“Here are the sales totals for last week.”
Jane looked up at the young man standing in front of the desk. Small of stature, he had fair skin, blond hair, and eyes the pale blue color of Arctic ice. When he smiled a dimple appeared in his chin, rendering him even more striking.
“Thank you …” She glanced at Lucy Sebring, who was standing behind the young man, looking over his shoulder.
Ned, Lucy mouthed.
“Ned,” Jane said. “Thank you, Ned.”
“You’re very welcome,” said Ned. “If there’s anything else you need, just ask me or Ted.” He smiled, revealing perfect teeth, and left the office.
“I don’t know how you tell them apart,” Jane remarked as Lucy took a seat in the chair beside the desk.
After her novel topped the bestseller lists and Jane had become busy promoting it and working on her follow-up, running Flyleaf Books had become impossible. She had made Lucy manager and hired Ned and Ted Hawthorne as clerks. Twins, the boys were completely indistinguishable.
There were only two differences between them: one was gay and the other was not, and one was a vampire and the other was not. Jane could never remember which was which, and even when she successfully attached the correct name to the correct young man, she could not then recall which one was—as Lucy so cleverly put it—playing on her team.
It was due to Byron that Jane had come to employ the twins. They were former students of his from a short stint teaching English literature at a small college in the Midwest. Byron had become infatuated with the young men and cultivated an intimate friendship with them. Eventually he came to favor one over the other and one night, fueled by too much wine, made the decision to turn him so that they could be forever together.
Unfortunately, he had as much trouble telling the twins apart as everyone else did and turned the wrong one. Curiously, the other twin had so far refused to be similarly transformed. With the passage of time one of the Hawthorne boys would continue to age while the other remained forever twenty-one. At the moment the difference was not noticeable, but inevitably it would be, and time was running out for the nonvampire twin to make a decision.
“I have no trouble telling who’s who,” said Lucy. “You just need to spend more time around them.”
“Which is the gay one?” asked Jane.
“Ted,” Lucy answered. “The one who wasn’t just in here.”
“And he’s the vampire one as well?”
Lucy shook her head. “Ned—the straight one—is the vampire. Hence the problem. And by the way, shouldn’t you be able to tell the undead from the not undead?”
Jane sighed. “One of my many failings as a creature of the night,” she answered. “Remember, I didn’t even realize Our Gloomy Friend was a vampire.”
Our Gloomy Friend was a joke, but also something of a precaution. Jane half feared that if they spoke Charlotte Brontë’s name aloud it would somehow cause her to appear. Lucy and Byron humored her in this, although Jane suspected they agreed with her more than they cared to admit.
“Speaking of Our Gloomy Friend,” said Lucy, “her books have been selling like crazy lately. We moved twenty-three copies of Jane Eyre last week. Apparently the high school assigned it as summer reading.”
“How nice for her,” Jane remarked. “Pity she won’t see any of the royalties.”
“Says the woman who should be collecting half a million a year from the sales of her own books,” Lucy teased.
“At least I have a recent bestseller to my credit,” Jane countered.
“There’s that,” said Lucy. She hesitated. “Do you think she’s really gone for good?”
Jane, who had been wondering the same thing, heard herself say, “I do. If she was going to try anything, she would have done it by now.”
“I hope so,” Lucy said. “I still check under my bed every night.”
“Monsters only hide under the bed in horror films,” Jane said. “Where you really need to check is the closets.”
Lucy laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. “And since we’re on the subject, what’s happening with the Constance film?”
Jane groaned. She told Lucy the news about the production crew’s imminent arrival in Brakeston.
“That’s so exciting!” Lucy said.
“It’s horrifying,” said Jane. “You have no idea what Hollywood people are like. They talk far too quickly, are forever fidgeting with their phones, and don’t eat anything yet manage to end up with two-hundred-dollar tabs. For lunch.” She shuddered, remembering her three days meeting with producers in Los Angeles following the purchase of the film rights to Constance. “They’re terrifying,” she whispered.
“I still think it’s exciting,” Lucy told her. “And Portia Kensington as Constance! She’s the hottest thing around right now.”
“So I understand,” said Jane. “To be honest, I was hoping they’d get a more serious actress. Like Maude Firk.”
Lucy made a face. “Don’t you want people to actually see the film?”
“Maude Firk is an excellent actress,” Jane argued. “She’s won two Oscars.”
“And both of them before 1924,” said Lucy. “Anyway, at least you got the director you wanted. If anyone can make a good film out of your book, it’s Julia Baxter.”
