True Blood Book Four Chapters 1-3

DEAD TO THE WORLD
Charlaine Harris
First edition: May 2004
ISBN 0-441-01167-5
Though they'll probably never read it, this book is dedicated to all the coaches—baseball, football, volleyball, soccer—who've worked through so many years, often for no monetary reward, to coax athletic performances out of my children and to instill in them an understanding of The Game. God bless you all, and thanks from one of the moms who crowds the stands through rain, cold, heat, and mosquitoes.
However, this mom always wonders who else might be watching the night games.
My thanks to Wiccans who answered my call for knowledge with more information than I could use—Maria Lima, Sandilee Lloyd, Holly Nelson, Jean Hontz, and M. R. "Murv" Sellars. I owe further thanks to other experts in different fields: Kevin Ryer, who knows more about feral hogs than most people do about their own pets; Dr. D. P. Lyle, who is so gracious about answering medical questions; and, of course, Doris Ann Norris, reference librarian to the stars.
If I have made mistakes in the use of the knowledge these kind people imparted, I'll do my best to somehow blame it on them.
I found the note taped to my door when I got home from work. I'd had the lunch-to-early-evening shift at Merlotte's, but since we were at the tail end of December, the day darkened early. So Bill, my former boyfriend—that's Bill Compton, or Vampire Bill, as most of the regulars at Merlotte's call him—must have left his message within the previous hour. He can't get up until dark.
I hadn't seen Bill in over a week, and our parting hadn't been a happy one. But touching the envelope with my name written on it made me feel miserable. You'd think—though I'm twenty-six—I'd never had, and lost, a boyfriend before.
You'd be right.
Normal guys don't want to date someone as strange as I am. People have been saying I'm messed up in the head since I started school.
They're right.
That's not to say I don't get groped at the bar occasionally. Guys get drunk. I look good. They forget their misgivings about my reputation for strangeness and my ever-present smile.
But only Bill has ever gotten close to me in an intimate way. Parting from him had hurt me bad.
I waited to open the envelope until I was sitting at the old, scarred kitchen table. I still had my coat on, though I'd shucked my gloves.
Dearest Sookie—I wanted to come over to talk to you when you had somewhat recovered from the unfortunate events of earlier this month.
"Unfortunate events," my round rear end. The bruises had finally faded, but I had a knee that still ached in the cold, and I suspected that it always would. Every injury I had incurred had been in the course of rescuing my cheating boyfriend from his imprisonment by a group of vampires that included his former flame, Lorena. I had yet to figure out why Bill had been so infatuated with Lorena that he'd answered her summons to Mississippi.
Probably, you have a lot of questions about what happened.
Damn straight.
If you'll talk to me face-to-face, come to the front door and let me in.
Yikes. I hadn't seen that one coming. I pondered for a minute. Deciding that while I didn't trust Bill anymore, I didn't believe that he would physically harm me, I went back through
the house to the front door. I opened it and called, "Okay, come on in."
He emerged from the woods surrounding the clearing in which my old house stood. I ached at the sight of him. Bill was broad-shouldered and lean from his life of farming the land next to mine. He was hard and tough from his years as a Confederate soldier, before his death in 1867. Bill's nose was straight off a Greek vase. His hair was dark brown and clipped close to his head, and his eyes were just as dark. He looked exactly the same as he had while we were dating, and he always would.
He hesitated before he crossed the threshold, but I'd given him permission, and I moved aside so he could step past me into the living room filled with old, comfortable furniture and neat as a pin.
"Thank you," he said in his cold, smooth voice, a voice that still gave me a twinge of sheer lust. Many things had gone wrong between us, but they hadn't started in bed. "I wanted to talk to you before I left."
"Where are you going?" I tried to sound as calm as he.
"To Peru. The queen's orders."
"Still working on your, ah, database?" I knew almost nothing about computers, but Bill had studied hard to make himself computer literate.
"Yes. I've got a little more research to do. A very old vampire in Lima has a great fund of knowledge about those of our race on his continent, and I have an appointment to confer with him. I'll do some sight-seeing while I'm down there."
I fought the urge to offer Bill a bottle of synthetic blood, which would have been the hospitable thing to do. "Have a seat," I said curtly, and nodded at the sofa. I sat on the edge of the old recliner catty-cornered to it. Then a silence fell, a silence that made me even more conscious of how unhappy I was.
"How's Bubba?" I asked finally.
"He's in New Orleans right now," Bill said. "The queen likes to keep him around from time to time, and he was so visible here over the last month that it seemed like a good idea to take him elsewhere. He'll be back soon."
You'd recognize Bubba if you saw him; everyone knows his face. But he hadn't been "brought over" too successfully. Probably the morgue attendant, who happened to be a vampire, should have ignored the tiny spark of life. But since he was a great fan, he hadn't
been able to resist the attempt, and now the entire southern vampire community shuffled Bubba around and tried to keep him from public view.
Another silence fell. I'd planned on taking off my shoes and uniform, putting on a cuddly robe, and watching television with a Freschetta pizza by my side. It was a humble plan, but it was my own. Instead, here I was, suffering.
"If you have something to say, you better go on and say it," I told him.
He nodded, almost to himself. "I have to explain," he said. His white hands arranged themselves in his lap. "Lorena and I—"
I flinched involuntarily. I never wanted to hear that name again. He'd dumped me for Lorena.
"I have to tell you," he said, almost angrily. He'd seen me twitch. "Give me this chance." After a second, I waved a hand to tell him to continue.
"The reason I went to Jackson when she called me is that I couldn't help myself," he said.
My eyebrows flew up. I'd heard that before. It means, "I have no self-control," or, "It seemed worth it at the time, and I wasn't thinking north of my belt."
"We were lovers long ago. As Eric says he told you, vampire liaisons don't tend to last long, though they're very intense while they are ongoing. However, what Eric did not tell you was that Lorena was the vampire who brought me over."
"To the Dark Side?" I asked, and then I bit my lip. This was no subject for levity.
"Yes," Bill agreed seriously. "And we were together after that, as lovers, which is not always the case."
"But you had broken up . . ."
"Yes, about eighty years ago, we came to the point where we couldn't tolerate each other any longer. I hadn't seen Lorena since, though I'd heard of her doings, of course."
"Oh, sure," I said expressionlessly.
"But I had to obey her summons. This is absolutely imperative. When your maker calls, you must respond." His voice was urgent.
I nodded, trying to look understanding. I guess I didn't do too good a job.
"She ordered me to leave you," he said. His dark eyes were peering into mine. "She said she would kill you if I didn't."
I was losing my temper. I bit the inside of my cheek, real hard, to make myself focus. "So, without explanation or discussion with me, you decided what was best for me and for you."
"I had to," he said. "I had to do her bidding. And I knew she was capable of harming you."
"Well, you got that right." In fact, Lorena had done her dead level best to harm me right into the grave. But I'd gotten her first—okay, by a fluke, but it had worked.
"And now you no longer love me," Bill said, with the slightest of questions in his voice.
I didn't have any clear answer.
"I don't know," I said. "I wouldn't think you'd want to come back to me. After all, I killed your mom." And there was the slightest of questions in my voice, too, but mostly I was bitter.
"Then we need more time apart. When I return, if you consent, we'll talk again. A kiss good-bye?"
To my shame, I would love to kiss Bill again. But it was such a bad idea, even wanting it seemed wrong. We stood, and I gave him a quick brush of lips to the cheek. His white skin shone with a little glow that distinguished vampires from humans. It had surprised me to learn that not everyone saw them like I did.
"Are you seeing the Were?" he asked, when he was nearly out the door. He sounded as though the words had been pulled out of him by their roots.
"Which one?" I asked, resisting the temptation to bat my eyelashes. He deserved no answer, and he knew it. "How long will you be gone?" I asked more briskly, and he looked at me with some speculation.
"It's not a sure thing. Maybe two weeks," he answered.
"We might talk then," I said, turning my face away. "Let me return your key." I fished my keys out of my purse.
"No, please, keep it on your key ring," he said. "You might need it while I am gone. Go in the house as you will. My mail's getting held at the post office until I give them notice, and I think all my other loose ends are taken care of."
So I was his last loose end. I damned up the trickle of anger that was all too ready to bubble out these days.
"I hope you have a safe trip," I said coldly, and shut the door behind him. I headed back to my bedroom. I had a robe to put on and some television to watch. By golly, I was sticking to my plan.
But while I was putting my pizza in the oven, I had to blot my cheeks a few times.
Chapter 1
The New Year's Eve party at Merlotte's Bar and Grill was finally, finally, over. Though the bar owner, Sam Merlotte, had asked all his staff to work that night, Holly, Arlene, and I were the only ones who'd responded. Charlsie Tooten had said she was too old to put up with the mess we had to endure on New Year's Eve, Danielle had long-standing plans to attend a fancy party with her steady boyfriend, and a new woman couldn't start for two days. I guess Arlene and Holly and I needed the money more than we needed a good time.
And I hadn't had any invitations to do anything else. At least when I'm working at Merlotte's, I'm a part of the scenery. That's a kind of acceptance.
I was sweeping up the shredded paper, and I reminded myself again not to comment to Sam on what a poor idea the bags of confetti had been. We'd all made ourselves pretty clear about that, and even good-natured Sam was showing signs of wear and tear. It didn't seem fair to leave it all for Terry Bellefleur to clean, though sweeping and mopping the floors was his job.
Sam was counting the till money and bagging it up so he could go by the night deposit at the bank. He was looking tired but pleased.
He flicked open his cell phone. "Kenya? You ready to take me to the bank? Okay, see you in a minute at the back door." Kenya, a police officer, often escorted Sam to the night deposit, especially after a big take like tonight's.
I was pleased with my money take, too. I had earned a lot in tips. I thought I might have gotten three hundred dollars or more—and I needed every penny. I would have enjoyed the prospect of totting up the money when I got home, if I'd been sure I had enough brains left to do it. The noise and chaos of the party, the constant runs to and from the bar and the serving hatch, the tremendous mess we'd had to clean up, the steady cacophony of all those brains . . . it had combined to exhaust me. Toward the end I'd been too tired to keep my poor mind protected, and lots of thoughts had leaked through.
It's not easy being telepathic. Most often, it's not fun.
This evening had been worse than most. Not only had the bar patrons, almost all known to me for many years, been in uninhibited moods, but there'd been some news that lots of people were just dying to tell me.
"I hear yore boyfriend done gone to South America," a car salesman, Chuck Beecham, had said, malice gleaming in his eyes. "You gonna get mighty lonely out to your place without him."
"You offering to take his place, Chuck?" the man beside him at the bar had asked, and they both had a we're-men-together guffaw.
"Naw, Terrell," said the salesman. "I don't care for vampire leavings."
"You be polite, or you go out the door," I said steadily. I felt warmth at my back, and I knew my boss, Sam Merlotte, was looking at them over my shoulder.
"Trouble?" he asked.
"They were just about to apologize," I said, looking Chuck and Terrell in the eyes. They looked down at their beers.
"Sorry, Sookie," Chuck mumbled, and Terrell bobbed his head in agreement. I nodded and turned to take care of another order. But they'd succeeded in hurting me.
Which was their goal.
I had an ache around my heart.
I was sure the general populace of Bon Temps, Louisiana, didn't know about our estrangement. Bill sure wasn't in the habit of blabbing his personal business around, and neither was I. Arlene and Tara knew a little about it, of course, since you have to tell your best friends when you've broken up with your guy, even if you have to leave out all the interesting details. (Like the fact that you'd killed the woman he left you for. Which I couldn't help. Really.) So anyone who told me Bill had gone out of the country, assuming I didn't know it yet, was just being malicious.
Until Bill's recent visit to my house, I'd last seen him when I'd given him the disks and computer he'd hidden with me. I'd driven up at dusk, so the machine wouldn't be sitting on his front porch for long. I'd put all his stuff up against the door in a big waterproofed box. He'd come out just as I was driving away, but I hadn't stopped.
An evil woman would have given the disks to Bill's boss, Eric. A lesser woman would have kept those disks and that computer, having rescinded Bill's (and Eric's) invitations to enter the house. I had told myself proudly that I was not an evil, or a lesser, woman.
Also, thinking practically, Bill could just have hired some human to break into my house and take them. I didn't think he would. But he needed them bad, or he'd be in trouble
with his boss's boss. I've got a temper, maybe even a bad temper, once it gets provoked. But I'm not vindictive.
