Book Seven 1-4

1
THE SHREVEPORT VAMPIRE BAR WOULD BE OPENINGlate tonight. I was running
behind, and I’d automatically gone to the front door, the public door, only to be halted by a
neatly lettered sign, red Gothic script on white cardboard:WE’LL BE READY TO GREET
YOU WITH A BITE TONIGHT, AT EIGHT O’CLOCK. PLEASE EXCUSE OUR
DELAYED OPENING. It was signed “The Staff of Fangtasia.”
It was the third week in September, so the red neonFANGTASIA sign was already on. The
sky was almost pitch-black. I stood with one foot inside my car for a minute, enjoying the
mild evening and the faint, dry smell of vampire that lingered around the club. Then I drove
around to the back and parked beside several other cars lined up at the employee entrance. I
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was only five minutes late, but it looked like everyone else had beaten me to the meeting. I
rapped on the door. I waited.
I’d raised my hand to knock again when Pam, Eric’s second-in-command, opened the door.
Pam was based at the bar, but she had other duties in Eric’s various business dealings.
Though vampires had gone public five years ago and turned their best face to the world,
they were still pretty secretive about their moneymaking methods, and sometimes I
wondered how much of America the undead actually owned. Eric, the owner of Fangtasia,
was a true vampire in the keeping-things-to-himself department. Of course, in his long,
long existence he’d had to be.
“Come in, my telepathic friend,” Pam said, gesturing dramatically. She was wearing her
work outfit: the filmy, trailing black gown that all the tourists who came into the bar
seemed to expect from female vampires. (When Pam got to pick her own clothing, she was
a pastels-and-twinset kind of woman.) Pam had the palest, straightest blond hair you ever
saw; in fact, she was ethereally lovely, with a kind of deadly edge. The deadly edge was
what a person shouldn’t forget.
“How you doing?” I asked politely.
“I am doing exceptionally well,” she said. “Eric is full of happiness.”
Eric Northman, the vampire sheriff of Area Five, had made Pam a vampire, and she was
both obliged and compelled to do his bidding. That was part of the deal of becoming
undead: you were always in sway to your maker. But Pam had told me more than once that
Eric was a good boss to have, and that he would let her go her own way if and when she
desired to do so. In fact, she’d been living in Minnesota until Eric had purchased Fangtasia
and called her to help him run it.
Area Five was most of northwestern Louisiana, which until a month ago had been the
economically weaker half of the state. Since Hurricane Katrina, the balance of power in
Louisiana had shifted dramatically, especially in the vampire community.
“How is that delicious brother of yours, Sookie? And your shape-shifting boss?” Pam said.
“My delicious brother is making noises about getting married, like everyone else in Bon
Temps,” I said.
“You sound a bit depressed.” Pam cocked her head to one side and regarded me like a
sparrow eyeing a worm.
“Well, maybe a tad wee bit,” I said.
“You must keep busy,” Pam said. “Then you won’t have time to mope.”
Pamloved “Dear Abby.” Lots of vampires scrutinized the column daily. Their solutions to
some of the writers’ problems would just make you scream. Literally. Pam had already
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advised me that I could only be imposed on if I permitted it, and that I needed to be more
selective in picking my friends. I was getting emotional-health counseling from a vampire.
“I am,” I said. “Keeping busy, that is. I’m working, I’ve still got my roommate from New
Orleans, and I’m going to a wedding shower tomorrow. Not for Jason and Crystal. Another
couple.”
Pam had paused, her hand on the doorknob of Eric’s office. She considered my statement,
her brows drawn together. “I am not remembering what a wedding shower is, though I’ve
heard of it,” she said. She brightened. “They’ll get married in a bathroom? No, I’ve heard
the term before, surely. A woman wrote to Abby that she hadn’t gotten a thank-you note for
a large shower gift. They get…presents?”
“You got it,” I said. “A shower is a party for someone who’s about to get married.
Sometimes the shower is for the couple, and they’re both there. But usually only the bride
is the honoree, and all the other people at the party are women. Everyone brings a gift. The
theory is that this way the couple can start life with everything they need. We do the same
thing when a couple’s expecting a baby. Course, then it’s a baby shower.”
“Baby shower,” Pam repeated. She smiled in a chilly way. lt was enough to put frost on
your pumpkin, seeing that up-curve of the lips. “I like the term,” she said. She knocked on
Eric’s office door and then opened it. “Eric,” she said, “maybe someday one of the
waitresses will get pregnant, and we can go to ababy shower !”
“That would be something to see,” said Eric, lifting his golden head from the papers on his
desk. The sheriff registered my presence, gave me a hard look, and decided to ignore me.
Eric and I had issues.
Despite the fact that the room was full of people waiting for his attention, Eric lay down
his pen and stood to stretch his tall and magnificent body, perhaps for my benefit. As usual,
Eric was in tight jeans and a Fangtasia T-shirt, black with the white stylized fangs that the
bar used as its trademark. “Fangtasia” was written in jazzy red script across the white points
in the same style as the neon sign outside. If Eric turned around, the back would read “The
Bar with a Bite.” Pam had given me one when Fangtasia first got into marketing its own
stuff.
Eric made the shirt look good, and I remembered all too well what was underneath it.
I tore my gaze away from Eric’s stretch to look around the room. There were lots of other
vampires crammed into the smallish space, but till you saw them you didn’t know they
were there, they were so still and silent. Clancy, the bar manager, had claimed one of the
two visitor chairs before the desk. Clancy had just barely survived the previous year’s
Witch War, but he hadn’t come out unscathed. The witches had drained Clancy near to the
point of no return. By the time Eric discovered Clancy, tracing his smell to a Shreveport
cemetery, Clancy was one Vacutainer short of dead. During his long recovery, the redhaired
vamp had grown bitter and snappish. Now he grinned at me, showing some fang.
“You can sit in my lap, Sookie,” he said, patting his thighs.
I smiled back, but not like my heart was in it. “No, thanks, Clancy,” I said politely.
Clancy’s flirting had always had an edge to it, and now that edge was razor sharp. He was
one of those vamps I’d rather not be alone with. Though he ran the bar capably, and he had
never laid a finger on me, he still set off warning bells. I can’t read vampire minds, which
was why I found it refreshing to hang with them, but when I felt that tingle of warning, I
did find myself wishing I could just dip into Clancy’s head and find out what was going on
in there.
Felicia, the newest bartender, was sitting on the couch, along with Indira and Maxwell Lee.
It was like the vampire Rainbow Coalition meeting. Felicia was a happy mixture of African
and Caucasian, and she was almost six feet tall, so there was more loveliness to appreciate.
Maxwell Lee was one of the darkest men I’d ever seen. Little Indira was the daughter of
Indian immigrants.
There were four more people in the room (using the term “people” loosely), and each one
of them upset me, though in varying degrees.
One of them was someone I didn’t acknowledge. I’d taken a page from the Were rule book
and treated him like an outlawed member of my pack: I abjured him. I didn’t speak his
name, I didn’t speak to him, I didn’t recognize his existence. (Of course, this was my ex,
Bill Compton—not that I recognized that he was in the room, brooding away in a corner.)
Leaning against the wall next to him was ancient Thalia, who was possibly even older than
Eric. She was as small as Indira and very pale, with tightly waving black hair—and she was
extremely rude.
