Jane Bites Back (13 page)

“How did you know I was calling to ask you to lunch?”

Byron’s voice practically purred through the line. Hearing it, Jane felt her pulse quicken. “I-I-I thought you were someone else,” she stammered.

“I could pretend to be,” Byron suggested. “I’ve been many different men since you last knew me.”

“I’m sure you have,” said Jane. “And I can’t have lunch with any of you. I have an appointment.”

Byron sighed as if he was deeply disappointed. “I see I’ve lost your heart to another man,” he said.

“You never had it to lose,” Jane snapped.

“We’ll see,” said Byron. “Perhaps dinner, then?”

“No,” Jane told him.

“I’m just going to keep asking until you agree,” said Byron. “Besides, I’m sure we can find something much nicer to eat than what you had the other night.”

Jane bristled. “You followed me,” she said.

“You weren’t the only one out hunting,” said Byron. “But really, being a blonde doesn’t suit you. And that fellow you chose. What was his name? Paul? I bet he tasted of acne cream and too much sugar. I’m surprised you could stomach him.”

“I feed to survive,” Jane hissed, afraid that if she spoke any louder Lucy would hear her. “Not for pleasure.”

“That’s a difference between us,” said Byron. “I find that I quite like American food.”

“I’m hanging up now,” Jane told him. “Please don’t call me here again.”

“Wait,” Byron said, stopping her. “You haven’t said when we can meet again.”

Jane shut her eyes tightly and gritted her teeth. He’d already said that he wouldn’t cease bothering her until she agreed to see him, and she knew he was serious about it. She was going to have to do it. But she couldn’t give in so easily.

“I’ll have to let you know,” she said.

She could hear Byron laughing softly. “Very well,” he said. “But remember, I’m not a patient man.”

“Goodbye,” Jane said curtly, and hung up.

She couldn’t believe what a roller coaster the morning had been. First there’d been the high of Kelly’s fantastic news, and now she felt deflated by the tiny matter of her life being turned upside down by Byron’s arrival. Standing in the middle was Walter. Good, sweet Walter, who only wanted her to love him.

Men
, she thought.
The downfall of women since Adam blamed Eve for that stupid apple
. She wondered briefly if it was too late to become a lesbian. “I’m sure they have just as difficult a time of it,” she said to the empty room. “Love is dangerous for everyone.”

For the rest of the morning she stayed in the office, catching up on the endless paperwork, poring over publishers’ catalogs to see what books she might want to order, and generally trying to avoid interacting with anyone. She was feeling pulled in too many directions to think properly, and her thoughts raced from one thing to another as she attempted to sort out her thoughts about her book, Walter, Byron, and pretty much her entire life. She had
half a mind to just disappear, run off to another town and start all over again.
But that would be only a temporary solution
, she reminded herself.
Also, it would be rude
.

Precisely at one Walter knocked on the office door. “Ready?” he asked.

“I just have to get my coat,” said Jane, doing just that.

Five minutes later they were seated at a table in the Soup Kitchen, looking at the menu.

“I’m thinking clam chowder,” Walter said. “How about you?”

Jane picked something at random, not really caring what she put in her stomach. “Perhaps the chicken and wild rice,” she said.

They placed their orders and settled into what Jane felt was an uncomfortable silence.

“I want to apologize for the other night,” Walter said after a few minutes.

“Whatever for?” asked Jane.

“For asking you about Brian,” Walter explained. “It was none of my business.”

Jane stirred a packet of sugar into the iced tea she’d requested. “Oh, it’s all right,” she said. “I’m sorry I was so mysterious about the whole thing. I hope you haven’t been fretting over it.”

“Maybe a little,” Walter admitted, playing with his fork. “After all, he’s a popular guy.”

“Do you think so?” said Jane.

Walter nodded. “All the women in town are smitten with him,” he said. “You should see them following him around.”

To her surprise, Jane felt a pang of jealousy. She hid it by stirring another packet of sugar into her tea, rattling the spoon vigorously against the sides. “You don’t say,” she remarked.

“Personally, I think it’s the accent,” said Walter. “Women seem to love men with British accents.”

“It’s Scottish, actually,” said Jane automatically. “But they’re practically the same,” she added hastily.

“Anyway, he’s quite a hit,” Walter told her.

Their soups arrived at that moment, saving Jane from having to reply.

“There’s something else I want to apologize for,” said Walter. He didn’t wait for Jane to respond before continuing. “I’m sorry for not telling you about Evelyn.”

Jane looked at him, her spoon halfway to her mouth.

“Sherman told me that you and he talked about her at the New Year’s party,” Walter said. “I should have told you about her a long time ago.”

Jane returned her spoon to the bowl. “Walter, you don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do,” he interrupted.

Jane concentrated on her soup. Secrets were one thing she was not ready to share with Walter. But she let him talk, not only because it prevented her from having to, but also because she genuinely wanted to hear what he had to say.

“For a long time I blamed myself for her death,” he said. “I know that it wasn’t my fault, but I couldn’t help it. I asked myself over and over why I didn’t go into the water with her, why I wasn’t there. Why I couldn’t save her. Eventually I got tired of asking myself those questions. And I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. It’s not that I forgot about Evelyn; it’s more that in my mind that loss happened to someone else. Not to me, to some other man. Does that make any sense?”

Jane was trying hard not to cry. What Walter had just said was very much how she felt about the loss of her own family. She
reached across the table and took Walter’s hand. At that moment she felt as if they shared something that went beyond simple friendship, or even love.

“It does makes sense,” she said as a tear slid down her cheek. “It makes all the sense in the world.”