Arlene has often told me I am too nice for my own good, though I assure her I am not. (Tara never says that; maybe she knows me better?) I realized glumly that, sometime during this hectic evening, Arlene would hear about Bill's departure. Sure enough, within twenty minutes of Chuck and Terrell's gibing, she made her way through the crowd to pat me on the back. "You didn't need that cold bastard anyway," she said. "What did he ever do for you?"
I nodded weakly at her to show how much I appreciated her support. But then a table called for two whiskey sours, two beers, and a gin and tonic, and I had to hustle, which was actually a welcome distraction. When I dropped off their drinks, I asked myself the same question. What had Bill done for me?
I delivered pitchers of beer to two tables before I could add it all up.
He'd introduced me to sex, which I really enjoyed. Introduced me to a lot of other vampires, which I didn't. Saved my life, though when you thought about it, it wouldn't have been in danger if I hadn't been dating him in the first place. But I'd saved his back once or twice, so that debt was canceled. He'd called me "sweetheart," and at the time he'd meant it.
"Nothing," I muttered, as I mopped up a spilled pina colada and handed one of our last clean bar towels to the woman who'd knocked it over, since a lot of it was still in her skirt. "He didn't do a thing for me." She smiled and nodded, obviously thinking I was commiserating with her. The place was too noisy to hear anything anyway, which was lucky for me.
But I'd be glad when Bill got back. After all, he was my nearest neighbor. The community's older cemetery separated our properties, which lay along a parish road south of Bon Temps. I was out there all by myself, without Bill.
"Peru, I hear," my brother Jason, said. He had his arm around his girl of the evening, a short, thin, dark twenty-one-year-old from somewhere way out in the sticks. (I'd carded her.) I gave her a close look. Jason didn't know it, but she was a shape-shifter of some kind. They're easy to spot. She was an attractive girl, but she changed into something with feathers or fur when the moon was full. I noticed Sam give her a hard glare when Jason's back was turned, to remind her to behave herself in his territory. She returned the glare, with interest. I had the feeling she didn't become a kitten, or a squirrel.
I thought of latching on to her brain and trying to read it, but shifter heads aren't easy. Shifter thoughts are kind of snarly and red, though every now and then you can get a good picture of emotions. Same with Weres.
Sam himself turns into a collie when the moon is bright and round. Sometimes he trots all the way over to my house, and I feed him a bowl of scraps and let him nap on my back porch, if the weather's good, or in my living room, if the weather's poor. I don't let him in the bedroom anymore, because he wakes up naked—in which state he looks very nice, but I just don't need to be tempted by my boss.
The moon wasn't full tonight, so Jason would be safe. I decided not to say anything to him about his date. Everyone's got a secret or two. Her secret was just a little more colorful.
Besides my brother's date, and Sam of course, there were two other supernatural creatures in Merlotte's Bar that New Year's Eve. One was a magnificent woman at least six feet tall, with long rippling dark hair. Dressed to kill in a skintight long-sleeved orange dress, she'd come in by herself, and she was in the process of meeting every guy in the bar. I didn't know what she was, but I knew from her brain pattern that she was not human. The other creature was a vampire, who'd come in with a group of young people, most in their early twenties. I didn't know any of them. Only a sideways glance by a few other revelers marked the presence of a vampire. It just went to show the change in attitude in the few years since the Great Revelation.
Almost three years ago, on the night of the Great Revelation, the vampires had gone on TV in every nation to announce their existence. It had been a night in which many of the world's assumptions had been knocked sideways and rearranged for good.
This coming-out party had been prompted by the Japanese development of a synthetic blood that can keep vamps satisfied nutritionally. Since the Great Revelation, the United States has undergone numerous political and social upheavals in the bumpy process of accommodating our newest citizens, who just happen to be dead. The vampires have a public face and a public explanation for their condition—they claim an allergy to sunlight and garlic causes severe metabolic changes—but I've seen the other side of the vampire world. My eyes now see a lot of things most human beings don't ever see. Ask me if this knowledge has made me happy.
No.
But I have to admit, the world is a more interesting place to me now. I'm by myself a lot (since I'm not exactly Norma Normal), so the extra food for thought has been welcome. The fear and danger haven't. I've seen the private face of vampires, and I've learned about
Weres and shifters and other stuff. Weres and shifters prefer to stay in the shadows—for now—while they watch how going public works out for the vamps.
See, I had all this to mull over while collecting tray after tray of glasses and mugs, and unloading and loading the dishwasher to help Tack, the new cook. (His real name is Alphonse Petacki. Can you be surprised he likes "Tack" better?) When our part of the cleanup was just about finished, and this long evening was finally over, I hugged Arlene and wished her a happy New Year, and she hugged me back. Holly's boyfriend was waiting for her at the employees' entrance at the back of the building, and Holly waved to us as she pulled on her coat and hurried out.
"What're your hopes for the New Year, ladies?" Sam asked. By that time, Kenya was leaning against the bar, waiting for him, her face calm and alert. Kenya ate lunch here pretty regularly with her partner, Kevin, who was as pale and thin as she was dark and rounded. Sam was putting the chairs up on the tables so Terry Bellefleur, who came in very early in the morning, could mop the floor.
"Good health, and the right man," Arlene said dramatically, her hands fluttering over her heart, and we laughed. Arlene has found many men—and she's been married four times—but she's still looking for Mr. Right. I could "hear" Arlene thinking that Tack might be the one. I was startled; , I hadn't even known she'd looked at him.
The surprise showed on my face, and in an uncertain voice Arlene said, "You think I should give up?"
"Hell, no," I said promptly, chiding myself for not guarding my expression better. It was just that I was so tired. "It'll be this year, for sure, Arlene." I smiled at Bon Temp's only black female police officer. "You have to have a wish for the New Year, Kenya. Or a resolution."
"I always wish for peace between men and women," Kenya said. "Make my job a lot easier. And my resolution is to bench-press one-forty."
"Wow," said Arlene. Her dyed red hair contrasted violently with Sam's natural curly red-gold as she gave him a quick hug. He wasn't much taller than Arlene—though she's at least five foot eight, two inches taller than I. "I'm going to lose ten pounds, that's my resolution." We all laughed. That had been Arlene's resolution for the past four years. "What about you, Sam? Wishes and resolutions?" she asked.
"I have everything I need," he said, and I felt the blue wave of sincerity coming from him. "I resolve to stay on this course. The bar is doing great, I like living in my double-wide, and the people here are as good as people anywhere."
I turned to conceal my smile. That had been a pretty ambiguous statement. The people of Bon Temps were, indeed, as good as people anywhere.
"And you, Sookie?" he asked. Arlene, Kenya, and Sam were all looking at me. I hugged Arlene again, because I like to. I'm ten years younger—maybe more, since though Arlene says she's thirty-six, I have my doubts—but we've been friends ever since we started working at Merlotte's together after Sam bought the bar, maybe five years now.
"Come on," Arlene said, coaxing me. Sam put his arm around me. Kenya smiled, but drifted away into the kitchen to have a few words with Tack.
Acting on impulse, I shared my wish. "I just hope to not be beaten up," I said, my weariness and the hour combining in an ill-timed burst of honesty. "I don't want to go to the hospital. I don't want to see a doctor." I didn't want to have to ingest any vampire blood, either, which would cure you in a hurry but had various side effects. "So my resolution is to stay out of trouble," I said firmly.
Arlene looked pretty startled, and Sam looked—well, I couldn't tell about Sam. But since I'd hugged Arlene, I gave him a big hug, too, and felt the strength and warmth in his body. You think Sam's slight until you see him shirtless unloading boxes of supplies. He is really strong and built really smooth, and he has a high natural body temperature. I felt him kiss my hair, and then we were all saying good night to each other and walking out the back door. Sam's truck was parked in front of his trailer, which is set up behind Merlotte's Bar but at a right angle to it, but he climbed in Kenya's patrol car to ride to the bank. She'd bring him home, and then Sam could collapse. He'd been on his feet for hours, as had we all.
As Arlene and I unlocked our cars, I noticed Tack was waiting in his old pickup; I was willing to bet he was going to follow Arlene home.
With a last "Good night!" called through the chilly silence of the Louisiana night, we separated to begin our new years.
I turned off onto Hummingbird Road to go out to my place, which is about three miles southeast of the bar. The relief of finally being alone was immense, and I began to relax mentally. My headlights flashed past the close-packed trunks of the pines that formed the backbone of the lumber industry hereabouts.
The night was extremely dark and cold. There are no streetlights way out on the parish roads, of course. Creatures were not stirring, not by any means. Though I kept telling myself to be alert for deer crossing the road, I was driving on autopilot. My simple thoughts were filled with the plan of scrubbing my face and pulling on my warmest nightgown and climbing into my bed.
Something white appeared in the headlights of my old car.
I gasped, jolted out of my drowsy anticipation of warmth and silence.
A running man: At three in the morning on January first, he was running down the parish road, apparently running for his life.
I slowed down, trying to figure out a course of action. I was a lone unarmed woman. If something awful was pursuing him, it might get me, too. On the other hand, I couldn't let someone suffer if I could help. I had a moment to notice that the man was tall, blond, and clad only in blue jeans, before I pulled up by him. I put the car into park and leaned over to roll down the window on the passenger's side.
"Can I help you?" I called. He gave me a panicked glance and kept on running.
But in that moment I realized who he was. I leaped out of the car and took off after him.
"Eric!" I yelled. "It's me!"
He wheeled around then, hissing, his fangs fully out. I stopped so abruptly I swayed where I stood, my hands out in front of me in a gesture of peace. Of course, if Eric decided to attack, I was a dead woman. So much for being a good Samaritan.
Why didn't Eric recognize me? I'd known him for many months. He was Bill's boss, in the complicated vampire hierarchy that I was beginning to learn. Eric was the sheriff of Area Five, and he was a vampire on the rise. He was also gorgeous and could kiss like a house afire, but that was not the most pertinent side of him right at the moment. Fangs and strong hands curved into claws were what I was seeing. Eric was in full alarm mode, but he seemed just as scared of me as I was of him. He didn't leap to attack.
"Stay back, woman," he warned me. His voice sounded like his throat was sore, raspy and raw.
"What are you doing out here?"
"Who are you?"
"You known darn good and well who I am. What's up with you? Why are you out here without your car?" Eric drove a sleek Corvette, which was simply Eric.
"You know me? Who am I?"
Well, that knocked me for a loop. He sure didn't sound like he was joking. I said cautiously, "Of course I know you, Eric. Unless you have an identical twin. You don't, right?"
"I don't know." His arms dropped, his fangs seemed to be retracting, and he straightened from his crouch, so I felt there'd been a definite improvement in the atmosphere of our encounter.
"You don't know if you have a brother?" I was pretty much at sea.
"No. I don't know. Eric is my name?" In the glare of my headlights, he looked just plain pitiful.
"Wow." I couldn't think of anything more helpful to say. "Eric Northman is the name you go by these days. Why are you out here?"
"I don't know that, either."
I was sensing a theme here. "For real? You don't remember anything?" I tried to get past being sure that at any second he'd grin down at me and explain everything and laugh, embroiling me in some trouble that would end in me . . . getting beaten up.
"For real." He took a step closer, and his bare white chest made me shiver with sympathetic goose bumps. I also realized (now that I wasn't terrified) how forlorn he looked. It was an expression I'd never seen on the confident Eric's face before, and it made me feel unaccountably sad.
"You know you're a vampire, right?"
"Yes." He seemed surprised that I asked. "And you are not."
"No, I'm real human, and I have to know you won't hurt me. Though you could have by now. But believe me, even if you don't remember it, we're sort of friends."
"I won't hurt you."
I reminded myself that probably hundreds and thousands of people had heard those very words before Eric ripped their throats out. But the fact is, vampires don't have to kill once they're past their first year. A sip here, a sip there, that's the norm. When he looked so lost, it was hard to remember he could dismember me with his bare hands.
I'd told Bill one time that the smart thing for aliens to do (when they invaded Earth) would be to arrive in the guise of lop-eared bunnies.
"Come get in my car before you freeze," I said. I was having that I'm-getting-sucked-in feeling again, but I didn't know what else to do.
"I do know you?" he said, as though he were hesitant about getting in a car with someone as formidable as a woman ten inches shorter, many pounds lighter, and a few centuries younger.