To my amazement, some humans found that a complete turn-on. Thalia actually had a
devoted following who seemed thrilled when she used her stilted English to tell them to
fuck off. I’d discovered she even had a website, established and maintained by fans. Go
figure. Pam had told me that when Eric had agreed to let Thalia live in Shreveport, it was
the equivalent of keeping a badly trained pit bull tethered in the yard. Pam had not
approved.
These undead citizens all lived in Area Five. To live and work under Eric’s protection,
they’d all sworn fealty to him. So they were required to devote a certain amount of their
time to doing his bidding, even if they didn’t work at the bar. There were a few extra
vampires in Shreveport these days, since Katrina; just like a lot of humans, they had to go
somewhere. Eric hadn’t decided what to do about the undead refugees, and they hadn’t
been invited to the meeting.
Tonight there were two visitors in Fangtasia, one of whom outranked Eric.
Andre was the personal bodyguard of Sophie-Anne Leclerq, the Queen of Louisiana. The
queen, at present, was an evacuee in Baton Rouge. Andre looked very young, maybe
sixteen; his face was baby smooth, his pale hair was thick and heavy. Andre had lived a
long existence caring only for Sophie-Anne, his maker and savior. He was not wearing his
saber tonight, because he wasn’t acting as her bodyguard, but I was sure Andre was armed
with something—knife or gun. Andre himself was a lethal weapon, with or without an aid.
Just as Andre was about to speak to me, from beyond his chair a deep voice said, “Hey,
Sookie.” Our second visitor, Jake Purifoy. I made myself hold still when every impulse I
had was telling me to get out of the office. I was being an idiot. If I hadn’t run screaming at
the sight of Andre, Jake shouldn’t make me think of bolting. I forced myself to nod to the
nice-looking young man who still looked alive. But I knew my greeting didn’t look natural.
He filled me with a terrible blend of pity and fear.
Jake, born a Were, had been attacked by a vampire and bled to the point of death. In what
had been perhaps a mistaken gesture of mercy, my cousin Hadley (another vampire) had
discovered Jake’s nearly lifeless body and brought Jake over. This might have been
considered a good deed; but as it turned out, no one had really appreciated Hadley’s
kindness…not even Jake himself. No one had ever heard of a turned Were before: Weres
disliked and distrusted vampires, and the feeling was heartily reciprocated. The going was
very rough for Jake, who occupied a lonely noman’s-land. The queen had given him a place
in her service, since no one else had stepped forward.
Jake, blind with bloodlust, had gone after me as his first vampire snack. I had a still-red
scar on my arm as a result.
What a wonderful evening this was turning out to be.
“Miss Stackhouse,” said Andre, rising from Eric’s second guest chair. He bowed. This was
a true tribute, and it lifted my spirits a bit.
“Mr. Andre,” I said, bowing back. Andre swept his hand to indicate his politely vacated
seat, and since that solved my placement problem, I accepted.
Clancy looked chagrined. He should have given me his chair, since he was the lowerranked
vampire. Andre’s action had pointed that out as clearly as a blinking neon arrow. I
tried hard not to smile.
“How is Her Majesty?” I asked, trying to be just as courteous as Andre had been. It would
be stretching it to say I liked Sophie-Anne, but I sure respected her.
“That’s part of the reason I am here tonight,” he said. “Eric, can we get started now?” A
gentle chiding for Eric’s time-wasting tactics, I thought. Pam folded to the floor beside my
chair, crouched on the balls of her feet.
“Yes, we’re all here. Go ahead, Andre. You have the floor,” Eric said with a little smile at
his own modern terminology. He slumped back down into his chair, extending his long legs
to rest his feet on the corner of his desk.
“Your queen is living in the Area Four sheriff ’s house in Baton Rouge,” Andre said to the
little assemblage. “Gervaise was very gracious in extending his hospitality.”
Pam cocked an eyebrow at me. Gervaise would have lost his head if hehadn’t extended his
hospitality.
“But staying at Gervaise’s place can only be a temporary solution,” Andre continued.
“We’ve been down to New Orleans several times since the disaster. Here’s a report of our
property’s condition.”
Though none of the vampires moved, I felt their attention had heightened.
“The queen’s headquarters lost most of its roof, so there was extensive water damage on
the second floor and in the attic area. Furthermore, a large piece of someone else’s roof
landed inside the building, causing a pileup of debris and some holes in walls—problems
like that. While we’re drying the inside, the roof is still covered with blue plastic. One
reason I came up this way is to find a contractor who will start reroofing immediately. So
far, I haven’t had any luck, so if any of you have personal influence with some human who
does this kind of work, I need your help. On the ground floor, there was a lot of cosmetic
damage. Some water came in. We had some looters, too.”
“Maybe the queen should remain in Baton Rouge,” Clancy said maliciously. “I’m sure
Gervaise would be overwhelmed with delight at the prospect of hosting her permanently.”
So Clancy was a suicidal idiot.
“A delegation of New Orleans leaders came to visit our queen in Baton Rouge to ask that
she return to the city,” Andre said, ignoring Clancy completely. “The human leaders think
that if the vampires will return to New Orleans, tourism will pick up again.” Andre fixed
Eric with a cold gaze. “In the meantime, the queen has talked to the four other sheriffs
about the financial aspect of restoring the New Orleans buildings.”
Eric gave an almost imperceptible inclination of the head. Impossible to say what he felt
about being taxed for the queen’s repairs.
New Orleans had been the place to go for vampires and those who wanted to be around
them ever since Anne Rice had been proven right about their existence. The city was like
Disneyland for vamps. But since Katrina, all that had gone to hell, of course, along with so
much else. Even Bon Temps was feeling the storm’s effect, and had been ever since Katrina
had hit land. Our little town was still crowded with people who had fled from the south.
“What about the queen’s entertainment estate?” asked Eric. The queen had bought an old
monastery at the edge of the Garden District for entertaining large numbers of people, both
vamp and non-vamp. Though surrounded by a wall, the estate was not considered easily
defensible (since it was a registered building, historic and unchangeable, the windows
couldn’t be blocked up), so the queen couldn’t actually live there. I thought of it as her
party barn.
“It didn’t suffer much damage,” Andre said. “There were looters there, too. Of course, they
left a trace of their smell.” Vampires were second only to Weres in their tracking abilities.
“One of them shot the lion.”
I felt sorry for that. I’d liked the lion, sort of.
“Do you need help with the apprehension?” Eric asked.
Andre arched an eyebrow.
“I only ask because your numbers are low,” Eric said.
“No, already taken care of,” Andre said, and smiled just a tad.
I tried not to think about that.
“Aside from the lion and the looting, how was the estate?” Eric said to get the discussion
of the storm damage back on track.
“The queen can stay there while she views the other properties,” Andre continued, “but at
the most for a night or two only.”
There were tiny nods all around.
“Our loss of personnel,” Andre said, moving on in his agenda. All the vampires tensed a
bit, even Jake, the newbie. “Our initial assessment was modest, as you know. We assumed
some would come forward after the impact of the storm was absorbed. But only ten have
surfaced: five here, three in Baton Rouge, two in Monroe. It seems that we have lost thirty
of our number just in Louisiana. Mississippi has lost at least ten.”
