Jane Bites Back_ A Novel - Michael Thomas Ford [51]
Jane was having difficulty containing her excitement. If Byron really had gone (and she wasn’t completely convinced that he had), then her plan had worked more beautifully than she’d hoped. But she couldn’t appear too pleased in front of Walter, who had no idea what Byron had wanted to do to him.
“I have to get back to work,” Walter said testily. “I just had to tell somebody.”
Jane affected a look of pity. “It’s all right, Walter,” she said. “These things happen.”
Walter mumbled something unintelligible in reply. “I’ll see you later,” he said.
When he was gone, Lucy turned to Jane. “We did it!” she squealed, jumping up and giving Jane a big hug.
“Possibly,” Jane agreed. “We still need to keep our eyes open. I wouldn’t put anything past him.”
“Too bad we didn’t have him autograph a few of these before he left,” Lucy said. She dropped a copy of The Complete Poems of Lord Byron on the counter. Jane looked at it for a moment.
“So you did hear me,” she said. “I wondered.”
“You know, I thought he seemed a little familiar,” said Lucy. “But I figured he just looked like some actor I’d seen or some guy who’d come into the store before. Then when you called him Byron it occurred to me where I’d seen him before. On this book jacket.”
Jane studied the portrait on the cover. “He’s awfully handsome, isn’t he?” she said.
“Mmm,” said Lucy. “He’s a hottie all right. A lying, cheating, blood-sucking hottie.” She leaned against the counter. “So, who does that make you?”
“Why do I have to be somebody?” Jane asked. “Perhaps I’m just some ordinary woman who got involved with the wrong kind of man. Is that so unusual?”
“You could be,” Lucy admitted. “But I don’t think so.”
Jane squinted her eyes. “And why not?” she asked.
“Because,” Lucy replied, squinting back, “I found this on your dresser.” She held up a locket. It was open, and inside was a small watercolor portrait of Cassie.
“You spied!” Jane yelped.
Lucy shook her head. “Actually, I didn’t. I went into your room to see if you had a hairbrush I could borrow. This was open on the dresser.”
“But you stole it,” Jane said. “That’s even worse.”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “I didn’t steal it,” she said. “I borrowed it. To compare it to the portrait in this.” She held up one of the several Jane Austen biographies the store carried. It was opened to a portrait of Cassandra. “They’re practically the same,” Lucy said.
“So I have a picture in a locket that resembles that one,” Jane said. “What of it?”
Lucy snapped the book shut. “The jig is up,” she said. “Out with it.”
Jane shuffled some papers on the counter. “Oh, all right,” she said. “Yes, that’s Cassie. And yes, I’m …” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.
“Jane Austen,” Lucy said in a gloating tone. “You. Are. Jane. Austen.” She enunciated each word separately. Then she stood with her mouth open, staring at Jane. “You’re Jane Austen,” she said again, this time in a voice filled with awe. “Jane Austen. You’re Jane Austen.”
“I know,” Jane said. “You don’t have to remind me quite so many times.”
Lucy shook her head as if trying to wake herself up. “This is too weird,” she said. “I was okay with the vampire thing. I mean, that’s freaky, but I was okay with it. And I was even okay with the Byron thing. But this—this is just too much.” She stared at Jane. “You’re Jane freaking Austen!”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Jane said. “Yes, I’m Jane Austen. And I’m a vampire. And it is, as you say, too freaking much. But that’s how it is.” She was talking loudly. She took a moment to calm herself before speaking again. “I’m sorry,” she told Lucy. “I forget that you haven’t had as much time as I have to process this.”
“It’s all right,” said Lucy. “I think I’m over it.”
Jane looked up. “What? A moment ago you were acting as if you’d just seen Father Christmas.”
“Yeah, well, now I’m over it,” Lucy said. “I’m funny like that.”
“Are you sure you’re feeling well?” asked Jane. “Do you need to lie down or something?”
“You look different from