"Yes," I said, not able to restrain an edge of impatience. I wasn't too happy with myself, because I still half suspected I was being tricked for some unfathomable reason. "Now come on, Eric. I'm freezing, and so are you." Not that vampires seemed to feel temperature extremes, as a rule; but even Eric's skin looked goosey. The dead can freeze, of course. They'll survive it—they survive almost everything—but I understand it's pretty painful. "Oh my God, Eric, you're barefoot." I'd just noticed.
I took his hand; he let me get close enough for that. He let me lead him back to the car and stow him in the passenger seat. I told him to roll up the window as I went around to my side, and after a long minute of studying the mechanism, he did.
I reached in the backseat for an old afghan I keep there in the winter (for football games, etc.) and wrapped it around him. He wasn't shivering, of course, because he was a vampire, but I just couldn't stand to look at all that bare flesh in this temperature. I turned the heater on full blast (which, in my old car, isn't saying much).
Eric's exposed skin had never made me feel cold before—when I'd seen this much of Eric before, I'd felt anything but. I was giddy enough by now to laugh out loud before I could censor my own thoughts.
He was startled, and looked at me sideways.
"You're the last person I expected to see," I said. "Were you coming out this way to see Bill? Because he's gone."
"Bill?"
"The vampire who lives out here? My ex-boyfriend?"
He shook his head. He was back to being absolutely terrified.
"You don't know how you came to be here?"
He shook his head again.
I was making a big effort to think hard; but it was just that, an effort. I was worn out. Though I'd had a rush of adrenaline when I'd spotted the figure running down the dark road, that rush was wearing off fast. I reached the turnoff to my house and turned left, winding through the black and silent woods on my nice, level driveway—that, in fact, Eric had had re-graveled for me.
And that was why Eric was sitting in my car right now, instead of running through the night like a giant white rabbit. He'd had the intelligence to give me what I really wanted. (Of course, he'd also wanted me to go to bed with him for months. But he'd given me the driveway because I needed it.)
"Here we are," I said, pulling around to the back of my old house. I switched off the car. I'd remembered to leave the outside lights on when I'd left for work that afternoon, thank goodness, so we weren't sitting there in total darkness.
"This is where you live?" He was glancing around the clearing where the old house stood, seemingly nervous about going from the car to the back door.
"Yes," I said, exasperated.
He just gave me a look that showed white all around the blue of his eyes.
"Oh, come on," I said, with no grace at all. I got out of the car and went up the steps to the back porch, which I don't keep locked because, hey, why lock a screened-in back porch? I do lock the inner door, and after a second's fumbling, I had it open so the light I leave on in the kitchen could spill out. "You can come in," I said, so he could cross the threshold. He scuttled in after me, the afghan still clutched around him.
Under the overhead light in the kitchen, Eric looked pretty pitiful. His bare feet were bleeding, which I hadn't noticed before. "Oh, Eric," I said sadly, and got a pan out from the cabinet, and started the hot water to running in the sink. He'd heal real quick, like vampires do, but I couldn't help but wash him clean. The blue jeans were filthy around the hem. "Pull 'em off," I said, knowing they'd just get wet if I soaked his feet while he was dressed.
With not a hint of a leer or any other indication that he was enjoying this development, Eric shimmied out of the jeans. I tossed them onto the back porch to wash in the morning, trying not to gape at my guest, who was now clad in underwear that was definitely over-the-top, a bright red bikini style whose stretchy quality was definitely being tested. Okay, another big surprise. I'd seen Eric's underwear only once before—which was once more than I ought to have—and he'd been a silk boxers guy. Did men change styles like that?
Without preening, and without comment, the vampire rewrapped his white body in the afghan. Hmmm. I was now convinced he wasn't himself, as no other evidence could have convinced me. Eric was way over six feet of pure magnificence (if a marble white magnificence), and he well knew it.
I pointed to one of the straight-back chairs at the kitchen table. Obediently, he pulled it out and sat. I crouched to put the pan on the floor, and I gently guided his big feet into the water. Eric groaned as the warmth touched his skin. I guess that even a vampire could feel the contrast. I got a clean rag from under the sink and some liquid soap, and I washed his feet. I took my time, because I was trying to think what to do next,
"You were out in the night," he observed, in a tentative sort of way.
"I was coming home from work, as you can see from my clothes." I was wearing our winter uniform, a long-sleeved white boat-neck T-shirt with "Merlotte's Bar" embroidered over the left breast and worn tucked into black slacks.
"Women shouldn't be out alone this late at night," he said disapprovingly.
"Tell me about it."
"Well, women are more liable to be overwhelmed by an attack than men, so they should be more protected—"
"No, I didn't mean literally. I meant, I agree. You're preaching to the choir. I didn't want to be working this late at night."
"Then why were you out?"
"I need the money," I said, wiping my hand and pulling the roll of bills out of my pocket and dropping it on the table while I was thinking about it. "I got this house to maintain, my car is old, and I have taxes and insurance to pay. Like everyone else," I added, in case he thought I was complaining unduly. I hated to poor-mouth, but he'd asked.
"Is there no man in your family?"
Every now and then, their ages do show. "I have a brother. I can't remember if you've ever met Jason." A cut on his left foot looked especially bad. I put some more hot water into the basin to warm the remainder. Then I tried to get all the dirt out. He winced as I gently rubbed the washcloth over the margins of the wound. The smaller cuts and bruises seemed to be fading even as I watched. The hot water heater came on behind me, the familiar sound somehow reassuring.
"Your brother permits you to do this working?"
I tried to imagine Jason's face when I told him that I expected him to support me for the rest of my life because I was a woman and shouldn't work outside the home. "Oh, for goodness sake, Eric." I looked up at him, scowling. "Jason's got his own problems." Like being chronically selfish and a true tomcat.
I eased the pan of water to the side and patted Eric dry with a dishtowel. This vampire now had clean feet. Rather stiffly, I stood. My back hurt. My feet hurt. "Listen, I think what I better do is call Pam. She'll probably know what's going on with you."
"Pam?"
It was like being around a particularly irritating two-year-old.
"Your second-in-command."
He was going to ask another question, I could just tell. I held up a hand. "Just hold on. Let me call her and find out what's happening."
"But what if she has turned against me?"
"Then we need to know that, too. The sooner the better."
I put my hand on the old phone that hung on the kitchen wall right by the end of the counter. A high stool sat below it. My grandmother had always sat on the stool to conduct her lengthy phone conversations, with a pad and pencil handy. I missed her every day. But at the moment I had no room in my emotional palette for grief, or even nostalgia. I looked in my little address book for the number of Fangtasia, the vampire bar in Shreveport that provided Eric's principal income and served as the base of his operations, which I understood were far wider in scope. I didn't know how wide or what these other moneymaking projects were, and I didn't especially want to know.
I'd seen in the Shreveport paper that Fangtasia, too, had planned a big bash for the evening—"Begin Your New Year with a Bite"—so I knew someone would be there. While the phone was ringing, I swung open the refrigerator and got out a bottle of blood for Eric. I popped it in the microwave and set the timer. He followed my every move with anxious eyes.
"Fangtasia," said an accented male voice.
"Chow?"
"Yes, how may I serve you?" He'd remembered his phone persona of sexy vampire just in the nick of time.
"It's Sookie."
"Oh," he said in a much more natural voice. "Listen, Happy New Year, Sook, but we're kind of busy here."
"Looking for someone?"
There was a long, charged silence.
"Wait a minute," he said, and then I heard nothing.
"Pam," said Pam. She'd picked up the receiver so silently that I jumped when I heard her voice.
"Do you still have a master?" I didn't know how much I could say over the phone. I wanted to know if she'd been the one who'd put Eric in this state, or if she still owed him loyalty.
"I do," she said steadily, understanding what I wanted to know. "We are under . . . we have some problems."
I mulled that over until I was sure I'd read between the lines. Pam was telling me that she still owed Eric her allegiance, and that Eric's group of followers was under some kind of attack or in some kind of crisis.
I said, "He's here." Pam appreciated brevity.
"Is he alive?"
"Yep."
"Damaged?"
"Mentally."
A long pause, this time.
"Will he be a danger to you?"
Not that Pam cared a whole hell of a lot if Eric decided to drain me dry, but I guess she wondered if I would shelter Eric. "I don't think so at the moment," I said. "It seems to be a matter of memory."
"I hate witches. Humans had the right idea, burning them at the stake."
Since the very humans who had burned witches would have been delighted to sink that same stake into vampire hearts, I found that a little amusing—but not very, considering the hour. I immediately forgot what she'd been talking about. I yawned.
"Tomorrow night, we'll come," she said finally. "Can you keep him this day? Dawn's in less than four hours. Do you have a safe place?"
"Yes. But you get over here at nightfall, you hear me? I don't want to get tangled up in your vampire shit again." Normally, I don't speak so bluntly; but like I say, it was the tail end of a long night.
"We'll be there."
We hung up simultaneously. Eric was watching me with unblinking blue eyes. His hair was a snarly tangled mess of blond waves. His hair is the exact same color as mine, and I have blue eyes, too, but that's the end of the similarities.
I thought of taking a brush to his hair, but I was just too weary.
"Okay, here's the deal," I told him. "You stay here the rest of the night and tomorrow, and then Pam and them'll come get you tomorrow night and let you know what's happening."
"You won't let anyone get in?" he asked. I noticed he'd finished the blood, and he wasn't quite as drawn as he'd been, which was a relief.
"Eric, I'll do my best to keep you safe," I said, quite gently. I rubbed my face with my hands. I was going to fall asleep on my feet. "Come on," I said, taking his hand. Clutching the afghan with the other hand, he trailed down the hall after me, a snow white giant in tiny red underwear.
My old house has been added onto over the years, but it hasn't ever been more than a humble farmhouse. A second story was added around the turn of the century, and two more bedrooms and a walk-in attic are upstairs, but I seldom go up there anymore. I keep it shut off, to save money on electricity. There are two bedrooms downstairs, the smaller one I'd used until my grandmother died and her large one across the hall from it. I'd moved into the large one after her death. But the hidey-hole Bill had built was in the smaller bedroom. I led Eric in there, switched on the light, and made sure the blinds were closed and the curtains drawn across them. Then I opened the door of the closet, removed its few contents, and pulled back the flap of carpet that covered the closet floor, exposing the trapdoor. Underneath was a light-tight space that Bill had built a few months before, so that he could stay over during the day or use it as a hiding place if his own
home was unsafe. Bill liked having a bolt-hole, and I was sure he had some that I didn't know about. If I'd been a vampire (God forbid), I would have, myself.
I had to wipe thoughts of Bill out of my head as I showed my reluctant guest how to close the trapdoor on top of him and that the flap of carpet would fall back into place. "When I get up, I'll put the stuff back in the closet so it'll look natural," I reassured him, and smiled encouragingly.
"Do I have to get in now?" he asked.
Eric, making a request of me: The world was really turned upside-down. "No," I said, trying to sound like I was concerned. All I could think of was my bed. "You don't have to. Just get in before sunrise. There's no way you could miss that, right? I mean, you couldn't fall asleep and wake up in the sun?"
He thought for a moment and shook his head. "No," he said. "I know that can't happen. Can I stay in the room with you?"
Oh, God, puppy dog eyes. From a six-foot-five ancient Viking vampire. It was just too much. I didn't have enough energy to laugh, so I just gave a sad little snigger. "Come on," I said, my voice as limp as my legs. I turned off the light in that room, crossed the hall, and flipped on the one in my own room, yellow and white and clean and warm, and folded down the bedspread and blanket and sheet. While Eric sat forlornly in a slipper chair on the other side of the bed, I pulled off my shoes and socks, got a nightgown out of a drawer, and retreated into the bathroom. I was out in ten minutes, with clean teeth and face and swathed in a very old, very soft flannel nightgown that was cream-colored with blue flowers scattered around. Its ribbons were raveled and the ruffle around the bottom was pretty sad, but it suited me just fine. After I'd switched off the lights, I remembered my hair was still up in its usual ponytail, so I pulled out the band that held it and I shook my head to make it fall loose. Even my scalp seemed to relax, and I sighed with bliss.
As I climbed up into the high old bed, the large fly in my personal ointment did the same. Had I actually told him he could get in bed with me? Well, I decided, as I wriggled down under the soft old sheets and the blanket and the comforter, if Eric had designs on me, I was just too tired to care.
"Woman?"
"Hmmm?"
"What's your name?"
"Sookie. Sookie Stackhouse."
"Thank you, Sookie."