There were tiny sounds and movements all over the room as the Shreveport vampires
reacted to the news. The concentration of vamps, both resident and visiting, had been high
in New Orleans. If Katrina had visited Tampa with that much force, the number of dead and
missing would have been much lower.
I raised my hand to speak. “What about Bubba?” I asked when Andre nodded at me. I
hadn’t seen or heard of Bubba since Katrina. You’d know Bubba if you saw him. Anyone
on earth would know him; at least, anyone over a certain age. He hadn’t quite died on that
bathroom floor in Memphis. Not quite. But his brain had been affected before he was
brought over, and he wasn’t a very good vampire.
“Bubba’s alive,” said Andre. “He hid in a crypt and survived on small mammals. He isn’t
doing too well mentally, so the queen has sent him up to Tennessee to stay with the
Nashville community for a while.”
“Andre has brought me a list of those that are missing,” Eric said. “I’ll post it after the
meeting.”
I’d known a few of the queen’s guards, too, and I would be glad to find out how they’d
fared.
I had another question, so I waved my hand.
“Yes, Sookie?” Andre asked. His empty gaze fixed me in place, and I was sorry I’d asked
to speak.
“You know what I wonder, y’all? I wonder if one of the kings or queens attending this
summit, or whatever you all call it, has a—like a weather predictor, or something like that
on staff.”
Plenty of blank stares were aimed my way, though Andre was interested.
“Because, look, the summit, or conference, or whatever, was supposed to take place in late
spring originally. But—delay, delay, delay, right? And then Katrina hit. If the summit had
started when it was supposed to, the queen could have gone in a powerful position. She
would have had a big war chest and a full quiver of vamps, and maybe they wouldn’t have
been so anxious to prosecute her for the king’s death. The queen would have gotten
anything she asked for, probably. Instead, she’s going in as”—I started to say “a beggar,”
but I considered Andre just in time—“much less powerful.” I’d been afraid they’d laugh or
maybe ridicule me, but the silence that followed was intensely thoughtful.
“That’s one of the things you’ll need to look for at the summit,” Andre said. “Now that
you’ve given me the idea, it seems oddly possible. Eric?”
“Yes, I think there is something in that,” Eric said, staring at me. “Sookie is good at
thinking outside the box.”
Pam smiled up at me from beside my elbow.
“What about the suit filed by Jennifer Cater?” Clancy asked Andre. He’d been looking
increasingly uncomfortable in the chair he’d thought he was so clever to snag.
You could have heard a pin drop. I didn’t know what the hell the red-haired vampire was
talking about, but I thought it would be better to find out from the conversation than to ask.
“It’s still active,” Andre said.
Pam whispered, “Jennifer Cater was in training to become Peter Threadgill’s lieutenant.
She was in Arkansas managing his affairs when the violence erupted.”
I nodded to let Pam know I appreciated her filling me in. The Arkansas vampires, though
they hadn’t gone through a hurricane, had undergone quite a reduction in their own ranks,
thanks to Louisiana’s group.
Andre said, “The queen has responded to the suit by testifying that she had to kill Peter to
save her own life. Of course, she offered reparation to the common fund.”
“Why not to Arkansas?” I whispered to Pam.
“Because the queen maintains that since Peter is dead, Arkansas goes to her, according to
the marriage contract,” Pam murmured. “She can’t make reparation to herself. If Jennifer
Cater wins her suit, not only will the queen lose Arkansas, she’ll have to pay Arkansas a
fine. A huge one. And make other restitution.”
Andre began to drift around the room soundlessly, the only indication that he was unhappy
about the topic.
“Do we even have that much money after the disaster?” Clancy asked. It was an unwise
question.
“The queen hopes the suit will be dismissed,” Andre said, again ignoring Clancy. Andre’s
permanently teenage face was quite blank. “But apparently the court is prepared to hear a
trial. Jennifer is charging that our queen lured Threadgill to New Orleans, away from his
own territory, having planned all along to start the war and assassinate him.” This time
Andre’s voice came from behind me.
“But that wasn’t what happened at all,” I said. And Sophie-Anne hadn’t killed the king. I’d
been present at his death. The vampire standing behind me right at this moment had killed
Threadgill, and I’d thought at the time he was justified.
I felt Andre’s cold fingers brush my neck as I sat there. How I knew the fingers were
Andre’s, I couldn’t tell you; but the light touch, the second of contact, made me suddenly
focus on an awful fact: I was the only witness to the death of the king, besides Andre and
Sophie-Anne.
I’d never put it to myself in those terms, and for a moment, I swear, my heart stopped
beating. At that skipped beat, I drew the gaze of at least half the vamps in the room. Eric’s
eyes widened as he looked at my face. And then my heart beat again, and the moment was
over as if it never had been. But Eric’s hand twitched on the desk, and I knew that he would
not forget that second, and he would want to know what it meant.
“So you think the trial will be held?” Eric asked Andre.
“If the queen had been going to the summit as the ruler of New Orleans—New Orleans as
it was—I believe the sitting court would have negotiated some kind of settlement between
Jennifer and the queen. Maybe something involving Jennifer being raised to a position of
power as the queen’s deputy and getting a large bonus; something like that. But as things
are now…” There was a long silence while we filled in the blanks. New Orleans wasn’t as
it had been, might never be so again. Sophie-Anne was a lame duck right now. “Now,
because of Jennifer’s persistence, I think the court will pursue it,” Andre said, and then fell
silent.
“We know there’s no truth to the allegations,” a clear, cold voice said from the corner. I’d
been doing a good job of ignoring the presence of my ex, Bill. But it didn’t come naturally
to me. “Eric was there. I was there. Sookie was there,” the vampire (Nameless, I told
myself ) continued.
That was true. Jennifer Cater’s allegation, that the queen had lured her king to her party
barn in order to kill him, was completely bogus. The bloodbath had been precipitated by the
decapitation of one of the queen’s men by one of Peter Threadgill’s.
Eric smiled reminiscently. He’d enjoyed the battle. “I accounted for the one who started
it,” he said. “The king did his best to trap the queen in an indiscretion, but he didn’t, thanks
to our Sookie. When his plot didn’t work, he resorted to a simple frontal attack.” Eric
added, “I haven’t seen Jennifer in twenty years. She’s risen fast. She must be ruthless.”
Andre had stepped to my right and within my line of vision, which was a relief. He
nodded. Again, all the vampires in the room made a little group movement, not quite in
unison but eerily close. I had seldom felt so alien: the only warmblood in a room full of
animated dead creatures.
“Yes,” Andre said. “Ordinarily the queen would want a full contingent there to support her.
But since we’re forced to practice economy, the numbers going have been cut.” Again,
Andre came near enough to touch me, just a brush of my cheek.
The idea triggered a kind of mini-revelation:This was how it felt to be a normal person. I
hadn’t the slightest idea of the true intentions and plans of my companions. This was how
real people lived every day of their lives. It was frightening but exciting; a lot like walking
through a crowded room blindfolded. How did regular people stand the suspense of day-today
living?
“The queen wants this woman close to her in meetings, since other humans will be there,”
Andre continued. He was speaking strictly to Eric. The rest of us might as well not have
been in the room. “She wants to know their thoughts. Stan is bringing his telepath. Do you
know the man?”
