Book Eight 1-2

If this was The Lord of the Rings and I had a smart British voice like Cate
Blanchett, I could tell you the background of the events of that fall in a
really suspenseful way. And you’d be straining to hear the rest.
But what happened in my little corner of northwest Louisiana wasn’t an epic
story. The vampire war was more of the nature of a small-country takeover,
and the Were war was like a border skirmish. Even in the annals of
supernatural America—I guess they exist somewhere—they were minor
chapters . . . unless you were actively involved in the takeovers and
skirmishes.
Then they became pretty damn major.
And everything was due to Katrina, the disaster that just kept on spreading
grief, woe, and permanent change in its wake.
Before Hurricane Katrina, Louisiana had a flourishing vampire community.
In fact, the vampire population of New Orleans had burgeoned, making it
the place to go if you wanted to see vampires; and lots of Americans did.
The undead jazz clubs, featuring musicians no one had seen playing in
public in decades, were special draws. Vamp strip clubs, vamp psychics,
vamp sex acts; secret and not-so-secret places where you could get bitten
and have an orgasm on the spot: all this was available in southern
Louisiana.
In the northern part of the state . . . not so much. I live in the northern part
in a small town called Bon Temps. But even in my area, where vamps are
relatively thin on the ground, the undead were making economic and social
strides.
All in all, vampire business in the Pelican State was booming. But then
came the death of the King of Arkansas while his wife, the Queen of
Louisiana, was entertaining him soon after their wedding. Since the corpse
vanished and all the witnesses— except me—were supernaturals, human
law took no notice. But the other vampires did, and the queen, Sophie-
Anne Leclerq, landed in a very dicey legal position. Then came Katrina,
which wiped out the financial base of Sophie-Anne’s empire. Still, the
queen was floundering back from those disasters, when another one
followed hard on their heels. Sophie-Anne and some of her strongest
adherents—and me, Sookie Stackhouse, telepath and human—were
caught in a terrible explosion in Rhodes, the destruction of the vampire
hotel called the Pyramid of Gizeh. A splinter group of the Fellowship of the
Sun claimed responsibility, and while the leaders of that anti-vampire
“church” decried the hate crime, everyone knew that the Fellowship was
hardly agonizing over those who were terribly wounded in the blast, much
less over the (finally, absolutely) dead vampires or the humans who served
them.
Sophie-Anne lost her legs, several members of her entourage, and her
dearest companion. Her life was saved by her half-demon lawyer, Mr.
Cataliades. But her recuperation time was going to be lengthy, and she
was in a position of terrible vulnerability.
What part did I play in all this?
I’d helped save lives after the pyramid went down, and I was terrified I was
now on the radar of people who might want me to spend my time in their
service, using my telepathy for their purposes. Some of those purposes
were good, and I wouldn’t mind lending a hand in rescue services from time
to time, but I wanted to keep my life to myself. I was alive; my boyfriend,
Quinn, was alive; and the vampires most important to me had survived, too.
As far as the troubles Sophie-Anne faced, the political consequences of the
attack and the fact that supernatural groups were circling the weakened
state of Louisiana like hyenas around a dying gazelle ... I didn’t think about
it at all.
I had other stuff on my mind, personal stuff. I’m not used to thinking much
further than the end of my fingertips; that’s my only excuse. Not only was I
not thinking about the vampire situation, there was another supernatural
situation I didn’t ponder that turned out to be just as crucial to my future.
Close to Bon Temps, in Shreveport, there’s a Were pack whose ranks are
swollen by the men and women from Barksdale Air Force Base. During the
past year, this Were pack had become sharply divided between two
factions. I’d learned in American History what Abraham Lincoln, quoting the
Bible, had to say about houses divided.
To assume that these two situations would work themselves out, to fail to
foresee that their resolution would involve me, well ... that was where I was
almost fatally blind. I’m telepathic, not psychic. Vampire minds are big
relaxing blanks to me. Weres are difficult to read, though not impossible.
That’s my only excuse for being unaware of the trouble brewing all around
me.
What was I so busy thinking about? Weddings—and my missing boyfriend.
Chapter 1
I was making a neat arrangement of liquor bottles on the folding table
behind the portable bar when Halleigh Robinson rushed up, her normally
sweet face flushed and tear-streaked. Since she was supposed to be
getting married within an hour and was still wearing blue jeans and a Tshirt,
she got my immediate attention.
“Sookie!” she said, rounding the bar to grab my arm. “You have to help
me.”
I’d already helped her by putting on my bartending clothes instead of the
pretty dress I’d planned on wearing. “Sure,” I said, imagining Halleigh
wanted me to make her a special drink— though if I’d listened in to her
thoughts, I’d have known differently already. However, I was trying to be on
my best behavior, and I was shielding like crazy. Being telepathic is no
picnic, especially at a high-tension event like a double wedding. I’d
expected to be a guest instead of a bartender. But the caterer’s bartender
had been in a car wreck on her way over from Shreveport, and Sam, who’d
been unhired when E(E)E had insisted on using their own bartender, was
abruptly hired again.
I was a little disappointed to be on the working side of the bar, but you had
to oblige the bride on her special day. “What can I do for you?” I asked.
“I need you to be my bridesmaid,” she said.
“Ah . . . what?”
“Tiffany fainted after Mr. Cumberland took the first round of pictures. She’s
on her way to the hospital.”
It was an hour before the wedding, and the photographer had been trying
to get a number of group shots out of the way. The bridesmaids and the
groomsmen were already togged out. Halleigh should have been getting
into her wedding finery, but instead here she was in jeans and curlers, no
makeup, and a tear-streaked face.
Who could resist that?
“You’re the right size,” she said. “And Tiffany is probably just about to have
her appendix out. So, can you try on the dress?”
I glanced at Sam, my boss.
Sam smiled at me and nodded. “Go on, Sook. We don’t officially open for
business until after the wedding.”
So I followed Halleigh into Belle Rive, the Bellefleur mansion, recently
restored to something like its antebellum glory. The wooden floors
gleamed, the harp by the stairs shone with gilt, the silverware displayed on
the big sideboard in the dining room glowed with polishing. There were
servers in white coats buzzing around everywhere, the E(E)E logo on their
tunics done in an elaborate black script. Extreme(ly Elegant) Events had
become the premier upscale caterer in the United States. I felt a stab in my
heart when I noticed the logo, because my missing guy worked for the
supernatural branch of E(E)E. I didn’t have long to feel the ache, though,
because Halleigh was dragging me up the stairs at a relentless pace.
The first bedroom at the top was full of youngish women in gold-colored
dresses, all fussing around Halleigh’s soon-to-be sister-in-law, Portia
Bellefleur. Halleigh zoomed past that door to enter the second room on the
left. It was equally full of younger women, but these were in midnight blue
chiffon. The room was in chaos, with the bridesmaids’ civilian clothes piled
here and there. There was a makeup and hair station over by the west wall,
staffed by a stoic woman in a pink smock, curling rod in her hand.
Halleigh tossed introductions through the air like paper pellets. “Gals, this is
Sookie Stackhouse. Sookie, this is my sister Fay, my cousin Kelly, my best
friend Sarah, my other best friend Dana. And here’s the dress. It’s an
eight.”
I was amazed that Halleigh had had the presence of mind to divest Tiffany
of the bridesmaid dress before her departure for the hospital. Brides are
ruthless. In a matter of minutes, I was stripped down to the essentials. I
was glad I’d worn nice underwear, since there wasn’t any time for modesty.
How embarrassing it would have been to be in granny panties with holes!
The dress was lined, so I didn’t need a slip, another stroke of luck. There
was a spare pair of thigh-highs, which I pulled on, and then the dress went
over my head. Sometimes I wear a ten—in fact, most of the time—so I was
holding my breath while Fay zipped it up.
If I didn’t breathe a lot, it would be okay.
“Super!” one of the other women (Dana?) said with great happiness. “Now
the shoes.”