"Welcome, Eric."
Because he sounded so lost—the Eric I knew had never been one to do anything other than assume others should serve him—I patted around under the covers for his hand. When I found it, I slid my own over it. His palm was turned up to meet my palm, and his fingers clasped mine.
And though I would not have thought it was possible to go to sleep holding hands with a vampire, that's exactly what I did.
Chapter 2
I woke up slowly. As I lay snuggled under the covers, now and then stretching an arm or a leg, I gradually remembered the surrealistic happenings of the night before.
Well, Eric wasn't in bed with me now, so I had to assume he was safely ensconced in the hidey-hole. I went across the hall. As I'd promised, I put the contents back in the closet to make it look normal. The clock told me it was noon, and outside the sun was bright, though the air was cold. For Christmas, Jason had given me a thermometer that read the outside temperature and showed it to me on a digital readout inside. He'd installed it for me, too. Now I knew two things: it was noon, and it was thirty-four degrees outside.
In the kitchen, the pan of water I'd washed Eric's feet with was still sitting on the floor. As I dumped it into the sink, I saw that at some point he'd rinsed out the bottle that had held the synthetic blood. I'd have to get some more to have around when he rose, since you didn't want a hungry vampire in your house, and it would be only polite to have extra to offer Pam and whoever else drove over from Shreveport. They'd explain things to me—or not. They'd take Eric away and work on whatever problems were facing the Shreveport vampire community, and I would be left in peace. Or not.
Merlotte's was closed on New Year's Day until four o'clock. On New Year's Day, and the day after, Charlsie and Danielle and the new girl were on the schedule, since the rest of us had worked New Year's Eve. So I had two whole days off . . . and at least one of them I got to spend alone in a house with a mentally ill vampire. Life just didn't get any better.
I had two cups of coffee, put Eric's jeans in the washer, read a romance for a while, and studied my brand-new Word of the Day calendar, a Christmas gift from Arlene. My first word for the New Year was "exsanguinate." This was probably not a good omen.
Jason came by a little after four, flying down my drive in his black pickup with pink and purple flames on the side. I'd showered and dressed by then, but my hair was still wet. I'd sprayed it with detangler and I was brushing through it slowly, sitting in front of the fireplace. I'd turned on the TV to a football game to have something to watch while I brushed, but I kept the sound way down. I was pondering Eric's predicament while I luxuriated in the feel of the fire's warmth on my back.
We hadn't used the fireplace much in the past couple of years because buying a load of wood was so expensive, but Jason had cut up a lot of trees that had fallen last year after an ice storm. I was well stocked, and I was enjoying the flames.
My brother stomped up the front steps and knocked perfunctorily before coming in. Like me, he had mostly grown up in this house. We'd come to live with Gran when my parents died, and she'd rented out their house until Jason said he was ready to live on his own, when he'd been twenty. Now Jason was twenty-eight and the boss of a parish road crew. This was a rapid rise for a local boy without a lot of education, and I'd thought it was enough for him until the past month or two, when he'd begun acting restless.
"Good," he said, when he saw the fire. He stood squarely in front of it to warm his hands, incidentally blocking the warmth from me. "What time did you get home last night?" he said over his shoulder.
"I guess I got to bed about three."
"What did you think of that girl I was with?"
"I think you better not date her anymore."
That wasn't what he'd expected to hear. His eyes slid sideways to meet mine. "What did you get off her?" he asked in a subdued voice. My brother knows I am telepathic, but he would never discuss it with me, or anyone else. I've seen him get into fights with some man who accused me of being abnormal, but he knows I'm different. Everyone else does, too. They just choose not to believe it, or they believe I couldn't possibly read their thoughts—just someone else's. God knows, I try to act and talk like I'm not receiving an unwanted spate of ideas and emotions and regrets and accusations, but sometimes it just seeps through.
"She's not your kind," I said, looking into the fire.
"She surely ain't a vamp," he protested.
"No, not a vamp."
"Well, then." He glared at me belligerently.
"Jason, when the vampires came out—when we found out they were real after all those decades of thinking they were just a scary legend—didn't you ever wonder if there were other tall tales that were real?"
My brother struggled with that concept for a minute. I knew (because I could "hear" him) that Jason wanted to deny any such idea absolutely and call me a crazy woman—but he just couldn't. "You know for a fact," he said. It wasn't quite a question.
I made sure he was looking me in the eyes, and I nodded emphatically.
"Well, shit," he said, disgusted. "I really liked that girl, and she was a tiger in the sack."
"Really?" I asked, absolutely stunned that she had changed in front of him when it wasn't the full moon. "Are you okay?" The next second, I was chastising myself for my stupidity. Of course she hadn't.
He gaped at me for a second, before busting out laughing. "Sookie, you are one weird woman! You looked just like you thought she really could—" And his face froze. I could feel the idea bore a hole through the protective bubble most people inflate around their brain, the bubble that repels sights and ideas that don't jibe with their expectation of the everyday. Jason sat down heavily in Gran's recliner. "I wish I didn't know that," he said in a small voice.
"That may not be specifically what happens to her—the tiger thing—but believe me, something happens."
It took a minute for his face to settle back into more familiar lines, but it did. Typical Jason behavior: There was nothing he could do about his new knowledge, so he pushed it to the back of his mind. "Listen, did you see Hoyt's date last night? After they left the bar, Hoyt got stuck in a ditch over to Arcadia, and they had to walk two miles to get to a phone because he'd let his cell run down."
"He did not!" I exclaimed, in a comforting and gossipy way. "And her in those heels." Jason's equilibrium was restored. He told me the town gossip for a few minutes, he accepted my offer of a Coke, and he asked me if I needed anything from town.
"Yes, I do." I'd been thinking while he was talking. Most of his news I'd heard from other brains the nights before, in unguarded moments.
"Ah-oh," he said, looking mock-frightened. "What am I in for now?"
"I need ten bottles of synthetic blood and clothes for big man," I said, and I'd startled him again. Poor Jason, he deserved a silly vixen of a sister who bore nieces and nephews who called him Uncle Jase and held on to his legs. Instead, he got me.
"How big is the man, and where is he?"
"He's about six foot four or five, and he's asleep," I said. "I'd guess a thirty-four waist, and he's got long legs and broad shoulders." I reminded myself to check the size label on Eric's jeans, which were still in the dryer out on the back porch.
"What kind of clothes?"
"Work clothes."
"Anybody I know?"
"Me," said a much deeper voice.
Jason whipped around as if he was expecting an attack, which shows his instincts aren't so bad, after all. But Eric looked as unthreatening as a vampire his size can look. And he'd obligingly put on the brown velour bathrobe that I'd left in the second bedroom. It was one I'd kept here for Bill, and it gave me a pang to see it on someone else. But I had to be practical; Eric couldn't wander around in red bikini underwear—at least, not with Jason in the house.
Jason goggled at Eric and cast a shocked glance at me. "This is your newest man, Sookie? You didn't let any grass grow under your feet." He didn't know whether to sound admiring or indignant. Jason still didn't realize Eric was dead. It's amazing to me that lots of people can't tell for a few minutes. "And I need to get him clothes?"
"Yes. His shirt got torn last night, and his blue jeans are still dirty."
"You going to introduce me?"
I took a deep breath. It would have been so much better if Jason hadn't seen Eric. "Better not," I said.
They both took that badly. Jason looked wounded, and the vampire looked offended.
"Eric," he said, and stuck out a hand to Jason.
"Jason Stackhouse, this rude lady's brother," Jason said.
They shook, and I felt like wringing both their necks.
"I'm assuming there's a reason why you two can't go out to buy him more clothes," Jason said.
"There's a good reason," I said. "And there's about twenty good reasons you should forget you ever saw this guy."
"Are you in danger?" Jason asked me directly.
"Not yet," I said.
"If you do something that gets my sister hurt, you'll be in a world of trouble," Jason told Eric the vampire.
"I would expect nothing less," Eric said. "But since you are being blunt with me, I'll be blunt with you. I think you should support her and take her into your household, so she would be better protected."
Jason's mouth fell open again, and I had to cover my own so I wouldn't laugh out loud. This was even better than I'd imagined.
"Ten bottles of blood and a change of clothes?" Jason asked me, and I knew by the change in his voice that he'd finally cottoned on to Eric's state.
"Right. Liquor store'll have the blood. You can get the clothes at WalMart." Eric had mostly been a jeans and T-shirt kind of guy, which was all I could afford, anyway. "Oh, he needs some shoes, too."
Jason went to stand by Eric and put his foot parallel to the vampire's. He whistled, which made Eric jump.
"Big feet," Jason commented, and flashed me a look. "Is the old saying true?"
I smiled at him. He was trying to lighten the atmosphere. "You may not believe me, but I don't know."
"Kind of hard to swallow . . . no joke intended. Well, I'm gone," Jason said, nodding to Eric. In a few seconds, I heard his truck speeding around the curves in the driveway, through the dark woods. Night had fallen completely.
"I'm sorry I came out while he was here," Eric said tentatively. "You didn't want me to meet him, I think." He came over to the fire and seemed to be enjoying the warmth as I had been doing.
"It's not that I'm embarrassed to have you here," I said. "It's that I have a feeling you're in a heap of trouble, and I don't want my brother drawn in."
"He is your only brother?"
"Yes. And my parents are gone, my grandmother, too. He's all I have, except for a cousin who's been on drugs for years. She's lost, I guess."
"Don't be so sad," he said, as if he couldn't help himself.
"I'm fine." I made my voice brisk and matter-of-fact.
"You've had my blood," he said.
Ah-oh. I stood absolutely still.
"I wouldn't be able to tell how you feel if you hadn't had my blood," he said. "Are we—have we been—lovers?"
That was certainly a nice way to put it. Eric was usually pretty Anglo-Saxon about sex.
"No," I said promptly, and I was telling the truth, though only by a narrow margin. We'd been interrupted in time, thank God. I'm not married. I have weak moments. He is gorgeous. What can I say?
But he was looking at me with intense eyes, and I felt color flooding my face.
"This is not your brother's bathrobe."
Oh, boy. I stared into the fire as if it were going to spell out an answer for me.
"Whose, then?"
"Bill's," I said. That was easy.
"He is your lover?"
I nodded. "Was," I said honestly.
"He is my friend?"
I thought that over. "Well, not exactly. He lives in the area you're the sheriff of? Area Five?" I resumed brushing my hair and discovered it was dry. It crackled with electricity and followed the brush. I smiled at the effect in my reflection in the mirror over the mantel. I could see Eric in the reflection, too. I have no idea why the story went around that vampires can't be seen in mirrors. There was certainly plenty of Eric to see, because he was so tall and he hadn't wrapped the robe very tightly. . . . I closed my eyes.
"Do you need something?" Eric asked anxiously.
More self-control.
"I'm just fine," I said, trying not to grind my teeth. "Your friends will be here soon. Your jeans are in the dryer, and I'm hoping Jason will be back any minute with some clothes."
"My friends?"
"Well, the vampires who work for you. I guess Pam counts as a friend. I don't know about Chow."
"Sookie, where do I work? Who is Pam?"
This was really an uphill conversation. I tried to explain to Eric about his position, his ownership of Fangtasia, his other business interests, but truthfully, I wasn't knowledgeable enough to brief him completely.
"You don't know much about what I do," he observed accurately.
"Well, I only go to Fangtasia when Bill takes me, and he takes me when you make me do something." I hit myself in the forehead with my brush. Stupid, stupid!
"How could I make you do anything? May I borrow the brush?" Eric asked. I stole a glance at him. He was looking all broody and thoughtful.
"Sure," I said, deciding to ignore his first question. I handed over the brush. He began to use it on his own hair, making all the muscles in his chest dance around. Oh boy. Maybe I should get back in the shower and turn the water on cold? I stomped into the bedroom and got an elastic band and pulled my hair back in the tightest ponytail I could manage, up at the crown of my head. I used my second-best brush to get it very smooth, and checked to make sure I'd gotten it centered by turning my head from side to side.
"You are tense," Eric said from the doorway, and I yipped.
"Sorry, sorry!" he said hastily.
I glared at him, full of suspicion, but he seemed sincerely contrite. When he was himself, Eric would have laughed. But darn if I didn't miss Real Eric. You knew where you were with him.
I heard a knock on the front door.
