Saturday: Edinburgh

THE STEAM RISING FROM THE HAGGIS BROUGHT WITH IT THE SCENT of oatmeal, onions, and meat. It was not unlike the smell that came from the can when Jane fed her cat, Tom, his dinner. Ben, who had insisted on ordering the haggis, now looked a wee bit discomfited.

“On second thought, maybe this isn’t kosher,” he said.

Lucy poked a fork into the haggis and held it to Ben’s mouth. “Just try it, you big baby,” she said.

Ben shut his eyes and opened his mouth. Lucy fed him the bite of haggis, then watched him chew. His expression changed from one of apprehension to guarded relief and finally to enjoyment. He took the fork from Lucy and attacked the haggis with gusto.

“Isn’t he just the cutest thing?” Lucy said. “My little Jewish William Wallace.”

“Next year in Edinburgh!” Ben said, raising his glass of whiskey.

“I’m so getting you a kilt tomorrow,” said Lucy, kissing him.

Jane laughed. Seeing Lucy and Ben so happy together made her happy. She wondered when they would be getting married. It seemed inevitable. They were perfect for each other.

She looked at Walter, seated next to her. He too was laughing at Lucy’s remark. Jane reached over and rubbed his neck. “Do you want one too, dear?”

Walter cocked his head. “There is a Fletcher tartan,” he said. “My father had a tie made from it. Do you remember that, Mom?”

“No,” Miriam said. She stood up. “I need to use the restroom.”

Jane, who had been waiting all evening for an opportunity to speak to Miriam, stood as well. “I’ll go with you,” she said.

Miriam eyed her warily. “I think I can manage this on my own,” she said.

“Just walk,” Jane said sternly under her breath. She took hold of Miriam’s upper arm and steered her away from the table.

“Unhand me!” Miriam snarled.

Jane let go and pushed open the ladies’ room door. Miriam went inside and whirled around as Jane entered behind her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she said.

“Tell me about Ratcliffe,” said Jane, crossing her arms over her chest and fixing Miriam with a hard stare.

Miriam turned and looked at her face in the mirror over the bathroom’s lone sink. She smirked as she fixed her hair. “I wondered when this would come up.”

“He was no dope peddler,” Jane said. “We both know that.”

Miriam turned. “Well, aren’t you clever?” she said. “No, he most certainly was not. Peter Ratcliffe was one of the most successful demon hunters of all time. He’s a legend.”

“Demon hunter,” Jane said, rolling her eyes. “He killed vampires.”

Miriam shrugged. “That’s what they assumed your kind were back then,” she said. “And I’m not entirely sure they weren’t right.”

“I’ll have you know that several of the demons he killed were my friends,” Jane said, baring her teeth.

“Yes,” said Miriam. “I gathered by your reaction to seeing the photograph.”

“Runciman knew what he was,” Jane said. “Why didn’t he just kill Ratcliffe?”

Miriam laughed. “That’s the best part,” she said. “He didn’t kill him because he couldn’t be killed.” She paused for dramatic effect, but Jane guessed what she was going to say and beat her to it.

“Because Ratcliffe was a vampire,” she said. “Of course. Now it makes sense. And this needle Runciman wrote about—I assume he means Crispin’s Needle.”

“Crispin’s Needle is a myth,” said Miriam. “Ratcliffe invented it to trick vampires into killing themselves. He told them it would free their souls or some such nonsense, but all it did was send them back to hell.”

“He could hardly send them back when they didn’t come from there in the first place,” Jane said. “All he did was murder them.”

“They murdered themselves,” Miriam argued. “He just convinced them to do it.”

“That’s despicable,” said Jane.

“It’s ingenious,” Miriam countered. Then she added, “If it was real, would you use it?”

Jane was surprised by the question. Of course, she had been asking herself the same thing ever since Gosebourne had first told her about the Needle, but she never expected to be having this conversation with Walter’s mother. And she wasn’t sure how to respond. She really didn’t want Miriam to know what her thoughts were on the matter. She did, however, want to know what Miriam was thinking.

“Would it make a difference to you if I did?” she said.

Miriam looked at her, saying nothing, and Jane understood that she was having the same reservations about revealing her hand. Now Jane really did wonder whether it would make any difference to Miriam if she could become mortal again. Would her having been a vampire still be a reason for Miriam to hate her? Or would that all be left in the past if Jane could once more be human? She waited for Miriam to say something.

“It’s a foolish question,” Miriam said when she finally answered. “Crispin’s Needle was an invention of Ratcliffe’s mind.”