“Oh, God,” I said when I saw them. They were very high heels dyed to
match the midnight blue dress, and I slid my feet into them, anticipating
pain. Kelly (maybe) buckled the straps, and I stood up. All of us held our
breath as I took a step, then another. They were about half a size too small.
It was an important half.
“I can get through the wedding,” I said, and they all clapped.
"Over here then,” said Pink Smock, and I sat in her chair and had more
makeup reapplied over my own and my hair redone while the real
bridesmaids and Halleigh’s mother assisted Halleigh into her dress. Pink
Smock had a lot of hair to work with. I’ve only had light trims in the past
three years, I guess, and it’s way down past my shoulder blades now. My
roommate, Amelia, had put some highlights in, and that had turned out real
good. I was blonder than ever.
I examined myself in the full-length mirror, and it seemed impossible I could
have been so transformed in twenty minutes. From working barmaid in a
white ruffled tux shirt and black trousers to bridesmaid in a midnight blue
dress—and three inches taller, to boot.
Hey, I looked great. The dress was a super color for me, the skirt was
gently A-line, the short sleeves weren’t too tight, and it wasn’t low cut
enough to look slutty. With my boobs, the slut factor kicks in if I’m not
careful.
I was yanked out of self-admiration by the practical Dana, who said,
“Listen, here’s the drill.” From that moment on, I listened and nodded. I
examined a little diagram. I nodded some more. Dana was one organized
gal. If I ever invaded a small country, this was the woman I wanted on my
side.
By the time we made our way carefully down the stairs (long skirts and high
heels, not a good combination), I was fully briefed and ready for my first trip
down the aisle as a bridesmaid.
Most girls have done this a couple of times before they reach twenty-six,
but Tara Thornton, the only friend I had close enough to ask me, had up
and eloped while I was out of town.
The other wedding party was assembled downstairs when we descended.
Portia’s group would precede Halleigh’s. The two grooms and their
groomsmen were already outside if all was going smoothly, because now it
was five minutes until liftoff.
Portia Bellefleur and her bridesmaids averaged seven years older than
Halleigh’s posse. Portia was the big sister of Andy Bellefleur, Bon Temps
police detective and Halleigh’s groom. Portia’s dress was a little over-thetop—
it was covered with pearls and so much lace and sequins I thought it
could stand by itself—but then, it was Portia’s big day and she could wear
whatever she damn well pleased. All Portia’s bridesmaids were wearing
gold.
The bridesmaids’ bouquets all matched—white and dark blue and yellow.
Coordinated with the dark blue of Halleigh’s bridesmaid selection, the result
was very pretty.
The wedding planner, a thin nervous woman with a big cloud of dark curly
hair, counted heads almost audibly. When she was satisfied everyone she
needed was present and accounted for, she flung open the double doors to
the huge brick patio. We could see the crowd, backs to us, seated on the
lawn in two sections of white folding chairs, with a strip of red carpet
running between the two sides. They were facing the platform where the
priest stood at an altar decked in cloth and gleaming candlesticks. To the
right of the priest, Portia’s groom, Glen Vick, was waiting, facing the house.
And, therefore, us. He looked very, very nervous, but he was smiling. His
groomsmen were already in position flanking him.
Portia’s golden bridesmaids stepped out onto the patio, and one by one
they began their march down the aisle through the manicured garden. The
scent of wedding flowers made the night sweet. And the Belle Rive roses
were blooming, even in October.
Finally, to a huge swell of music, Portia crossed the patio to the end of the
carpet, the wedding coordinator (with some effort) lifting the train of Portia’s
dress so it wouldn’t drag on the bricks.
At the priest’s nod, everyone stood and faced the rear so they could see
Portia’s triumphal march. She’d waited years for this.
After Portia’s safe arrival at the altar, it was our party’s turn. Halleigh gave
each one of us an air kiss on the cheek as we stepped past her out onto
the patio. She even included me, which was sweet of her. The wedding
coordinator sent us off one by one, to stand reflecting our designated
groomsman up front. Mine was a Bellefleur cousin from Monroe who was
quite startled to see me coming instead of Tiffany. I walked at the slow
pace Dana had emphasized and held my bouquet in my clasped hands at
the desired angle. I’d been watching the other maids like a hawk. I wanted
to get this right.
All the faces were turned to me, and I was so nervous I forgot to block. The
thoughts of the crowd rushed at me in a gush of unwanted communication.
Looks so pretty . . . What happened to Tiffany . . . ? Wow, what a rack. . . .
Hurry it up, I need a drink. . . . What the hell am I doing here? She drags
me to every dog fight in the parish.... I love wedding cake.
A photographer stepped in front of me and took a picture. It was someone I
knew, a pretty werewolf named Maria-Star Cooper. She was the assistant
of Al Cumberland, a well-known photographer based in Shreveport. I
smiled at Maria-Star and she took another shot. I continued down the
carpet, held on to my smile, and pushed away all the racket in my head.
After a moment I noticed there were blank spots in the crowd, which
signaled the presence of vampires. Glen had requested a night wedding
specifically so he could invite some of his more important vampire clients.
I’d been sure Portia truly loved him when she agreed to that, because
Portia didn’t like bloodsuckers at all. In fact, they gave her the creeps.
I kind of liked vampires in general, because their brains were closed to me.
Being in their company was oddly restful. Okay, a strain in other ways, but
at least my brain could relax.
Finally, I arrived at my designated spot. I’d watched Portia and Glen’s
attendants arrange themselves in an inverted V, with a space at the front
for the nuptial couple. Our group was doing the same thing. I’d nailed it,
and I exhaled in relief. Since I wasn’t taking the place of the maid of honor,
my work was over. All I had to do was stand still and look attentive, and I
thought I could do that.
The music swelled to a second crescendo, and the priest gave his signal
again. The crowd rose and turned to look at the second bride. Halleigh
began moving slowly toward us. She looked absolutely radiant. Halleigh
had selected a much simpler dress than Portia’s, and she looked very
young and very sweet. She was at least five years younger than Andy,
maybe more. Halleigh’s dad, as tanned and fit as his wife, stepped out to
take Halleigh’s arm when she drew abreast; since Portia had come down
the aisle alone (her father was long dead), it had been decided Halleigh
would, too.
After I’d had my fill of Halleigh’s smile, I looked over the crowd who’d
rotated to follow the bride’s progress.
There were so many familiar faces: teachers from the elementary school
where Halleigh taught, members of the police department where Andy
worked, the friends of old Mrs. Caroline Bellefleur who were still alive and
tottering, Portia’s fellow lawyers and other people who worked in the justice
system, and Glen Vick’s clients and other accountants. Almost every chair
was occupied.
There were a few black faces to be seen, and a few brown faces, but most
of the wedding guests were middle-class Caucasians. The palest faces in
the crowd were the vampires’, of course. One of them I knew well. Bill
Compton, my neighbor and former lover, was sitting about halfway back,
wearing a tuxedo and looking very handsome. Bill managed to seem at
home in whatever he chose to wear. Beside him sat his human girlfriend,
Selah Pumphrey, a real estate agent from Clarice. She was wearing a
burgundy gown that set off her dark hair. There were perhaps five vamps I
didn’t recognize. I assumed they were clients of Glen’s. Though Glen didn’t
know it, there were several other attendees who were more (and less) than
human.
My boss, Sam, was a rare true shapeshifter who could become any animal.
The photographer was a werewolf like his assistant. To all the regular
wedding guests, he looked like a well-rounded, rather short African-
American male wearing a nice suit and carrying a big camera. But Al turned
into a wolf at the full moon just like Maria-Star. There were a few other
Weres in the crowd, though only one I knew—Amanda, a red-haired
woman in her late thirties who owned a bar in Shreveport called the Hair of
the Dog. Maybe Glen’s firm handled the bar’s books.
And there was one werepanther, Calvin Norris. Calvin had brought a date, I
was glad to see, though I was less than thrilled after I identified her as
Tanya Grissom. Blech. What was she doing back in town? And why had
Calvin been on the guest list? I liked him, but I couldn’t figure out the
connection.