"You stay in here," I said. He seemed pretty worried, and he sat on the chair in the corner of the room, like a good little fella. I was glad I'd picked up my discarded clothes the night before, so my room didn't seem so personal. I went through the living room to the front door, hoping for no more surprises.
"Who is it?" I asked, putting my ear to the door.
"We are here," said Pam.
I began to turn the knob, stopped, then remembered they couldn't come in anyway, and opened the door.
Pam has pale straight hair and is as white as a magnolia petal. Other than that, she looks like a young suburban housewife who has a part-time job at a preschool.
Though I don't think you'd really ever want Pam to take care of your toddlers, I've never seen her do anything extraordinarily cruel or vicious. But she's definitely convinced that vampires are better than humans, and she's very direct and doesn't mince words. I'm sure if Pam saw that some dire action was necessary for her well-being, she'd do it without missing any sleep. She seems to be an excellent second-in-command, and not overly ambitious. If she wants to have her own bailiwick, she keeps that desire very well concealed.
Chow is a whole different kettle of fish. I don't want to know Chow any better than I already do. I don't trust him, and I've never felt comfortable around him. Chow is Asian, a small-built but powerful vampire with longish black hair. He is no more than five foot seven, but every inch of visible skin (except his face) is covered with those intricate tattoos that are true art dyed into human skin. Pam says they are yakuza tattoos. Chow acts as Fangtasia's bartender some evenings, and on other nights he just sits around to let patrons approach him. (That's the whole purpose of vampire bars, to let regular humans feel they're walking on the wild side by being in the same room with the in-the-flesh undead. It's very lucrative, Bill told me.)
Pam was wearing a fluffy cream sweater and golden-brown knit pants, and Chow was in his usual vest and slacks. He seldom wore a shirt, so the Fangtasia patrons could get the full benefit of his body art.
I called Eric, and he came into the room slowly. He was visibly wary.
"Eric," Pam said, when she saw him. Her voice was full of relief. "You're well?" Her eyes were fixed on Eric anxiously. She didn't bow, but she sort of gave a deep nod.
"Master," Chow said, and bowed.
I tried not to overinterpret what I was seeing and hearing, but I assumed that the different greetings signified the relationships among the three.
Eric looked uncertain. "I know you," he said, trying to make it sound more statement than question.
The two other vampires exchanged a glance. "We work for you," Pam said. "We owe you fealty."
I began to ease out of the room, because they'd want to talk about secret vampire stuff, I was sure. And if there was anything I didn't want to know, it was more secrets.
"Please don't go," Eric said to me. His voice was frightened. I froze and looked behind me. Pam and Chow were staring over Eric's shoulders at me, and they had quite different expressions. Pam looked almost amused. Chow looked openly disapproving.
I tried not to look in Eric's eyes, so I could leave him with a clear conscience, but it just didn't work. He didn't want to be left alone with his two sidekicks. I blew lots of air out, puffing up my cheeks. Well, dammit. I trudged back to Eric's side, glaring at Pam the whole way.
There was another knock at the door, and Pam and Chow reacted in a dramatic way. They were both ready to fight in an instant, and vampires in that readiness are very, very scary. Their fangs run out, their hands arch like claws, and their bodies are on full alert. The air seems to crackle around them.
"Yes?" I said from right inside the door. I had to get a peephole installed.
"It's your brother," Jason said brusquely. He didn't know how lucky he was that he hadn't just walked in.
Something had put Jason into a foul mood, and I wondered if there was anyone with him. I almost opened the door. But I hesitated. Finally, feeling like a traitor, I turned to Pam. I silently pointed down the hall to the back door, making an opening-and-closing gesture so she could not mistake what I meant. I made a circle in the air with my finger—Come around the house, Pam—and pointed at the front door.
Pam nodded and ran down the hall to the back of the house. I couldn't hear her feet on the floor. Amazing.
Eric moved away from the door. Chow got in front of him. I approved. This was exactly what an underling was supposed to do.
In less than a minute, I heard Jason bellow from maybe six inches away. I jumped away from the door, startled.
Pam said, "Open up!"
I swung the door wide to see Jason locked in Pam's arms. She was holding him off the ground with no effort, though he was flailing wildly and making it as hard as he could, God bless him.
"You're by yourself," I said, relief being my big emotion.
"Of course, dammit! Why'd you set her on me? Let me down!"
"It's my brother, Pam," I said. "Please put him down."
Pam set Jason down, and he spun around to look at her. "Listen, woman! You don't just sneak up on a man like that! You're lucky I didn't slap you upside the head!"
Pam looked amused all over again, and even Jason looked embarrassed. He had the grace to smile. "I guess that might be pretty hard," he admitted, picking up the bags he'd dropped. Pam helped him. "It's lucky I got the blood in the big plastic bottles," he said. "Otherwise, this lovely lady would have to go hungry."
He smiled at Pam engagingly. Jason loves women. With Pam, Jason was in way over his head, but didn't have the sense to know it.
"Thanks. You need to go now," I said abruptly. I took the plastic bags from his hands. He and Pam were still in an eye-lock. She was putting the whammy on him. "Pam," I said sharply. "Pam, this is my brother."
"I know," she said calmly. "Jason, did you have something to tell us?"
I'd forgotten that Jason had sounded like he was barely containing himself when he'd come to the door.
"Yes," he said, hardly able to tear his eyes away from the vampire. But when he glanced at me, he caught sight of Chow, and his eyes widened. He had enough sense to fear Chow, at least. "Sookie?" he said. "Are you all right?" He took a step into the room, and I could see the adrenaline left over from the fright Pam had given begin to pump through his system again.
"Yes. Everything's all right. These are just friends of Eric's who came to check on him."
"Well, they better go take those wanted posters down."
That got everyone's full attention. Jason enjoyed that.
"There's posters up at WalMart, and Grabbit Kwik, and the Bottle Barn, and just about everywhere else in town," he said. "They all say, 'Have you seen this man?' and they go on to tell about him being kidnapped and his friends being so anxious, and the reward for a confirmed sighting is fifty thousand dollars."
I didn't process this too well. I was mostly thinking, Huh?, when Pam got the point.
"They're hoping to sight him and catch him," she said to Chow. "It will work."
"We should take care of it," he said, nodding toward Jason.
"Don't you lay one hand on my brother," I said. I moved between Jason and Chow, and my hands itched for a stake or hammer or anything at all that would keep this vamp from touching Jason.
Pam and Chow focused on me with that unswerving attention. I didn't find it flattering, as Jason had. I found it deadly. Jason opened his mouth to speak—I could feel the anger building in him, and the impulse to confront—but my hand clamped down on his wrist, and he grunted, and I said, "Don't say a word." For a miracle, he didn't. He seemed to sense that events were moving forward too rapidly and in a grave direction.
"You'll have to kill me, too," I said.
Chow shrugged. "Big threat."
Pam didn't say anything. If it came to a choice between upholding vamp interests and being my buddy . . . well, I guessed we were just going to have to cancel our sleepover, and here I'd been planning on French-braiding her hair.
"What is this about?" Eric asked. His voice was considerably stronger. "Explain . . . Pam."
A minute went by while things hung in the balance. Then Pam turned to Eric, and she may have been slightly relieved that she didn't have to kill me right at the moment. "Sookie and this man, her brother, have seen you," she explained. "They're human. They need the money. They will turn you in to the witches."
"What witches?" Jason and I said simultaneously.
"Thank you, Eric, for getting us into this shit," Jason muttered unfairly. "And could you let go of my wrist, Sook? You're stronger than you look."
I was stronger than I should be because I'd had vampire blood—most recently, Eric's. The effects would last around three more weeks, maybe longer. I knew this from past experience.
Unfortunately, I'd needed that extra strength at a low point in my life. The very vampire who was now draped in my former boyfriend's bathrobe had donated that blood when I was grievously wounded but had to keep going.
"Jason," I said in a level voice—as though the vampires couldn't hear me—"please watch yourself." That was as close as I could come to telling Jason to be smart for once in his life. He was way too fond of walking on the wild side.
Very slowly and cautiously, as if an uncaged lion were in the room, Jason and I went to sit on the old couch to one side of the fireplace. That notched the situation down a couple of degrees. After a brief hesitation, Eric sat on the floor and pressed himself into my legs. Pam settled on the edge of the recliner, closest to the fireplace, but Chow chose to remain standing (within what I calculated was lunging distance) near Jason. The atmosphere became less tense, though not by any means relaxed—but still, this was an improvement over the moments before.
"Your brother must stay and hear this," Pam said. "No matter how much you don't want him to know. He needs to learn why he mustn't try to earn that money."
Jason and I gave quick nods. I was hardly in a position to throw them out. Wait, I could! I could tell them all that their invitation to come in was rescinded, and whoosh, out the door they'd go, walking backward. I found myself smiling. Rescinding an invitation was extremely satisfying. I'd done it once before; I'd sent both Bill and Eric zooming out of my living room, and it had felt so good I'd rescinded the entrance invite of every vampire I knew. I could feel my smile fading as I thought more carefully.
If I gave way to this impulse, I'd have to stay in my house every night for the rest of my life, because they'd return at dusk the next day and the day after that and so on, until they got me, because I had their boss. I glowered at Chow. I was willing to blame this whole thing on him.
"Several night ago, we heard—at Fangtasia," Pam explained for Jason's benefit, "that a group of witches had arrived in Shreveport. A human told us, one who wants Chow. She didn't know why we were so interested in that information."
That didn't sound too threatening to me. Jason shrugged. "So?" he said. "Geez, you all are vampires. What can a bunch of girls in black do to you?"
"Real witches can do plenty to vampires," Pam said, with remarkable restraint. "The 'girls in black' you're thinking of are only poseurs. Real witches can be women or men of any age. They are very formidable, very powerful. They control magical forces, and our existence itself is rooted in magic. This group seems to have some extra . . ." She paused, casting around for a word.
"Juice?" Jason suggested helpfully.
"Juice," she agreed. "We haven't discovered what makes them so strong."
"What was their purpose in coming to Shreveport?" I asked.
"A good question," Chow said approvingly. "A much better question."
I frowned at him. I didn't need his damn approval.
"They wanted—they want—to take over Eric's businesses," Pam said. "Witches want money as much as anyone, and they figure they can either take over the businesses, or make Eric pay them to leave him alone."
"Protection money." This was a familiar concept to a television viewer. "But how could they force you into anything? You guys are so powerful."
"You have no idea how many problems a business can develop if witches want a piece of it. When we met with them for the first time, their leaders—a sister and brother team—spelled it out. Hallow made it clear she could curse our labor, turn our alcoholic drinks bad, and cause patrons to trip on the dance floor and sue us, to say nothing of plumbing problems." Pam threw up her hands in disgust. "It would make every night a bad dream, and our revenues would plummet, maybe to the point that the Fangtasia would become worthless."
Jason and I gave each other cautious glances. Naturally, vampires were heavily into the bar business, since it was most lucrative at night, and they were up then. They'd dabbled in all-night dry cleaners, all-night restaurants, all-night movie theaters . . . but the bar business paid best. If Fangtasia closed, Eric's financial base would suffer a blow.
"So they want protection money," Jason said. He'd watched the Godfather trilogy maybe fifty times. I thought about asking him if he wanted to sleep with the fishes, but Chow was looking antsy, so I refrained. We were both of us just a snick and a snee away from an unpleasant death, and I knew it was no time for humor, especially humor that so nearly wasn't.
"So how did Eric end up running down the road at night without a shirt or shoes?" I asked, thinking it was time to get down to brass tacks.
Much exchanging of glances between the two subordinates. I looked down at Eric, pressed up against my legs. He seemed to be as interested in the answer as we were. His hand firmly circled my ankle. I felt like a large security blanket.
Chow decided to take a narrative turn. "We told them we would discuss their threat. But last night, when we went to work, one of the lesser witches was waiting at Fangtasia with
an alternative proposal." He looked a little uncomfortable. "During our initial meeting, the head of the coven, Hallow, decided she, uh, lusted after Eric. Such a coupling is very frowned upon among witches, you understand, since we are dead and witchcraft is supposed to be so . . . organic." Chow spat the word out like it was something stuck to his shoe. "Of course, most witches would never do what this coven was attempting. These are all people drawn to the power itself, rather than to the religion behind it."
This was interesting, but I wanted to hear the rest of the story. So did Jason, who made a "hurry along" gesture with his hand. With a little shake to himself, as if to rouse himself from his thoughts, Chow went on. "This head witch, this Hallow, told Eric, through her subordinate, that if he would entertain her for seven nights, she would only demand a fifth of his business, rather than a half."
