True Blood Book Four Chapters 13-15

Chapter 13
The aftermath of a battle is melancholy and nasty. I guess you could call what we'd had a battle . . . maybe more like a supernatural skirmish? The wounded have to be tended, the blood has to be cleaned up, the bodies have to be buried. Or, in this case, disposed of—Pam decided to burn the store down, leaving the bodies of Hallow's coven inside.
They hadn't all died. Hallow, of course, was still alive. One other witch survived, though she was badly hurt and very low on blood. Of the Weres, Colonel Flood was gravely wounded; Portugal had been killed by Mark Stonebrook. The others were more or less okay. Only Chow had died, out of the vampire contingent. The others had wounds, some very horrible, but vampires will heal.
It surprised me that the witches hadn't made a better showing.
"They were probably good witches, but they weren't good fighters," Pam said. "They were picked for their magical ability and their willingness to follow Hallow, not for their battle skills. She shouldn't have tried to take over Shreveport with such a following."
"Why Shreveport?" I asked Pam.
"I'm going to find out," Pam said, smiling.
I shuddered. I didn't want to consider Pam's methods. "How are you going to keep her from doing a spell on you while you question her?"
Pam said, "I'll think of something." She was still smiling.
"Sorry about Chow," I said, a little hesitantly.
"The job of bartender at Fangtasia doesn't seem to be a good-luck job," she admitted. "I don't know if I'll be able to find someone to replace Chow. After all, he and Long Shadow both perished within a year of starting work."
"What are you going to do about un-hexing Eric?"
Pam seemed glad enough to talk to me, even if I was only a human, since she'd lost her sidekick. "We'll make Hallow do it, sooner or later. And she'll tell us why she did it."
"If Hallow just gives up the general outline of the spell, will that be enough? Or will she have to perform it herself?" I tried to rephrase that in my head so it was clearer, but Pam seemed to understand me.
"I don't know. We'll have to ask our friendly Wiccans. The ones you saved should be grateful enough to give us any help we need," Pam said, while she tossed some more gasoline around the room. She'd already checked the building to remove the few things she might want from it, and the local coven had gathered up the magical paraphernalia, in case one of the cops who came to investigate this fire could recognize the remnants.
I glanced at my watch. I hoped that Holly had made it safely home by now. I would tell her that her son was safe.
I kept my eyes averted from the job the youngest witch was doing on Colonel Flood's left leg. He'd sustained an ugly gash in the quadriceps. It was a serious wound. He made light of it, and after Alcide fetched their clothes, the colonel limped around with a smile on his face. But when blood seeped through the bandage, the packmaster had to allow his Weres to take him to a doctor who happened to be two-natured and willing to help off the books, since no one could think of a good story that would explain such a wound. Before he left, Colonel Flood shook hands ceremoniously with the head witch and with Pam, though I could see the sweat beading on his forehead even in the frigid air of the old building.
I asked Eric if he felt any different, but he was still oblivious to his past. He looked upset and on the verge of terror. Mark Stonebrook's death hadn't made a bit of difference, so Hallow was in for a few dreadful hours, courtesy of Pam. I just accepted that. I didn't want to think about it closely. Or at all.
As for me, I was feeling completely at a loss. Should I go home to Bon Temps, taking Eric with me? (Was I in charge of him anymore?) Should I try to find a place to spend the remaining hours of the night here in the city? Shreveport was home for everyone but Bill and me, and Bill was planning on using Chow's empty bed (or whatever it was) for the coming day, at Pam's suggestion.
I dithered around indecisively for a few minutes, trying to make up my mind. But no one seemed to need me for anything specific, and no one sought me out for conversation. So when Pam got involved in giving the other vampires directions about Hallow's transportation, I just walked out. The night was quite as still as it had been, but a few dogs did bark as I walked down the street. The smell of magic had lessened. The night was just as dark, and even colder, and I was at low ebb. I didn't know what I'd say if a policeman
stopped me; I was blood-spattered and tattered, and I had no explanation. At the moment, I found it hard to care.
I'd gotten maybe a block when Eric caught up with me. He was very anxious—almost fearful. "You weren't there. I just looked around and you weren't there," he said accusingly. "Where are you going? Why didn't you tell me?"
"Please," I said, and held up a hand to beg him to be silent. "Please." I was too tired to be strong for him, and I had to fight an overwhelming depression, though I couldn't have told you exactly why; after all, no one had hit me. I should be happy, right? The goals of the evening had been met. Hallow was conquered and in captivity; though Eric hadn't been restored to himself, he soon would be, because Pam was sure to bring Hallow around to the vampire way of thinking, in a painful and terminal way.
Undoubtedly, Pam would also discover why Hallow had begun this whole course of action. And Fangtasia would acquire a new bartender, some fangy hunk who would bring in the tourist bucks. She and Eric would open the strip club they'd been considering, or the all-night dry-cleaners, or the bodyguard service.
My brother would still be missing.
"Let me go home with you. I don't know them," Eric said, his voice low and almost pleading. I hurt inside when Eric said something that was so contrary to his normal personality. Or was I seeing Eric's true nature? Was his flash and assurance something he'd assumed, like another skin, over the years?
"Sure, come on," I said, as desperate as Eric was, but in my own way. I just wanted him to be quiet, and strong.
I'd settle for quiet.
He loaned me his physical strength, at least. He picked me up and carried me back to the car. I was surprised to find that my cheeks were wet with tears.
"You have blood all over you," he said into my ear.
"Yes, but don't get excited about it," I warned. "It doesn't do a thing for me. I just want to shower." I was at the hiccupping-sob stage of crying, almost done.
"You'll have to get rid of this coat now," he said, with some satisfaction.
"I'll get it cleaned." I was too tired to respond to disparaging comments about my coat.
Getting away from the weight and smell of the magic was almost as good as a big cup of coffee and a hit of oxygen. By the time I got close to Bon Temps, I wasn't feeling so ragged, and I was calm as I let us in the back door. Eric came in behind me and took a step to my right to go around the kitchen table, as I leaned left to flick on the light switch.
When I turned on the light, Debbie Pelt was smiling at me.
She had been sitting in the dark at my kitchen table, and she had a gun in her hand.
Without saying a word, she fired at me.
But she'd reckoned without Eric, who was so fast, faster than any human. He took the bullet meant for me, and he took it right in the chest. He went down in front of me.
She hadn't had time to search the house, which was lucky. From behind the water heater, I yanked the shotgun I'd taken from Jason's house. I pumped it—one of the scariest sounds in the world—and I shot Debbie Pelt while she was still staring, shocked, at Eric, who was on his knees and coughing up blood. I racked another shell, but I didn't need to shoot her again. Her fingers relaxed and her gun fell to the floor.
I sat on the floor myself, because I couldn't stay upright anymore.
Eric was now full length on the floor, gasping and twitching in a pool of blood.