While I’d been scanning the crowd for familiar faces, Halleigh had assumed
her position by Andy, and now all the bridesmaids and groomsmen had to
face forward to listen to the service.
Since I didn’t have a big emotional investment in this proceeding, I found
myself mentally wandering while Father Kempton Littrell, the Episcopal
priest who ordinarily came to the little Bon Temps church once every two
weeks, conducted the service. The lights that had been set up to illuminate
the garden glinted off Father Littrell’s glasses and bleached some of the
color out of his face. He looked almost like a vampire. Things proceeded
pretty much on the standard plan. Boy, it was lucky I was used to standing
up at the bar, because this was a lot of standing, and in high heels, too. I
seldom wore heels, much less three-inch ones. It felt strange being five foot
nine. I tried not to shift around, possessed my soul with patience.
Now Glen was putting the ring on Portia’s finger, and Portia looked almost
pretty as she looked down at their clasped hands. She’d never be one of
my favorite people—nor I hers—but I wished her well. Glen was bony and
had darkish receding hair and major glasses. If you called central casting
and ordered an “accountant type,” they’d send you Glen. But I could tell
directly from his brain that he loved Portia, and she loved him.
I let myself shift a bit, put my weight a little more on my right leg.
Then Father Littrell started all over again on Halleigh and Andy. I kept my
smile pasted to my face (no problem there; I did it all the time at the bar)
and watched Halleigh become Mrs. Andrew Bellefleur. I was lucky.
Episcopalian weddings can be long, but the two couples had opted for
having the shorter form of the service.
At last the music swelled to triumphant strains, and the newlyweds exited to
the house. The wedding party trailed after them in reverse order. On my
way down the aisle, I felt genuinely happy and a weensy bit proud. I’d
helped Halleigh in her time of need . . . and very soon I was going to get to
take these shoes off.
From his chair, Bill caught my eye and silently put his hand over his heart.
It was a romantic and totally unexpected gesture, and for a moment I
softened toward him. I very nearly smiled, though Selah was right there by
his side. Just in time, I reminded myself that Bill was a no-good rat bastard,
and I swept on my painful way. Sam was standing a couple of yards past
the last row of chairs, wearing a white tux shirt like the one I’d had on and
black dress pants. Relaxed and at ease, that was Sam. Even his tangled
halo of strawberry blond hair somehow fit in.
I flashed him a genuine smile, and he grinned back. He gave me a thumbsup,
and though shifter brains are hard to read, I could tell he approved of
the way I looked and the way I’d conducted myself. His bright blue eyes
never left me. He’s been my boss for five years, and we’ve gotten along
great for the most part. He’d been pretty upset when I’d started dating a
vampire, but he’d gotten over it.
I needed to get to work, and pronto. I caught up with Dana. “When can we
change?” I asked.
“Oh, we have pictures to do yet,” Dana said cheerfully. Her husband had
come up to put his arm around her. He was holding their baby, a tiny thing
swaddled in sex-neutral yellow.
“Surely I won’t be needed for those,” I said. “You-all took a lot of pictures
earlier, right? Before what’s-her-name got sick.”
“Tiffany. Yes, but there’ll be more.”
I seriously doubted the family would want me in them, though my absence
would unbalance the symmetry in the group pictures. I found Al
Cumberland.
“Yes,” he said, snapping away at the brides and grooms as they beamed at
each other. “I do need some shots. You got to stay in costume.”
“Crap,” I said, because my feet hurt.
“Listen, Sookie, the best I can do is to shoot your group first. Andy,
Halleigh! That is ... Mrs. Bellefleur! If you-all will come this way, let’s get
your pictures done.”
Portia Bellefleur Vick looked a little astonished that her group wasn’t going
first, but she had way too many people to greet to really get riled. While
Maria-Star snapped away at the touching scene, a distant relative wheeled
old Miss Caroline up to Portia, and Portia bent to kiss her grandmother.
Portia and Andy had lived with Miss Caroline for years, after their own
parents had passed away. Miss Caroline’s poor health had delayed the
weddings at least twice. The original plan had been for last spring, and it
had been a rush job because Miss Caroline was failing. She’d had a heart
attack and then recovered. After that, she’d broken her hip. I had to say, for
someone who’d survived two major health disasters, Miss Caroline looked
... Well, to tell the truth, she looked just like a very old lady who’d had a
heart attack and a broken hip. She was all dressed up in a beige silk suit.
She even had on some makeup, and her snow-white hair was arranged à
la Lauren Bacall. She’d been a beauty in her day, an autocrat her entire
life, and a famous cook until the recent past.
Caroline Bellefleur was in her seventh heaven this night. She’d married off
both her grandchildren, she was getting plenty of tribute, and Belle Rive
was looking spectacular, thanks to the vampire who was staring at her with
an absolutely unreadable face. Bill Compton had discovered he was the
Bellefleurs’ ancestor, and he had anonymously given Miss Caroline a
whacking big bunch of money. She’d enjoyed spending it so much, and she
had had no idea it had come from a vampire. She’d thought it a legacy from
a distant relative. I thought it was kind of ironic that the Bellefleurs would
just as soon have spit on Bill as thanked him. But he was part of the family,
and I was glad he’d found a way to attend.
I took a deep breath, banished Bill’s dark gaze from my consciousness,
and smiled at the camera. I occupied my designated space in the pictures
to balance out the wedding party, dodged the googly-eyed cousin, and
finally hotfooted it up the stairs to change into my bartender’s rig.
There was no one up here, and it was a relief to be in the room by myself.
I shimmied out of the dress, hung it up, and sat on a stool to unbuckle the
straps of the painful shoes.
There was a little sound at the door, and I looked up, startled. Bill was
standing just inside the room, his hands in his pockets, his skin glowing
gently. His fangs were out.
“Trying to change here,” I said tartly. No point in making a big show of
modesty. He’d seen every inch of me.
“You didn’t tell them,” he said.
“Huh?” Then my brain caught up. Bill meant that I hadn’t told the Bellefleurs
that he was their ancestor. “No, of course not,” I said. “You asked me not
to.”
“I thought, in your anger, you might give them the information.”
I gave him an incredulous look. “No, some of us actually have honor,” I
said. He looked away for a minute. “By the way, your face healed real well.”
During the Fellowship of the Sun bombing in Rhodes, Bill’s face had been
exposed to the sun with really stomach-churning results.
“I slept for six days,” he said. “When I finally got up, it was mostly healed.
And as for your dig about my failing in honor, I haven’t any defense ...
except that when Sophie-Anne told me to pursue you . . . I was reluctant,
Sookie. At first, I didn’t want to even pretend to have a permanent
relationship with a human woman. I thought it degraded me. I only came
into the bar to identify you when I couldn’t put it off any longer. And that
evening didn’t turn out like I’d planned. I went outside with the drainers, and
things happened. When you were the one who came to my aid, I decided it
was fate. I did what I had been told to do by my queen. In so doing, I fell
into a trap I couldn’t escape. I still can’t.”
The trap of LUUUUVVVV, I thought sarcastically. But he was too serious,
too calm, to mock. I was simply defending my own heart with the weapon of
bitchiness.
“You got you a girlfriend,” I said. “You go on back to Selah.” I looked down
to make sure I’d gotten the little strap on the second sandal unlatched. I
worked the shoe off. When I glanced back up, Bill’s dark eyes were fixed
on me.
“I would give anything to lie with you again,” he said.
I froze, my hands in the act of rolling the thigh-high hose off my left leg.
Okay, that pretty much stunned me on several different levels. First, the
biblical “lie with.” Second, my astonishment that he considered me such a
memorable bed partner.
Maybe he only remembered the virgins.
“I don’t want to fool with you tonight, and Sam’s waiting on me down there
to help him tend bar,” I said roughly. “You go on.” I stood and turned my
back to him while I pulled on my pants and my shirt, tucking the shirt in.