"You must have some kind of reputation," my brother said to Eric, his voice full of honest awe. Eric was not entirely successful at hiding his pleased expression. He was glad to hear he was such a Romeo. There was a slight difference in the way he looked up at me in the next moment, and I had a feeling of horrid inevitability—like when you see your car begin to roll downhill (though you're sure you left it in park), and you know there's no way you can catch up to it and put on the brakes, no matter how much you want to. That car is gonna crash.
"Though some of us thought he might be wise to agree, our master balked," Chow said, shooting "our master" a less than loving glance. "And our master saw fit to refuse in such insulting terms that Hallow cursed him."
Eric looked embarrassed.
"Why on earth would you turn down a deal like that?" Jason asked, honestly puzzled.
"I don't remember," Eric said, moving fractionally closer to my legs. Fractionally was all the closer he could get. He looked relaxed, but I knew he wasn't. I could feel the tension in his body. "I didn't know my name until this woman, Sookie, told me it."
"And how did you come to be out in the country?"
"I don't know that either."
"He just vanished from where he was," Pam said. "We were sitting in the office with the young witch, and Chow and I were arguing with Eric about his refusal. And then we weren't."
"Ring any bells, Eric?" I asked. I'd caught myself reaching out to stroke his hair, like I would a dog that was huddling close to me.
The vampire looked puzzled. Though Eric's English was excellent, every now and then an idiom would faze him.
"Do you recall anything about this?" I said, more plainly. "Have any memories of it?"
"I was born the moment I was running down the road in the dark and the cold," he said. "Until you took me in, I was a void."
Put that way, it sounded terrifying.
"This just doesn't track," I said. "This wouldn't just happen out of the blue, with no warning."
Pam didn't look offended, but Chow tried to make the effort.
"You two did something, didn't you? You messed up. What did you do?" Both Eric's arms wrapped around my legs, so I was pinned in place. I suppressed a little ripple of panic. He was just insecure.
"Chow lost his temper with the witch," Pam said, after a significant pause.
I closed my eyes. Even Jason seemed to grasp what Pam was saying, because his eyes got bigger. Eric turned his face to rub his cheek along my thigh. I wondered what he was making of this.
"And the minute she was attacked, Eric vanished?" I asked.
Pam nodded.
"So she was booby-trapped with a spell."
"Apparently," Chow said. "Though I had never heard of such a thing, and I can't be held responsible." His glare dared me to say anything.
I turned to Jason and rolled my eyes. Dealing with Chow's blunder was not my responsibility. I was pretty sure that if the whole story was told to the queen of Louisiana, Eric's overlord, she might have a few things to say to Chow about the incident.
There was a little silence, during which Jason got up to put another log on the fire. "You've been in Merlotte's before, haven't you?" he asked the vampires. "Where Sookie works?"
Eric shrugged; he didn't remember. Pam said, "I have, but not Eric." She looked at me to confirm, and after some thought, I nodded.
"So no one's going to instantly associate Eric with Sookie." Jason dropped that observation casually, but he was looking very pleased and almost smug.
"No," Pam said slowly. "Maybe not."
There was definitely something I ought to be worrying about right now, but I couldn't quite see the shape of it.
"So you're clear as far as Bon Temps goes," Jason continued. "I doubt if anyone saw him out last night, except Sookie, and I'm damned if I know why he ended up on that particular road."
My brother had made a second excellent point. He was really operating on all his batteries tonight.
"But lots of people from here do drive to Shreveport to go to that bar, Fangtasia. I've been myself," Jason said. This was news to me, and I gave him a narrow-eyed glare. He shrugged and looked just a tad embarrassed. "So what's gonna happen when someone tries to claim the reward? When they call the number on the poster?"
Chow decided to contribute more to the conversation. "Of course, the 'close friend' who answers will come right away to talk to the informant firsthand. If the caller can convince the 'close friend' that he saw Eric after the whore witch worked her spell on him, the witches will begin looking in a specific area. They're sure to find him. They'll try to contact the local witches, too, get them working on it."
"No witches in Bon Temps," Jason said, looking amazed that Chow would even suggest the idea. There my brother went again, making assumptions.
"Oh, I'll bet there are," I said. "Why not? Remember what I told you?" Though I'd been thinking of Weres and shifters when I'd warned him there were things in the world he wouldn't want to see.
My poor brother was getting overloaded with information this evening. "Why not?" he repeated weakly. "Who would they be?"
"Some women, some men," Pam said, dusting her hands together as if she were talking about some infectious pest. "They are like everyone else who has a secret life—most of them are quite pleasant, fairly harmless." Though Pam didn't sound too positive when she said that. "But the bad ones tend to contaminate the good."
"However," Chow said, staring thoughtfully at Pam, "this is such a backwater that there may well be very few witches in the area. Not all of them are in covens, and getting an unattached witch to cooperate will be very difficult for Hallow and her followers."
"Why can't the Shreveport witches just cast a spell to find Eric?" I asked.
"They can't find anything of his to use to cast such a spell," Pam said, and she sounded as if she knew what she was talking about. "They can't get into his daytime resting place to find a hair or clothes that bear his scent. And there's no one around who's got Eric's blood in her."
Ah-oh. Eric and I looked at each other very briefly. There was me; and I was hoping devoutly that no one knew that but Eric.
"Besides," Chow said, shifting from foot to foot, "in my opinion, since we are dead, such things would not work to cast a spell."
Pam's eyes latched on to Chow's. They were exchanging ideas again, and I didn't like it. Eric, the cause of all this message swapping, was looking back and forth between his two fellow vamps. Even to me he looked clueless.
Pam turned to me. "Eric should stay here, where he is. Moving him will expose him to more danger. With him out of the way and in safety, we can take countermeasures against the witches."
"Going to the mattresses," Jason muttered in my ear, still stuck on the Godfather terminology.
Now that Pam had said it out loud, I could see clearly why I should have become concerned when Jason began emphasizing how impossible it was that anyone should associate Eric with me. No one would believe that a vampire of Eric's power and importance would be parked with a human barmaid.
My amnesiac guest looked bewildered. I leaned forward, gave in briefly to my impulse to stroke his hair, and then I held my hands over his ears. He permitted this, even putting his own hands on top of mine. I was going to pretend he couldn't hear what I was going to say.
"Listen, Chow, Pam. This is the worst idea of all time. I'll tell you why." I could hardly get the words out fast enough, emphatically enough. "How am I supposed to protect him? You know how this will end! I'll get beaten up. Or maybe even killed."
Pam and Chow looked at me with twin blank expressions. They might as well have said, "Your point being?"
"If my sister does this," Jason said, disregarding me completely, "she deserves to get paid for it."
There was what you call a pregnant silence. I gaped at him.
Simultaneously, Pam and Chow nodded.
"At least as much as an informer would get if he called the phone number on the poster," Jason said, his bright blue eyes going from one pale face to another. "Fifty thousand."
"Jason!" I finally found my voice, and I clamped my hands down even tighter over Eric's ears. I was embarrassed and humiliated, without being able to figure out exactly why. For one thing, my brother was arranging my business as though it were his.
"Ten," Chow said.
"Forty-five," Jason countered.
"Twenty."
"Thirty-five."
"Done."
"Sookie, I'll bring you my shotgun," Jason said.
Chapter 3
"How did this happen?" I asked the fire, when they were all gone.
All except for the big Viking vampire I was supposed to preserve and protect.
I was sitting on the rug in front of the fire. I'd just thrown in another piece of wood, and the flames were really lovely. I needed to think about something pleasant and comforting.
I saw a big bare foot out of the corner of my eye. Eric sank down to join me on the hearth rug. "I think this happened because you have a greedy brother, and because you are the kind of woman who would stop for me even though she was afraid," Eric said accurately.
"How are you feeling about all this?" I never would have asked the compos mentis Eric this question, but he still seemed so different; maybe not the completely terrified mess he'd been the night before, but still very un-Eric. "I mean—it's like you're a package that they put in a storage locker, me being the locker."
"I am glad they are afraid enough of me to take good care of me."
"Huh," I said intelligently. Not the answer I'd expected.
"I must be a frightening person, when I am myself. Or do I inspire so much loyalty through my good works and kind ways?"
I sniggered.
"I thought not."
"You're okay," I said reassuringly, though come to think of it, Eric didn't look like he needed much reassurance. However, now I was responsible for him. "Aren't your feet cold?"
"No," he said. But now I was in the business of taking care of Eric, who so didn't need taking care of. And I was being paid a staggering amount of money to do just that, I reminded myself sternly. I got the old quilt from the back of the couch and covered his legs and feet in green, blue, and yellow squares. I collapsed back onto the rug beside him.
"That's truly hideous," Eric said.
"That's what Bill said." I rolled over on my stomach and caught myself smiling.
"Where is this Bill?"
"He's in Peru."
"Did he tell you he was going?"
"Yes."
"Am I to assume that your relationship with him has waned?"
That was a pretty nice way to put it. "We've been on the outs. It's beginning to look permanent," I said, my voice even.
He was on his stomach beside me now, propped up on his elbows so we could talk. He was a little closer than I was comfortable with, but I didn't want to make a big issue out of scooting over. He half turned to toss the quilt over both of us.
"Tell me about him," Eric said unexpectedly. He and Pam and Chow had all had a glass of TrueBlood before the other vampires left, and he was looking pinker.
"You know Bill," I told him. "He's worked for you for quite a while. I guess you can't remember, but Bill's—well, he's kind of cool and calm, and he's really protective, and he can't seem to get some things through his head." I never thought I'd be rehashing my relationship with Bill with Eric, of all people.
"He loves you?"
I sighed, and my eyes watered, as they so often did when I thought of Bill—Weeping Willa, that was me. "Well, he said he did," I muttered dismally. "But then when this vampire ho contacted him somehow, he went a-running." For all I knew, she'd emailed him. "He'd had an affair with her before, and she turned out to be his, I don't know what you call 'em, the one who turned him into a vampire. Brought him over, he said. So Bill took back up with her. He says he had to. And then he found out"—I looked sideways at Eric with a significant raise of the eyebrows, and Eric looked fascinated—"that she was just trying to lure him over to the even-darker side."
"Pardon?"
"She was trying to get him to come over to another vampire group in Mississippi and bring with him the really valuable computer database he'd put together for your people, the Louisiana vamps," I said, simplifying a little bit for the sake of brevity.
"What happened?"
This was as much fun as talking to Arlene. Maybe even more, because I'd never been able to tell her the whole story. "Well, Lorena, that's her name, she tortured him," I said, and Eric's eyes widened. "Can you believe that? She could torture someone she'd made love with? Someone she'd lived with for years?" Eric shook his head disbelievingly. "Anyway, you told me to go to Jackson and find him, and I sort of picked up clues at this nightclub for Supes only." Eric nodded. Evidently, I didn't have to explain that Supes meant supernatural beings. "Its real name is Josephine's, but the Weres call it Club Dead. You told me to go there with this really nice Were who owed you a big favor, and I stayed at his place." Alcide Herveaux still figured in my daydreams. "But I ended up getting hurt pretty bad," I concluded. Hurt pretty bad, as always.
"How?"
"I got staked, believe it or not."
Eric looked properly impressed. "Is there a scar?"
"Yeah, even though—" And here I stopped dead.
He gave every indication he was hanging on my words. "What?"
"You got one of the Jackson vampires to work on the wound, so I'd survive for sure . . . and then you gave me blood to heal me quick, so I could look for Bill at daylight." Remembering how Eric had given me blood made my cheeks turn red, and I could only hope Eric would attribute my flush to the heat of the fire.
"And you saved Bill?" he said, moving beyond that touchy part.
"Yes, I did," I said proudly. "I saved his ass." I rolled onto my back and looked up at him. Gee, it was nice to have someone to talk to. I pulled up my T-shirt and inclined partially on my side to show Eric the scar, and he looked impressed. He touched the shiny area with a fingertip and shook his head. I rearranged myself.
"And what happened to the vampire ho?" he asked
I eyed him suspiciously, but he didn't seem to be making fun of me. "Well," I said, "um, actually, I kind of . . . She came in while I was getting Bill untied, and she attacked me, and I kind of . . . killed her."
Eric looked at me intently. I couldn't read his expression. "Had you ever killed anyone before?" he asked.
