Jane Vows Vengeance (12 page)

“Why just her?” Ben asked. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“I suppose it depends on how you look at it,” said Clare. “Apollonia was willing to suffer for God. The other two killed themselves
rather than go through that. Perhaps God didn’t think they were worthy.”

“And they say
our
God was harsh,” Ben remarked.

“The story continues on the other side,” said Clare, leading them across the nave to another set of windows. “Since water didn’t work, Apollonia’s captors decided to try fire.”

“Wait,” Jane said. “Didn’t the angel take her away?”

“She asked to be returned to them,” Clare answered. “Remember, she was a martyr.”

“Of course,” said Jane. “Go on.”

“As you can see, they threw Apollonia into a pile of burning sticks,” Clare said. “I think the fire is particularly well rendered.”

“The glasswork is gorgeous,” Lucy remarked.

“Apollonia, of course, did not burn,” said Clare as she walked on. “Once again the angel came and saved her, which is what you see in window number six. And now we get to the really good stuff.”

The seventh window depicted Apollonia on the ground. One man held her feet while another held her arms stretched out behind her head. A third man knelt beside her, a spike in his hand. It was pressed to Apollonia’s chest, just over her heart, and the man was in the process of bringing a hammer down toward it.

“This is unusual in the history of the saints,” Clare informed them. “The martyrdom of Apollonia is the only example of a saint being killed in this manner. Supposedly the spike used to pierce her heart was made from the nails that were used to crucify Christ.”

“And what’s happening here?” asked Ben, moving to the eighth and last window as Jane continued to stare at the seventh.

“St. Apollonia redeemed from death,” Clare said. “See how she’s rising toward heaven while her executioners fall to their knees? Allegedly they were so frightened by her ascension that all the blood drained from their bodies.”

Jane turned to Lucy, who had remained with her in front of
the seventh window. “Don’t you find this all a bit strange?” she murmured.

“Christianity?” said Lucy. “Of course I do.”

“I mean St. Apollonia specifically,” Jane said. “First there’s the matter of her teeth, which for some reason they felt the need to remove. Then she couldn’t be killed either by water or by fire. And finally they do her in with a spike through the heart, yet she rises from the dead and her killers are drained of their blood. Sound familiar?”

“I admit it’s a bit vampire-esque,” Lucy admitted.

“A bit?” said Jane. “The only thing they’ve left out is her turning into a bat.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t really do that,” Lucy said. “Have you been holding out on me?”

“No,” said Jane. “I can’t. But that’s not the point. The point is that this is clearly some kind of allegory about vampirism.”

Lucy considered this for a moment. “If that’s true, then why didn’t the spike kill her?” she asked.

“Maybe it was Crispin’s Needle,” Jane suggested, keeping her voice low. “The final window shows her with her soul returned to her body.”

“And the dead guys?” Lucy asked. “If she’s not a vampire anymore, who drained them?”

“Good question,” Jane said. “Perhaps God has a more refined sense of humor than we think he does.”

“Too bad we can’t get a look at those teeth Clare mentioned,” said Lucy. “It would be interesting to see if any of them are fangs.”

“It certainly explains why the Tedious Three would have spent time here,” Jane said. “If this story is true, it would definitely qualify as vampire history.”

“The who?” Lucy asked.

“Oh, I haven’t told you about them yet,” said Jane. “Vampire historians, apparently. Joshua told me about them this morning.”

“You saw Joshua again?” Lucy said.

“Not so much saw as was visited by,” Jane explained. “A bit like the Ghost of Christmas Annoying. But he did say that the Three have been looking for the Needle for some time.”

“So you think the Needle really does exist, then?”

Jane sighed. “I don’t know,” she said.

“But you want it to, don’t you?” said Lucy.

“It would make things easier,” Jane said.

Lucy shrugged. “You’d be human again,” she said. “Not that you’re inhuman or anything,” she added quickly.

“I know what you meant,” Jane said, leaning against her for a moment. She was quiet as she looked over at the figure of Apollonia ascending. “I could grow old with Walter,” she said softly.

“Did you guys see the rose window behind the altar?” Ben appeared beside them.

“No,” Lucy said. “Why? Is it as weird as these are?”

“See for yourself,” said Ben.

Jane and Lucy followed him to the center aisle of the nave. Behind the altar the rose window hovered like a full moon. When they’d entered the church the light had not been strong enough to illuminate it. Now sunlight poured through the glass, and when Jane saw the image depicted there, she gasped.

A large heart occupied the center of the window. Piercing it was a long, thin needle very much like the one in the scene from the seventh window. The tip of the needle protruded from the bottom of the heart, a single drop of blood hanging down from it. Rays of light emanated from all around the heart, filling the window.

“It’s beautiful,” Jane said.

“The pierced heart of St. Apollonia the Blessed,” said Clare, who had come up behind them. “There’s only one other window like it in the world.”

“Where?” Jane and Lucy asked simultaneously.

“France,” Clare said. “Paris, to be exact. In a private chapel in a house that once belonged to a courtesan named Eloise Babineaux.”

“You don’t happen to have the address, do you?” Jane asked.

Clare nodded. “I do,” she said. “I wrote an article about the windows last year and corresponded a bit with the current owner of the house. But may I ask why you’re so interested in the window?”

Jane thought quickly. “I’m very interested in religious iconography,” she said. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.” She hesitated a moment before asking her next question. “You mentioned that you have some of Apollonia’s teeth,” she said. “I don’t suppose anyone knows what became of the spike they used to kill her?”

“Not that I know of,” Clare answered. “But it’s funny you should mention that. Several years ago three men came here and asked that very same question. No one else ever has.”

“Three men?” said Lucy. “Did they say who they were?”