Then it was time for the black running shoes. After a quick check in the
mirror to make sure I still had on some lipstick, I faced the doorway.
He was gone.
I went down the wide stairs and out the patio doors into the garden,
relieved to be resuming my more accustomed place behind a bar. My feet
still hurt. So did the sore spot in my heart labeled Bill Compton.
Sam gave me a smiling glance as I scurried into place. Miss Caroline had
vetoed our request to leave a tip jar out, but bar patrons had already stuffed
a few bills into an empty highball glass, and I intended to let that stay in
position.
“You looked real pretty in the dress,” Sam said as he mixed a rum and
Coke. I handed a beer across the bar and smiled at the older man who’d
come to fetch it. He gave me a huge tip, and I glanced down to see that in
my hurry to get downstairs I’d skipped a button. I was showing a little extra
cleavage. I was momentarily embarrassed, but it wasn’t a slutty button, just
a “Hey, I’ve got boobs” button. So I let it be.
“Thanks,” I said, hoping Sam hadn’t noticed this quick evaluation. “I hope I
did everything right.”
“Of course you did,” Sam said, as if the possibility of me blowing my new
role had never crossed his mind. This is why he’s the greatest boss I’ve
ever had.
“Well, good evening,” said a slightly nasal voice, and I looked up from the
wine I was pouring to see that Tanya Grissom was taking up space and
breathing air that could be better used by almost anyone else. Her escort,
Calvin, was nowhere in sight.
“Hey, Tanya,” Sam said. “How you doing? It’s been a while.”
“Well, I had to tie up some loose ends in Mississippi,” Tanya said. “But I’m
back here visiting, and I wondered if you needed any part-time help, Sam.”
I pressed my mouth shut and kept my hands busy. Tanya stepped to the
side nearest Sam when an elderly lady asked me for some tonic water with
a wedge of lime. I handed it to her so quickly she looked astonished, and
then I took care of Sam’s next customer. I could hear from Sam’s brain that
he was pleased to see Tanya. Men can be idiots, right? To be fair, I did
know some things about her that Sam didn’t.
Selah Pumphrey was next in line, and I could only be amazed at my luck.
However, Bill’s girlfriend just asked for a rum and Coke.
“Sure,” I said, trying not to sound relieved, and began putting the drink
together.
“I heard him,” Selah said very quietly.
“Heard who?” I asked, distracted by my effort to listen to what Tanya and
Sam were saying—either with my ears or with my brain.
“I heard Bill when he was talking to you earlier.” When I didn’t speak, she
continued, “I snuck up the stairs after him.”
“Then he knows you were there,” I said absently, and handed her the drink.
Her eyes flared wide at me for a second— alarmed, angry? She stalked off.
If wishes could kill, I would be lifeless on the ground.
Tanya began to turn away from Sam as if her body was thinking of leaving,
but her head was still talking to my boss. Finally, her whole self went back
to her date. I looked after her, thinking dark thoughts.
“Well, that’s good news,” Sam said with a smile. “Tanya’s available for a
while.”
I bit back my urge to tell him that Tanya had made it quite clear she was
available. “Oh, yeah, great,” I said. There were so many people I liked. Why
were two of the women I really didn’t care for at this wedding tonight? Well,
at least my feet were practically whimpering with pleasure at getting out of
the too-small heels.
I smiled and made drinks and cleared away empty bottles and went to
Sam’s truck to unload more stock. I opened beers and poured wine and
mopped up spills until I felt like a perpetual-motion machine.
The vampire clients arrived at the bar in a cluster. I uncorked one bottle of
Royalty Blended, a premium blend of synthetic blood and the real blood of
actual European royalty. It had to be refrigerated, of course, and it was a
very special treat for Glen’s clients, a treat he’d personally arranged. (The
only vampire drink that exceeded Royalty Blended in price was the nearly
pure Royalty, which contained only a trace of preservatives.) Sam lined up
the wineglasses. Then he told me to pour it out. I was extraspecial careful
not to spill a drop. Sam handed each glass to its recipient. The vampires,
including Bill, all tipped very heavily, big smiles on their faces as they lifted
their glasses in a toast to the newlyweds.
After a sip of the dark fluid in the wineglasses, their fangs ran out to prove
their enjoyment. Some of the human guests looked a smidge uneasy at this
expression of appreciation, but Glen was right there smiling and nodding.
He knew enough about vampires not to offer to shake hands. I noticed the
new Mrs. Vick was not hobnobbing with the undead guests, though she
made one pass through the cluster with a strained smile fixed on her face.
When one of the vampires came back for a glass of ordinary TrueBlood, I
handed him the warm drink. “Thank you,” he said, tipping me yet again.
While he had his billfold open, I saw a Nevada driver’s license. I’m familiar
with a wide variety of licenses from carding kids at the bar; he’d come far
for this wedding. I really looked at him for the first time. When he knew he’d
caught my attention, he put his hands together and bowed slightly. Since
I’d been reading a mystery set in Thailand, I knew this was a wai, a
courteous greeting practiced by Buddhists—or maybe just Thai people in
general? Anyway, he meant to be polite. After a brief hesitation, I put down
the rag in my hand and copied his movement. The vampire looked pleased.
“I call myself Jonathan,” he said. “Americans can’t pronounce my real
name.”
There might have been a touch of arrogance and contempt there, but I
couldn’t blame him.
“I’m Sookie Stackhouse,” I said.
Jonathan was a smallish man, maybe five foot eight, with the light copper
coloring and dusky black hair of his country. He was really handsome. His
nose was small and broad, his lips plump. His brown eyes were topped
with absolutely straight black brows. His skin was so fine I couldn’t detect
any pores. He had that little shine vampires have.
“This is your husband?” he asked, picking up his glass of blood and tilting
his head in Sam’s direction. Sam was busy mixing a piña colada for one of
the bridesmaids.
“No, sir, he’s my boss.”
Just then, Terry Bellefleur, second cousin to Portia and Andy, lurched up to
ask for another beer. I was real fond of Terry, but he was a bad drunk, and
I thought he was well on his way to achieving that condition. Though the
Vietnam vet wanted to stand and talk about the president’s policy on the
current war, I walked him over to another family member, a distant cousin
from Baton Rouge, and made sure the man was going to keep an eye on
Terry and prevent him from driving off in his pickup.
The vampire Jonathan was keeping an eye on me while I did this, and I
wasn’t sure why. But I didn’t observe anything aggressive or lustful in his
stance or demeanor, and his fangs were in. It seemed safe to disregard
him and take care of business. If there was some reason Jonathan wanted
to talk to me, I’d find out about it sooner or later. Later was fine.
As I fetched a case of Cokes from Sam’s truck, my attention was caught by
a man standing alone in the shadows cast by the big live oak on the west
side of the lawn. He was tall, slim, and impeccably dressed in a suit that
was obviously very expensive. The man stepped forward a little and I could
see his face, could realize he was returning my gaze. My first impression
was that he was a lovely creature and not a man at all. Whatever he was,
human wasn’t part of it. Though he had some age on him, he was
extremely handsome, and his hair, still pale gold, was as long as mine. He
wore it pulled back neatly. He was slightly withered, like a delicious apple
that had been in the crisper too long, but his back was absolutely straight
and he wore no glasses. He did carry a cane, a very simple black one with
a gold head.
When he stepped out of the shadows, the vampires turned as a group to
look. After a moment they slightly inclined their heads. He returned the
acknowledgment. They kept their distance, as if he was dangerous or
awesome.
This episode was very strange, but I didn’t have time to think about it.
Everyone wanted one last free drink. The reception was winding down, and
people were filtering to the front of the house for the leave-taking of the
happy couples. Halleigh and Portia had disappeared upstairs to change
into their going-away outfits. The E(E)E staff had been vigilant about
clearing up empty cups and the little plates that had held cake and finger
food, so the garden looked relatively neat.
Now that we weren’t busy, Sam let me know he had something on his
mind. “Sookie, am I getting the wrong idea, or do you dislike Tanya?”