"Of course not!" I said indignantly. "Well, I did hurt a guy who was trying to kill me, but he didn't die. No, I'm a human. I don't have to kill anyone to live."
"But humans kill other humans all the time. And they don't even need to eat them or drink their blood."
"Not all humans."
"True enough," he said. "We vampires are all murderers."
"But in a way, you're like lions."
Eric looked astonished. "Lions?" he said weakly.
"Lions all kill stuff." At the moment, this idea seemed like an inspiration. "So you're predators, like lions and raptors. But you use what you kill. You have to kill to eat."
"The catch in that comforting theory being that we look almost exactly like you. And we used to be you. And we can love you, as well as feed off you. You could hardly say the lion wanted to caress the antelope."
Suddenly there was something in the air that hadn't been there the moment before. I felt a little like an antelope that was being stalked—by a lion that was a deviant.
I'd felt more comfortable when I was taking care of a terrified victim.
"Eric," I said, very cautiously, "you know you're my guest here. And you know if I tell you to leave, which I will if you're not straight with me, you'll be standing out in the middle of a field somewhere in a bathrobe that's too short for you."
"Have I said something to make you uncomfortable?" He was (apparently) completely contrite, blue eyes blazing with sincerity. "I'm sorry. I was just trying to continue your train of thought. Do you have some more TrueBlood? What clothes did Jason get for me? Your brother is a very clever man." He didn't sound a hundred percent admiring when he told me this. I didn't blame him. Jason's cleverness might cost him thirty-five thousand dollars. I got up to fetch the WalMart bag, hoping that Eric liked his new Louisiana Tech sweatshirt and cheap jeans.
I turned in about midnight, leaving Eric absorbed in my tapes of the first season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. (Though welcome, these were actually a gag gift from Tara.) Eric thought the show was a hoot, especially the way the vampires' foreheads bulged out when they got blood-lusty. From time to time, I could hear Eric laughing all the way back
in my room. But the sound didn't bother me. I found it reassuring to hear someone else in the house.
It took me a little longer than usual to fall asleep, because I was thinking over the things that had happened that day. Eric was in the witness protection program, in a way, and I was providing the safe house. No one in the world—well, except for Jason, Pam, and Chow—knew where the sheriff of Area Five actually was at this moment.
Which was, sliding into my bed.
I didn't want to open my eyes and quarrel with him. I was just at that cusp between waking and dreaming. When he'd climbed in the night before, Eric had been so afraid that I'd felt quite maternal, comfortable in holding his hand to reassure him. Tonight it didn't seem so, well, neutral, having him in the bed with me.
"Cold?" I murmured, as he huddled close.
"Um-hum," he whispered. I was on my back, so comfortable I could not contemplate moving. He was on his side facing me, and he put an arm across my waist. But he didn't move another inch, and he relaxed completely. After a moment's tension, I did, too, and then I was dead to the world.
The next thing I knew, it was morning and the phone was ringing. Of course, I was by myself in bed, and through my open doorway I could see across the hall into the smaller bedroom. The closet door was open, as he'd had to leave it when dawn came and he'd lowered himself into the light-tight hole.
It was bright and warmer today, up in the forties and heading for the fifties. I felt much more cheerful than I'd felt upon waking the day before. I knew what was happening now; or at least I knew more or less what I was supposed to do, how the next few days would go. Or I thought I did. When I answered the phone, I discovered that I was way off.
"Where's your brother?" yelled Jason's boss, Shirley Hennessey. You thought a man named Shirley was funny only until you were face-to-face with the real deal, at which point you decided it would really be better to keep your amusement to yourself.
"How would I know?" I said reasonably. "Probably slept over at some woman's place." Shirley, who was universally known as Catfish, had never, ever called here before to track Jason down. In fact, I'd be surprised if he'd ever had to call anywhere. One thing Jason was good about was showing up at work on time and at least going through the motions until that time was up. In fact, Jason was pretty good at his job, which I'd never fully understood. It seemed to involve parking his fancy truck at the parish road department,
getting into another truck with the Renard parish logo on the door, and driving around telling various road crews what to do. It also seemed to demand that he get out of the truck to stand with other men as they all stared into big holes in or near the road.
Catfish was knocked off balance by my frankness. "Sookie, you shouldn't say that kind of thing," he said, quite shocked at a single woman admitting she knew her brother wasn't a virgin.
"Are you telling me that Jason hasn't shown up at work? And you've called his house?"
"Yes and yes," said Catfish, who in most respects was no fool. "I even sent Dago out to his place." Dago (road crew members had to have nicknames) was Antonio Guglielmi, who had never been farther from Louisiana than Mississippi. I was pretty sure the same could be said for his parents, and possibly his grandparents, though there was rumor they'd once been to Branson to take in the shows.
"Was his truck out there?" I was beginning to have that cold creeping feeling.
"Yes," Catfish said. "It was parked in front of his house, keys inside. Door hanging open."
"The truck door or the house door?"
"What?"
"Hanging open. Which door?"
"Oh, the truck."
"This is bad, Catfish," I said. I was tingling all over with alarm.
"When you seen him last?"
"Just last night. He was over here visiting with me, and he left about . . . oh, let's see . . . it must have been nine-thirty or ten."
"He have anybody with him?"
"No." He hadn't brought anybody with him, so that was pretty much the truth.
"You think I oughta call the sheriff?" Catfish asked.
I ran a hand over my face. I wasn't ready for that yet, no matter how off the situation seemed. "Let's give it another hour," I suggested. "If he hasn't dragged into work in an hour, you let me know. If he does come in, you make him call me. I guess it's me ought to tell the sheriff, if it comes to that."
I hung up after Catfish had repeated everything he'd said several times, just because he hated to hang up and go back to worrying. No, I can't read minds over the telephone line, but I could read it in his voice. I've known Catfish Hennessey for many years. He was a buddy of my father's.
I carried the cordless phone into the bathroom with me while I took a shower to wake up. I didn't wash my hair, just in case I had to go outside right away. I got dressed, made some coffee, and braided my hair in one long braid. All the time while I performed these tasks, I was thinking, which is something that's hard for me to do when I'm sitting still.
I came up with these scenarios.
One. (This was my favorite.) Somewhere between my house and his house, my brother had met up with a woman and fallen in love so instantly and completely that he had abandoned his habit of years and forgotten all about work. At this moment, they were in a bed somewhere, having great sex.
Two. The witches, or whatever the hell they were, had somehow found out that Jason knew where Eric was, and they'd abducted him to force the information from him. (I made a mental note to learn more about witches.) How long could Jason keep the secret of Eric's location? My brother had lots of attitude, but he actually is a brave man—or maybe stubborn is a little more accurate. He wouldn't talk easily. Maybe a witch could spell him into talking? If the witches had him, he might be dead already, since they'd had him for hours. And if he'd talked, I was in danger and Eric was doomed. They could be coming at any minute, since witches are not bound by darkness. Eric was dead for the day, defenseless. This was definitely the worst-case scenario.
Three. Jason had returned to Shreveport with Pam and Chow. Maybe they'd decided to pay him some up-front money, or maybe Jason just wanted to visit Fangtasia because it was a popular nightspot. Once there, he could have been seduced by some vamp girl and stayed up all night with her, since Jason was like Eric in that women really, really took a shine to him. If she'd taken a little too much blood, Jason could be sleeping it off. I guess number three was really a variation on number one.
If Pam and Chow knew where Jason was but hadn't phoned before they died for the day, I was real mad. My gut instinct was to go get the hatchet and start chopping some stakes.
Then I remembered what I was trying so hard to forget: how it had felt when the stake pushed into Lorena's body, the expression on her face when she'd realized her long, long life was over. I shoved that thought away as hard as I could. You didn't kill someone (even
an evil vampire) without it affecting you sooner or later: at least not unless you were a complete sociopath, which I wasn't.
Lorena would have killed me without blinking. In fact, she would have positively enjoyed it. But then, she was a vampire, and Bill never tired of telling me that vampires were different; that though they retained their human appearance (more or less), their internal functions and their personalities underwent a radical change. I believed him and took his warnings to heart, for the most part. It was just that they looked so human; it was so very easy to attribute normal human reactions and feelings to them.
The frustrating thing was, Chow and Pam wouldn't be up until dark, and I didn't know who—or what—I'd raise if I called Fangtasia during the day. I didn't think the two lived at the club. I'd gotten the impression that Pam and Chow shared a house . . . or a mausoleum . . . somewhere in Shreveport.
I was fairly sure that human employees came into the club during the day to clean, but of course a human wouldn't (couldn't) tell me anything about vampire affairs. Humans who worked for vampires learned pretty quick to keep their mouths shut, as I could attest.
On the other hand, if I went to the club I'd have a chance to talk to someone face-to-face. I'd have a chance to read a human mind. I couldn't read vampire minds, which had led to my initial attraction to Bill. Imagine the relief of silence after a lifetime of elevator music. (Now, why couldn't I hear vampire thoughts? Here's my big theory about that. I'm about as scientific as a Saltine, but I have read about neurons, which fire in your brain, right? When you're thinking? Since it's magic that animates vampires, not normal life force, their brains don't fire. So, nothing for me to pick up—except about once every three months, I'd get a flash from a vampire. And I took great care to conceal that, because that was a sure way to court instant death.)
Oddly enough, the only vampire I'd ever "heard" twice was—you guessed it—Eric.
I'd been enjoying Eric's recent company so much for the same reason I'd enjoyed Bill's, quite apart from the romantic component I'd had with Bill. Even Arlene had a tendency to stop listening to me when I was talking, if she thought of something more interesting, like her children's grades or cute things they'd said. But with Eric, he could be thinking about his car needing new windshield wipers while I was pouring my heart out, and I was none the wiser.
The hour I'd asked Catfish to give me was almost up, and all my constructive thought had dwindled into the same murky maundering I'd gone through several times. Blah blah blah. This is what happens when you talk to yourself a lot.
Okay, action time.
The phone rang right at the hour, and Catfish admitted he had no news. No one had heard from Jason or seen him; but on the other hand, Dago hadn't seen anything suspicious at Jason's place except the truck's open door.
I was still reluctant to call the sheriff, but I didn't see that I had much choice. At this point, it would seem peculiar to skip calling him.
I expected a lot of hubbub and alarm, but what I got was even worse: I got benevolent indifference. Sheriff Bud Dearborn actually laughed.
"You callin' me because your tomcat of a brother is missing a day of work? Sookie Stackhouse, I'm surprised at you." Bud Dearborn had a slow voice and the mashed-in face of a Pekinese, and it was all too easy to picture him snuffling into the phone.
"He never misses work, and his truck is at his house. The door was open," I said.
He did grasp that significance, because Bud Dearborn is a man who knows how to appreciate a fine pickup.
"That does sound a little funny, but still, Jason is way over twenty-one and he has a reputation for . . ." (Drilling anything that stands still, I thought.) ". . . being real popular with the ladies," Bud concluded carefully. "I bet he's all shacked up with someone new, and he'll be real sorry to have caused you any worry. You call me back if you haven't heard from him by tomorrow afternoon, you hear?"
"Right," I said in my most frozen voice.
"Now, Sookie, don't you go getting all mad at me, I'm just telling you what any lawman would tell you," he said.
I thought, Any lawman with lead in his butt. But I didn't say it out loud. Bud was what I had to work with, and I had to stay on his good side, as much as possible.
I muttered something that was vaguely polite and got off the phone. After reporting back to Catfish, I decided my only course of action was to go to Shreveport. I started to call Arlene, but I remembered she'd have the kids at home since it was still the school holiday. I thought of calling Sam, but I figured he might feel like he ought to do something, and I
couldn't figure out what that would be. I just wanted to share my worries with someone. I knew that wasn't right. No one could help me, but me. Having made up my mind to be brave and independent, I almost phoned Alcide Herveaux, who is a well-to-do and hardworking guy based in Shreveport. Alcide's dad runs a surveying firm that contracts for jobs in three states, and Alcide travels a lot among the various offices. I'd mentioned him the night before to Eric; Eric had sent Alcide to Jackson with me. But Alcide and I had some man-woman issues that were still unresolved, and it would be cheating to call him when I only wanted help he couldn't give. At least, that was how I felt.
I was scared to leave the house in case there might be news of Jason, but since the sheriff wasn't looking for him, I hardly thought there would be any word soon.