There wasn't much left of Debbie's upper chest and neck.
My kitchen looked like I'd been dismembering pigs, pigs that'd put up a good fight.
I started to reach up to scrabble for the telephone at the end of the counter. My hand dropped back to the floor when I wondered whom I was going to call.
The law? Ha.
Sam? And mire him down further in my troubles? I didn't think so.
Pam? Let her see how close I'd come to letting my charge get killed? Uh-uh.
Alcide? Sure, he'd love seeing what I'd done with his fiancée, abjure or no abjure.
Arlene? She had her living to make, and two little kids. She didn't need to be around something illegal.
Tara? Too queasy.
This is when I would have called my brother, if I'd known where he was. When you have to clean the blood out of the kitchen, it's family you want.
I'd have to do this by myself.
Eric came first. I scrambled over to him, reclined by him with one elbow to prop me up.
"Eric," I said loudly. His blue eyes opened. They were bright with pain.
The hole in his chest bubbled blood. I hated to think what the exit wound looked like. Maybe it had been a twenty-two? Maybe the bullet was still inside? I looked at the wall behind where he'd been standing, and I couldn't see a spray of blood or a bullet hole. Actually, I realized, if the bullet had gone through him, it would have struck me. I looked down at myself, fumbled the coat off. No, no fresh blood.
As I watched Eric, he began to look a little better. "Drink," he said, and I almost put my wrist to his lips, when I reconsidered. I managed to get some TrueBlood out of the refrigerator and heat it up, though the front of the microwave was less than pristine.
I knelt to give it to him. "Why not you?" he asked painfully.
"I'm sorry," I apologized. "I know you earned it, sweetie. But I have to have all my energy. I've got more work ahead."
Eric downed the drink in a few big gulps. I'd unbuttoned his coat and his flannel shirt, and as I looked at his chest to mark the progression of his bleeding, I saw an amazing thing. The bullet that had hit him popped out of the wound. In another three minutes, or perhaps less, the hole had closed. The blood was still drying on his chest hair, and the bullet wound was gone.
"Another drink?" Eric asked.
"Sure. How do you feel?" I was numb myself.
His smile was crooked. "Weak."
I got him more blood and he drank this bottle more slowly. Wincing, he pulled himself to a full sitting position. He looked at the mess on the other side of the table.
Then he looked at me.
"I know, I know, I did terrible!" I said. "I'm so sorry!" I could feel tears—again—trailing down my cheeks. I could hardly feel more miserable. I'd done a dreadful thing. I'd failed in my job. I had a massive cleanup ahead of me. And I looked awful.
Eric looked mildly surprised at my outburst. "You might have died of the bullet, and I knew I wouldn't," he pointed out. "I kept the bullet from you in the most expedient way, and then you defended me effectively."
That was certainly a skewed way to look at it, but oddly enough, I did feel less horrible.
"I killed another human," I said. That made two in one night; but in my opinion, the hollow-cheeked witch had killed himself by pushing down on the knife.
I'd definitely fired the shotgun all by myself.
I shuddered and turned away from the ragged shell of bone and flesh that had once held Debbie Pelt.
"You didn't," he said sharply. "You killed a shifter who was a treacherous, murderous bitch, a shifter who had tried to kill you twice already." So it had been Eric's hand that had squeezed her throat and made her let go of me. "I should have finished the job when I had her earlier," he said, by way of confirmation. "It would have saved us both some heartache; in my case, literally."
I had a feeling this was not what the Reverend Fullenwilder would be saying. I muttered something to that effect.
"I was never a Christian," Eric said. Now, that didn't surprise me. "But I can't imagine a belief system that would tell you to sit still and get slaughtered."
I blinked, wondering if that wasn't exactly what Christianity taught. But I am no theologian or Bible scholar, and I would have to leave the judgment on my action to God, who was also no theologian.
Somehow I felt better, and I was in fact grateful to be alive.
"Thank you, Eric," I said. I kissed him on the cheek. "Now you go clean up in the bathroom while I start in here."
But he was not having any of that. God bless him, he helped me with great zeal. Since he could handle the most disgusting things with no apparent qualms, I was delighted to let him.
You don't want to know how awful it was, or all the details. But we got Debbie together and bagged up, and Eric took her way out into the woods and buried her and concealed the grave, he swore, while I cleaned. I had to take down the curtains over the sink and soak them in the washing machine in cold water, and I stuck my coat in with them, though
without much hope of its being wearable again. I pulled on rubber gloves and used bleach-soaked wipes to go over and over the chair and table and floor, and I sprayed the front of the cabinets with wood soap and wiped and wiped.
You just wouldn't believe where specks of blood had landed.
I realized that attention to these tiny details was helping me keep my mind off of the main event, and that the longer I avoided looking at it squarely—the longer I let Eric's practical words sink into my awareness—the better off I'd be. There was nothing I could undo. There was no way I could mend what I had done. I'd had a limited number of choices, and I had to live with the choice I'd made. My Gran had always told me that a woman—any woman worth her salt—could do whatever she had to. If you'd called Gran a liberated woman, she would have denied it vigorously, but she'd been the strongest woman I'd ever known, and if she believed I could complete this grisly task just because I had to, I would do it.
When I was through, the kitchen reeked of cleaning products, and to the naked eye it was literally spotless. I was sure a crime scene expert would be able to find trace evidence (a tip of the hat to the Learning Channel), but I didn't intend that a crime scene expert would ever have reason to come into my kitchen.
She'd broken in the front door. It had never occurred to me to check it before I came in the back. So much for my career as a bodyguard. I wedged a chair under the doorknob to keep it blocked for the remainder of the night.
Eric, returned from his burial detail, seemed to be high on excitement, so I asked him to go scouting for Debbie's car. She had a Mazda Miata, and she'd hidden it on a four-wheeler trail right across the parish road from the turnoff to my place. Eric had had the foresight to retain her keys, and he volunteered to drive her car somewhere else. I should have followed him, to bring him back to my house, but he insisted he could do the job by himself, and I was too exhausted to boss him around. I stood under a stream of water and scrubbed myself clean while he was gone. I was glad to be alone, and I washed myself over and over. When I was as clean as I could get on the outside, I pulled on a pink nylon nightgown and crawled in the bed. It was close to dawn, and I hoped Eric would be back soon. I had opened the closet and the hole for him, and put an extra pillow in it.
I heard him come in just as I was falling asleep, and he kissed me on the cheek. "All done," he said, and I mumbled, "Thanks, baby."
"Anything for you," he said, his voice gentle. "Good night, my lover."
It occurred to me that I was lethal for exes. I'd dusted Bill's big love (and his mom); now I'd killed Alcide's off-and-on-again sweetie. I knew hundreds of men. I'd never gone homicidal on their exes. But creatures I cared about, well, that seemed to be different. I wondered if Eric had any old girlfriends around. Probably about a hundred or so. Well, they'd better beware of me.