“I do have something against Tanya,” I said. “I’m just not sure I should tell
you about it. You clearly like her.” You’d think I’d been sampling the
bourbon. Or truth serum.
“If you don’t like to work with her, I want to hear the reason,” he said.
“You’re my friend. I respect your opinion.”
This was very pleasant to hear.
“Tanya is pretty,” I said. “She’s bright and able.” Those were the good
things.
“And?”
“And she came here as a spy,” I said. “The Pelts sent her, trying to find out
if I had anything to do with the disappearance of their daughter Debbie.
You remember when they came to the bar?”
“Yes,” said Sam. In the illumination that had been strung up all around the
garden, he looked both brightly lit and darkly shadowed. “You did have
something to do with it?”
“Everything,” I said sadly. “But it was self-defense.”
“I know it must have been.” He’d taken my hand. My own jerked in surprise.
“I know you,” he said, and didn’t let go.
Sam’s faith made me feel a little warm glow inside. I’d worked for Sam a
long time now, and his good opinion meant a lot to me. I felt almost choked
up, and I had to clear my throat. “So, I wasn’t happy to see Tanya,” I
continued. “I didn’t trust her from the start, and when I found out why she’d
come to Bon Temps, I got really down on her. I don’t know if she still gets
paid by the Pelts. Plus, tonight she’s here with Calvin, and she’s got no
business hitting on you.” My tone was a lot angrier than I’d intended.
“Oh.” Sam looked disconcerted.
“But if you want to go out with her, go ahead,” I said, trying to lighten up. “I
mean—she can’t be all bad. And I guess she thought she was doing the
right thing, coming to help find information on a missing shifter.” That
sounded pretty good and might even be the truth. “I don’t have to like who
you date,” I added, just to make it clear I understood I had no claim on him.
“Yeah, but I feel better if you do,” he said.
“Same here,” I agreed, to my own surprise.
Chapter 2
We began packing up in a quiet and unobtrusive way, since there were still
lingering guests.
“As along as we’re talking about dates, what happened to Quinn?” he
asked as we worked. “You’ve been moping ever since you got back from
Rhodes.”
“Well, I told you he got hurt pretty bad in the bombing.” Quinn’s branch of
E(E)E staged special events for the supe community: vampire hierarchal
weddings, Were coming of age parties, packleader contests, and the like.
That was why Quinn had been in the Pyramid of Gizeh when the
Fellowship did its dirty deed.
The FotS people were anti-vampire, but they had no idea that vampires
were just the visible, public tip of the iceberg in the supernatural world. No
one knew this; or at least only a few people like me, though more and more
were in on the big secret. I was sure the Fellowship fanatics would hate
werewolves or shapeshifters like Sam just as much as they hated vampires
. . . if they knew they existed. That time might come soon.
“Yeah, but I would have thought ...”
“I know, I would have thought Quinn and I were all set, too,” I said, and if
my voice was dreary, well, thinking about my missing weretiger made me
feel that way. “I kept thinking I’d hear from him. But not a word.”
“You still got his sister’s car?” Frannie Quinn had loaned me her car so I
could get home after the Rhodes disaster.
“No, it vanished one night when Amelia and I were both at work. I called
and left a voice mail on his cell to say it had been taken, but I never heard
back.”
“Sookie, I’m sorry,” Sam said. He knew that was inadequate, but what
could he say?
“Yeah, me, too,” I said, trying not to sound too depressed. It was an effort
to keep from retreading tired mental ground. I knew Quinn didn’t blame me
in any way for his injuries. I’d seen him in the hospital in Rhodes before I’d
left, and he’d been in the care of his sister, Fran, who didn’t seem to hate
me at that point. No blame, no hate—why no communication?
It was like the ground had opened to swallow him up. I threw up my hands
and tried to think of something else. Keeping busy was the best remedy
when I was worried. We began to shift some of our things to Sam’s truck,
parked about a block away. He carried most of the heavier stuff. Sam is not
a big guy, but he’s really strong, as all shifters are.
By ten thirty we were almost finished. From the cheers at the front of the
house, I knew that the brides had descended the staircase in their
honeymoon clothes, thrown their bouquets, and departed. Portia and Glen
were going to San Francisco, and Halleigh and Andy were going to
Jamaica to some resort. I couldn’t help but know.
Sam told me I could leave. “I’ll get Dawson to help me unload at the bar,”
he said. Since Dawson, who’d been standing in for Sam at Merlotte’s Bar
tonight, was built like a boulder, I agreed that was a good plan.
When we divided the tips, I got about three hundred dollars. It had been a
lucrative evening. I tucked the money in my pants pocket. It made a big roll,
since it was mostly ones. I was glad we were in Bon Temps instead of a big
city, or I’d worry that someone would hit me on the head before I got to my
car.
“Well, night, Sam,” I said, and checked my pocket for my car keys. I hadn’t
bothered with bringing a purse. As I went down the slope of the backyard to
the sidewalk, I patted my hair self-consciously. I’d been able to stop the
pink smock lady from putting it on top of my head, so she’d done it puffy
and curly and sort of Farrah Fawcett. I felt silly.
There were cars going by, most of them wedding guests taking their
departure. There was some regular Saturday night traffic. The line of
vehicles parked against the curb stretched for a very long way down the
street, so all traffic was moving slowly. I’d illegally parked with the driver’s
side against the curb, not usually a big deal in our little town.
I bent to unlock my car door, and I heard a noise behind me. In a single
movement, I palmed my keys and clenched my fist, wheeled, and hit as
hard as I could. The keys gave my fist quite a core, and the man behind me
staggered across the sidewalk to land on his butt on the slope of the lawn.
“I mean you no harm,” said Jonathan.
It isn’t easy to look dignified and nonthreatening when you have blood
running from one corner of your mouth and you’re sitting on your ass, but
the Asian vampire managed it.
“You surprised me,” I said, which was a gross understatement.
“I can see that,” he said, and got easily to his feet. He brought out a
handkerchief and patted his mouth.
I wasn’t going to apologize. People who sneak up on me when I’m alone at
night, well, they deserve what they get. But I reconsidered. Vampires move
quietly. “I’m sorry I assumed the worst,” I said, which was sort of a
compromise. “I should have identified you.”
“No, it would have been too late by then,” Jonathan said. “A woman alone
must defend herself.”
“I appreciate your understanding,” I said carefully. I glanced behind him,
tried not to register anything on my face. Since I hear so many startling
things from people’s brains, I’m used to doing that. I looked directly at
Jonathan. “Did you . . . Why were you here?”
“I’m passing through Louisiana, and I came to the wedding as a guest of
Hamilton Tharp,” he said. “I’m staying in Area Five, with the permission of
Eric Northman.”
I had no idea who Hamilton Tharp was—presumably some buddy of the
Bellefleurs’. But I knew Eric Northman quite well. (In fact, at one time I’d
known him from his head to his toes, and all points in between.) Eric was
the sheriff of Area Five, a large chunk of northern Louisiana. We were tied
together in a complex way, which most days I resented like hell.
“Actually, what I was asking you was—why did you approach me just
now?” I waited, keys still clutched in my hand. I’d go for his eyes, I decided.
Even vampires are vulnerable there.
“I was curious,” Jonathan said finally. His hands were folded in front of him.
I was developing a strong dislike for the vamp.
“Why?”
“I heard a little at Fangtasia about the blond woman Eric values so highly.
Eric has such a hard nose that it didn’t seem likely any human woman
could interest him.”
“So how’d you know I was going to be here, at this wedding, tonight?”
His eyes flickered. He hadn’t expected me to persist in questioning. He had
expected to be able to calm me, maybe at this moment was trying to
coerce me with his glamour. But that just didn’t work on me.
“The young woman who works for Eric, his child Pam, mentioned it,” he
said.
Liar, liar, pants on fire, I thought. I hadn’t talked to Pam in a couple of
weeks, and our last conversation hadn’t been girlish chatter about my
social and work schedule. She’d been recovering from the wounds she’d
sustained in Rhodes. Her recovery, and Eric’s, and the queen’s, had been
the sole topic of our conversation.