“I’m sitting right here,” I muttered, not that anyone paid any attention but Pam, who gave
me a sunny smile. Then, with all those cold eyes fixed on me, I realized that they were
waiting for me, that Andre had been addressing me directly. I’d become so used to the
vamps talking over and around me that I’d been taken by surprise. I mentally replayed
Andre’s remarks until I understood he was asking me a question.
“I’ve only met one other telepath in my life, and he was living in Dallas, so I’m supposing
it’s the same guy—Barry the Bellboy. He was working at the vamp hotel in Dallas when I
picked up on his, ah, gift.”
“What do you know about him?”
“He’s younger than me, and he’s weaker than me—or at least he was at the time. He’d
never accepted what he was, the way that I had.” I shrugged. That was the sum total of my
knowledge.
“Sookie will be there,” Eric told Andre. “She is the best at what she does.”
That was flattering, though I faintly recalled Eric saying he’d encountered only one
telepath previously. It was also infuriating, since he was implying to Andre that my
excellence was to Eric’s credit instead of my own.
Though I was looking forward to seeing something outside of my little town, I found
myself wishing I could think of a way to back out of the trip to Rhodes. But months ago I’d
agreed to attend this vampire summit as a paid employee of the queen’s. And for the past
month, I’d been working long hours at Merlotte’s Bar to bank enough time so the other
barmaids wouldn’t mind covering for me for a week. My boss, Sam, had been helping me
keep track of my overage with a little chart.
“Clancy will stay here to run the bar,” Eric said.
“This human gets to go while I have to remain?” the red-haired manager said. He was
really, really unhappy with Eric’s decision. “I won’t get to see any of the fun.”
“That’s right,” Eric said pleasantly. If Clancy had thought of saying something else
negative, he took one look at Eric’s face and clamped down on it. “Felicia will stay to help
you. Bill, you will stay.”
“No,” said that calm, cool voice from the corner. “The queen requires me. I worked hard
on that database, and she’s asked me to market it at the summit to help recoup her losses.”
Eric looked like a statue for a minute, and then he moved, a little lift of his eyebrows. “Yes,
I’d forgotten your computer skills,” he said. He might have been saying, “Oh, I’d forgotten
you can spellcat ,” for all the interest or respect he showed. “I suppose you need to be with
us, then. Maxwell?”
“If it’s your will, I will stay.” Maxwell Lee wanted to make it clear that he knew a thing or
two about being a good underling. He glanced around at the assemblage to underscore his
point.
Eric nodded. I guessed that Maxwell would get a nice toy for Christmas, and Bill—
whoops, Nameless—would get ashes and switches. “Then you’ll remain here. And you,
too, Thalia. But you must promise me that you will be good in the bar.” Thalia’s required
tour of duty in the bar, which simply consisted of sitting around being mysterious and
vampiric a couple of evenings a week, did not always go by without incident.
Thalia, perpetually sullen and broody, gave a curt nod. “I don’t want to go, anyway,” she
muttered. Her round black eyes showed nothing but contempt for the world. She had seen
too much in her very long life, and she hadn’t enjoyed herself in a few centuries, was the
way I read it. I tried to avoid Thalia as much as possible. I was surprised she’d even hang
with the other vamps; she seemed like a rogue to me.
“She has no desire to lead,” Pam breathed into my ear. “She only wants to be left in peace.
She was thrown out of Illinois because she was too aggressive after the Great Revelation.”
The Great Revelation was the vampire term for the night that they’d gone on television all
over the world to let us know that they actually existed and, furthermore, that they wanted
to come out of the shadows and into the economic and social flow of human society.
“Eric lets Thalia do what she wants as long as she follows the rules and shows up on time
for her hours at the bar,” Pam continued in her tiny whisper. Eric was ruler of this little
world, and no one was forgetting it. “She knows what the punishment will be if she steps
out of line. Sometimes she seems to forget how little she would like that punishment. She
should read Abby, get some ideas.”
If you weren’t getting any joy out of your life, you needed to…oh, do something for
others, or take up a new hobby, or something like that, right? Wasn’t that the usual advice? I
flashed on Thalia volunteering to take the night shift at a hospice, and I shuddered. The idea
of Thalia knitting, with two long, sharp needles, gave me another frisson of horror. To heck
with the therapy.
“So, the only ones attending the summit are Andre, our queen, Sookie, myself, Bill, and
Pam,” Eric said. “Cataliades the lawyer and his niece as his runner. Oh, yes, Gervaise from
Four and his human woman, a concession since Gervaise has been hosting the queen so
generously. Rasul, as driver. And Sigebert, of course. That’s our party. I know some of you
are disappointed, and I can only hope that next year will be a better year for Louisiana. And
for Arkansas, which we now consider part of our territory.”
“I think that’s all that we needed to talk about with all of you present,” Andre said. The rest
of the stuff he and Eric had to discuss would be done in private. Andre didn’t touch me
again, which was a good thing. Andre scared me down to my polished pink toenails. Of
course, I should feel that way about everyone in the room. If I’d had good sense, I would
move to Wyoming, which had the lowest vamp population (two; there’d been an article
about them inAmerican Vampire ). Some days I was sorely tempted.
I whipped a little notepad out of my purse as Eric went over the date of our departure, the
date of our return, the time our chartered Anubis Airline plane was arriving from Baton
Rouge to pick up the Shreveport contingent, and a rundown of the clothes we would need.
With some dismay, I realized I would have to go borrowing from my friends again. But
Eric added, “Sookie, you wouldn’t need these clothes if it wasn’t for the trip. I’ve called
your friend’s store and you have credit there. Use it.”
I could feel my cheeks redden. I felt like the poor cousin until he added, “The staff has an
account at a couple of stores here in Shreveport, but that would be inconvenient for you.”
My shoulders relaxed, and I hoped he was telling the truth. Not one flicker of an eyelid told
me any different.
“We may have suffered a disaster, but we won’t go in looking poor,” Eric said, being
“Don’t look poor,” I made a note.
“Is everyone clear? Our goals for this conference are to support the queen as she tries to
clear herself of these ridiculous charges, and to let everyone know that Louisiana is still a
prestigious state. None of the Arkansas vampires who came to Louisiana with their king
survived to tell the tale.” Eric smiled, and it wasn’t a pleasant smile.
I hadn’t known that before this night.
Gosh, wasn’t that convenient.
2
“HALLEIGH, SINCE YOU’RE MARRYING A POLICEMAN,maybe you’ll be able to
tell me…just how big is a cop’s nightstick?” Elmer Claire Vaudry asked.
I was sitting beside the bride-to-be, Halleigh Robinson, since I’d been given the allimportant
task of recording each gift and its giver as Halleigh opened all the white-andsilver
wrapped boxes and flowered gift bags.
No one else seemed the least surprised that Mrs. Vaudry, a fortyish grade school teacher,
was asking a bawdy question at this firmly middle-class, church lady event.
“Why, I wouldn’t know, Elmer Claire,” Halleigh said demurely, and there was a positive
chorus of disbelieving sniggers.
“Well, now, what about the handcuffs?” Elmer Claire asked. “You ever use those
handcuffs?”