Chapter 14

L
UCY YAWNED AND SHOOK HER HEAD
. I
DON’T KNOW WHAT’S
wrong with me,” she said to Jane the next morning. “I feel as if I haven’t slept at all.”

“It’s all that coffee you drink,” Jane teased. Lucy was on her third cup and it was only a little past ten.

“Maybe,” said Lucy, taking a sip from the mug in her hand. “But I didn’t have any last night.” She set the mug down. “Plus, I had the strangest dreams.”

“What about?” Jane asked as she arranged a display of new paperback releases. She was in a particularly pleasant mood. Not only was she feeling good about the talk she and Walter had had
a few days before, Byron hadn’t once bothered her. Although his presence in Brakeston was still unsettling, and she was certain that he would cause more worry for her before long, for the moment she was determined to enjoy the relative calm in her life.

“I was in a house,” said Lucy. “By a lake. I don’t know where it was or how I got there. There was a thunderstorm. Then this man appeared. He was wearing a mask, some kind of bird face. A crow, I think.”

A violent shiver ran down Jane’s spine as Lucy continued. “Anyway, he took me by the hand and led me into a bedroom.” She looked at Jane and smiled shyly. “It’s kind of embarrassing,” she admitted. “It’s not like I go around having dreams about men making love to me or anything.”

Jane cleared her throat. “Go on,” she said.

“Well,” Lucy replied, “while we were in bed I reached up to take the mask from his face. I remember touching the feathers, and I remember pulling the mask away. I caught just a glimpse of his face before I woke up.”

Jane’s heart pounded in her chest. “Do you remember what he looked like?” she asked.

Lucy shook her head. “That’s the funny thing,” she said. “Sometimes I think I remember it perfectly clearly. I can even picture it in my head. But then it changes to something else and I forget what the first face looked like. It’s as if I’m seeing him in a mirror but the mirror keeps reflecting other men who are passing by behind me.”

“I see,” Jane said. A terrible thought was forming in her mind, one she didn’t want to entertain even for a moment.

Lucy scratched at her neck. Jane, noticing it, had to force down the panic rising in her.

“Stupid spider bites,” said Lucy. “They itch like crazy. Hey,
maybe that’s what caused the dreams. Spider venom.” She laughed. “Wouldn’t that be freaky?”

Jane walked over to her, the display forgotten. “Let me see,” she said, attempting to keep her voice steady. She pulled back Lucy’s long hair and inspected her neck. As she’d feared, two tiny red marks lay a few inches below Lucy’s left ear. They had healed quickly. No wonder Lucy was dismissing them as insect bites.

“I think you’re right,” said Jane. Her hand had begun to tremble, and she pulled it away quickly. “Don’t scratch them or you’ll make them worse.”

Lucy responded with a yawn, which she covered with one hand. “I’m just so tired,” she said.

“You should probably take the afternoon off,” Jane suggested. “You might be having a little reaction to the spider bites. I have to run a couple of errands, but I should be back in an hour or so. I can handle things for the rest of the day.”

Lucy rubbed her eyes. “Maybe,” she said. “I might feel better after some more coffee.”

No, you won’t
, Jane thought. The effects of a bite didn’t wear off quite so quickly. Nor would the effects of the dream Byron had apparently planted into Lucy’s thoughts. He’d done it on purpose, of course, knowing that Lucy would likely tell Jane about it. He also knew that she would do what she was about to do.

“I’ll be back soon,” she assured Lucy. “Remember—no scratching.”

Jane left the store and got into her car. As she drove to Byron’s house, she promised herself that she wouldn’t let him toy with her. “None of his nonsense,” she said.

She parked at the curb and walked to the front door of the
house. Only as she knocked did it occur to her that Byron might not be there. But then she heard him call, “A moment, please.”

When he saw Jane standing on his doorstep he smiled broadly. “This is an unexpected surprise,” he said. “Come in.”

Jane entered. She started to speak, but stopped when she saw the interior of the house. It had been meticulously restored. She could hardly believe how beautiful it was. The walnut woodwork had all been stripped of years of paint and refinished, the stained-glass window at the top of the stairs had been repaired, and the lights and other fixtures had been replaced with vintage pieces. Even the wallpaper—a handsome William Morris design of pink poppies on a black background—looked as if it could be original to the house.

Walter did an amazing job
, she thought. She was so dazzled by the house that she almost forgot why she was there. Then she remembered. Without waiting for Byron she went into the living room and stood behind a leather wingback chair. She wanted something between her and Byron while she confronted him. “I know what you did to Lucy,” she informed him as he walked into the room. “How dare you?”

Byron paused. “I didn’t realize she was off-limits to me,” he said innocently. “Besides, I didn’t drain her. I only took a sip or two.” He smiled wickedly.

Jane’s face flushed and her jaw trembled. “Stop these games!” she said. “Leave her be!”

Byron cocked his head. “You’re very fond of her, aren’t you?” he said. “Perhaps she’s almost like a daughter?” He paused a moment, then pointed one finger at Jane. “No,” he said. “Not a daughter. A sister.”

Jane understood his meaning perfectly. She placed her hands
on the back of the chair in front of her, gripping it so tightly that her nails left scratches in the leather.

“You. Will. Not. Touch. Her.” She spat each word at Byron as if it were a weapon.

Byron frowned. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t,” he replied. “After all, she’s just a girl.”

He swept across the room, leaning so close to Jane that for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her.

“It isn’t Lucy I want,” he said. His breath was warm on her face. “It’s you. But until you give yourself to me I must make do with what I have.”

“You won’t have me,” said Jane.

Byron leaned closer still. “Then I will have Lucy,” he said. “Perhaps I will even make her immortal. Do you think she would like that?”

“No,” Jane said, barely able to get the word out of her mouth. “You can’t.”