After that, whether I willed it or not, I was sucked down into a black hole of exhaustion.
Chapter 14
I guess Pam worked on Hallow right up until dawn was peeking over the horizon. I myself was so heavily asleep, so in need of both physical and mental healing, I didn't wake until four in the afternoon. It was a gloomy winter day, the kind that makes you switch on the radio to see if an ice storm is coming. I checked to make sure I had three or four days' worth of firewood moved up onto the back porch.
Eric would be up early today.
I dressed and ate at the speed of a snail, trying to get a handle on my state of being.
Physically, I was fine. A bruise here or there, a little muscle soreness—that was nothing. It was the second week of January and I was sticking to my New Year's resolution just great.
On the other hand—and there's always another hand—mentally, or maybe emotionally, I was less than rock-steady. No matter how practical you are, no matter how strong-stomached you are, you can't do something like I'd done without suffering some consequences.
That's the way it should be.
When I thought of Eric getting up, I thought of maybe doing some snuggling before I had to go to work. And I thought of the pleasure of being with someone who thought I was so important.
I hadn't anticipated that the spell would have been broken.
Eric got up at five-thirty. When I heard movement in the guest bedroom, I tapped on the door and opened it. He whirled, his fangs running out and his hands clawing in front of him.
I'd almost said, "Hi, honey," but caution kept me mute.
"Sookie," he said slowly. "Am I in your house?"
I was glad I'd gotten dressed. "Yes," I said, regrouping like crazy. "You've been here for safekeeping. Do you know what happened?"
"I went to a meeting with some new people," he said, doubt in his voice. "Didn't I?" He looked down at his WalMart clothes with some surprise. "When did I buy these?"
"I had to get those for you," I said.
"Did you dress me, too?" he asked, running his hands down his chest and lower. He gave me a very Eric smile.
He didn't remember. Anything.
"No," I said. I flashed on Eric in the shower with me. The kitchen table. The bed.
"Where is Pam?" he asked.
"You should call her," I said. "Do you recall anything about yesterday?"
"Yesterday I had the meeting with the witches," he said, as if that was indisputable.
I shook my head. "That was days ago," I told him, unable to add the number of them up in my head. My heart sank even lower.
"You don't remember last night, after we came back from Shreveport," I pressed him, suddenly seeing a gleam of light in all this.
"Did we make love?" he asked hopefully. "Did you finally yield to me, Sookie? It's only a matter of time, of course." He grinned at me.
No, last night we cleaned up a body, I thought.
I was the only one who knew. And even I didn't know where Debbie's remains were buried, or what had happened to her car.
I sat down on the edge of my old narrow bed. Eric looked at me closely. "Something's wrong, Sookie? What happened while I was—Why don't I remember what happened?"
Least said, soonest mended.
All's well that ends well.
Out of sight, out of mind. (Oh, I wished that were true.)
"I bet Pam will be here any minute," I said. "I think I'll let her tell you all about it."
"And Chow?"
"No, he won't be here. He died last night. Fangtasia seems to have a bad effect on bartenders."
"Who killed him? I'll have vengeance."
"You've already had."
"Something more is wrong with you," Eric said. He'd always been astute.
"Yes, lots of stuff is wrong with me." I would've enjoyed hugging him right then, but it would just complicate everything. "And I think it's going to snow."
"Snow, here?" Eric was as delighted as a child. "I love snow!"
Why was I not surprised?
"Maybe we will get snowed in together," he said suggestively, waggling his blond eyebrows.
I laughed. I just couldn't help it. And it was a hell of a lot better than crying, which I'd done quite enough of lately. "As if you'd ever let the weather stop you from doing what you wanted to do," I said, and stood. "Come on, I'll heat you up some blood."
Even a few nights of intimacy had softened me enough that I had to watch my actions. Once I almost stroked his hair as I passed him; and once I bent to give him a kiss, and had to pretend I'd dropped something on the floor.
When Pam knocked on my front door thirty minutes later, I was ready for work, and Eric was antsy as hell.
Pam was no sooner seated opposite him than he began bombarding her with questions. I told them quietly that I was leaving, and I don't think they even noticed when I went out the kitchen door.
Merlotte's wasn't too busy that night, after we dealt with a rather large supper crowd. A few flakes of snow had convinced most of the regulars that going home sober might be a very good idea. There were enough customers left to keep Arlene and me moderately busy. Sam caught me as I was loading my tray with seven mugs of beer and wanted to be filled in on the night before.
"I'll tell you later," I promised, thinking I'd have to edit my narrative pretty carefully.
"Any trace of Jason?" he asked.
"No," I said, and felt sadder than ever. The dispatcher at the law enforcement complex had sounded almost snappish when I'd called to ask if there was any news.
Kevin and Kenya came in that night after they'd gotten off duty. When I took their drinks to the table (a bourbon and Coke and a gin and tonic), Kenya said, "We've been looking for your brother, Sookie. I'm sorry."
"I know you all have been trying," I said. "I appreciate you all organizing the search party so much! I just wish . . ." And then I couldn't think of anything else to say. Thanks to my disability, I knew something about each of them that the other didn't know. They loved each other. But Kevin knew his mother would stick her head in the oven before she'd see him married to a black woman, and Kenya knew her brothers would rather ram Kevin through a wall than see him walk down the aisle with her.
And I knew this, despite the fact that neither of them did; and I hated having this personal knowledge, this intimate knowledge, that I just couldn't help knowing.
Worse than knowing, even, was the temptation to interfere. I told myself very sternly that I had enough problems of my own without causing problems for other people. Luckily, I was busy enough the rest of the night to erase the temptation from my mind. Though I couldn't reveal those kinds of secrets, I reminded myself that I owed the two officers, big-time. If I heard of something I could let them know, I would.
When the bar closed, I helped Sam put the chairs up on the tables so Terry Bellefleur could come in and mop and clean the toilets early in the morning. Arlene and Tack had left, singing "Let It Snow" while they went out the back door. Sure enough, the flakes were drifting down outside, though I didn't think they'd stick past morning. I thought of the creatures out in the woods tonight, trying to keep warm and dry. I knew that in some spot in the forest, Debbie Pelt lay in a hole, cold forever.
I wondered how long I'd think of her like that, and I hoped very much I could remember just as clearly what an awful person she'd been, how vindictive and murderous.
In fact, I'd stood staring out the window for a couple of minutes when Sam came up behind me.
"What's on your mind?" he asked. He gripped my elbow, and I could feel the strength in his fingers.
I sighed, not for the first time. "Just wondering about Jason," I said. That was close enough to the truth.
He patted me in a consoling way. "Tell me about last night," he said, and for one second I thought he was asking me about Debbie. Then, of course, I knew he referred to the battle with the witches, and I was able to give him an account.
