Jane Bites Back (29 page)

“Could you sign it to Brandi?” the girl asked.

“That’s Brandi with an
i
, correct?” said Byron.

The girl beamed. “How did you know?”

Byron answered as he wrote in her book. “A girl as unique as you are is certain to have a unique name,” he said.

Brandi giggled and bit her lip.

“Thank you so much for coming today,” said Byron, eliciting another titter. “I hope you enjoy the book.”

“I will,” Brandi said as she was encouraged by Rebecca to move along. Jane noted with some small satisfaction that the girl walked by Chiara without so much as a turn of her head.

By then another reader had bypassed Jane and was talking to Byron. As he had with Brandi, he charmed her to the point that all she could do was giggle.

“Who do you think you are?” Jane asked in the interval between one woman leaving and another arriving. “The Beatles?”

With agonizing slowness the line grew shorter. Not a single person asked Jane or Chiara for an autograph. When the last person had received a signature from Byron and walked away glowing, Jane stood up.

“That was fun,” she said. “Now I’m afraid I have to be getting along. It was lovely to meet all of you.”

She gathered up her things and started to leave, not caring whether or not she insulted Chiara or Rebecca. Her entire trip had, as far as she was concerned, been a waste of time.
Not quite
, she reminded herself.
You did kill Charlotte Brontë. That’s something, at least
.

“Jane, wait.”

She heard Byron’s voice behind her but kept walking. A moment later he grabbed her arm. “Wait,” he said.

She shook his hand off and whirled to look at him. “Why would I possibly want to do that?” she asked.

“I know about Charlotte,” he told her.

Jane gritted her teeth.
Of course you do
, she thought. “What of it?” she asked, not even trying to deny his implied accusation. “Anyway, maybe I should be asking where she got the manuscript I gave to
you.”

Byron held up his hands. “I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry. But you don’t know how obsessive she is. Was. How was I to know she would take it?”

“So you did turn her,” Jane said. “Tell me, is there anyone else I should be on the lookout for? Christina Rossetti, maybe? Dorothy Parker? Truman Capote?”

Byron shrugged. “It’s difficult to say,” he answered.

Jane turned with a huff and started to walk away. Byron caught up to her. “Jane, darling,” he said, “I’m so sorry. It’s just that I couldn’t stay away. You’re like a magnet to my heart.”

Jane made a retching sound. “And you are like a purgative to my stomach,” she said.

“A fine thing to say after what I’ve done for you,” Byron said. He adopted a hurt expression.

“What you did for me?” Jane repeated. “Do you mean threatening to kill Walter and do worse to Lucy? Do you mean allowing my manuscript to fall into the hands of the one person in the world who would wish me harm?”

“To be fair, she’s probably not the only person,” said Byron. “But no, I wasn’t speaking of those things. I mean in Chicago.”

Jane inhaled sharply. “You
were
the one who bit that girl!” she accused him.

Byron shook his head. “No,” he said. “Charlotte did that. I was the one who saved the girl. And saved you,” he added.

“And just how did you save her?”

“Charlotte was not the most … adept of our kind,” he said.
“She was never quite able to finish a job, so to speak. She thought she had killed the girl, but she had only weakened her.”

“What was she doing there, anyway?” Jane asked.

“Attempting to frame you, I would imagine,” said Byron.

It was a plausible enough explanation, although Jane had her doubts. “And what were
you
doing there?” she asked Byron.

“Watching out for you,” he said. “I was worried.”

“Mmm,” said Jane. “Always the gentleman.”

Byron lowered his eyes. “Jane, I’ve kept my promise,” he said. “I haven’t bothered you, or Walter, or Lucy. I’ve just been protecting you.”

Jane had nothing to say to that. If he really
had
taken care of Farrah in Chicago, she did have something to thank him for. And perhaps Charlotte really
had
simply stolen the manuscript from him years ago. She supposed he could be telling the truth.

“Have dinner with me,” Byron said. “It’s your last night in New Orleans.”