Jane thought about arguing. If Ratcliffe had invented the story about Crispin’s Needle, how did that explain the windows in the Church of St. Apollonia? Or had Ratcliffe somehow known about the windows and used them as inspiration for his story? It seemed Miriam didn’t know about the windows, so probably she didn’t know any more about the story than Jane did. Besides, there was no use in arguing with Miriam. Jane understood that in their own way they were declaring a truce, at least as far as discussing their feelings about Jane’s soul, or lack thereof.

“What happened to him?” Jane asked, changing course.

Miriam’s mouth tightened. “He was killed,” she said. “Betrayed. By a woman.”

“I like where this is going,” said Jane. “Tell me more.”

“He was weak,” Miriam said. “He fell in love with a fallen woman. He turned her.”

Jane gasped, feigning horror. “That’s against the rules!” she said.

Miriam frowned. “Don’t be disrespectful,” she snapped. “The woman seduced him. And when she had what she wanted, she staked him.”

“I like this woman,” Jane said. “And what became of her?”

“The hunters found her and took care of her,” Miriam said. “It took a couple of decades, but eventually Eloise Babineaux was sent back to—was sent to hell.”

“Eloise Babineaux?” Jane said, trying not to let her excitement betray her. “What an unusual name.”

“It’s a whore’s name,” said Miriam. “For a filthy whore.”

“Now, now,” Jane said. “Let’s not go calling people names.” She hesitated a moment. “And what became of this needle that Ratcliffe used to kill his victims?”

“I told you, they killed themselves,” said Miriam. “Anyway, I don’t know what became of it. It was just a piece of iron. I imagine it didn’t look much different from any other spike you would use to stake a vampire. Honestly, even a tent peg would do in a pinch.”

“Oh, I bet you know all about that,” Jane said. “Horrible old woman.”

“I’m younger than you, missy,” said Miriam.

“Yes, but you look much older,” Jane said, looking at her reflection in the mirror and smiling sweetly.

Having gotten the information she wanted, she turned and started to leave the restroom. She was stopped by Miriam’s voice.

“Those vampires Peter Ratcliffe sent to their deaths were vermin,” she said.

“Beatrice Crump was a lovely girl,” Jane said, her back to Miriam. “She was kind to everyone. She used to feed the stray cats behind the theater. What Peter Ratcliffe did to her was inexcusable.”

“What Peter Ratcliffe did was good,” said Miriam. “What we as hunters do is good.”

Jane whirled around and advanced on her. “The only good you’ve ever done is give birth to Walter,” she said. “And believe me, the only reason I haven’t drained you dry already is because he loves you.”

Miriam flinched, but quickly regained her composure. “The same goes for you,” she said tersely. “The difference is that he’ll always love his mother.”

Jane was about to tell Miriam that she shouldn’t be so sure about that. But she knew it was true. Walter would always love his mother. That’s the kind of man he was. But will he always love me? When he finds out what I am?

She turned and left the washroom before Miriam could see the tears forming in her eyes. And they weren’t there just because of Walter. They were there because of Beatrice, and Argyll, and Maisie. They were there because of Peter Ratcliffe and all of the vampires he had lied to and murdered.

And he had murdered them. Jane didn’t care what Miriam called it. They hadn’t wanted to die; they’d wanted to live. She imagined Beatrice driving the spike into her own heart, and she felt she might collapse. She could see in her mind the look on the girl’s face as she realized that her soul wasn’t returning to her body, that in fact she was dying without salvation. Had Peter Ratcliffe watched, enjoying this moment of betrayal? Jane’s heart raged with anger. Her fangs clicked into place, and the muscles of her neck tightened. She wanted revenge.

She forced herself to calm down. There was nothing she could do about Ratcliffe now. But she could keep looking for Crispin’s Needle. Miriam had said it was a myth, but Jane didn’t believe it. Or maybe you just want to believe in it so much that you’re refusing to see the truth, she told herself. Maybe it was just a trick of the hunters.

“Are you okay?”

Jane turned around and saw Walter standing beside her, looking confused.

“I’m fine,” Jane said, forcing a smile. “I just felt a little dizzy. I think the smell of the haggis got to me.”

“I thought maybe you and my mother got into a rumble in the loo,” said Walter.

Jane was amused by his use of the British word for the bathroom. He had been picking up little pieces of her culture here and there throughout the trip, like one of those crabs that decorated its shell with snips of seaweed and tiny rocks. It was endearing, although the accent that crept into his voice from time to time was going to have to be dealt with. It was bad enough when Madonna did it; Jane couldn’t have her husband doing it as well.

Except that he’s not your husband, she reminded herself.

The bathroom door opened and Miriam came out. Seeing Walter and Jane in the hallway, she smiled awkwardly and passed by without comment.

“What did you do to her?” Walter asked Jane.

“I asked her if she was looking forward to being a grandma,” Jane answered.