“There is that,” Jane admitted. “I suppose it will be nice to spend some time with her.”
“That’s the spirit,” said Lucy, standing up. “I should get back to work.”
“Oh,” Jane said as Lucy walked out. “Do you know if we have any books on becoming Jewish?”
Lucy popped her head back in the office. “On becoming Jewish?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Jane. “You know, converting.”
“We have Judaism for Dummies,” Lucy said.
“I suppose that’s as good a place to start as any,” Jane said. “Could you set a copy aside for me?”
“Sure,” said Lucy. “May I ask why?”
“It’s a long story,” Jane replied. “Actually, it’s not so much long as it is complicated. I’ll tell you later, though. I promise.”
“Okay,” said Lucy. “I’ll go find the book.” She gave Jane a peculiar look before leaving without another word.
I might as well get used to that look, Jane thought. I have a feeling I’m going to see quite a lot of it.
She returned to looking through the store receipts, but it took her all of five minutes to see that Lucy, Ned, and Ted were doing just fine without her. She felt a pang of jealousy. Although she didn’t want anything bad to happen in her absence, she liked to think that she was crucial to the store’s continued well-being.
“Here’s the book you asked for,” said a male voice.
“Thank you,” Jane said. She glanced up and saw Byron standing beside her.
He held out the book. “Interesting reading,” he remarked.
“Yes,” said Jane, taking the book from him. “I’m doing some research for my novel. One of my characters is Jewish.”
“And how is the new book coming along?” Byron inquired.
“Brilliantly,” said Jane.
“That well?” Byron remarked.
Jane picked at a loose thread on her blouse. “It’s very difficult producing art under pressure,” she said. “I’m not a machine.”
Byron nodded. “I imagine it must be very trying.”
“Stop gloating,” said Jane irritably.
“Me?” Byron objected. “I’m not gloating.”
“You are,” Jane insisted. “I can tell by your tone.”
“You wound me,” Byron said. “You know I wish you nothing but success. Why, I bought six copies of Constance to give as gifts.”
“Be that as it may, you’re still gloating. Might I ask how your writing is going?”
“Splendidly,” Byron answered. “I just finished the latest Penelope Wentz novel. It’s called The Scent of Love.”
Jane stifled a snort. Her opinion of Byron’s recent literary efforts was not high. But she envied his sales. Although Constance had sold extraordinarily well, Byron’s Penelope Wentz novels did even better.
“It’s about a parfumeur who has had her heart broken one too many times,” Byron continued, ignoring her. “Yet she manages to create scents that make people fall wildly in love. Then one day a man comes into her shop and asks her to make a perfume that will remind him of his beloved wife, who died tragically a year before. Our heroine does, of course, but in the process she falls in love with the grieving widower and finds herself altering the formula to make him fall in love with her.”
“Scandalous,” Jane remarked.
“Isn’t it?” said Byron. “Of course the gentleman does fall in love with her, and then she doesn’t know if he really loves her or if it’s merely the scent. She hates herself for tricking him. Yet she really does love him. What can she do?”
Jane shook her head. “That is a puzzle,” she said.
“Naturally the only solution is for her to stop wearing the perfume and see if he remains in love with her,” Byron concluded. “Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, and they live happily ever after.”
“I believe I smell another bestseller,” said Jane dryly.
“Very amusing,” Byron replied. “I have to write something to keep myself living in the style to which I’ve become accustomed. Heaven knows we don’t see any royalties from our real books.”
“I consider Constance a real book,” Jane told him.
“You know very well what I mean,” said Byron. “How many copies of Pride and Prejudice did you sell last year?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jane said. “Anyway, why are you here?”
“He came to moon over the twins,” said Lucy, brushing past Byron. She stood by the desk as she sorted through the day’s mail.
“Have you been able to talk any sense into Ned?” Byron asked.
“You mean Ted,” Lucy answered as she handed a postcard to Jane. “Ned’s the one you turned.”
Byron made a face. “I can never remember,” he said.
“And no, I haven’t,” said Lucy. “Frankly, I’m sort of surprised. I would have thought the gay one would be all excited about staying young forever. It seems more their thing somehow.”
“This is all I get?” Jane asked Lucy. “A postcard announcing a half-price sale at Bed Bath and Beyond?”
“I could try getting them drunk again,” Byron said thoughtfully.
“You keep out of it,” said Jane as she dropped the postcard into the trash. “It’s bad enough you turned … Ted?” she asked, looking at Lucy.
“Ned,” Lucy said. “Honestly, is it really so hard?”