"So Pam showed up tonight at your place." Sam sounded pleased about that. "She must have cracked Hallow, made her undo the spell. Eric was himself again?"
"As far as I could tell."
"What did he have to say about the experience?"
"He didn't remember anything about it," I said slowly. "He didn't seem to have a clue."
Sam looked away from me when he said, "How are you, with that?"
"I think it's for the best," I told him. "Definitely." But I would be going home to an empty house again. The knowledge skittered at the edges of my awareness, but I wouldn't look at it directly.
"Too bad you weren't working the afternoon shift," he said, somehow following a similar train of thought. "Calvin Norris was in here."
"And?"
"I think he came in hopes of seeing you."
I looked at Sam skeptically. "Right."
"I think he's serious, Sookie."
"Sam," I said, feeling unaccountably wounded, "I'm on my own, and sometimes that's no fun, but I don't have to take up with a werewolf just because he offers."
Sam looked mildly puzzled. "You wouldn't have to. The people in Hotshot aren't Weres."
"He said they were."
"No, not Weres with a capital W. They're too proud to call themselves shifters, but that's what they are. They're were-panthers."
"What?" I swear I saw dots floating in the air around my eyes.
"Sookie? What's wrong?"
"Panthers? Didn't you know that the print on Jason's dock was the print of a panther?"
"No, no one told me about any print! Are you sure?"
I gave him an exasperated look. "Of course, I'm sure. And he vanished the night Crystal Norris was waiting for him in his house. You're the only bartender in the world who doesn't know all the town gossip."
"Crystal—she's the Hotshot girl he was with New Year's Eve? The skinny black-headed girl at the search?"
I nodded.
"The one Felton loves so much?"
"He what?"
"Felton, you know, the one who came along on the search. She's been his big love his whole life."
"And you know this how?" Since I, the mind reader, didn't, I was distinctly piqued.
"He told me one night when he'd had too much to drink. These guys from Hotshot, they don't come in much, but when they do, they drink serious."
"So why would he join in the search?"
"I think maybe we'd better go ask a few questions."
"This late?"
"You got something better to do?"
He had a point, and I sure wanted to know if they had my brother or could tell me what had happened to him. But in a way, I was scared of finding out.
"That jacket's too light for this weather, Sookie," Sam said, as we bundled up.
"My coat is at the cleaner's," I said. Actually, I hadn't had a chance to put it in the dryer, or even to check to make sure all the blood had come out. And it had holes in it.
"Hmmm" was all Sam said, before he loaned me a green pullover sweater to wear under my jacket. We got in Sam's pickup because the snow was really coming down, and like all men, Sam was convinced he could drive in the snow, though he'd almost never done so.
The drive out to Hotshot seemed even longer in the dark night, with the snow swirling down in the headlights.
"I thank you for taking me out here, but I'm beginning to think we're crazy," I said, when we were halfway there.
"Is your seat belt on?" Sam asked.
"Sure."
"Good," he said, and we kept on our way.
Finally we reached the little community. There weren't any streetlights out here, of course, but a couple of the residents had paid to have security lights put up on the electric poles. Windows were glowing in some of the houses.
"Where do you think we should go?"
"Calvin's. He's the one with the power," Sam said, sounding certain.
I remembered how proud Calvin had been of his house, and I was a little curious to see the inside. His lights were on, and his pickup was parked in front of the house. Stepping out of the warm truck into the snowy night was like walking through a chilly wet curtain to reach the front door. I knocked, and after a long pause, the door came open. Calvin looked pleased until he saw Sam behind me.
"Come in," he said, not too warmly, and stood aside. We stamped our feet politely before we entered.
The house was plain and clean, decorated with inexpensive but carefully arranged furniture and pictures. None of the pictures had people in them, which I thought interesting. Landscapes. Wildlife.
"This is a bad night to be out driving around," Calvin observed.
I knew I'd have to tread carefully, as much as I wanted to grab the front of his flannel shirt and scream in his face. This man was a ruler. The size of the kingdom didn't really matter.
"Calvin," I said, as calmly as I could, "did you know that the police found a panther print on the dock, by Jason's bootprint?"
"No," he said, after a long moment. I could see the anger building behind his eyes. "We don't hear a lot of town gossip out here. I wondered why the search party had men with guns, but we make other people kind of nervous, and no one was talking to us much. Panther print. Huh."
"I didn't know that was your, um, other identity, until tonight."
He looked at me steadily. "You think that one of us made off with your brother."
I stood silent, not shifting my eyes from his. Sam was equally still beside me.
"You think Crystal got mad at your brother and did him harm?"
"No," I said. His golden eyes were getting wider and rounder as I spoke to him.
"Are you afraid of me?" he asked suddenly.
"No," I said. "I'm not."
"Felton," he said.
I nodded.
"Let's go see," he said.
Back out into the snow and darkness. I could feel the sting of the flakes on my cheeks, and I was glad my jacket had a hood. Sam's gloved hand took mine as I stumbled over some discarded tool or toy in the yard of the house next to Felton's. As we trailed up to the concrete slab that formed Felton's front porch, Calvin was already knocking at the door.
"Who is it?" Felton demanded.
"Open," said Calvin.
Recognizing his voice, Felton opened the door immediately. He didn't have the same cleanliness bug as Calvin, and his furniture was not so much arranged as shoved up against whatever wall was handiest. The way he moved was not human, and tonight that seemed even more pronounced than it had at the search. Felton, I thought, was closer to reverting to his animal nature. Inbreeding had definitely left its mark on him.
"Where is the man?" Calvin asked without preamble.
Felton's eyes flared wide, and he twitched, as if he was thinking about running. He didn't speak.
"Where?" Calvin demanded again, and then his hand changed into a paw and he swiped it across Felton's face. "Does he live?"
I clapped my hands across my mouth so I wouldn't scream. Felton sank to his knees, his face crossed with parallel slashes filling with blood.
"In the shed in back," he said indistinctly.
I went back out the front door so quickly that Sam barely caught up with me. Around the corner of the house I flew, and I fell full-length over a woodpile. Though I knew it would hurt later, I jumped up and found myself supported by Calvin Norris, who, as he had in the woods, lifted me over the pile before I knew what he intended. He vaulted it himself with easy grace, and then we were at the door of the shed, which was one of those you order from Sears or Penney's. You have your neighbors come help put it up, when the concrete truck comes to pour your slab.
The door was padlocked, but these sheds aren't meant to repel determined intruders, and Calvin was very strong. He broke the lock, and pushed back the door, and turned on the light. It was amazing to me that there was electricity out here, because that's certainly not the norm.
At first I wasn't sure I was looking at my brother, because this creature looked nothing like Jason. He was blond, sure, but he was so filthy and smelly that I flinched, even in the freezing air. And he was blue with the cold, since he had only pants on. He was lying on a single blanket on the concrete floor.