“No,” said Jane firmly. “That’s out of the question. I might possibly be able to forgive you for—”

“Just dinner,” Byron said. “And then I promise I’ll disappear forever.”

“Your definition of forever is sorely lacking in specificity,” said Jane. He was looking at her with his dark brown eyes. “All right,” she said. “Dinner. Then you’ll go away. Promise me.”

Byron smiled. “Promise,” he said. “I’ll come for you at seven.”

“No,” Jane said quickly. “I’ll meet you there.” She didn’t want him knowing where she was staying.

“La Maison des Trois Soeurs,” said Byron. “I know.”

“You’re impossible,” Jane said as she turned and left him standing in the lobby.

When she arrived back at the hotel she found Jasper lying in
a pool of sun outside the front door. When he saw her he jumped up and ran to her, his stub of a tail wagging furiously. As Jane bent to pet him she saw that he was wearing a new red collar. “Aren’t you the handsome boy,” she told him.

“I thought it was a good color for him,” Luke called through the door.

“It most definitely is,” Jane agreed. “Thank you for getting it.”

“No problem,” Luke said. “His new crate is up in your room. All you need to do is check him in at the airport.”

Jane looked down at Jasper. “Do you hear that?” she said. “You’re going for a plane ride tomorrow.”

Jasper woofed at her, and both Jane and Luke laughed. “Thank you for taking care of him today,” Jane told the young man.

She headed upstairs with Jasper at her heels. Once there, she took off her shoes and lay on the bed for a while, thinking about the events of the day. It was a little too much.
But it’s almost over
, she told herself.
You just have to make it through dinner
.

Chapter 29

A
T A QUARTER PAST SIX SHE GOT UP, FED
J
ASPER, AND CHANGED
her clothes for dinner. She purposely put on something casual so that Byron would know she wasn’t trying to impress him.
He’s not getting to me this time
, she promised herself.

She took Jasper for a quick walk around the block using the new leash she’d found coiled on the dresser, and returned him to the room, where he immediately jumped up on the bed. “Tom’s not going to like that at all,” Jane told him. She wondered how she could introduce the two of them with the least amount of fuss and bother.

At five minutes to seven she went down to the lobby to wait for Byron. He might know where she was staying, but she wasn’t going to let him anywhere near her room.
Absolutely not
, she promised herself.

He arrived promptly at seven. Jane noted that he too was dressed rather casually, and she was surprised to find that she was slightly disappointed.
Apparently he doesn’t think it’s a date either
, she thought as she stood to greet him.

“Where are we going?” she asked as they walked down the street. They were moving away from the restaurants, toward a slightly more run-down part of the Marigny, and Jane was a little unnerved by it. Was Byron trying to trick her?

“Relax,” he said, taking her arm. “I’m taking you to an
authentic
New Orleans eatery, not one of those places designed to part tourists from their money.”

“So you live here, then?” asked Jane.

“Lived,” said Byron. “Then again, I’ve lived nearly everywhere, haven’t I?”

“And Charlotte?” Jane asked. “How long has she lived—how long did she live here?”

“Let’s not talk about Charlotte, shall we?” Byron suggested. “She was merely an … inconvenience. Now she isn’t.”

“That’s very easy for you to say,” said Jane. “You’re not the one who set her on fire.”

Byron laughed. “No one will hold it against you,” he said. “She was rather a dreary creature. Those mummies,” he added, and Jane felt him shiver.

“They
were
a bit ghastly,” Jane agreed.

Byron stopped at a doorway over which flickered a red neon sign that said
THE PLACE.
“This is the place,” he said.

“I see that,” Jane said. She peered through the small window set into the door. The interior was dark. “You’re sure?” she asked.

Byron pulled the door open. “I’m sure,” he said.

Jane’s opinion of the restaurant was not improved by going inside. The small room contained half a dozen small tables, each one
surrounded by mismatched chairs and covered with an oily checkered cloth. The walls were bare, painted a color that probably had originally been white but had taken on a yellowish tinge. A fan hung from the ceiling, spinning slowly in the heat. A length of flypaper hung from it, coated with the bodies of its victims.