“Of course,” I said. “Well, good evening. I need to be leaving.” I unlocked
the door and carefully slid inside, trying to keep my eyes fixed on Jonathan
so I’d be ready for a sudden move. He stood as still as a statue, inclining
his head to me after I started the car and pulled off. At the next stop sign, I
buckled my seat belt. I hadn’t wanted to pin myself down while he was so
close. I locked the car doors, and I looked all around me. No vampires in
sight. I thought, That was really, really weird. In fact, I should probably call
Eric and relate the incident to him.
You know what the weirdest part was? The withered man with the long
blond hair had been standing in the shadows behind the vampire the whole
time. Our eyes had even met once. His beautiful face had been quite
unreadable. But I’d known he didn’t want me to acknowledge his presence.
I hadn’t read his mind—I couldn’t—but I’d known this nonetheless.
And weirdest of all, Jonathan hadn’t known he was there. Given the acute
sense of smell that all vampires possessed, Jonathan’s ignorance was
simply extraordinary.
I was still mulling over the strange little episode when I turned off
Hummingbird Road and onto the long driveway through the woods that led
back to my old house. The core of the house had been built more than a
hundred and sixty years before, but of course very little of the original
structure remained. It had been added to, remodeled, and reroofed a score
of times over the course of the decades. A two-room farmhouse to begin
with, it was now much larger, but it remained a very ordinary home.
Tonight the house looked peaceful in the glow of the outside security light
that Amelia Broadway, my housemate, had left on for me. Amelia’s car was
parked in back, and I pulled alongside it. I kept my keys out in case she’d
gone upstairs for the night. She’d left the screen door unlatched, and I
latched it behind me. I unlocked the back door and relocked it. We were
hell on security, Amelia and I, especially at night.
A little to my surprise, Amelia was sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for
me. We’d developed a routine after weeks of living together, and generally
Amelia would have retired upstairs by this time. She had her own TV, her
cell phone, and her laptop up there, and she’d gotten a library card, so she
had plenty to read. Plus, she had her spell work, which I didn’t ask
questions about. Ever. Amelia is a witch.
“How’d it go?” she asked, stirring her tea as if she had to create a tiny
whirlpool.
“Well, they got married. No one pulled a Jane Eyre. Glen’s vampire
customers behaved themselves, and Miss Caroline was gracious all over
the place. But I had to stand in for one of the bridesmaids.”
“Oh, wow! Tell me.”
So I did, and we shared a few laughs. I thought of telling Amelia about the
beautiful man, but I didn’t.
What could I say? “He looked at me”? I did tell her about Jonathan from
Nevada.
“What do you think he really wanted?” Amelia said.
“I can’t imagine.” I shrugged.
“You need to find out. Especially since you’d never heard of the guy whose
guest he said he was.”
“I’m going to call Eric—if not tonight, then tomorrow night.”
“Too bad you didn’t buy a copy of that database Bill is peddling. I saw an
ad for it on the Internet yesterday, on a vampire site.” This might seem like
a sudden change of subject, but Bill’s database contained pictures and/or
biographies of all the vampires he’d been able to locate all over the world,
and a few he’d just heard about. Bill’s little CD was making more money for
his boss, the queen, than I could ever have imagined. But you had to be a
vampire to purchase a copy, and they had ways of checking.
“Well, since Bill is charging five hundred dollars a pop, and impersonating a
vampire is a dangerous risk...” I said.
Amelia waved her hand. “It’d be worth it,” she said.
Amelia is a lot more sophisticated than I am . . . at least in some ways. She
grew up in New Orleans, and she’d lived there most of her life. Now she
was living with me because she’d made a giant mistake. She’d needed to
leave New Orleans after her inexperience had caused a magical
catastrophe. It was lucky she’d departed when she had, because Katrina
followed soon after. Since the hurricane, her tenant was living in the topfloor
apartment of Amelia’s house. Amelia’s own apartment on the bottom
floor had sustained some damage. She wasn’t charging the tenant rent
because he was overseeing the repair of the house.
And here came the reason Amelia wasn’t moving back to New Orleans any
time soon. Bob padded into the kitchen to say hello, rubbing himself
affectionately against my legs.
“Hey, my little honey bunny,” I said, picking up the long-haired black-andwhite
cat. “How’s my precious? I wuv him!”
“I’m gonna barf,” Amelia said. But I knew that she talked just as
disgustingly to Bob when I wasn’t around.
“Any progress?” I said, raising my head from Bob’s fur. He’d had a bath this
afternoon—I could tell from his fluffy factor.
“No,” she said, her voice flat with discouragement. “I worked on him for an
hour today, and I only gave him a lizard tail. Took everything I had to get it
changed back.”
Bob was really a guy, that is, a man. A sort of nerdy-looking man with dark
hair and glasses, though Amelia had confided he had some outstanding
attributes that weren’t apparent when he was dressed for the street. Amelia
wasn’t supposed to be practicing transformational magic when she turned
Bob into a cat; they were having what must have been very adventurous
sex. I’d never had the nerve to ask her what she’d been trying to do. It was
clear that it was something pretty exotic.
“The deal is,” Amelia said suddenly, and I went on the alert. The real
reason she’d stayed up to see me was about to be revealed. Amelia was a
very clear broadcaster, so I picked it right up from her brain. But I let her go
on and speak, because people really don’t like it if you tell them they don’t
have to actually speak to you, especially when the topic is something
they’ve had to build up to. “My dad is going to be in Shreveport tomorrow,
and he wants to come by Bon Temps to see me,” she said in a rush. “It’ll be
him and his chauffeur, Marley. He wants to come for supper.”
The next day would be Sunday. Merlotte’s would be open only in the
afternoon, but I wasn’t scheduled to work anyway, I saw with a glance at
my calendar. “So I’ll just go out,” I said. “I could go visit JB and Tara. No
big.”
“Please be here,” she said, and her face was naked with pleading. She
didn’t spell out why. But I could read the reason easy enough. Amelia had a
very conflicted relationship with her dad; in fact, she’d taken her mother’s
last name, Broadway, though in part that was because her father was so
well-known. Copley Carmichael had lots of political clout and he was rich,
though I didn’t know how Katrina had affected his income. Carmichael
owned huge lumberyards and was a builder, and Katrina might have wiped
out his businesses. On the other hand, the whole area needed lumber and
rebuilding.
“What time’s he coming?” I asked.
“Five.”
“Does the chauffeur eat at the same table as him?” I’d never dealt with
employees. We just had the one table here in the kitchen. I sure wasn’t
going to make the man sit on the back steps.
“Oh, God,” she said. This had clearly never occurred to her. “What will we
do about Marley?”
“That’s what I’m asking you.” I may have sounded a little too patient.
“Listen,” Amelia said. “You don’t know my dad. You don’t know how he is.”
I knew from Amelia’s brain that her feelings about her father were really
mixed. It was very difficult to pick through the love, fear, and anxiety to get
to Amelia’s true basic attitude. I knew few rich people, and even fewer rich
people who employed full-time chauffeurs.
This visit was going to be interesting.
I said good night to Amelia and went to bed, and though there was a lot to
think about, my body was tired and I was soon asleep.
Sunday was another beautiful day. I thought of the newlyweds, safely
launched on their new lives, and I thought of old Miss Caroline, who was
enjoying the company of a couple of her cousins (youngsters in their
sixties) by way of watchdogs and companions. When Portia and Glen
returned, the cousins would go back to their more humble home, probably
with some relief. Halleigh and Andy would move into their own small house.
I wondered about Jonathan and the beautiful withered man.
I reminded myself to call Eric the next night when he was up.
I thought about Bill’s unexpected words.
For the millionth time, I speculated about Quinn’s silence.
But before I could get too broody, I was caught up in Hurricane Amelia.