A fluttering of southern lady voices rose in the living room of Marcia Albanese, the hostess
who’d agreed to let her house be the sacrificial lamb: the actual shower site. The other
hostesses had had the lesser problems of bringing the food and the punch.
“You are justsomething , Elmer Claire,” Marcia said from her spot by the refreshments
table. But she was smiling. Elmer Claire had her role as the Daring One, and the others
were glad to let her enjoy it.
Elmer Claire would never have been so vulgar if old Caroline Bellefleur had been present
at the shower. Caroline was the social ruler of Bon Temps. Miss Caroline was about a
million years old and had a back stiffer than any soldier. Only something extreme would
keep Miss Caroline home from a social event of this importance to her family, and
something extreme had happened. Caroline Bellefleur had suffered a heart attack, to the
amazement of everyone in Bon Temps. To her family, the event had not been a tremendous
surprise.
The grand Bellefleur double wedding (Halleigh and Andy’s, Portia and her accountant’s)
had been set for the previous spring. It had been organized in a rush because of Caroline
Bellefleur’s sudden deterioration in health. As it happened, even before the hurried-up
wedding could be held, Miss Caroline had been felled by the attack. Then she’d broken her
hip.
With the agreement of Andy’s sister, Portia, and her groom, Andy and Halleigh had
postponed the wedding until late October. But I’d heard Miss Caroline was not recovering
as her grandchildren had hoped, and it seemed unlikely she ever would be back to her
former self.
Halleigh, her cheeks flushed, was struggling with the ribbon around a heavy box. I handed
her a pair of scissors. There was some tradition about not cutting the ribbon, a tradition that
somehow tied into predicting the number of children the bridal couple would produce, but I
was willing to bet that Halleigh was ready for a quick solution. She snipped the ribbon on
the side closest to her so no one would notice her callous disregard for custom. She flashed
me a grateful look. We were all in our party best, of course, and Halleigh looked very cute
and young in her light blue pantsuit with pink roses splashed on the jacket. She was
wearing a corsage, of course, as the honoree.
I felt like I was observing an interesting tribe in another country, a tribe that just happened
to speak my language. I’m a barmaid, several rungs below Halleigh on the social ladder,
and I’m a telepath, though people tended to forget about it since it is hard to believe, my
outside being so normal. But I’d been on the guest list, so I’d made a big effort to fit in
sartorially. I was pretty sure I’d succeeded. I was wearing a sleeveless tailored white
blouse, yellow slacks, and orange-and-yellow sandals, and my hair was down and flowing
smoothly past my shoulder blades. Yellow earrings and a little gold chain tied me all
together. It might be late September, but it was hot as the six shades of hell. All the ladies
were still dressed in their hot-weather finery, though a few brave souls had donned fall
colors.
I knew everyone at the shower, of course. Bon Temps is not a big place, and my family has
lived in it for almost two hundred years. Knowing who people are is not the same as being
comfortable with them, and I’d been glad to be given the job of recording the gifts. Marcia
Albanese was sharper than I’d given her credit for being.
I was certainly learning a lot. Though I was trying hard not to listen in, and my little task
helped in that, I was getting a lot of mental overflow.
Halleigh was in hog heaven. She was getting presents, she was the center of attention, and
she was getting married to a great guy. I didn’t think she really knew her groom that well,
but I was certainly willing to believe that there were wonderful sides to Andy Bellefleur
that I’d never seen or heard. Andy had more imagination than the average middle-class man
in Bon Temps; I knew that. And Andy had fears and desires he’d buried deeply; I knew that,
too.
Halleigh’s mother had come from Mandeville to attend the shower, of course, and she was
doing her smiling best to support her daughter. I thought I was the only one who realized
that Halleigh’s mother hated crowds, even crowds this small. Every moment she sat in
Marcia’s living room was very uncomfortable for Linette Robinson. At this very moment,
while she was laughing at another little sally by Elmer Claire, she was wishing passionately
that she was home with a good book and a glass of iced tea.
I started to whisper to her that it would all be over in (I cast a glance at my watch) another
hour, hour-fifteen at the outside—but I remembered in time that I’d just freak her out worse
than she already was. I jotted down “Selah Pumphrey—dish towels,” and sat poised to
record the next gift. Selah Pumphrey had expected me to give her a Big Reaction when
she’d sailed in the door, since for weeks Selah had been dating that vampire I’d abjured.
Selah was always imagining I’d jump on her and whack her in the head. Selah had a low
opinion of me, not that she knew me at all. She certainly didn’t realize that the vampire in
question was simply off my radar now. I was guessing she’d been invited because she’d
been Andy and Halleigh’s real estate agent when they’d bought their little house.
“Tara Thornton—lace teddy,” I wrote, and smiled at my friend Tara, who’d selected
Halleigh’s gift from the stock at her clothing store. Of course, Elmer Claire had a lot to say
about the teddy, and a good time was had by all—at least on the face of it. Some of the
assembled women weren’t comfortable with Elmer Claire’s broad humor, some of them
were thinking that Elmer Claire’s husband had a lot to put up with, and some of them just
wished she would shut up. That group included me, and Linette Robinson, and Halleigh.
The principal at the school where Halleigh taught had given the couple some perfectly nice
place mats, and the assistant principal had gotten napkins to match. I recorded those with a
flourish and stuffed some of the torn wrapping paper into the garbage bag at my side.
“Thanks, Sookie,” Halleigh said quietly, as Elmer Claire was telling another story about
something that had happened at her wedding involving a chicken and the best man. “I really
appreciate your help.”
“No big,” I said, surprised.
“Andy told me that he got you to hide the engagement ring when he proposed,” she said,
smiling. “And you’ve helped me out other times, too.” Then Andy had told Halleighall
about me.
“Not a problem,” I said, a little embarrassed.
She shot a sideways glance at Selah Pumphrey, seated two folding chairs away. “Are you
still dating that beautiful man I saw at your place?” she asked rather more loudly. “The
handsome one with the gorgeous black hair?”
Halleigh had seen Claude when he dropped me off at my temporary lodging in town;
Claude, the brother of Claudine, my fairy godmother. Yes, really. Claudewas gorgeous, and
he could be absolutely charming (to women) for about sixty seconds. He’d made the effort
when he’d met Halleigh, and I could only be thankful, since Selah’s ears had pricked up
just like a fox’s.
“I saw him maybe three weeks ago,” I said truthfully. “But we’re not dating now.” We
never had been, actually, because Claude’s idea of a good date was someone with a little
beard stubble and equipment I’d never possess. But not everyone had to know that, right?
“I’m seeing someone else,” I added modestly.
“Oh?” Halleigh was all innocent interest. I was getting fonder of the girl (all of four years
younger than me) by the second.
“Yes,” I said. “A consultant from Memphis.”
“You’ll have to bring him to the wedding,” Halleigh said. “Wouldn’t that be great, Portia?”
This was another kettle of fish entirely. Portia Bellefleur, Andy’s sister and the other brideto-
be in the double Bellefleur wedding, had asked me to be there to serve alcohol, along
with my boss, Sam Merlotte. Now Portia was in a bind. She would never have invited me
other than as a worker. (I sure hadn’t been invited to any showers forPortia .) Now I
beamed at Portia in an innocent, I’m-so-happy way.