Five of the tables were occupied, mostly by men drinking from bottles of Abita beer. Byron led Jane to the lone empty table and pulled her chair out for her. She inspected the seat with her fingertips before sitting. There didn’t appear to be anything on it that would stain her pants.

“You’re in for a real treat,” said Byron. “Outsiders don’t normally get to come here.”

“Outsiders?” Jane said. “You mean tourists?”

“Of a sort,” said Byron.

Before he could explain further, they were approached by a weary-looking woman of indeterminate age. Tall and thin, her long blond hair showed more than a few inches of dark roots, and her face was unusually red.

“Byron
cher,”
she said. “Where you been?” Her voice was thick with a Cajun accent.

“Here and there,” said Byron. He nodded at Jane. “Emmeline, Jane. Jane, Emmeline.”

The woman nodded at Jane. “She one of yours?” she asked Byron.

Byron grinned. “Ask her that,” he replied.

Emmeline turned her gaze to Jane. Her eyes were almost black, and something about her seemed impossibly old. Then Jane realized what it was. She looked at Byron, who laughed. “Yes,” he said, “she’s one of us.” He gestured around the room. “They all are. Well, most of them.”

Jane was dumbstruck. She’d never in her life been in an establishment
that was solely for vampires. “But how—” she said.

“Times have changed, Jane,” said Byron. “We don’t have to hide all the time, especially not in a town like this one. Why do you think Charlotte stayed?”

“Hear she got herself burnt up last night,” Emmeline said. “Can’t say she’ll be missed round here.”

“See?” Byron mouthed to Jane.

“You’re wanting the crawfish,” Emmeline said. Without waiting for an answer she disappeared into the back of the restaurant.

“This is all very peculiar,” Jane said to Byron.

“You’ve been away from your own kind for too long,” said Byron. “You see through human eyes.”

Jane began to object, but Byron cut her off. “It’s not an insult,” he said. “Well, perhaps it’s a little bit of an insult,” he admitted.

“I don’t see what’s wrong with trying to retain some humanity,” Jane said tartly. “After all, it’s what we were.”

“Were,” Byron repeated. “But not now. Aren’t you tired of hiding? Wouldn’t you like to live in a world where you don’t have to worry about being exposed?”

“I don’t really worry about it,” said Jane. “Besides, I have Lucy now. And Walter,” she added quickly.

“Yes, Walter,” Byron said. Jane couldn’t tell from his tone whether he was mocking her or just agreeing.

Emmeline reappeared, carrying an enormous metal bowl, which she dumped on the table. A mound of potatoes, sausage, corn, and crawfish spilled out, threatening to slide off the sides. Jane looked at it as Emmeline put down two bottles of beer, an empty bowl, and a thick stack of napkins. “Teach her how to suck heads,” she said to Byron.

Jane picked up a crawfish. Its shell was a dark red, and its little
black eyes stared unseeing back at her. “What do I do with it?” she asked.

“Like this,” said Byron. He held up a crawfish, gripped the head between his thumb and forefinger, and twisted it off. He set the head aside and peeled the shell away from the body, then pinched the tiny fan at the bottom of the tail, pushing the meat up and popping the exposed flesh into his mouth. “And now for the best part,” he said, picking up the head he’d set aside. Putting it to his mouth, he sucked loudly on it for a moment before tossing it into the empty bowl.

“And that’s how you suck the head,” he said. “Go on. Try it.”

“I think not,” said Jane. “It’s very rude.”

“It’s rude not to,” Byron corrected her. “If you don’t suck the head, then everyone will know you’re an outsider.”

Jane contemplated the crawfish in her hand. Although no one in the restaurant was looking directly at her, she had the distinct impression that she was being watched.
Here goes nothing
, she thought as she attempted to copy Byron’s movements. The tail and head separated readily enough, and getting the tail meat out was fairly easy. It was also incredibly delicious.