I was on my knees beside him, gathering him up as best I could in my arms, and his eyelids fluttered open. "Sookie?" he said, and I could hear the disbelief in his voice. "Sookie? Am I saved?"
"Yes," I said, though I was by no means so sure. I remember what had happened to the sheriff who'd come out here and found something amiss. "We're going to take you home."
He'd been bitten.
He'd been bitten a lot.
"Oh, no," I said softly, the significance of the bites sinking in.
"I didn't kill him," Felton said defensively, from outside.
"You bit him," I said, and my voice sounded like another person's. "You wanted him to be like you."
"So Crystal wouldn't like him better. She knows we need to breed outside, but she really likes me best," Felton said.
"So you grabbed him, and you kept him, and you bit him."
Jason was too weak to stand.
"Please carry him to the truck," I said stiffly, unable to meet the eyes of anyone around me. I could feel the fury rising in me like black wave, and I knew I had to restrain it until we were out of here. I had just enough control to do this. I knew I did.
Jason cried out when Calvin and Sam lifted him. They got the blanket, too, and sort of tucked it around him. I stumbled after them as they made their way back to Calvin's and the truck.
I had my brother back. There was a chance he was going to turn into a panther from time to time, but I had him back. I didn't know if the rules for all shifters were the same, but Alcide had told me that Weres who were bitten, not born—created Weres, rather than genetic Weres—changed into the half-man, half-beast creatures who populated horror movies. I forced myself to get off that track, to think of the joy of having my brother back, alive.
Calvin got Jason into the truck and slid him over, and Sam climbed into the driver's seat. Jason would be between us after I climbed into the truck. But Calvin had to tell me something first.
"Felton will be punished," he said. "Right now."
Punishing Felton hadn't been at the top of my list of things to think about, but I nodded, because I wanted to get the hell out of there.
"If we're taking care of Felton, are you going to go to the police?" he asked. He was standing stiffly, as if he was trying to be casual about the question. But this was a dangerous moment. I knew what happened to people who drew attention to the Hotshot community.
"No," I said. "It was just Felton." Though, of course, Crystal had to have known, at least on some level. She'd told me she'd smelled an animal that night at Jason's. How could she have mistaken the smell of panther, when she was one? And she had probably known all along that that panther had been Felton. His smell would be familiar to her. But it just wasn't the time to go into that; Calvin would know that as well as I, when he'd had a moment to think. "And my brother may be one of you now. He'll need you," I added, in the most even voice I could manage. It wasn't very even, at that.
"I'll come get Jason, next full moon."
I nodded again. "Thank you," I told him, because I knew we would never have found Jason if he'd stonewalled us. "I have to get my brother home now." I knew Calvin wanted me to touch him, wanted me to connect with him somehow, but I just couldn't do it.
"Sure," he said, after a long moment. The shape-shifter stepped back while I scrambled up into the cab. He seemed to know I wouldn't want any help from him right now.
I'd thought I'd gotten unusual brain patterns from the Hotshot people because they were inbred. It had never occurred to me they were something other than wolves. I'd assumed. I know what my high school volleyball coach always said about "assume." Of course, he'd also told us that we had to leave everything out on the court so it would be there when we came back, which I had yet to figure out.
But he'd been right about assumptions.
Sam had already gotten the heater in the truck going, but not at full blast. Too much heat too soon would be bad for Jason, I was sure. As it was, the second Jason began to warm up, his smell was pretty evident, and I nearly apologized to Sam, but sparing Jason any further humiliation was more important.
"Aside from the bites, and being so cold, are you okay?" I asked, when I thought Jason had stopped shivering and could speak.
"Yes," he said. "Yes. Every night, every damn night, he'd come in the shed, and he'd change in front of me, and I'd think, Tonight he's going to kill me and eat me. And every night, he'd bite me. And then he'd just change back and leave. I could tell it was hard for him, after he'd smelled the blood . . . but he never did more than bite."
"They'll kill him tonight," I said. "In return for us not going to the police."
"Good deal," said Jason, and he meant it.
Chapter 15
Jason was able to stand on his own long enough to take a shower, which he said was the best one he'd taken in his life. When he was clean and smelled like every scented thing in my bathroom, and he was modestly draped with a big towel, I went all over him with Neosporin. I used up a whole tube on the bites. They seemed to be healing clean already, but I could not stop myself from trying to think of things to do for him. He'd had hot chocolate, and he'd eaten some hot oatmeal (which I thought was an odd choice, but he said all Felton had brought him to eat had been barely cooked meat), and he'd put on the sleeping pants I'd bought for Eric (too big, but the drawstring waist helped), and he'd put on a baggy old T-shirt I'd gotten when I'd done the Walk for Life two years before. He kept touching the material as if he was delighted to be dressed.
He seemed to want to be warm and to sleep, more than anything. I put him in my old room. With a sad glance at the closet, which Eric had left all askew, I told my brother good night. He asked me to turn the hall light on and leave the door cracked a little. It cost Jason to ask that, so I didn't say a word. I just did as he'd requested.
Sam was sitting in the kitchen, drinking a cup of hot tea. He looked up from watching the steam of it and smiled at me. "How is he?"
I sank down into my usual spot. "He's better than I thought he would be," I said. "Considering he spent the whole time in the shed with no heat and being bitten every day."
"I wonder how long Felton would have kept him?"
"Until the full moon, I guess. Then Felton would've found out if he'd succeeded or not." I felt a little sick.
"I checked your calendar. He's got a couple of weeks."
"Good. Give Jason time to get his strength back before he has something else to face." I rested my head in my hands for a minute. "I have to call the police."
"To let them know to stop searching?"
"Yep."
"Have you made up your mind what to say? Did Jason mention any ideas?"
"Maybe that the male relatives of some girl had kidnapped him?" Actually, that was sort of true.
"The cops would want to know where he'd been held. If he'd gotten away on his own, they'd want to know how, and they'd be sure he'd have more information for them."
I wondered if I had enough brainpower left to think. I stared blankly at the table: the familiar napkin holder that my grandmother had bought at a craft fair, and the sugar bowl, and the salt- and pepper-shakers shaped like a rooster and a hen. I noticed something had been tucked under the saltshaker.
It was a check for $50,000, signed by Eric Northman. Eric had not only paid me, he had given me the biggest tip of my career.
"Oh," I said, very gently. "Oh, boy." I looked at it for a minute more, to make sure I was reading it correctly. I passed it across the table to Sam.
"Wow. Payment for keeping Eric?" Sam looked up at me, and I nodded. "What will you do with it?"
"Put it through the bank, first thing tomorrow morning."
He smiled. "I guess I was thinking longer term than that."
"Just relax. It'll just relax me to have it. To know that . . ." To my embarrassment, here came tears. Again. Damn. "So I won't have to worry all the time."
