“Details,” Charlotte said snippily.
“Who are you?” asked Kelly.
“Who am I?” Charlotte replied. “Who am I?” Her voice grew in both volume and indignation as she walked over to her captives.
“Violet Grey,” Jane said. “She’s Violet Grey.”
“The blogger?” said Kelly. “The one who didn’t like your book?”
Jane nodded as Charlotte’s face reddened. Kelly stared at her. “All this because you don’t like a novel?” he said. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a bit?”
Charlotte clenched her fists and stepped back. She closed her eyes and began to recite: “Women are supposed to be very calm generally,” she began. Then her eyes flew open and she pointed a finger at Kelly. “But women feel just as men feel; they need exercise for their faculties, and a field for their efforts, as much as their brothers do; they suffer from too rigid a restraint, too absolute a stagnation, precisely as men would suffer; and it is narrow-minded in their more privileged fellow-creatures to say that they ought to confine themselves to making puddings and knitting stockings, to playing on the piano and embroidering bags. It is thoughtless to condemn them, or laugh at them, if they seek to do more or learn more than custom has pronounced necessary for their sex.”
“What does Jane Eyre have to do with anything?” Kelly asked her when she finished.
“It has everything to do with it!” Charlotte bellowed. She began to pace, striking her fists against her legs as she walked. “When The Journal of Words compiled its list of the one hundred best novels written in English, do you know that Pride and Prejudice was number twelve?” She stopped pacing and glared at Jane. “And do you know where Jane Eyre was?” she asked. She looked at the four of them in turn, but nobody answered her. “Number fifty-two!” she shrieked. “Fifty-two! Below that pornographic travesty Lolita!” She spat the title as if it were poison. “Below Huckleberry Finn! Below Ulysses. Have you ever tried to read Ulysses? Have you ever finished it? No, you haven’t. No one has. They just carry it around and lie about having read it.”
Lucy cleared her throat. “As I recall, Wuthering Heights was number twenty-nine.”
“That’s Emily!” Charlotte raged.
“I’m just saying,” said Lucy defensively. “If this is an Austen-versus-Brontë thing, at least Emily and Charlotte are on the same team.”
“I think I’ll start with you,” Charlotte told her.
Walter, who had been silent, suddenly spoke. “We all need to calm down.”
Charlotte shifted her focus to him. “And who exactly are you?” she asked.
“I’m her boyfriend,” Walter replied, nodding at Jane.
A smile crept across Charlotte’s face. “Her boyfriend,” she repeated. Then she laughed. “This has turned out better than I ever hoped. Revenge will indeed be sweet.”
Jane felt herself tremble with rage. “It is not violence that best overcomes hate,” she said. “Nor vengeance that most certainly heals injury.”
Charlotte sneered at her. “So you’ve read my book,” she said. “I’m touched.”
“Your book?” said Lucy. “But that’s from—” She stopped speaking and looked at Charlotte. Her eyes grew wide. Then she looked at Jane, who nodded weakly. Lucy’s mouth snapped shut and she continued to stare at Charlotte.
“Are you all so stupid?” Charlotte said.
“You’re insane,” said Walter. “You can pretend to be whoever you want to be, but what reason do you have to hate Jane?”
Charlotte stepped back. She looked at Walter for a long time, then looked at Jane. “He doesn’t know, does he?” she said. “He really doesn’t know.”
“Know what?” Walter asked.
Charlotte clapped her hands and held them to her face, covering her mouth. Her eyes glittered with happiness. “Oh, this is turning out to be such fun,” she said, clapping her hands like a child. “All right then, let me tell you a story.” She took a deep breath. “Once upon a time—”
Suddenly the door to the storeroom burst open. Jane looked up to see Byron striding into the room. “You!” she said. Her voice sounded peculiar, as if she’d spoken through a megaphone. Then she realized that it was because everyone in the room had said exactly the same thing at exactly the same time. She looked at the others, all of whom were glaring at Byron with the same look of consternation.
“How dare you come back here?” said Walter. “Jane told you, she wants nothing to do with you.”
“Jane?” said Kelly. He looked over at her with a puzzled expression. “This is the guy Bryce has been sleeping with.”
“Bryce?” Jane said, equally puzzled. She looked at Byron. “You’re Grayson?” she repeated.
Byron shrugged. “I know this is a bit awkward,” he said.
Before he could continue, Charlotte lunged at him, her fangs bared. “You left me!” she screeched.
Byron stepped aside, pushing her as she went by. Charlotte crashed headfirst into a pile of cookbooks, which toppled over, sending her to the floor. She turned herself over and renewed her attack. This time Byron was able to grab her arm. He swung her violently, sending her twirling toward one of the tall shelving units. She hit it hard, and it fell over, burying her in an avalanche of self-help books. Moments later she leapt up, sending copies of Surviving Menopause flying in every direction. She picked one up and chucked it at Byron’s head, missing him by an inch.
“Untie me!” Jane said to Byron. “I can help.”
“There’s no time,” Byron told her as he looked for a way to stop Charlotte.
Charlotte was throwing books furiously now, picking them up and hurling them at Byron as quickly as she could. A firestorm of young adult novels, pop-up books, and how-to guides bore down on him. Jane saw a copy of The Lovely Bones fly by, pages flapping, and cut Byron’s cheek.
Ducking and weaving, Byron ran at Charlotte, batting the missiles out of the way. Then the two of them were entwined, Charlotte clawing at Byron as she roared in rage and Byron trying to subdue her. Then, to her surprise, Jane saw Walter stand up. The ropes that had bound his wrists fell to the floor. He bent and helped Kelly and Lucy up.
“Go!” he said. “Get out of here.”
As the two of them left the room, Walter came to Jane. Kneeling, he reached behind her and cut her ropes.
“How did you get free?” she asked as she stood.
“Pocketknife,” said Walter as he took her arm and ran for the door. “It just took me a while to get it open.”
Behind them Jane could hear crashes and screams as Byron and Charlotte continued to fight. In the main room of the bookstore Kelly and Lucy waited anxiously.
“Who’s winning?” Lucy asked.
Jane shook her head. “It’s hard to say,” she replied.
“We should call the police,” Walter suggested.
“No!” Lucy and Jane said simultaneously.
Walter looked at them both. “But—” he began.
“Trust me on this,” said Jane, interrupting.
“We should at least try to help him,” said Walter.
“I say let her have him,” Kelly said. “Home wrecker.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, he saved your life,” said Lucy sharply.
“For the moment,” Jane said. “We need to get out of here.”
They ran for the front door and into the parking lot. There they huddled in a group, watching the store for signs. A moment later they saw shadowy figures moving inside the store.
“They’re still at it,” said Jane.
Loud thumps came from inside, and something fell over with a crash. “That sounds like the audiobooks display,” Lucy remarked.
“That’s it,” said Walter. “I’m going in.”
Before Jane could stop him he had run back inside. More crashes filled the air, and then a figure ran toward the large glass window that spanned the front of the shop. The shadow grew larger and larger. Then it hit the window with a sickening thud and the glass shattered. Tiny pieces of glass fell to the sidewalk, clattering like hail, and Charlotte followed them. She landed face-first on the pavement and lay still.