Clare shook her head. “They didn’t say much at all. Just that they were compiling information about various churches. For a book, maybe. To be honest, I’d forgotten all about them until just now, when you asked about the spike.” She paused. “Oh, I do remember one thing. They kept referring to the spike as a needle. In fact, they corrected me when I called it a spike. It reminded me of when my teachers used to correct my grammar.”

“Teachers,” Lucy said, looking at Jane.

“Or librarians,” Jane said.

“That’s it,” said Clare. “Librarians. They reminded me of fussy old librarians. I kept expecting them to shush me.” She laughed.

“Did you tell them about Eloise Babineaux?” Jane asked.

“Now that you mention it, I don’t think I did,” said Clare. “In fact, I’m sure I didn’t. And since we’re talking about it I’m remembering
more. They weren’t just fussy, they were … spooky. I can’t think of any other word to describe it. I was glad when they left.”

“Well, thank you for giving
us
the address,” Lucy said meaningfully.

“Of course,” said Clare. “Oh. Right. I’ll just go get that.”

She scurried off to the house, leaving Jane and Lucy to keep looking at the rose window. Ben, having grown bored with the whole thing, had wandered outside.

“It must have been the Tedious Three,” Lucy said.

“They certainly fit the description,” Jane agreed.

“Eloise Babineaux’s house is in Paris,” said Lucy. “When do we get to Paris?”

“Sunday, I believe.”

Lucy looked at the glowing heart, then at Jane. “Hopefully whoever lives in Eloise’s house will be accepting visitors.”

Wednesday: On a Train to Wales

“T
RAINS ARE SEXY, DON’T YOU THINK
?” W
ALTER SAT ON THE EDGE
of the mattress covering the lower of the compartment’s bunk beds. “Except for the sleeping arrangements, that is.”

Jane, busy flossing her teeth to remove a bit of mutton stuck there from dinner, mumbled a reply. Despite having eaten, she was still famished, the food having done nothing to ease her more sinister hunger. She hadn’t had an opportunity to feed on any of the locals at the pub, and she was running out of time. If she didn’t get blood, and soon, there was going to be a problem. It was at times like these that she wished she weren’t so conscientious about not feeding on her friends and loved ones. It would make things much easier for her. But one has to have principles, she reminded herself.
Even if one is a bloodsucking fiend
.

Walter was in a very good mood, which was a relief. He’d thoroughly enjoyed the tour of Pitstone Vicarage, as well as the meal taken at the local pub before boarding the overnight train bound for Pembroke. He’d had several pints before and during dinner and, as a result, was more gregarious than usual. Jane wished he would shut up, as his incessant chattering was making her headache worse.

“Oh, and you should have seen the look Enid gave Chumsley when he corrected her about the style of the moldings in the drawing room,” he said. “I thought for sure she was going to start a fire with her mind. You know, like that girl in the Stephen King book.”

“Carrie or Charlie?” Jane asked, inspecting her teeth in the mirror. She let her fangs click into place momentarily and ran the floss between them.

“What?” said Walter.

“Stephen King wrote two books about a girl who could start fires with her mind,” Jane said. “
Carrie
and
Firestarter
.”

“Oh,” said Walter. “Um, well, I guess it doesn’t really matter which one, does it?”

Jane dropped the soiled floss into the trash can beneath the compartment’s tiny sink. “I suppose not,” she said.

Walter reclined on the bed, his hands behind his head and his feet crossed at the ankles. “I love you very much,” he said. “I hope you know that.”

Jane turned and looked at him. “Of course I do,” she said, puzzled by the abrupt shift in the tone of the conversation.

“Good,” Walter said. “Sometimes I think I don’t tell you often enough.”

Immediately Jane felt guilty for wishing he would be quiet. If anyone should be apologizing, she thought, it should be she. She was the one who had failed to mention that she had a husband. She was the one who had turned Walter down time after time for years before agreeing to go out with him. She was the one who still hadn’t mentioned the minor detail of her being immortal.

She went and sat beside him on the bunk. There really was very little room, and Walter had to turn sideways to accommodate her. It was an awkward position for both of them, but Jane made the best of it.

“I love you too,” she said. “I know the past few days have been
just slightly peculiar, but I assure you I never intentionally kept Joshua from you.”

Walter smiled. “Eighteen months ago I would have thought you were lying through your teeth,” he said. “But I know you well enough now to know that you don’t exactly think like other women.”

“I really don’t,” Jane agreed.

“Not that I don’t think it’s odd that his name never came up,” Walter continued. “But I don’t think you were deliberately trying to keep him a secret.”

“I don’t think like other women?” said Jane.

“Absolutely not,” Walter answered.

“I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” Jane told him.

Her stomach rumbled loudly.

“Tummy trouble?” asked Walter. “Something you ate at dinner?”

Something I
didn’t
eat
, Jane thought.

“Just a little indigestion,” she said. “I think I’ll go to the dining car and see if I can get some milk. Do you want anything?”

“A bottled water would be nice,” Walter said.

Jane stood up. “I’ll be right back,” she said.

Leaving the compartment, she shut the door and looked for the sign indicating the direction of the dining car. It was already ten o’clock. She hoped it would still be open.

The doors all along the corridor were closed. As Jane walked by she heard voices coming from several of them. A bark came from behind a door on her right: Miriam and Lilith. She bared her teeth at the door and growled.

I heard that!
Lilith’s voice came through clearly. Jane ignored her, hurrying on to the next car.

In order to reach the dining car she had to pass through several coach cars. Here the passengers who had not booked compartments
made themselves as comfortable as possible in the cramped seats. Many of them had simply fallen asleep sitting up, while others had attempted to make beds of a sort by stretching out across two seats. Jane avoided looking at them, finding it odd to be seeing people in public at their most vulnerable, when they were unaware of being watched.