There are lots of things I’ve come to enjoy, even love, about Amelia. She’s
straightforward, enthusiastic, and talented. She knows all about the
supernatural world, and my place in it. She thinks my weird “talent” is really
cool. I can talk to her about anything. She’s never going to react with
disgust or horror. On the other hand, Amelia is impulsive and headstrong,
but you have to take people like they are. I’ve really enjoyed having Amelia
living with me.
On the practical side, she’s a decent cook, she’s careful about keeping our
property separate, and God knows she’s tidy. What Amelia really does well
is clean. She cleans when she’s bored, she cleans when she’s nervous,
and she cleans when she feels guilty. I am no slouch in the housekeeping
department, but Amelia is world-class. The day she had a near-miss auto
accident, she cleaned my living room furniture, upholstery and all. When
her tenant called her to tell her the roof had to be replaced, she went down
to EZ Rent and brought home a machine to polish and buff the wooden
floors upstairs and downstairs.
When I got up at nine, Amelia was already deep in a cleaning frenzy
because of her father’s impending visit. By the time I left for church at about
ten forty-five, Amelia was on her hands and knees in the downstairs hall
bathroom, which admittedly is very old-fashioned looking with its tiny
octagonal black-and-white tiles and a huge old claw-footed bathtub; but
(thanks to my brother, Jason) it has a more modern toilet. This was the
bathroom Amelia used, since there wasn’t one upstairs. I had a small,
private one off my bedroom, added in the fifties. In my house, you could
see several major decorating trends over the past few decades all in one
building.
“You really think it was that dirty?” I said, standing in the doorway. I was
talking to Amelia’s rump.
She raised her head and passed a rubber-gloved hand over her forehead
to push her short hair out of the way.
“No, it wasn’t bad, but I want it to be great.”
“My house is just an old house, Amelia. I don’t think it can look great.”
There was no point in my apologizing for the age and wear of the house
and its furnishings. This was the best I could do, and I loved it.
“This is a wonderful old home, Sookie,” Amelia said fiercely. “But I have to
be busy.”
“Okay,” I said. “Well, I’m going to church. I’ll be home by twelve thirty.”
“Can you go to the store after church? The list is on the counter.”
I agreed, glad to have something to do that would keep me out of the
house longer.
The morning felt more like March (March in the south, that is) than October.
When I got out of my car at the Methodist church, I raised my face to the
slight breeze. There was a touch of winter in the air, a little taste of it. The
windows in the modest church were open. When we sang, our combined
voices floated out over the grass and trees. But I saw some leaves blow
past as the pastor preached.
Frankly, I don’t always listen to the sermon. Sometimes the hour in church
is just a time to think, a time to consider where my life is going. But at least
those thoughts are in a context. And when you watch leaves falling off
trees, your context gets pretty narrow.
Today I listened. Reverend Collins talked about giving God the things that
were due him while giving Caesar the things due him. That seemed like an
April fifteenth type sermon to me, and I caught myself wondering if
Reverend Collins paid his taxes quarterly. But after a while, I figured he
was talking about the laws we break all the time without feeling guilty—like
the speed limit, or sticking a letter in with some presents in a box you’re
mailing at the post office, without paying the extra postage.
I smiled at Reverend Collins on my way out of the church. He always looks
a little troubled when he sees me.
I said hello to Maxine Fortenberry and her husband, Ed, as I reached the
parking lot. Maxine was large and formidable, and Ed was so shy and quiet
he was almost invisible. Their son, Hoyt, was my brother Jason’s best
friend. Hoyt was standing behind his mother. He was wearing a nice suit,
and his hair had been trimmed. Interesting signs.
“Sugar, you give me a hug!” Maxine said, and of course I did. Maxine had
been a good friend to my grandmother, though she was more the age my
dad would have been. I smiled at Ed and gave Hoyt a little wave.
“You’re looking nice,” I told him, and he smiled. I didn’t think I’d ever seen
Hoyt smile like that, and I glanced at Maxine. She was grinning.
“Hoyt, he’s dating that Holly you work with,” Maxine said. “She’s got a little
one, and that’s a thing to think about, but he’s always liked kids.”
“I didn’t know,” I said. I really had been out of it lately. “That’s just great,
Hoyt. Holly’s a real nice girl.”
I wasn’t sure I would have put it quite that way if I’d had time to think, so
maybe it was lucky I didn’t. There were some big positives about Holly
(devoted to her son, Cody; loyal to her friends; a competent worker). She’d
been divorced for several years, so Hoyt wasn’t a rebound. I wondered if
Holly had told Hoyt she was a Wiccan. Nope, she hadn’t, or Maxine
wouldn’t be smiling so broadly.
“We’re meeting her for lunch at the Sizzler,” she said, referring to the
steakhouse up by the interstate. “Holly’s not much of a churchgoer, but
we’re working on getting her to come with us and bring Cody. We better get
moving if we’re gonna be on time.”
“Way to go, Hoyt,” I said, patting his arm as he went by me. He gave me a
pleased look.
Everyone was getting married or falling in love. I was happy for them.
Happy, happy, happy. I pasted a smile on my face and went to Piggly
Wiggly. I fished Amelia’s list out of my purse. It was pretty long, but I was
sure there’d be additions by now. I called her on my cell phone, and she
had already thought of three more items to add, so I was some little while in
the store.
My arms were weighed down with plastic bags as I struggled up the steps
to the back porch. Amelia shot out to the car to grab the other bags.
“Where have you been?” she asked, as if she’d been standing by the door
tapping her toe.
I looked at my watch. “I got out of church and went to the store,” I said
defensively. “It’s only one.”
Amelia passed me again, heavily laden. She shook her head in
exasperation as she went by, making a noise that could only be described
as “Urrrrrrgh.”
The rest of the afternoon was like that, as though Amelia were getting
ready for the date of her life.
I’m not a bad cook, but Amelia would let me do only the most menial
chores in fixing the dinner. I got to chop onions and tomatoes. Oh, yeah,
she let me wash the preparation dishes. I’d always wondered if she could
do the dishes like the fairy godmothers in Sleeping Beauty, but she just
snorted when I brought it up.
The house was spanky clean, and though I tried not to mind, I noticed that
Amelia had even given the floor of my bedroom a once-over. As a rule, we
didn’t go into each other’s space.
“Sorry I went in your room,” Amelia said suddenly, and I jumped—me, the
telepath. Amelia had beaten me at my own game. “It was one of those
crazy impulses I get. I was vacuuming, and I just thought I’d get your floor,
too. And before I thought about it, I was done. I put your slippers up under
your bed.”
“Okay,” I said, trying to sound neutral.
“Hey, I am sorry.”
I nodded and went back to drying the dishes and putting them away. The
menu, as decided by Amelia, was tossed green salad with tomatoes and
slivered carrots, lasagna, hot garlic bread, and steamed fresh mixed
vegetables. I don’t know diddly-squat about steamed vegetables, but I had
prepared all the raw materials—the zucchini, bell peppers, mushrooms,
cauliflower. Late in the afternoon, I was deemed capable of tossing the
salad, and I got to put the cloth and the little bouquet of flowers on the table
and arrange the place settings. Four place settings.
I’d offered to take Mr. Marley into the living room with me, where we could
eat on TV trays, but you would have thought I’d offered to wash his feet,
Amelia was so horrified.
“No, you’re sticking with me,” she said.
“You gotta talk to your dad,” I said. “At some point, I’m leaving the room.”
She took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay, I’m a grown-up,” she
muttered.
“Scaredy-cat,” I said.
“You haven’t met him yet.”
Amelia hurried upstairs at four fifteen to get ready. I was sitting in the living
room reading a library book when I heard a car on the gravel driveway. I
glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was four forty-eight. I yelled up the
staircase and stood to look out the window. The afternoon was drawing to a
close, but since we hadn’t reverted to standard time yet, it was easy to see
the Lincoln Town Car parked in front. A man with clipped dark hair, wearing
a business suit, got out of the driver’s seat. This must be Marley. He wasn’t
wearing a chauffeur’s hat, somewhat to my disappointment. He opened a
rear door. Out stepped Copley Carmichael.
