Whan that Aprill, with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote
And bathed every veyne in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flour
She found to her dismay that she could remember no more. She said the lines again, hoping that would jar her memory, but it did not. Worse, it made her think of her siblings, with whom she had learned the verses and performed them for their parents, eliciting much laughter with their attempts at Middle English.
Don’t think about them, she thought even as she failed in this. Her own name—her real name—was threatening to reveal itself, and this she could not allow. If Lilith discovered her identity, then surely Miriam would, and no good could come of that.
Name the monarchs. The suggestion came to her as if Cassie herself had spoken the words. It was a challenge their father had set for them, listing all the rulers of England in chronological order. Jane and Cassie had often used the game as a way to make themselves fall asleep. Now Jane used it to keep her true thoughts hidden from Lilith.
Egbert, she began, surprised at how quickly it came to her. Ethelwulf. Aethelbald. Ethelbert. Ethelred. Her memory faltered here, but after a few moments she recalled the next ruler. Alfred the Great. Edward the Elder. Athelstan. Edmund. Eadred. Eadwig. Edgar. Edward the Martyr. Another Ethelred, this one the Unready. Edmund Ironside. Canute.
“Jane!”
Byron’s voice made her start, and she looked over at him.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Not thinking,” said Jane.
“You’re also not listening,” Byron said. “You were just supposed to distract yourself long enough to focus on what we’re doing.”
“Oh,” Jane said. “Sorry. Um, what are we doing?”
“Asking questions,” said Byron.
“Right,” Jane said. She straightened herself in her chair and once more looked at Lilith. The little dog was now lying down, her one front leg stretched out in front of her. She was no longer growling. “What are we talking about?”
“You were trying not to think about being Jane Austen,” Lilith said. “So much for that.”
“Damn it!” Jane said, hitting the arm of her chair with a fist.
“Nothing to be done about it now,” said Byron. “Anyway, Lilith has given me some very interesting information.”
“Such as?” Jane asked. She was very annoyed at having given herself away, and only half cared about what Byron was saying.
“As I suspected, Miriam is a hunter,” he said.
“She was recruited in 1962 by a college professor,” said Lilith. “She was studying ancient history and showed particular interest in the Sumerian legends of the undead. Gradually her mentor introduced her to the truth about vampires, and eventually she trained with six others, including Lee Harvey Oswald.”
“Oswald?” Jane said. “The man who assassinated John F. Kennedy?”
“Yes,” said Lilith.
“Are you saying Kennedy was a vampire?”
“And people thought his being Catholic was a problem,” Byron remarked.
“Oswald thought he was,” Lilith said. “Miriam didn’t. Anyway, that’s not important.”
“So how did you get involved with her?” Jane asked.
“The story she told you is true,” said Lilith. “She found me in Jerusalem. Actually, she rescued me from a vampire who had decided I would make a nice dinner. That’s where my leg went.”
Jane felt instant sympathy for the little dog and reached out to pet her. Lilith snarled and jumped back. “Don’t touch me, fang face!” she said.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Jane said.
“Right,” said Lilith. “You just like to stuff little dogs in boxes.”
“We had to talk to you,” Byron said. “Would you have come if we’d asked?”
Lilith eyed him suspiciously. “That depends,” she said. “What do you have?”
“What do you mean, what do I have?” Byron asked.
“Just because I don’t like your kind doesn’t mean I can’t be bought,” said Lilith. “I’m a mercenary. I go where the money is.”
“What about your allegiance to the Ellenberg woman?” said Byron. “You’d betray her?”
“I’ve already repaid her a dozen times,” Lilith said. “I’ve helped her find and stake vamps all over the country. I don’t owe her anything.”
“Then why stay with her?” Jane asked.
“The food’s good,” said Lilith. “And I like to travel.”
Byron chuckled. “I like this one,” he said to Jane. To Lilith he said, “What’s your price?”
Lilith blinked and licked her paw. “Like I said, what have you got?”
Byron smiled. “How about bacon?” he said.
Lilith looked up. “I’m listening,” she said.
“I imagine Miriam never gives you bacon,” said Byron. “You know, what with keeping kosher and all. Am I right?”
“You’re not wrong,” Lilith told him.
Byron nodded. “Then how about this. For every piece of solid information you give us about what Miriam and her defanged stooge are up to, we’ll give you a quarter pound of premium hickory-smoked bacon.”
Lilith licked her chops, and Jane sensed her thoughts humming busily. She’s thinking about it, Jane told herself.
“Half a pound,” Lilith said. “And you cook it for me.”
“Naturally,” said Byron. “Then we have a deal?”
“I’m still her dog,” Lilith said. “Well, as much as I’m anyone’s. So don’t think I’m on your side. You’re buying information, that’s it.”
“That’s all we want,” said Byron.
“Then we have a deal,” Lilith told him.
Byron grinned. “Excellent,” he said.
Lilith stood up and shook herself. “Now get me out of here,” she said. “Miriam’s probably freaking out.”
Jane got up and went to the carrier.
