled at his men to keep together.

Can we not take another?

No, we cannot stay. They’ll start thrusting bayonets into the shadows and we’ll regret it. Come.
He took her hand and pulled her
away.

She ran with him.
But I’m hungry.

You sound like George. We’ll dine at home. This is to whet your appetite and teach you how to fight.

They slowed to a walk. “Will you teach me more?” she asked.

“I shall. Listen.” He stilled and pulled her deeper into the shadows.

Two men walked toward them, their footfalls uneven. Even at this distance Jane could smell wine and brandy and hear their slurred speech and laughter.

Two drunken officers. We’ll take them.

Luke, does it not seem that we hunt like a fox in a chicken coop?

You mean we have no mercy? No scruples?
He smiled at her.
This is war, Jane. Do not be a sentimental fool. But if you insist…

Jane gasped as he left the shadows, revealing himself to the two officers who approached, meandering along the street. One of them held an open bottle.

“
Bon soir, mes amis,”
Luke called in badly accented French. “You have some drink? I’ll trade a girl for it.” He jerked his head toward Jane.

Feigning nervousness, she stepped from the shadows and curtsied before remembering she wore men’s clothes, and turned it into a clumsy bow.

The officers looked confused, and then lustful as they focused on her legs.

“It is late. I arrest you,
citoyen,”
one of the officers said with an attempt at dignity. He drew his sword with ponderous, drunken clumsiness.

The other headed for Jane, a lascivious gleam in his eye. She leaped at him, fangs out, and saw horror and deadly fear drive him into sudden sobriety. He took a step back, pulling his sword from its sheath, but she felled him and took the first, hot mouthful of blood.

Someone tugged at her arm. She looked up, growling, fangs extended, and saw Luke pulling her away.
Into the shadows. Now.

The hat, she couldn’t remember. What was it about the hat? Soldiers ran into the street, shouting, the remnants of the patrol they had attacked earlier joined by reinforcements, another half dozen or so men. The corpses of the two officers lay sprawled in the street.

The feather, you silly girl. The black feather. The beautiful black feather.

Oh yes.
She melted into the darkness and licked the blood from her lips.

In the street, the officer snapped out a command, and soldiers ran to the nearby houses, pulling doorbells and hammering door knockers.

Are they likely to blame the people who live there?
Jane asked.

I think not. There are some very influential townspeople on this street and many of the French officers are quartered here.

Sure enough, half-dressed people erupted into the street, complaining vehemently of the rude awakening. “I am personally acquainted with General Renard!” one gentleman shouted, his nightshirt flapping around his legs. “This is a respectable area, sir! Call off your men.”

Windows were flung open and inhabitants in nightcaps leaned out to complain bitterly and loudly about the disturbance in the street, in French and in English.

Luke took Jane’s hand and led her away.
We’ll go home to dine. You have blood on your lips still; you did better than I, for mine had his sword out and I barely had time to subdue him.

I shall share with you.
Emboldened by the taste of hunted blood she pressed her lips to his. The kiss began as an experiment—would she learn more of him, this way?—but she learned only the greater mystery of desire as she discovered the sweetness of his mouth and fangs, and found herself trembling and clinging to him as though she would drown.

“You need not fear.” Luke smiled with great kindness and toyed with a stray lock of her hair.

“What shall we do now?” Her voice was breathless. Despite the blood she had taken she was weak and mortified that the kiss had affected her so much and him so little.

“We shall go home. I think our hunting is over for the night.”

“No, you and I. What do we do now? What about Margaret?”

He took her face between his hands. “My dear Jane, we have eternity, you and I, and there is no hurry. Delayed gratification is a pleasure in itself.”

She knew he sensed her disappointment and hurt, for as inexperienced as she might be, she recognized a subtle rejection. She gave an exaggerated sigh. “Yes, Luke, I suppose you are right. Besides, I think I would rather like another of those lemon tarts and a glass of wine.”

He gave a shout of laughter and linked her hand in his arm. “Come, then. You’re a brave girl, Jane Austen.”

“Where have you been?” William met them as they entered the house on Queens Square. “Hunting,” Luke replied.

“You closed your thoughts to me; you know that is unwise. She”—he nodded at Jane—“withholds something from us. Let us talk in the study.”

As they walked through the dining room, Jane said, “She is able to speak for herself, sir. I do not know to what you refer.”

“A French officer resides in your house; Clarissa tells me he is the nephew of Renard.” He gestured that she sit in a chair but she remained standing. She did not want him towering over her.

“You know this is of vital importance. A child could make the connection.” He turned to Luke. “Did you know this?”

“Jane,” Luke said, “you know what William says is true. Why did you not tell me?”

His gentle remonstrance hurt her more than William’s harshness. “I will not have my family hurt by what I—what we do.”