Amelia’s dad wasn’t very tall, and he had short thick gray hair that looked
like a really good carpet, dense and smooth and expertly cut. He was very
tan, and his eyebrows were still dark. No glasses. No lips. Well, he did
have lips, but they were really thin, so his mouth looked like a trap.
Mr. Carmichael looked around him as if he were doing a tax assessment.
I heard Amelia clattering down the stairs behind me as I watched the man
in my front yard complete his survey. Marley the chauffeur was looking right
at the house. He’d spotted my face at the window.
“Marley’s sort of new,” Amelia said. “He’s been with my dad for just two
years.”
“Your dad’s always had a driver?”
“Yeah. Marley’s a bodyguard, too,” Amelia said casually, as if everyone’s
dad had a bodyguard.
They were walking up the gravel sidewalk now, not even looking at its neat
border of ilex. Up the wooden steps. Across the front porch. Knocking.
I thought of all the scary creatures that had been in my house: Weres,
shifters, vampires, even a demon or two. Why should I be worried about
this man? I straightened my spine, chilled my anxious brain, and went to
the front door, though Amelia almost beat me to it. After all, this was my
house.
I put my hand on the knob, and I got my smile ready before I opened the
door.
“Please come in,” I said, and Marley opened the screen door for Mr.
Carmichael, who came in and hugged his daughter but not before he’d cast
another comprehensive look around the living room.
He was as clear a broadcaster as his daughter.
He was thinking this looked mighty shabby for a daughter of his. . . . Pretty
girl Amelia was living with . . . Wondered if Amelia was having sex with
her... The girl was probably no better than she should be.... No police
record, though she had dated a vampire and had a wild brother...
Of course a rich and powerful man like Copley Carmichael would have his
daughter’s new housemate investigated. Such a procedure had simply
never occurred to me, like so many things the rich did.
I took a deep breath. “I’m Sookie Stackhouse,” I said politely. “You must be
Mr. Carmichael. And this is?” After shaking Mr. Carmichael’s hand, I
extended mine to Marley.
For a second, I thought I’d caught Amelia’s dad off-footed. But he
recovered in record time.
“This is Tyrese Marley,” Mr. Carmichael said smoothly.
The chauffeur shook my hand gently, as if he didn’t want to break my
bones, and then he nodded to Amelia. “Miss Amelia,” he said, and Amelia
looked angry, as if she was going to tell him to cut the “Miss,” but then she
reconsidered. All these thoughts, pinging back and forth... It was enough to
keep me distracted.
Tyrese Marley was a very, very light-skinned African-American. He was far
from black; his skin was more the color of old ivory. His eyes were bright
hazel. Though his hair was black, it wasn’t curly, and it had a red cast.
Marley was a man you’d always look at twice.
“I’ll take the car back to town and get some gas,” he said to his boss.
“While you spend time with Miss Amelia. When you want me back?”
Mr. Carmichael looked down at his watch. “A couple of hours.”
“You’re welcome to stay for supper,” I said, managing a very neutral tone. I
wanted what made everyone feel comfortable.
“I have a few errands I need to run,” Tyrese Marley said with no inflection.
“Thanks for the invitation. I’ll see you later.” He left.
Okay, end of my attempt at democracy.
Tyrese couldn’t have known how much I would have preferred going into
town rather than staying in the house. I braced myself and began the social
necessities. “Can I get you a glass of wine, Mr. Carmichael, or something
else to drink? What about you, Amelia?”
“Call me Cope,” he said, smiling. It was way too much like a shark’s grin to
warm my heart. “Sure, a glass of whatever’s open. You, baby?”
“Some of the white,” she said, and I heard her telling her dad to be seated
as I went to the kitchen.
I served the wine and added it to the tray with our hors d’oeuvres: crackers,
a warm Brie spread, and apricot jam mixed with hot peppers. We had some
cute little knives that looked good with the tray, and Amelia had gotten
cocktail napkins for the drinks.
Cope had a good appetite, and he enjoyed the Brie. He sipped the wine,
which was an Arkansas label, and nodded politely. Well, at least he didn’t
spit it out. I seldom drink, and I’m no kind of wine connoisseur. In fact, I’m
not a connoisseur of anything at all. But I enjoyed the wine, sip by sip.
“Amelia, tell me what you’re doing with your time while you’re waiting for
your home to be repaired,” Cope said, which I thought was a reasonable
opening.
I started to tell him that for starters, she wasn’t screwing around with me,
but I thought that might be a little too direct. I tried very hard not to read his
thoughts, but I swear, with him and his daughter in the same room, it was
like listening to a television broadcast.
“I’ve done some filing for one of the local insurance agents. And I’m
working part-time at Merlotte’s Bar,” Amelia said. “I serve drinks and the
occasional chicken basket.”
“Is the bar work interesting?” Cope didn’t sound sarcastic, I’ll give him that.
But, of course, I was sure he’d had Sam researched, too.
“It’s not bad,” she said with a slight smile. That was a lot of restraint for
Amelia, so I checked into her brain to see that she was squeezing herself
into a conversational girdle. “I get good tips.”
Her father nodded. “You, Miss Stackhouse?” Cope asked politely.
He knew everything about me but the shade of fingernail polish I was
wearing, and I was sure he’d add that to my file if he could. “I work at
Merlotte’s full-time,” I said, just as if he didn’t know that. “I’ve been there for
years.”
“You have family in the area?”
“Oh, yes, we’ve been here forever,” I said. “Or as close to forever as
Americans get. But our family’s dwindled down. It’s just me and my brother
now.”
“Older brother? Younger?”
“Older,” I said. “Married, real recently.”
“So maybe there’ll be other little Stackhouses,” he said, trying to sound like
he thought that would be a good thing.
I nodded as if the possibility pleased me, too. I didn’t like my brother’s wife
much, and I thought it was entirely possible that any kids they had would be
pretty rotten. In fact, one was on the way right now, if Crystal didn’t
miscarry again. My brother was a werepanther (bitten, not born), and his
wife was a born . . . a pure . . . werepanther, that is. Being raised in the little
werepanther community of Hotshot was not an easy thing, and would be
even harder for kids who weren’t pure.
“Dad, can I get you some more wine?” Amelia was out of her chair like a
shot, and she sped on her way to the kitchen with the half-empty
wineglass. Good, quality alone time with Amelia’s dad.
“Sookie,” Cope said, “you’ve been very kind to let my daughter live with you
all this time.”
“Amelia pays rent,” I said. “She buys half the groceries. She pays her way.”
“Nonetheless, I wish you’d let me give you something for your trouble.”
“What Amelia gives me on rent is enough. After all, she’s paid for some
improvements to the property, too.”
His face sharpened then, as if he was on the scent of something big. Did
he think I’d talked Amelia into putting a pool in the backyard?
“She got a window air conditioner put in her bedroom upstairs,” I said. “And
she got an extra phone line for the computer. And I think she got a throw
rug and some curtains for her room, too.”
“She lives upstairs?”
“Yes,” I said, surprised he didn’t somehow know already. Perhaps there
were a few things his intelligence net hadn’t scooped up. “I live down here,
she lives up there, and we share the kitchen and living room, though I think
Amelia’s got a TV upstairs, too. Hey, Amelia!” I called.
“Yeah?” Her voice floated down the hall from the kitchen.
“You still got that little TV up there?”
“Yeah, I hooked it up to the cable.”
“Just wondered.”
I smiled at Cope, indicating the conversational ball was in his court. He was
thinking of several things to ask me, and he was thinking of the best way to
approach me to get the most information. A name popped to the surface in
the whirlpool of his thoughts, and it took everything I had to keep a polite
expression.
“The first tenant Amelia had in the house on Chloe—she was your cousin,
right?” Cope said.
“Hadley. Yes.” I kept my face calm as I nodded. “Did you know her?”
“I know her husband,” he said, and smiled.