“Uh-uh,” Lilith said. “This time you carry me.”
“May I pick you up?” Jane asked.
Lilith nodded. Jane scooped the dog up and held her to her chest. Lilith turned her head and looked up. “Jane Austen,” she said as Jane walked to the door. “If Miriam knew this, she’d stake you on the spot. She hates your books.”
“What about you?” Jane asked. “Do you like them?”
Lilith cocked her head. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “Who ever heard of a dog that could read?”
“KNOCK KNOCK.”
Ben Cohen looked up from his desk to see Jane standing in the doorway of his office. He smiled at her and waved her in.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Jane apologized as she took a seat across from him. “Do you have some time to talk?”
Ben nodded. “I’ll make time,” he said as he shut the book he’d been perusing. “Have you come to talk more about conversion? I sort of got the impression that was off the table.”
“It is,” Jane said. “For now, anyway. I want to talk about relationships.”
Ben smiled. “Okay,” he said. “Any one in particular?”
“Let’s say it’s a hypothetical one,” said Jane.
Ben nodded. “We can do that,” he said.
Jane folded her hands in her lap and stared at them, trying to decide how to begin. Although both she and Ben knew that they were about to talk about her and Walter’s relationship, Jane wasn’t ready to use their names. In part this was because she was embarrassed, but more than that, it allowed her to pretend they weren’t talking about her and Walter. That made it easier for her to ask the questions she needed to ask, as she could pretend they were discussing other people, or characters in a book.
“Let’s say that you love someone,” she began. “And that someone loves you back.”
“You think this person loves you back, or you know for sure?” asked Ben.
“You’re quite certain about it,” Jane said. “
He—this person—has told you so.”
“Got it,” said Ben. “Go on.”
“You want to be with this person,” Jane continued. “In fact, you know that being together will make you very happy.” She paused a moment. “But you also know that being together will ultimately cause this person a great deal of misery.”
“How can you know something like that?” asked Ben.
“You just do,” said Jane. “Let’s say there’s something about yourself that the other person doesn’t know, and that if he—if the other person found out, it would make that person very unhappy.”
Ben leaned back in his chair. “What kind of thing might this be?” he asked.
Jane, feeling very uncomfortable, cleared her throat. “Does it matter?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Ben. “For instance, let’s say this thing is something you—and I’m using you hypothetically here—have done. Committed a crime and spent time in jail, for example. You’re afraid that if your partner finds out about this, he—and again I’m being hypothetical—will be horrified and think badly of you. That’s one kind of problem. But your problem might be something bigger, something more—ongoing, for lack of a better word.”
“Ongoing,” Jane repeated. “Ongoing how?”
“That you have a child you never mentioned,” said Ben. “Or that you’re addicted to something or have a gambling problem. Anything that isn’t limited by time.”
“I still don’t see how it matters,” Jane said.
“Events in the past—isolated things we’ve done that might be upsetting to a partner—are generally easier to accept,” Ben explained. “Especially if they occurred before the relationship began. But an issue that’s ongoing, that is in some way still occurring, that’s often more difficult to handle. We can’t compartmentalize it and say, ‘Okay, this happened in the past but it’s over now and my partner isn’t the same person who did that thing.’ Instead, we’re now looking at this partner as someone we never really knew at all.”
“Wouldn’t that happen in either case?” said Jane.
“Possibly, but often no,” Ben replied. “We’re far more likely to forgive things in our partners that happened in the past.”
“Time heals all wounds,” said Jane.
“Or in this case, time makes it possible to accept nasty surprises. So which situation are we dealing with here?”
“Ongoing,” Jane told him. “Well, a little of both, actually. But mostly ongoing.”
“And this thing—whatever it is—is something the partner won’t be able to handle?”
Jane thought about this. Could Walter handle finding out she was a vampire? She suspected he could, or at least he would think he could. And maybe for a time things would be fine. But what would happen when the perceived age difference between them became obvious? Then how would he feel about being with her?
Jane suddenly realized that she’d been asking the wrong question. Yes, Walter was the one who would have to accept something about her he could never have imagined. But she would be the one left alone when he died, as he inevitably would. In some ways he would live out his life as he always would have, except that his wife would never age. But it was Jane who would be left with the loss of him, Jane who had to watch everyone she loved leave her over and over again.
There was, however, another option.
“You know the story of Beauty and the Beast, don’t you?” she asked Ben.
“Of course,” he said. “It’s one of Sarah’s favorites.”
“What does she like about it?” asked Jane.
“She likes that Beauty sees that the Beast is really a good man,” he said.
Jane nodded. “Exactly. Now let me ask you this—how would she feel if instead of the Beast becoming a prince because Beauty loves him, Beauty became a beast? They would still live happily ever after, but Beauty would be someone that others were afraid of.”
“I don’t think she’d like that very much,” said Ben. “The whole idea is that love sees what others can’t, the real us beneath the dirt and grime.”
“Sure,” Jane said. “But if the two beasts love each other, isn’t that all that matters? Can’t beasts have happily ever after without becoming princes or princesses?”