"Things have been tight recently, I take it." I nodded, and Sam's mouth compressed. "You . . ." he began, and then couldn't finish his sentence.
"Thanks, but I can't do that to people," I said firmly. "Gran always said that was the surest way to end a friendship."
"You could sell this land, buy a house in town, have neighbors," Sam suggested, as if he'd been dying to say that for months.
"Move out of this house?" Some member of my family had lived in this house continuously for over a hundred and fifty years. Of course, that didn't make it sacred or anything, and the house had been added to and modernized many times. I thought of living in a small modern house with level floors and up-to-date bathrooms and a convenient kitchen with lots of plugs. No exposed water heater. Lots of blown-in insulation in the attic. A carport!
Dazzled at the vision, I swallowed. "I'll consider it," I said, feeling greatly daring to even entertain the idea. "But I can't think of anything much right now. Just getting through tomorrow will be hard enough."
I thought of the police man-hours that had been put into searching for Jason. Suddenly I was so tired, I just couldn't make an attempt to fashion a story for the law.
"You need to go to bed," Sam said astutely.
I could only nod. "Thank you, Sam. Thank you so much." We stood and I gave him a hug. It turned into a longer hug than I'd planned, because hugging him was unexpectedly restful and comfortable. "Good night," I said. "Please drive careful going back." I thought briefly of offering him one of the beds upstairs, but I kept that floor shut off and it would be awfully cold up there; and I'd have to go up and make the bed. He'd be more comfortable making the short drive home, even in the snow.
"I will," he said, and released me. "Call me in the morning."
"Thanks again."
"Enough thank-yous," he said. Eric had put a couple of nails in the front door to hold it shut, until I could get a dead bolt put on. I locked the back door behind Sam, and I barely managed to brush my teeth and change into a nightgown before I crawled in my bed.
The first thing I did the next morning was check on my brother. Jason was still deeply asleep, and in the light of day, I could clearly see the effects of his imprisonment. His face had a coating of stubble. Even in his sleep, he looked older. There were bruises here and there, and that was just on his face and arms. His eyes opened as I sat by the bed, looking at him. Without moving, he rolled his eyes around, taking in the room. They stopped when they came to my face.
"I didn't dream it," he said. His voice was hoarse. "You and Sam came and got me. They let me go. The panther let me go."
"Yes."
"So what's been happening while I was gone?" he asked next. "Wait, can I go to the bathroom and get a cup of coffee before you tell me?"
I liked his asking instead of telling (a Jason trait, telling), and I was glad to tell him yes and even volunteer to get the coffee. Jason seemed happy enough to crawl back in bed with the mug of coffee and sugar, and prop himself up on the pillows while we talked.
I told him about Catfish's phone call, our to-and-fro with the police, the search of the yard and my conscription of his Benelli shotgun, which he immediately demanded to see.
"You fired it!" he said indignantly, after checking it over.
I just stared at him.
He flinched first. "I guess it worked like a shotgun is 'spose to," he said slowly. "Since you're sitting here looking pretty much okay."
"Thanks, and don't ask me again," I said.
He nodded.
"Now we have to think of a story for the police."
"I guess we can't just tell them the truth."
"Sure, Jason, let's tell them that the village of Hotshot is full of were-panthers, and that since you slept with one, her boyfriend wanted to make you a were-panther, too, so she wouldn't prefer you over him. That's why he changed into a panther and bit you every day."
There was a long pause.
"I can just see Andy Bellefleur's face," Jason said in a subdued kind of way. "He still can't get over me being innocent of murdering those girls last year. He'd love to get me committed as being delusional. Catfish would have to fire me, and I don't think I'd like it at the mental hospital."
"Well, your dating opportunities would sure be limited."
"Crystal—God, that girl! You warned me. But I was so bowled over by her. And she turns out to be a . . . you know."
"Oh, for goodness sake, Jason, she's a shape-shifter. Don't go on like she's the creature from the Black Lagoon, or Freddy Krueger, or something."
"Sook, you know a lot of stuff we don't know, don't you? I'm getting that picture."
"Yes, I guess so."
"Besides vampires."
"Right."
"There's lots else."
"I tried to tell you."
"I believed what you said, but I just didn't get it. Some people I know—I mean besides Crystal—they're not always people, huh?"
"That's right."
"Like how many?"
I counted up the two-natured I'd seen in the bar: Sam, Alcide, that little were-fox who'd been standing Jason and Hoyt drinks a couple of weeks ago . . . "At least three," I said.
"How do you know all this?"
I just stared at him.
"Right," he said, after a long moment. "I don't want to know."
"And now, you," I said gently.
"Are you sure?"
"No, and we won't be sure for a couple of weeks," I said. "But Calvin'll help you if you need it."
"I won't take help from them!" Jason's eyes were blazing, and he looked positively feverish.
"You don't have a choice," I said, trying not to snap. "And Calvin didn't know you were there. He's an okay guy. But it's not even time to talk about it yet. We have to figure out what to tell the police right now."
For at least an hour we went over and over our stories, trying to find threads of truth to help us stitch together a fabrication.
Finally, I called the police station. The day-shift dispatcher was tired of hearing my voice, but she was still trying to be nice. "Sookie, like I told you yesterday, hon, we'll call you when we find out something about Jason," she said, trying to suppress the note of exasperation beneath her soothing tone.
"I've got him," I said.
"You—WHAT?" The shriek came over loud and clear. Even Jason winced.
"I've got him."
"I'll send someone right over."
"Good," I said, though I didn't mean it.
I had the foresight to get the nails out of the front door before the police got there. I didn't want them asking what had happened to it. Jason had looked at me oddly when I got out the hammer, but he didn't say a word.
"Where's your car?" Andy Bellefleur asked first thing.
"It's at Merlotte's."
"Why?"
"Can I just tell you and Alcee, together, one time?" Alcee Beck was coming up the front steps. He and Andy came in the house together, and at the sight of Jason lying wrapped up on my couch, they both stopped dead in their tracks. I knew then that they'd never expected to see Jason alive again.
"Glad to see you safe and sound, man," Andy said, and shook Jason's hand. Alcee Beck followed on his heels. They sat down, Andy in Gran's recliner and Alcee in the armchair I usually took, and I perched on the couch beside Jason's feet. "We're glad you're in the land of the living, Jason, but we need to know where you've been and what happened to you."
"I have no idea," Jason said.
And he stuck to it for hours.
There had been no believable story Jason could tell that could account for everything: his absence, his poor physical condition, the bite marks, his sudden reappearance. The only possible line he could take was to say the last thing he remembered, he'd heard a funny noise outside while he was entertaining Crystal, and when he'd gone to investigate, he'd been hit on the head. He didn't remember anything until somehow he'd felt himself pushed from a vehicle to land in my yard the night before. I'd found him there when Sam brought me home from work. I'd ridden home with Sam because I was scared to drive in the snow.