“Ned,” Jane continued, ignoring her and speaking to Byron. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
“It was a momentary lapse in judgment,” Byron argued. “He read my work so beautifully.”
“Oh, well then,” said Jane. “That’s perfectly understandable.”
“Would you two please shut up,” Lucy hissed. “They’re right outside.”
Byron and Jane looked at her with wounded expressions. Lucy, unmoved, held up a finger. “Not another word about turning anyone,” she said to Byron. She looked at Jane. “And yes, that’s all the mail for you today. I’ll handle the rest. And anyone else would be ecstatic about getting half off a duvet or waffle iron or whatever, so don’t give me that look.”
Byron watched her leave. “She’s quite a girl, isn’t she?” he remarked.
“Yes, she is,” said Jane.
“Pity she doesn’t have a boyfriend,” Byron said.
“We’ve been through this before,” said Jane. “Don’t even think about it.”
“I’m not talking about myself,” Byron said. “I’m just thinking out loud.”
“Did you really come here just to see that boy?” asked Jane.
Byron shook his head as he shut the door. “Well, that was an incentive,” he admitted. “But I really came to congratulate you on your vanishing yesterday.”
“Well, thank you,” Jane said. “I did a rather neat job of it, I think.”
Byron shook his head. “I’ve seen year-old vampires who could dematerialize more successfully,” he said. “But it’s a start.”
“Beast!” Jane exclaimed. “You can’t expect me to do it instantly. I’m not a trained dog, for heaven’s sake.”
“You won’t always have time, Jane,” Byron said. “What would you do if you were confronted by a vampire killer?”
Jane sighed. “I would glamor him—or her—as much as possible and then summon you to deal with the problem.”
“You can’t,” said Byron. “I’ve been staked. You’re on your own.”
“Oh, bother. Well, I suppose I could drain him—or her—myself, but you know I draw the line at murder.”
“You did kill Our Gloomy Friend,” Byron reminded her.
“She was already dead,” said Jane.
“You didn’t know that at the time,” Byron countered. “You thought she was a psychotic blogger who was trying to blackmail you.”
Jane huffed. “Anyway, I didn’t push her into that fire. She fell. And she came back and tried to kill us, in case you’ve forgotten.” She paused, remembering Lucy’s earlier question. “Speaking of Our Gloomy Friend, I wonder where she is. Do you think she’ll try again? It’s been nine months.”
“That’s barely a second in vampire time,” Byron answered. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she was planning something. But that’s even more reason for you to perfect your vanishing. When you are faced with someone wishing to do you harm, the best course of action is to simply disappear.” He looked thoughtful. “Of course, you could always transform yourself into a bat, but—”
“A bat?” Jane exclaimed. “I thought that was a myth.”
Byron shook his head. “No, it’s quite true. But it’s a very advanced technique. You’re not nearly ready for it.”
“What else can I turn into?” asked Jane.
“That’s it,” said Byron. “Just a bat. And no, I don’t know why. That’s just how it is.”
“But if one can turn into a bat, then doesn’t that suggest that the power of transformation might be more widely—”
“A bat,” Byron repeated sternly. “Not a cat, not a wolf, not a giant sloth. A bat. And you can’t even do that. Not until you master disappearing.”
“I wasn’t aware there was a larger goal,” said Jane. “Perhaps I just needed some incentive. I mean, a bat … well, that’s something.” A thought occurred to her. “What kind of bat?” she asked.
Byron sighed. “I don’t know,” he said. “A vampire bat, I suppose.”
“But there are lots of kinds of bats,” Jane countered. “Fruit bats. Spotted bats. Little brown bats. And of course the flying foxes, which aren’t foxes at all but—”
“Tell you what,” Byron interrupted. “One night I’ll turn into a bat and you can look me up in a field guide.”
“Don’t think I won’t,” said Jane. “Now let me try disappearing again.”
“No,” Byron said. “I don’t want trying; I want doing. Go home and practice, and don’t call me until you’re absolutely sure you can vanish and stay vanished for at least five minutes.”
“That could take centuries,” said Jane moodily.
Byron smiled. “Then it’s a good thing we’re vampires.” He opened the door. “Now I’m going to see if Ned would like to get some lunch.”
“Ted,” Jane said without thinking. “You mean Ted.”
“Whichever,” said Byron. “They’re both delicious.”
When Byron was gone Jane picked up Judaism for Dummies and opened it. She sighed. I hope being Jewish is easier than being a vampire, she thought. There has to be something I’m good at.