Before I left, I made sure I'd arranged the closet in the smaller bedroom so that it looked natural. It would be a little harder for Eric to get out when the sun went down, but it wouldn't be extremely difficult. Leaving him a note would be a dead giveaway if someone broke in, and he was too smart to answer the phone if I called just after dark had fallen. But he was so discombobulated by his amnesia, he might be scared to wake all by himself with no explanation of my absence, I thought.
I had a brainwave. Grabbing a little square piece of paper from last year's Word of the Day calendar ("enthrallment"), I wrote: Jason, if you should happen to drop by, call me! I am very worried about you. No one knows where you are. I'll be back this afternoon or evening. I'm going to drop by your house, and then I'll check to see if you went to Shreveport. Then, back here. Love, Sookie. I got some tape and stuck the note to the refrigerator, just where a sister might expect her brother to head if he stopped by.
There. Eric was plenty smart enough to read between the lines. And yet every word of it was feasible, so if anyone did break in to search the house, they'd think I was taking a smart precaution.
But still, I was frightened of leaving the sleeping Eric so vulnerable. What if the witches came looking?
But why should they?
If they could have tracked Eric, they'd have been here by now, right? At least, that was the way I was reasoning. I thought of calling someone like Terry Bellefleur, who was plenty tough, to come sit in my house—I could use waiting on a call about Jason as my pretext—but it wasn't right to endanger anyone else in Eric's defense.
I called all the hospitals in the area, feeling all the while that the sheriff should be doing this little job for me. The hospitals knew the name of everyone admitted, and none of them was Jason. I called the highway patrol to ask about accidents the night before and found there had been none in the vicinity. I called a few women Jason had dated, and I received a lot of negative responses, some of them obscene.
I thought I'd covered all the bases. I was ready to go to Jason's house, and I remember I was feeling pretty proud of myself as I drove north on Hummingbird Road and then took a left onto the highway. As I headed west to the house where I'd spent my first seven years, I drove past Merlotte's to my right and then past the main turnoff into Bon Temps. I negotiated the left turn and I could see our old home, sure enough with Jason's pickup parked in front of it. There was another pickup, equally shiny, parked about twenty feet away from Jason's.
When I got out of my car, a very black man was examining the ground around the truck. I was surprised to discover that the second pickup belonged to Alcee Beck, the only African-American detective on the parish force. Alcee's presence was both reassuring and disturbing.
"Miss Stackhouse," he said gravely. Alcee Beck was wearing a jacket and slacks and heavy scuffed boots. The boots didn't go with the rest of his clothes, and I was willing to bet he kept them in his truck for when he had to go tromping around out in the country where the ground was less than dry. Alcee (whose name was pronounced Al-SAY) was also a strong broadcaster, and I could receive his thoughts clearly when I let down my shields to listen.
I learned in short order that Alcee Beck wasn't happy to see me, didn't like me, and did think something hinky had happened to Jason. Detective Beck didn't care for Jason, but he was actually scared of me. He thought I was a deeply creepy person, and he avoided me as much as possible.
Which was okay by me, frankly.
I knew more about Alcee Beck than I was comfortable knowing, and what I knew about Alcee was really unpleasant. He was brutal to uncooperative prisoners, though he adored his wife and daughter. He was lining his own pockets whenever he got a chance, and he made sure the chances came along pretty frequently. Alcee Beck confined this practice to the African-American community, operating on the theory that they'd never report him to the other white law enforcement personnel, and so far he'd been right.
See what I mean about not wanting to know things I heard? This was a lot different from finding out that Arlene really didn't think Charlsie's husband was good enough for Charlsie, or that Hoyt Fortenberry had dented a car in the parking lot and hadn't told the owner.
And before you ask me what I do about stuff like that, I'll tell you. I don't do squat. I've found out the hard way that it almost never works out if I try to intervene. What happens is no one is happier, and my little freakishness is brought to everyone's attention, and no one is comfortable around me for a month. I've got more secrets than Fort Knox has money. And those secrets are staying locked up just as tight.
I'll admit that most of those little facts I accumulated didn't make much difference in the grand scheme of things, whereas Alcee's misbehavior actually led to human misery. But so far I hadn't seen a single way to stop Alcee. He was very clever about keeping his activities under control and hidden from anyone with the power to intervene. And I wasn't too awful sure that Bud Dearborn didn't know.
"Detective Beck," I said. "Are you looking for Jason?"
"The sheriff asked me to come by and see if I could find anything out of order."
"And have you found anything?"
"No, ma'am, I haven't."
"Jason's boss told you the door to his truck was open?"
"I closed it so the battery wouldn't run down. I was careful not to touch anything, of course. But I'm sure your brother will show back up any time now, and he'll be unhappy if we mess with his stuff for no reason."
"I have a key to his house, and I'm going to ask you to go in there with me."
"Do you suspect anything happened to your brother in his house?" Alcee Beck was being so careful to spell everything out that I wondered if he had a tape recorder rolling away in his pocket.
"Could be. He doesn't normally miss work. In fact, he never misses work. And I always know where he is. He's real good about letting me know."
"He'd tell you if he was running off with a woman? Most brothers wouldn't do that, Miss Stackhouse."
"He'd tell me, or he'd tell Catfish."
Alcee Beck did his best to keep his skeptical look on his dark face, but it didn't sit there easily.
The house was still locked. I picked out the right key from the ones on my ring, and we went inside. I didn't have the feeling of homecoming when I entered, the feeling I used to have as a kid. I'd lived in Gran's house so much longer than this little place. The minute Jason had turned twenty, he'd moved over here full-time, and though I'd dropped in, I'd probably spent less than twenty-four hours total in this house in the last eight years.
Glancing around me, I realized that my brother really hadn't changed the house much in all that time. It was a small ranch-style house with small rooms, but of course it was a lot younger than Gran's house—my house—and a lot more heating- and cooling-efficient. My father had done most of the work on it, and he was a good builder.
The small living room was still filled with the maple furniture my mother had picked out at the discount furniture store, and its upholstery (cream with green and blue flowers that had never been seen in nature) was still bright, more's the pity. It had taken me a few years to realize that my mother, while a clever woman in some respects, had had no taste whatsoever. Jason had never come to that realization. He'd replaced the curtains when they frayed and faded, and he'd gotten a new rug to cover the most worn spots on the ancient blue carpet. The appliances were all new, and he'd worked hard on updating the bathroom. But my parents, if they could have entered their home, would have felt quite comfortable.
It was a shock to realize they'd been dead for nearly twenty years.
While I stood close to the doorway, praying I wouldn't see bloodstains, Alcee Beck prowled through the house, which certainly seemed orderly. After a second's indecision, I decided to follow him. There wasn't much to see; like I say, it's a small house. Three bedrooms (two of them quite cramped), the living room, a kitchen, one bathroom, a fair-sized family room, and a small dining room: a house that could be duplicated any number of times in any town in America.
The house was quite tidy. Jason had never lived like a pig, though sometimes he acted like one. Even the king-size bed that almost filled the biggest bedroom was more-or-less pulled straight, though I could see the sheets were black and shiny. They were supposed to look like silk, but I was sure they were some artificial blend. Too slithery for me; I liked percale.
"No evidence of any struggle," the detective pointed out.
"While I'm here, I'm just going to get something," I told him, going over to the gun cabinet that had been my dad's. It was locked, so I checked my key ring again. Yes, I had a key for that, too, and I remembered some long story Jason had told me about why I needed one—in case he was out hunting and he needed another rifle, or something. As if I'd drop everything and run to fetch another rifle for him!
Well, I might, if I wasn't due at work, or something.
All Jason's rifles, and my father's, were in the gun cabinet—all the requisite ammunition, too.
"All present?" The detective was shifting around impatiently in the doorway to the dining room.
"Yes. I'm just going to take one of them home with me."
"You expecting trouble at your place?" Beck looked interested for the first time.
"If Jason is gone, who knows what it means?" I said, hoping that was ambiguous enough. Beck had a very low opinion of my intelligence, anyway, despite the fact that he feared me. Jason had said he would bring me the shotgun, and I knew I would feel the better for having it. So I got out the Benelli and found its shells. Jason had very carefully taught me how to load and fire the shotgun, which was his pride and joy. There were two different boxes of shells.
"Which?" I asked Detective Beck.
"Wow, a Benelli." He took time out to be impressed with gun. "Twelve-gauge, huh? Me, I'd take the turkey loads," he advised. "Those target loads don't have as much stopping power."
I popped the box he indicated into my pocket.
I carried the shotgun out to my car, Beck trailing on my heels.
"You have to lock the shotgun in your trunk and the shells in the car," the detective informed me. I did exactly what he said, even putting the shells in the glove compartment, and then I turned to face him. He would be glad to be out of my sight, and I didn't think he would look for Jason with any enthusiasm.
"Did you check around back?" I asked.
"I had just gotten here when you pulled up."
I jerked my head in the direction of the pond behind the house, and we circled around to the rear. My brother, aided by Hoyt Fortenberry, had put in a large deck outside the back door maybe two years ago. He'd arranged some nice outdoor furniture he'd gotten on end-of-season sale at WalMart. Jason had even put an ashtray on the wrought-iron table for his friends who went outside to smoke. Someone had used it. Hoyt smoked, I recalled. There was nothing else interesting on the deck.
The ground sloped down from the deck to the pond. While Alcee Beck checked the back door, I looked down to the pier my father had built, and I thought I could see a smear on the wood. Something in me crumpled at the sight, and I must have made a noise. Alcee came to stand by me, and I said, "Look at the pier."
He went on point, just like a setter. He said, "Stay where you are," in an unmistakably official voice. He moved carefully, looking down at the ground around his feet before he took each step. I felt like an hour passed before Alcee finally reached the pier. He squatted down on the sun-bleached boards to take a close look. He focused a little to the right of the smear, evaluating something I couldn't see, something I couldn't even make out in his mind. But then he wondered what kind of work boots my brother wore; that came in clear.
"Caterpillars," I called. The fear built up in me till I felt I was vibrating with the intensity of it. Jason was all I had.
And I realized I'd made a mistake I hadn't done in years: I'd answered a question before it had been asked out loud. I clapped a hand over my mouth and saw the whites of Beck's eyes. He wanted away from me. And he was thinking maybe Jason was in the pond, dead. He was speculating that Jason had fallen and knocked his head against the pier, and then slid into the water. But there was a puzzling print. . . .
"When can you search the pond?" I called.
He turned to look at me, terror on his face. I hadn't had anyone look at me like that in years. I had him spooked, and I hadn't wanted to have that effect on him.
"The blood is on the dock," I pointed out, trying to improve matters. Providing a reasonable explanation was second nature. "I'm scared Jason went into the water."
Beck seemed to settle down a little after that. He turned his eyes back to the water. My father had chosen the site for the house to include the pond. He'd told me when I was little that the pond was very deep and fed by a tiny stream. The area around two-thirds of the pond was mowed and maintained as yard; but the farthest edge of it was left thickly
wooded, and Jason enjoyed sitting on the deck in the late evening with binoculars, watching critters come to drink.
There were fish in the pond. He kept it stocked. My stomach lurched.
Finally, the detective walked up the slope to the deck. "I have to call around, see who can dive," Alcee Beck said. "It may take a while to find someone who can do it. And the chief has to okay it."
Of course, such a thing would cost money, and that money might not be in the parish budget. I took a deep breath. "Are you talking hours, or days?"
"Maybe a day or two," he said at last. "No way anyone can do it who isn't trained. It's too cold, and Jason himself told me it was deep."
"All right," I said, trying to suppress my impatience and anger. Anxiety gnawed at me like another kind of hunger.
"Carla Rodriguez was in town last night," Alcee Beck told me, and after a long moment, the significance of that sank into my brain.
Carla Rodriguez, tiny and dark and electric, had been the closest shave Jason had ever had with losing his heart. In fact, the little shifter Jason had had a date with on New Year's Eve had somewhat resembled Carla, who had moved to Houston three years ago, much to my relief. I'd been tired of the pyrotechnics surrounding her romance with my brother; their relationship had been punctuated by long and loud and public arguments, hung-up telephones, and slammed doors.
"Why? Who's she staying with?"
"Her cousin in Shreveport," Beck said. "You know, that Dovie."
Dovie Rodriguez had visited Bon Temps a lot while Carla had lived here. Dovie had been the more sophisticated city cousin, down in the country to correct all our local yokel ways. Of course, we'd envied Dovie.
I thought that tackling Dovie was just what I wanted to do.
It looked like I'd be going to Shreveport after all.