“Of course,” Portia said smoothly. She had not trained in the law for nothing. “We’d be
delighted if you’d bring your boyfriend.”
I had a happy mental picture of Quinn transforming into a tiger at the reception. I smiled at
Portia all the more brightly. “I’ll see if he can come with me,” I said.
“Now, y’all,” Elmer Claire said, “a little bird told me to write down what Halleigh said
when she unwrapped her gifts, cause you know, that’s what you’ll say on your wedding
night!” She waved a legal pad.
Everyone fell silent with happy anticipation. Or dread.
“This is the first thing Halleigh said: ‘Oh, what pretty wrapping!’” A chorus of dutiful
laughter. “Then she said, let’s see: ‘That’s going to fit; I can hardly wait!’” Snickers. “Then
she said, ‘Oh, I needed one of those!’” Hilarity.
After that, it was time for cake and punch and peanuts and the cheese ball. We’d all
resumed our seats, carefully balancing plates and cups, when my grandmother’s friend
Maxine opened a new topic of discussion.
“How’s your new friend, Sookie?” Maxine Fortenberry asked. Maxine was clear across the
room, but projecting was no problem for Maxine. In her late fifties, Maxine was stout and
hearty, and she’d been a second mother to my brother, Jason, who was best friends with her
son Hoyt. “The gal from New Orleans?”
“Amelia’s doing well.” I beamed nervously, all too aware I was the new center of attention.
“Is it true that she lost her house in the flooding?”
“It did sustain quite a bit of damage, her tenant said. So Amelia’s waiting to hear from the
insurance company, and then she’ll decide what to do.”
“Lucky she was here with you when the hurricane hit,” Maxine said.
I guess poor Amelia had heard that a thousand times since August. I think Amelia was
pretty tired of trying to feel lucky. “Oh, yes,” I said agreeably. “She sure was.”
Amelia Broadway’s arrival in Bon Temps had been the subject of lots of gossip. That’s
only natural.
“So for right now, Amelia’ll just stay on with you?” Halleigh asked helpfully.
“For a while,” I said, smiling.
“That’s just real sweet of you,” Marcia Albanese said approvingly.
“Oh, Marcia, you know I got that whole upstairs that I never use. She’s actually improved
it for me; she got a window air conditioner put in up there, so it’s much nicer. It doesn’t put
me out one bit.”
“Still, lots of people wouldn’t want someone living in their home that long. I guess I
should take in one of the poor souls staying at the Days Inn, but I just can’t bring myself to
let someone else in my house.”
“I like the company,” I said, which was mostly true.
“Has she been back to check on her house?”
“Ah, only once.” Amelia had to get in and out of New Orleans real quick, so none of her
witch friends could track her down. Amelia was in a bit of hot water with the witch
community of the Big Easy.
“She sure loves that cat of hers,” Elmer Claire said. “She had that big old tom at the vet the
other day when I took Powderpuff in.” Powderpuff, Elmer Claire’s white Persian, was
about a million years old. “I asked her why she didn’t get that cat neutered, and she just
covered that cat’s ears like he could hear me, and she asked me not to talk about it in front
of Bob, just like he was a person.”
“She’s real fond of Bob,” I said, not quite knowing whether I wanted to gag or laugh at the
idea of the vet neutering Bob.
“You know that Amelia how?” Maxine asked.
“You remember my cousin Hadley?”
Everyone in the room nodded, except newcomer Halleigh and her mother.
“Well, when Hadley lived in New Orleans, she rented the upstairs of Amelia’s house from
her,” I said. “And when Hadley passed away”—here there were solemn nods all around—“I
went down to New Orleans to clean out Hadley’s things. And I met Amelia, and we became
friends, and she just decided she’d visit Bon Temps for a while.”
All the ladies looked at me with the most expectant expressions, as if they couldn’t wait to
hear what would come next. Because there had to be more explanation, right?
There was indeed a lot more to the story, but I didn’t think they were ready to hear that
Amelia, after a night of great loving, had accidentally turned Bob into a cat during a sexual
experiment. I’d never asked Amelia to describe the circumstances, because I was pretty
sure I didn’t want to get a visual on that scene. But they were all waiting for a little more
explanation. Any explanation.
“Amelia had a bad breakup with her boyfriend,” I said, keeping my tone low and
confidential.
All the other ladies’ faces were both titillated and sympathetic.
“He was a Mormon missionary,” I told them. Well, Bob hadlooked like a Mormon
missionary, in dark slacks and a white short-sleeved shirt, and he’d even arrived at Amelia’s
on a bicycle. He was actually a witch, like Amelia. “But he knocked on Amelia’s door and
they just fell in love.” Actually, into bed. But you know—same thing, for the purposes of
this story.
“Did his parents know?”
“Did his church find out?”
“Don’t they get to have more than one wife?”
The questions crowded in too thick for me to deal with, and I waited until the attendees
had subsided into their waiting mode again. I was not used to making up fabrications, and I
was running out of truth to base the rest of the story on. “I really don’t know much about
the Mormon church,” I told the last questioner, and that was the absolute truth. “Though I
think modern Mormons aren’t supposed to have more than one wife. But what happened to
them was his relatives found out and got real mad because they didn’t think Amelia was
good enough for the man, and they snatched him away and made him go home. So she
wanted to leave New Orleans to get a change of scene, forget about the past, you know.”
They all nodded, absolutely fascinated by Amelia’s big drama. I felt a twinge of guilt. For a
minute or two, everyone gave her opinion about the sad story. Maxine Fortenberry summed
it all up.
“Poor girl,” said Maxine. “He should’ve stood up to them.”
I passed Halleigh another present to open. “Halleigh, you know that won’t happen to you,”
I said, diverting the conversation back to its proper topic. “Andy is just nuts about you;
anyone can tell.”
Halleigh blushed, and her mother said, “We all love Andy,” and the shower was back on
track. The rest of the conversation veered from the wedding to the meals each church was
taking in turn to cook for the evacuees. The Catholics had tomorrow night, and Maxine
sounded a little relieved when she said the number to cook for had dropped to twenty-five.
As I drove home afterward, I was feeling a little frazzled from the unaccustomed
sociability. I also faced the prospect of telling Amelia about her new invented background.
But when I saw the pickup standing in my yard, all such thoughts flew out of my head.
Quinn was here—Quinn the weretiger, who made his living arranging and producing
special events for the world of the weird—Quinn, my honey. I pulled around back and
practically leaped out of my car after an anxious glance in my rearview mirror to make sure
my makeup was still good.
Quinn charged out of the back door as I hurried up to the steps, and I gave a little jump. He
caught me and whirled me around, and when he put me down he was kissing me, his big
hands framing my face.
“You look so beautiful,” he said, coming up for air. A moment later, he gasped. “You smell
so good.” And then he was back into the kissing.
We finally broke it off.
“Oh, I haven’t seen you in so long!” I said. “I’m so glad you’re here!” I hadn’t seen Quinn
in weeks, and then I’d been with him only briefly as he’d passed through Shreveport on his
way to Florida with a load of props for the coming-of-age ceremony for a packleader’s
daughter.
“I’ve missed you, babe,” he said, his big white teeth gleaming. His shaved head shone in
the sunlight, which was coming at quite an angle this late in the afternoon. “I had a little
time to catch up with your roomie while you were at the shower. How’d it go?”