They returned to the table, where Ben was looking at the half-eaten haggis with a look of grim determination.

“You don’t have to eat the whole thing,” Lucy told him.

“It’s taunting me,” said Ben.

“Don’t listen to it, man,” said Brodie, who had wandered over from where he’d been drinking at the bar. “A haggis is like a mermaid. If you follow its song, you’re doomed.”

Ben lifted his fork. Before he could take another bite, Brodie grabbed the plate of haggis and ran off shouting, “You’ll thank me later!”

Ben stared at where the haggis had been a moment before. “I just wanted a little more,” he said sadly.

“Finish your whiskey,” Lucy ordered. “You’ll feel better.”

Jane, sitting beside her, whispered in her ear, “I think Eloise Babineaux may have taken the Needle.”

Lucy’s eyes widened. “How do you know?”

Jane cut her eyes at Miriam. “The fearless hunter told me,” she said. “But she thinks the whole thing is made up anyway. Still, I don’t want her to know that we’re going to Babineaux’s house.”

“How will we get away from the group?” Lucy asked.

“We’ll think of something,” said Jane. “In the meantime, we’d better get our boys out of here before Ben decides to wrestle Brodie for the rest of that haggis.”

Back at the hotel, Jane packed for the morning’s flight to Paris. Walter, remembering the ordeal of the flight to Edinburgh, was watching the weather report on BBC Scotland.

He lay back on the bed and sighed. “This trip has been crazy,” he said. “And I thought it was going to be relaxing.”

Jane folded a sweater and tucked it into the suitcase. “Oh, it hasn’t been that crazy,” she said. “Unless you count my ex-husband interrupting our wedding, Ryan falling off the keep, and the fact that pretty much everyone on the trip is completely mad. Other than that it’s been a perfectly delightful six days.”

“Is that all it’s been?” Walter said. “Six days?”

Jane nodded. “Does it seem longer?”

“Much,” said Walter.

Jane closed the suitcase and sat beside him. “You’re not having a good time?”

Walter took her hand. “I’m having a good time being with you,” he said. “I’d be having a better time if we were married, but I can’t have everything.”

“You’re taking the whole business with Joshua rather well,” said Jane. “I don’t know that I would be as calm about the whole thing if the shoe were on the other foot.”

“I’m probably not as calm about it as I look,” Walter admitted. “But I figure I’ve waited this long to be married to you, so I can wait a little while longer.”

Jane stretched out beside him on her side. Walter turned and put his arm around her.

“I haven’t made it very easy for you,” Jane said.

“No,” Walter agreed. “You haven’t.”

Jane took his hand and held it to her chest. “Why do you put up with me?” she asked. “There are dozens of women who would want to be with you and wouldn’t be nearly as much trouble.”

“Only dozens?” Walter said.

“At least two,” Jane joked.

Walter kissed the back of her head. “Maybe,” he said. “But none of them is you.”

“I just hope I don’t disappoint you,” said Jane.

“I don’t see how you could,” Walter told her. “I already know everything about you and I’m still madly in love with you.”

“You didn’t know about Joshua,” Jane reminded him.

“True,” Walter said. “But I do now, and I’m still not disappointed. There aren’t any other husbands floating around, though, are there? One I can handle. Maybe even two. But any more than that and all bets are off.”

“There’s just the one,” Jane said. “And I told you, he doesn’t really count. Only you do.”

“Then I think we’re okay,” said Walter.

I hope you’re right, Jane thought.

She’d begun to wonder if she might be able to get away with never telling Walter that she was a vampire. If Crispin’s Needle was real, and if she could find it, perhaps she could make herself mortal again and he would never have to know what she’d been. Of course, Miriam could always tell him, but her story would sound incredible. Jane didn’t think Miriam would risk it.

Tomorrow they would be in Paris. With some luck she and Lucy would get to Eloise Babineaux’s house and see if the Needle was there. Again Jane remembered the voice in the elevator. Someone was on her side, even if she didn’t know who it was. And she had the key—whatever the key was for. Everything seemed to be falling into place.

Almost too easily, she thought. But she pushed the thought away. Everything was happening for a reason. That was all there was to it. She was meant to find Crispin’s Needle. It was her destiny. Everything in her life had brought her to this point, and she was poised on the brink of a life-changing moment.

Or you’re just making an ass of yourself, a voice in her head said. That’s a distinct possibility.

“Oh, shut up,” Jane said.

“What?” Walter mumbled. He had drifted off to sleep. Now he rolled onto his back and started to snore.

Jane turned off the light. Outside the window the moon was visible, a half circle that glowed with silver light. Jane realized that the clouds that had covered the sky for the past few days were gone.

The storm is over, she thought. Tomorrow is going to be a beautiful day.