Of course, we'd cleared this with Sam ahead of time, and he'd agreed, reluctantly, that it was the best we could come up with. I knew Sam didn't like to lie, and I didn't either, but we had to keep that particular can of worms closed.
The beauty of this story was its simplicity. As long as Jason could resist the temptation to embroider, he'd be safe. I'd known that would be hard for Jason; he loved to talk, and he loved to talk big. But as long as I was sitting there, reminding him of the consequences, my brother managed to restrain himself. I had to get up to get him another cup of coffee—the lawmen didn't want any more—and as I was coming back in the living room, Jason was saying he thought he remembered a cold dark room. I gave him a very plain look, and he said, "But you know, my head is so confused, that may just be something I dreamed."
Andy looked from Jason to me, clearly getting angrier and angrier. "I just can't understand you two," he said. His voice was almost a growl. "Sookie, I know you worried about him. I'm not making that up, am I?"
"No, I am so glad to have him back." I patted my brother's foot under the blanket.
"And you, you didn't want to be wherever you were, right? You missed work, you cost the parish thousands of dollars from our budget to search for you, and you disrupted the lives of hundreds of people. And you're sitting here lying to us!" Andy's voice was almost a shout as he finished. "Now, the same night you show up, this missing vampire on all the posters called the police in Shreveport to say he's recovering from memory loss, too! And there's a strange fire in Shreveport with all kinds of bodies recovered! And you're trying to tell me there's no connection!"
Jason and I gaped at each other. Actually, there was no connection between Jason and Eric. It just hadn't occurred to me how strange that would look.
"What vampire?" Jason asked. It was so good, I almost believed him myself.
"Let's leave, Alcee," Andy said. He slapped his notebook shut. He put his pen back in his shirt pocket with such an emphatic thrust that I was surprised he had a pocket left. "This bastard won't even tell us the truth."
"Don't you think I'd tell you if I could?" Jason said. "Don't you think I'd like to lay hands on whoever did this to me?" He sounded absolutely, one hundred percent sincere, because he was. The two detectives were shaken in their disbelief, especially Alcee Beck. But they still left unhappy with the two of us. I felt sorry for it, but there was nothing I could do.
Later that day, Arlene picked me up so I could fetch my car from Merlotte's. She was happy to see Jason, and she gave him a big hug. "You had your sister some kind of worried, you rascal," she said, with mock ferocity. "Don't you ever scare Sookie like that again."
"I'll do my best," Jason said, with a good approximation of his old roguish smile. "She's been a good sister to me."
"Now, that's God's truth," I said, a little sourly. "When I bring my car back, I think I might just run you home, big brother."
Jason looked scared for a minute. Being alone had never been his favorite thing, and after hours by himself in the cold of the shed, it might be even harder.
"I bet girls all over Bon Temps are making food to bring to your place now that they heard you're back," Arlene said, and Jason brightened perceptibly. "'Specially since I've been telling everyone what an invalid you are."
"Thanks, Arlene," Jason said, looking much more like himself.
I echoed that on the way into town. "I really appreciate you cheering him up. I don't know what all he went through, but he's going to have a rough time getting over it, I think."
"Honey, you don't need to worry about Jason. He's the original survivor. I don't know why he didn't try out for the show."
We laughed all the way into town at the idea of staging a Survivor episode in Bon Temps.
"What with the razorbacks in the woods, and that panther print, they might have an exciting time of it if we had Survivor: Bon Temps," Arlene said. "Tack and me would just sit back and laugh at them."
That gave me a nice opening to tease her about Tack, which she enjoyed, and altogether she cheered up me just as much as Jason. Arlene was good about stuff like that. I had a brief conversation with Sam in the storeroom of Merlotte's, and he told me Andy and Alcee had already been by to see if his story meshed with mine.
He hushed me before I could thank him again.
I took Jason home, though he hinted broadly he'd like to stay with me one more night. I took the Benelli with us, and I told him to clean it that evening. He promised he would, and when he looked at me, I could tell he wanted to ask me again why I'd had to use it. But he didn't. Jason had learned some things in the past few days, himself.
I was working the late shift again, so I would have a little time on my hands when I got home before I had to go in to work. The prospect felt good. I didn't see any running men on my way back to my house, and no one phoned or popped in with a crisis for a whole two hours. I was able to change the sheets on both beds, wash them, and sweep the
kitchen and straighten up the closet concealing the hidey-hole, before the knock came at the front door.
I knew who it would be. It was full dark outside, and sure enough, Eric stood on my front porch.
He looked down at me with no very happy face. "I find myself troubled," he said without preamble.
"Then I've got to drop everything so I can help you out," I said, going instantly on the offensive.
He cocked an eyebrow. "I'll be polite and ask if I can come in." I hadn't rescinded his invitation, but he didn't want to just stroll into my house. Tactful.
"Yes, you can." I stepped back.
"Hallow is dead, having been forced to counter the curse on me, obviously."
"Pam did a good job."
He nodded. "It was Hallow or me," he said. "I like me better."
"Why'd she pick Shreveport?"
"Her parents were jailed in Shreveport. They were witches, too, but they also ran confidence games of some kind, using their craft to make their victims more convinced of their sincerity. In Shreveport, their luck ran out. The supernatural community refused to make any effort to get the older Stonebrooks out of jail. The woman ran afoul of a voodoo priestess while she was incarcerated, and the man ran afoul of a knife in some bathroom brawl."
"Pretty good reason to have it in for the supernaturals of Shreveport."
"They say I was here for several nights." Eric had decided to change the subject.
"Yes," I said. I tried to look agreeably interested in what he had to say.
"And in that time, we never . . . ?"
I didn't pretend to misunderstand him.
"Eric, does that seem likely?" I asked.
He hadn't sat down, and he moved closer to me, as if looking at me hard would reveal the truth. It would have been easy to take a step, be even closer.
"I just don't know," he said. "And it's making me a little aggravated."
I smiled. "Are you enjoying being back at work?"
"Yes. But Pam ran everything well during my absence. I'm sending lots of flowers to the hospital. Belinda, and a wolf named Maria-Comet or something."
"Maria-Star Cooper. You didn't send any to me," I pointed out tartly.
"No, but I left you something more meaningful under the saltshaker," he said, with much the same edge. "You'll have to pay taxes on it. If I know you, you'll give your brother some of it. I hear you got him back."
"I did," I said briefly. I knew I was getting closer to bursting out with something, and I knew he should leave soon. I'd given Jason such good advice about being quiet, but it was hard to follow it myself. "And your point is?"
"It won't last for long."
I don't think Eric realized how much money fifty thousand dollars was, by my standards. "What's your point? I can tell you have one, but I don't have an idea what it might be."