“You’re a fool,” William said. “They have no claim on you now. You belong here, with us. It does not benefit you to cling to those mortals—”

“My family, who love me.”

“You are one of us now. But since you insist on maintaining your façade, you must serve us, your true family, well.”

“We must do what is important.” Luke reached for a bottle of claret and plucked three glasses from a shelf. “Jane, you shall befriend this officer. Find out from him what the plans of the French are in the city, and anything else useful he may have to tell us. It sounds as though your family are well on the way to welcoming him into their confidence. Has he invited your family to Sydney Gardens tomorrow night?”

“Yes, but—”

William stepped forward, his eyes fixed on her. Her head swam with his presence, his closeness, his attention. “There is no argument, Jane. I created you, and I can destroy you too. Do this or leave. What sort of future do you think you have, alone as a vampire? Rejected by your Creator, and of middling blood, and with no letters of introduction? Exile from your brothers and sisters is the greatest disgrace you as one of the Damned may suffer. You shall do as I say. Use what I have given you. You are a vampire, not a silly provincial miss.”

How dare he speak to her so! She retreated from his influence, tearing herself from his stern attention. Her fangs lengthened. “Careful, William, lest I write you into one of my books. You have given me much material so far—the supercilious London visitor at the provincial assembly, the faithless seducer, the gentleman too proud to acknowledge in public the woman he has wronged—”

Luke laughed and handed them both a glass of wine. “You’ll be sorry, William.”

“And
letters of introduction?
I have never heard anything so absurd in my life:
Madam, I wish to introduce Miss Jane Austen, who is possessed of the most elegant
en sanglant
and whose manners
and deportment in matters relating to blood and dining are unparalleled—
”

William raised an eyebrow. “You may laugh, Jane, but you have much to learn.”

“Now
that
is something I long to learn. Can you raise one eyebrow while
en sanglant?”

“You had best teach your fledgling better manners,” William said.

Luke smiled. “Oh, you know, I rather like her the way she is. I’d hate to see her turn into another Clarissa, or, devil take it, another Margaret.”

“Indeed. Another mess you have created and which you must clean up.”

The two men glared at each other,
en sanglant.
Jane tried to gauge the feelings that swept between them—jealousy, resentment, love—that had to represent a complex, centuries-old relationship.

“And, by the by, I have never been a silly provincial miss,” she added as a parting shot.

William spoke to Luke. “And I say again, teach her some manners. Jane, you’ll go to Sydney Gardens with your family tomorrow night.” He slapped his empty wineglass onto the desk and left, banging the door behind him.

Luke sank into a chair. “Please do sit. You roam around like a fierce animal.”

“Isn’t that what I am now?” She sat. “What is he to you? Have you been friends long?”

“A very long time, and, no, we are not exactly friends. He created me.”

“Oh! So you and I are brother and sister.”

“Brother and sister! I should think not.” He hesitated as if
about to say something else, but continued, “He and I will be civil again soon enough. As for you and me, I’ll call in the morning as your physician and pronounce you cured.”

“Very well.”

“Come, we’ll dine now. But what’s the matter?”

She sighed. “Those were empty threats I made, Luke. I can observe episodes I should like to include in my books; I hear the odd turn of phrase or absurdity, but I cannot write. I tell myself I must remember what I see and hear, but maybe it is to no effect.”

He took her hand. “I must tell you the truth. I have never heard of any one of the Damned who distinguished himself in the arts or letters. It is not in our nature. I have heard of those gifted in one way or another whose skills disappeared as they matured as vampires. Were you to return to your mortal state I cannot say if your gift would return; no one knows.”

She regarded him with curiosity. “Then why did you not say so to William and take his part?”

He gave her hand a gentle shake. “Ah. I admire courage, Miss Jane Austen, even if you were in the wrong. You stood up to William with great bravery tempered with a generous dose of impertinence, and although he would never admit it, he admires you for it too. He would rather you fight back, even if it is with teasing and ridicule, than to accept meekly his strictures.”

“Well, I suppose you know the gentleman better than I ever shall.” She hesitated and took her first sip of wine, her booted feet stretched toward the fire; although she did not require the warmth, she enjoyed the homely familiarity of a burning hearth. “Shall you and I become like that? As I become stronger, shall you and I fight?”

“Possibly. William and I, we have centuries of grievances and real and imagined ills upon which to draw. We are too alike, too close in years. I was his first fledgling, and he was but a century
old when he created me, a mere stripling in our years.” He gazed into the fire. “You and I, we have all of eternity stretching before us and who knows where we shall go. I regret that you cannot make a clean break with your mortal family; it is infinitely preferable, for it is kinder to you, but these are unusual times.”