“Like showers usually do. Lots of presents and lots of gossip. This was the second shower
I’ve been to for this gal, plus I gave them a plate in their everyday china for a wedding
present, so I’ve done them proud.”
“You can go to more than one shower for the same person?”
“In a small town like this, yeah. And she went home to have a shower and a dinner party in
Mandeville during the summer. So I guess Andy and Halleigh are set up pretty well.”
“I thought they were supposed to get married last April.”
I explained about Caroline Bellefleur’s heart attack. “By the time she was getting over that
and they were talking wedding dates again, Miss Caroline fell and broke her hip.”
“Wow.”
“And the doctors didn’t think she’d get overthat , but she survived that, too. So I think
Halleigh and Andy and Portia and Glen are actually going to have the most-anticipated
wedding of the Bon Temps year sometime next month. And you’re invited.”
“I am?”
We were heading inside by this time, since I wanted to take off my shoes and I also wanted
to scout out what my housemate was up to. I was trying to think of some long errand I
could send her off on, since I so seldom got to see Quinn, who was kind of my boyfriend, if
at my age (twenty-seven), I could use that term.
That is, I thought he would be my boyfriend if he could ever slow down enough to latch on
to me.
But Quinn’s job, working for a subsidiary of Extreme(ly Elegant) Events, covered a lot of
territory, literally and figuratively. Since we’d parted in New Orleans after our rescue from
Were abductors, I’d seen Quinn three times. He’d been in Shreveport one weekend as he
passed through on his way to somewhere else, and we’d gone out to dinner at Ralph and
Kacoo’s, a popular restaurant. It had been a good evening, but he’d taken me home at the
end of it since he had to start driving at seven the next morning. The second time, he’d
dropped into Merlotte’s while I was at work, and since it was a slow night, I’d taken an
hour off to sit and talk to him, and we’d held hands a little. The third time, I’d kept him
company while he was loading up his trailer at a U-RENT-SPACE storage shed. It had been
in the middle of summer, and we’d both been sweating up a storm. Streaming sweat, lots of
dust, storage sheds, the occasional vehicle trolling through the lot…not a romantic
ambience.
And even though Amelia was now obligingly coming down the stairs with her purse over
her shoulder and clearly planning to head into town to give us some privacy, it hardly
seemed promising that we’d have to grab an instant to consummate a relationship that had
had so little face time.
Amelia said, “Good-bye!” She had a big smile all over her face, and since Amelia has the
whitest teeth in the world, she looked like the Cheshire cat. Amelia’s short hair was sticking
out all over (she says no one in Bon Temps can cut it right) and her tan face was bare of
makeup. Amelia looks like a young suburban mom who has an infant seat strapped into the
back of her minivan; the kind of mom who takes time off to run and swim and play tennis.
In point of fact, Amelia did run three times a week and practiced tai chi out in my backyard,
but she hated getting in the water and she thought tennis was for (and I quote) “mouthbreathing
idiots.” I’d always admired tennis players myself, but when Amelia had a point of
view, she stuck to it.
“Going to the mall in Monroe,” she said. “Shopping to do!” And with an I’m-being-agood-
roommate kind of wave, she hopped into her Mustang and vanished…
…leaving Quinn and me to stare at each other.
“That Amelia!” I said lamely.
“She’s…one of a kind,” Quinn said, just as uneasy as I was.
“The thing is—” I began, just as Quinn said, “Listen, I think we ought—” and we both
floundered to a halt. He made a gesture that indicated I should go first.
“How long are you here for?” I asked.
“I have to leave tomorrow,” he said. “I could stay in Monroe or Shreveport.”
We did some more staring. I can’t read Were minds, not like regular humans. I can get the
intent, though, and the intent was…intent.
“So,” he said. He went down on one knee. “Please,” he said.
I had to smile, but then I looked away. “The only thing is,” I began again. This
conversation would come much more easily to Amelia, who was frank to a very extreme
point. “You know that we have, uh, a lot of…” I gestured back and forth with my hand.
“Chemistry,” he said.
“Right,” I said. “But if we never get to see any more of each other than we have the past
three months, I’m not really sure I want to make that next step.” I hated to say it, but I had
to. I didn’t need to cause myself pain. “I have big lust,” I said. “Big, big lust. But I’m not a
one-night-stand kind of woman.”
“When the summit is over, I’m taking a long time off,” Quinn said, and I could tell he was
absolutely sincere. “A month. I came here to ask you if I could spend it with you.”
“Really?” I couldn’t help sounding incredulous. “Really?”
He smiled up at me. Quinn has a smooth, shaved head, an olive complexion, a bold nose,
and a smile that makes these little dimples in the corners of his mouth. His eyes are purple,
like a spring pansy. He is as big as a pro wrestler, and just as scary. He held up a huge hand,
as if he were swearing an oath. “On a stack of Bibles,” he said.
“Yes,” I said after a moment’s scan of my inner qualms to make sure they were minor. And
also, I may not have a built-in truth detector, but I could have told if he’d been thinking,I’m
saying that to get in her pants. Shifters are very hard to read, their brains are all snarly and
semiopaque, but I would’ve picked up on that. “Then…yes.”
“Oh, boy.” Quinn took a deep breath and his grin lit up the room. But in the next moment,
his eyes got that focused look men get when they’re thinking about sex very specifically.
And then, lickety-split, Quinn was on his feet and his arms were around me as tightly as
ropes tying us together.
His mouth found mine. We picked up where we’d left off with the kissing. His mouth was
a very clever one and his tongue was very warm. His hands began examining my
topography. Down the line of my back to the curve of my hips, back up to my shoulders to
cup my face for a moment, down to brush my neck teasingly with the lightest of fingertips.
Then those fingers found my breasts, and after a second he tugged my top out of my pants
and began exploring territory he’d only visited briefly before. He liked what he found, if
“Mmmmm” was a statement of delight. It spoke volumes to me.
“I want to see you,” he said. “I want to see all of you.”
I had never made love in the daytime before. It seemed very (excitingly) sinful to be
struggling with buttons before the sun had even set, and I was so grateful I’d worn an extranice
white lace bra and little bitty panties. When I dress up, I like to dress up all the way
down to the skin.
“Oh,” he said when he saw the bra, which contrasted nicely with my deep summer tan.
“Oh,boy .” It wasn’t the words; it was the expression of deep admiration. My shoes were
already off. Luckily that morning I’d dispensed with handy-but-totally-unsexy knee-high
hose in favor of bare legs. Quinn spent some quality time nuzzling my neck and kissing his
way down to the bra while I was struggling to undo his belt, though since he would bend
while I was trying to deal with the stiff buckle, that wasn’t working out fast enough.
“Take off your shirt,” I said, and my voice came out as hoarse as his. “I don’t have a shirt,
you shouldn’t have a shirt.”
“Fine,” he said, and presto, the shirt was off. You’d expect Quinn to be hairy, but he isn’t.
What he is, is muscular to then th degree, and right at the moment his olive skin was
summer-tan. His nipples were surprisingly dark and (not so surprisingly) very hard. Oh,
boy—right at my eye level. He began dealing with his own damn belt while I began to
explore one hard nub with my mouth, the other with my hand. Quinn’s whole body jerked,
and he stopped what he was doing. He ran his fingers into my hair to hold my head against
him, and he sighed, though it came out more like a growl, vibrating through his body. My
free hand yanked at his pants, and he resumed working on the belt but in an unfocused and
distracted way.