"Was there a reason I found brain tissue on my coat sleeve?"
I felt all the blood drain from my face, the way it does when you're on the edge of passing out. The next thing I knew, I was on the couch and Eric was beside me.
"I think there are some things you're not telling me, Sookie, my dear," he said. His voice was gentler, though.
The temptation was almost overwhelming.
But I thought of the power Eric would have over me, even more power than he had now; he would know I had slept with him, and he would know that I had killed a woman and he was the only one who'd witnessed it. He would know that not only did he owe me his life (most likely), I certainly owed him mine.
"I liked you a lot better when you didn't remember who you were," I said, and with that truth forefront in my mind, I knew I had to keep quiet.
"Harsh words," he said, and I almost believed he was really hurt.
Luckily for me, someone else came to my door. The knock was loud and peremptory, and I felt a jolt of alarm.
The caller was Amanda, the insulting redheaded female Were from Shreveport. "I'm on official business today," she said, "so I'll be polite."
That would be a nice change.
She nodded to Eric and said, "Glad to have you back in your right mind, vampire," in a completely unconcerned tone. I could see that the Weres and vampires of Shreveport had reverted to their old relationship.
"And good to see you, too, Amanda." I said.
"Sure," she said, but hardly as if she cared. "Miss Stackhouse, we're making inquiries for the shifters of Jackson."
Oh, no. "Really? Won't you please sit down? Eric was just leaving."
"No, I'd love to stay and hear Amanda's questions," Eric said, beaming.
Amanda looked at me, eyebrows raised.
There wasn't a hell of a lot I could do about it.
"Oh, by all means, stay," I said. "Please sit down, both of you. I'm sorry, but I don't have a lot of time before I'm due at work."
"Then I'll get right to the point," Amanda said. "Two nights ago, the woman that Alcide abjured—the shifter from Jackson, the one with the weird haircut?"
I nodded, to show I was on the same page. Eric looked pleasantly blank. He wouldn't in a minute.
"Debbie," the Were recalled. "Debbie Pelt."
Eric's eyes widened. Now, that name he did know. He began to smile.
"Alcide abjured her?" he said.
"You were sitting right there," snapped Amanda. "Oh, wait, I forgot. That was while you were under a curse."
She enjoyed the hell out of saying that.
"Anyway, Debbie didn't make it back to Jackson. Her family is worried about her, especially since they heard that Alcide abjured her, and they're afraid something might have happened to her."
"Why do you think she would have said anything to me?"
Amanda made a face. "Well, actually, I think she would rather have eaten glass than talked to you again. But we're obliged to check with everyone who was there."
So this was just routine. I wasn't being singled out. I could feel myself relax. Unfortunately, so could Eric. I'd had his blood; he could tell things about me. He got up and wandered back to the kitchen. I wondered what he was doing.
"I haven't seen her since that night," I said, which was true, since I didn't specify what time. "I have no idea where she is now." That was even truer.
Amanda told me, "No one admits to having seen Debbie after she left the area of the battle. She drove off in her own car."
Eric strolled back into the living room. I glanced at him, worried about what he was up to.
"Has her car been seen?" Eric asked.
He didn't know he'd been the one who'd hidden it.
"No, neither hide nor hair," Amanda said, which was a strange image to use for a car. "I'm sure she just ran off somewhere to get over her rage and humiliation. Being abjured; that's pretty awful. It's been years since I've heard the words said."
"Her family doesn't think that's the case? That's she's gone somewhere to, ah, think things over?"
"They're afraid she's done something to herself." Amanda snorted. We exchanged glances, showing we agreed perfectly about the likelihood of Debbie committing suicide. "She wouldn't do anything that convenient," Amanda said, since she had the nerve to say it out loud and I didn't.
"How's Alcide taking this?" I asked anxiously.
"He can hardly join in the search," she pointed out, "since he's the one who abjured her. He acts like he doesn't care, but I notice the colonel calls him to let him know what's happening. Which, so far, is nothing." Amanda heaved herself to her feet, and I got up to walk her to the door. "This sure has been a bad season for people going missing," she said. "But I hear through the grapevine that you got your brother back, and Eric's returned to
his normal self, looks like." She cast him a glance to make sure he knew how little she liked that normal self. "Now Debbie has gone missing, but maybe she'll turn up, too. Sorry I had to bother you."
"That's all right. Good luck," I said, which was meaningless under the circumstances. The door closed behind her, and I wished desperately that I could just walk out and get in my car and drive to work.
I made myself turn around. Eric was standing.
"You're going?" I said, unable to keep from sounding startled and relieved.
"Yes, you said you had to get to work," he said blandly.
"I do."
"I suggest you wear that jacket, the one that's too light for the weather," he said. "Since your coat is still in bad shape."
I'd run it through the washer on cold water wash, but I guess I hadn't checked it well enough to be sure everything had come off. That's where he'd been, searching for my coat. He'd found it on its hanger on the back porch, and examined it.
"In fact," Eric said, as he went to the front door, "I'd throw it away entirely. Maybe burn it."
He left, closing the door behind him very quietly.
I knew, as sure as I knew my name, that tomorrow he would send me another coat, in a big fancy box, with a big bow on it. It would be the right size, it would be a top brand, and it would be warm.
It was cranberry red, with a removable liner, a detachable hood, and tortoiseshell buttons.
Afterword
Dear Reader,
In case you haven't met me before, my name is Sookie Stackhouse. I've been working at Merlotte's Bar for four years now. For the first three, things were quiet. Then, one night, Bill the Vampire walked in, and my life changed forever. While we've followed the familiar pattern (vampire meets girl, vampire gets girl, vampire loses girl), I have a feeling our association has more twists and turns yet to come.
In the first month I knew Bill, there was a serial killer in the area hunting down barmaids with vampire boyfriends—and the main suspect was my brother Jason (Dead Until Dark).
Then, at the beginning of fall, the vampires of Dallas asked the vampires of Shreveport if they could borrow me for a little investigation into a missing nestmate of theirs (Living Dead in Dallas). At the same time, the short-order cook at Merlotte's was murdered, and since I counted myself his friend, I felt I should do everything I could to solve the mystery of his death. Bill's boss, Eric, had a lot to do with my trip to Big D, and he developed an interest in me that hasn't flagged.
Right before Christmas, I began to think Bill was engaged in some hanky-panky. He left town, and vanished in Mississippi. Eric talked me into going to Jackson to search for him. As my cover, I was escorted by the Werewolf Alcide Herveaux. While searching for Bill, I met some of the state's less reputable citizens at the supernatural hangout in Jackson, called Club Dead.
That brings me up to the start of Dead to the World.
And now that I'm pretty much mad at everyone, and Jason might be a Shifter at the next full moon, what's going to happen next?
The way my life's been going since Bill Compton came into Merlotte's, there just no telling.