Jane Bites Back_ A Novel - Michael Thomas Ford [82]
“What do you know?” Lucy said. “I thought vampires were all magical, like unicorns and leprechauns.”
“I wouldn’t call it magic,” Jane replied. “And we have to be just as careful as you do.”
“What if you lose just an arm?” asked Lucy. “Or let’s say a toe. Will it grow back?”
“We’re not geckos,” Jane said curtly. “But yes, we do have some interesting … restorative abilities. Nevertheless, it’s possible for us to die if the damage is comprehensive enough.”
“Then let’s assume Charlotte really is extra crispy,” Lucy said.
“Must you say things like that?”
“Sorry,” Lucy apologized. “It’s just that talking about Charlotte Brontë being dead is a little weird. Anyway, let’s assume that she really is gone for good. Like I said, I don’t see the problem. Except for poor Jasper. You will go look for him, right?”
“I said I would,” said Jane. “But what about me?”
“Go back to the conference tomorrow,” said Lucy. “Pretend nothing unusual has happened. As far as anyone else knows, you were in your room asleep all night.”
Jane considered this. Was it really that simple? She tried to find a flaw in Lucy’s argument, but could find nothing. No one else had heard her conversation with Violet Grey. No one had seen her follow Violet home. And certainly no one else knew that Violet was really Charlotte Brontë.
“What about the manuscript expert?” Jane said.
“There isn’t one,” Lucy told her. “Honestly, you’d think you’d never written a book before. Charlotte made that up when she thought you were a normal person. I mean a mortal. I mean not a vampire. God, this is so confusing.”
“That’s right,” Jane agreed. “She wanted me to think she had expert proof.” She heard herself laugh. “She didn’t know about me,” she said. “That’s rather extraordinary.”
“Why?” said Lucy. “You didn’t know about her either.”
“Must you take the fun out of everything?” Jane said.
“Yeah,” said Lucy. “Setting fire to the woman who wrote Jane Eyre is big fun.”
“Well, it is sort of ironic when you think about it,” said Jane. “Bertha Mason and all that.”
“I can tell you’re feeling better about things,” Lucy said. “I’m glad I could help. Now go look for Jasper. I want a progress report tomorrow.”
Jane hung up. She stood and started toward the bathroom to take a nice hot bath. Then she thought about Jasper, alone in the dark, nowhere to go. She imagined having to lie to Lucy about checking on him.
“Oh, hell,” she cursed as she bent to retrieve her shoes.
This time she took a cab, asking the driver to drop her off a few blocks from Charlotte’s house. Or rather, what was left of Charlotte’s house. As Jane got closer she saw that the fire had done rather a good job of destroying the home. The only thing still standing was the brick chimney, rising from the blackened bones of the house like a giant finger flipping Jane the bird. Two fire trucks blocked the street, and a handful of firefighters stood on the sidewalk looking at the ruins. It was raining again. The piles of charred wood and ash sent sickly strings of smoke into the night sky, and the air smelled acrid and dirty.
Jane avoided the firemen as she skirted the trucks and went to the other side of the street. She didn’t want anyone to see her, lest she somehow be connected to the fire. She wondered if they’d yet found the bodies of Charlotte and her siblings. Judging from the scene, pretty nearly everything in the house had been incinerated.
Now that she was there she realized that she had no idea how to begin going about looking for Jasper. She’d sort of expected to find him sitting on the sidewalk looking forlornly at what used to be his home. But other than the firefighters and a handful of neighbors gawking at the sight, the area around the house was empty. Finding the dog was, she feared, going to be impossible.
“Jasper,” she called softly. “Are you here?”
To her surprise, the spaniel came darting out from behind a neighboring house. He came up to Jane, tail