“I guess Shrek and Fiona kind of have that,” said Ben.
“Who?” Jane asked.
“Sorry,” said Ben, laughing. “You probably don’t get dragged to a lot of animated movies. Shrek is an ogre who falls in love with a beautiful princess. Long story short, she’s under a curse that turns her into an ogre at night. Only true love’s kiss can break the spell. Eventually Shrek kisses her and the spell is broken. But instead of returning to her human form Fiona remains an ogre. She’s horrified, but Shrek tells her she’s beautiful and she realizes that his love for her is all she’s ever really wanted.”
“But everyone else still thinks she’s hideous, right?” said Jane.
Ben shrugged. “Some of them,” he said. “But not everyone.”
Jane sighed. “That’s the problem right there,” she said. “Even if the person you love accepts the real you, you haven’t changed who you are. Just ask King Kong. Fay Wray came to love him, but he still fell off the Empire State Building.”
“Jane, whatever it is you’re worried about, I’m sure you and Walter can get through it,” Ben said.
Jane smiled. “So much for being hypothetical,” she said.
“I haven’t known you long,” Ben told her. “But I think I can safely say that there’s nothing about you that the right man couldn’t accept.”
“How can you say that?” Jane said. “For all you know I might have murdered a family of five by mixing ant paste into their tea.”
“Did you?” asked Ben.
Jane shook her head. “No,” she said. “I lured them one by one into the woods and bashed their heads in with a rock.”
Ben laughed. “Look, whatever it is you think Walter won’t be able to accept, the only way you’re going to find out is if you tell him what it is. May I ask, have you told anyone?”
Jane thought about Lucy. “Yes,” she said.
“And does he or she still accept you?”
Jane nodded. “But Walter is different.”
“Different how?” asked Ben.
“I’m in love with him,” Jane said. “That changes everything. If I lose him …” Her words trailed off, for she could think of no way to adequately explain how she felt.
When Ben spoke, his voice was gentle. “So rather than have him reject you, you’re not giving him the chance,” he said.
It was some time before Jane answered. “I suppose I am,” she admitted.
“Then you’re a fool,” Ben said.
Jane, surprised, looked at him.
“Well, you are,” said Ben. “Don’t expect me to pretend you’re right, because you aren’t. You’re not giving Walter a chance. And why? Because you’re scared he won’t love the real you.”
“I don’t see anything so unusual about that,” Jane argued. Her feelings were slightly hurt by Ben’s brusqueness, even if deep down she knew he was right.
“Oh, it’s not unusual,” said Ben. “But that doesn’t make it any less stupid. Now get out of my office.”
“What?” said Jane. “Why?”
Ben stood up. “Because you’re wasting my time,” he said. He came around to the other side of his desk, took Jane’s hands, and pulled her to her feet. “And you’re wasting your time,” he said. “You’re a wonderful woman. But you’re being a fool.”
“Are you this direct with everyone who comes to you for advice?” Jane asked.
“Only the ones I like,” said Ben. “Now go. I have work to do.”
Jane walked toward the door, but Ben called her name. “Take this,” he said, walking over and handing her something.
“What is it?” Jane asked.
“A DVD of Shrek,” Ben told her. “It’s one of Sarah’s favorites, so I always keep a copy here in the
office in case I need to entertain her.”
“I don’t think—” Jane said.
“Just watch it,” said Ben. “And don’t come back until you do.”
Jane read the description of the movie on the back of the DVD as she walked to her car. She had no intention whatsoever of watching an animated movie about an ogre and a talking donkey, even if it was based on a William Steig book (she adored his picture book Dominic). She put the DVD in her purse and forgot about it.
Having not entirely had the conversation with Ben Cohen that she’d wished to have, Jane now did something she had never done before. Driving to the area of Brakeston closest to Meade College, she parked her car, removed from the backseat a bag containing her laptop, and walked to the nearest coffeehouse. There she ordered a latte, took a seat at a table near the front window, and began to work on her novel.
She had often seen people—mostly students from the college—busily engrossed in doing something (she assumed writing) on their laptop computers in coffeehouses all over town. Although the idea of working on one’s craft in public had never seemed to her to be quite polite, she wondered if perhaps a change of scenery might not give her a new perspective on her book.
After ten minutes she decided that it apparently did not. Despite staring doggedly at the screen of her laptop, she had not written a word. She glanced to her left and saw a young man with papers and books spread across his table tapping manically at his keyboard. Pretending to stretch, she leaned in his direction to get a look at what he was doing.
The screen was filled with what appeared to be a picture of a factory. A series of pink shapes moved up and down, as well as from side to side, as something round and blue bounced between them. The man appeared to be guiding the blue ball by tapping the keys of his computer.
The blue ball dropped into a basket at the bottom of the screen and a series of numbers flashed rapidly on the lower left-hand side. The man, noticing that Jane was looking at his screen, said, “It’s a total waste of time, but I’m addicted to it.”
“What is it?” Jane inquired.
“It’s called Sushi Cat,” said the man. “See all of the little pieces of sushi?”