“Let’s move into the bedroom,” I said, but it didn’t come out like a calm and collected
suggestion, more a ragged demand.
He swooped me up, and I latched my arms around his neck and kissed him on his beautiful
mouth again.
“No fair,” he muttered. “My hands are full.”
“Bed,” I said, and he deposited me on the bed and then simply fell on top of me.
“Clothes,” I reminded him, but he had a mouthful of white lace and breast, and he didn’t
reply. “Oh,” I said. I may have said “Oh” a few more times; and “Yes,” too. A sudden
thought yanked me right out of the flow of the moment.
“Quinn, do you have, you know…” I had never needed to have such items before, since
vamps can’t get a girl pregnant or give her a disease.
“Why do you think I still have my pants on?” he said, pulling a little package out of his
back pocket. His smile this time was far more feral.
“Good,” I said from my heart. I would have thrown myself from a window if we’d had to
quit. “And you might take the pants off now.”
I’d seen Quinn naked before but under decidedly stressful circumstances—in the middle of
a swamp, in the rain, while we were being pursued by werewolves. Quinn stood by the bed
and took off his shoes and socks and then his pants, moving slowly enough to let me watch.
He stepped out of his pants, revealing boxer briefs that were suffering their own kind of
stress. In one quick movement he eased them off, too. He had a tight, high butt, and the line
from his hip to his thigh was just mouthwatering. He had fine, thin white scars striping him
at random, but they seemed like such a natural part of him that they didn’t detract from his
powerful body. I was kneeling on the bed while I admired him, and he said, “Now you.”
I unhooked my bra and slid it off my arms, and he said, “Oh, God. I am the luckiest man
alive.” After a pause, he said, “The rest.”
I stood by the bed and eased the little white lacey things off.
“This is like standing in front of a buffet,” he said. “I don’t know where to begin.”
I touched my breasts. “First course,” I suggested.
I discovered that Quinn’s tongue was just a bit raspier than a regular man’s. I was gasping
and making incoherent noises when he moved from my right breast to my left as he tried to
decide which one he liked best. He couldn’t make up his mind immediately, which was fine
with me. By the time he settled on the right breast, I was pushing against him and making
sounds that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but desperate.
“I think I’ll skip the second course and go right to dessert,” he whispered, his voice dark
and ragged. “Are you ready, babe? You sound ready. You feel ready.”
“I am so ready,” I said, reaching down between us to wrap my hand around his length. He
quivered all over when I touched him. He rolled on the condom.
“Now,” he growled. “Now!” I guided him to my entrance, thrust my hips up to meet him.
“I dreamed of this,” he said, and shoved inside me up to the hilt. That was the last thing
either of us was able to say.
Quinn’s appetite was as outstanding as his equipment.
He enjoyed dessert so much, he came back for seconds.
3
WE WERE IN THE KITCHEN WHEN AMELIA RETURNED.I’d fed Bob, her cat, since
she’d been so tactful earlier and deserved some reward. Tact does not come naturally to
Amelia.
Bob ignored his kibble in favor of watching Quinn fry bacon, and I was slicing tomatoes.
I’d gotten out the cheese and the mayonnaise and the mustard and the pickles, anything I
could imagine a man might want on a bacon sandwich. I’d pulled on some old shorts and a
T-shirt, while Quinn had gotten his bag from his truck and put on his workout clothes—a
tank top and worn shorts made from sweat material.
Amelia gave Quinn a top-to-bottom scan when he turned back to the stove, and then she
looked at me, grinning broadly. “You guys have a good reunion?” she said, tossing her
shopping bags on the kitchen table.
“Up to your room, please,” I said, because otherwise Amelia would want us to admire
every single thing she’d bought. With a pout, Amelia snagged the bags and carried them
upstairs, returning in a minute to ask Quinn if there was enough bacon for her.
“Sure,” Quinn said obligingly, taking out some strips and putting a few more in the pan.
I liked a man who could cook. While I set out plates and silverware, I was pleasantly aware
of the tenderness I felt south of my belly button and of my overwhelmingly relaxed mood. I
got three glasses out of the cabinet but kind of forgot what I was doing on my way to the
refrigerator, since Quinn stepped away from the stove to give me a quick kiss. His lips were
so warm and firm, they reminded me of something else that had been warm and firm. I
flashed on my astonished moment of revelation when Quinn had slid into me for the first
time. Considering that my only previous sexual encounters had been with vampires, who
are definitely on the cool side, you can imagine what a startling experience a breathing
lover with a heartbeat and a warm penis would be. In fact, shape-shifters tended to run a bit
warmer than regular humans. Even through the condom, I’d been able to feel the heat.
“What?” Quinn asked. “Why the look?” He was smiling quizzically.
I smiled. “I was just thinking of your temperature,” I said.
“Hey, you knew I was hot,” he said with a grin. “What about the thought reading?” he said
more seriously. “How did that work out?”
I thought it was great that he’d even wondered. “I can’t call your thoughts any trouble,” I
said, unable to suppress a huge grin. “It might be a stretch to count
‘yesyesyesyespleasepleaseplease’ as a thought.”
“Not a problem then,” he said, totally unembarrassed.
“Not a problem. As long as you’re wrapped in the moment and you’re happy, I’m gonna be
happy.”
“Well, hot damn.” Quinn turned back to the stove. “That’s justgreat .”
I thought it was, too.
Just great.
Amelia ate her sandwich with a good appetite and then picked Bob up to feed him little bits
of bacon she’d saved. The big black-and-white cat purred up a storm.
“So,” said Quinn, after his first sandwich had disappeared with amazing quickness, “this is
the guy you changed by accident?”
“Yeah,” said Amelia, scratching Bob’s ears. “This is the guy.” Amelia was sitting crosslegged
in the kitchen chair, which is something I simply couldn’t do, and she was focused
on the cat. “The little fella,” she crooned. “My fuzzy wuzzy honey, isn’t he? Isn’t he?”
Quinn looked mildly disgusted, but I was just as guilty of talking baby talk to Bob when I
was alone with him. Bob the witch had been a skinny, weird guy with a kind of geeky
charm. Amelia had told me Bob had been a hairdresser; I’d decided if that were true, he’d
fixed hair at a funeral parlor. Black pants, white shirt, bicycle? Have you ever known a
hairdresser who presented himself that way?
“So,” Quinn said. “What are you doing about it?”
“I’m studying,” Amelia said. “I’m trying to figure out what I did wrong, so I can make it
right. It would be easier if I could…” Her voice trailed off in a guilty kind of way.
“If you could talk to your mentor?” I said helpfully.
She scowled at me. “Yeah,” she said. “If I could talk to my mentor.”
“Why don’t you?” Quinn asked.
“One, I wasn’t supposed to use transformational magic. That’s pretty much a no-no. Two,
I’ve looked for her online since Katrina, on every message board witches use, and I can’t
find any news of her. She might have gone to a shelter somewhere, she might be staying
with her kids or some friend, or she might have died in the flooding.”
“I believe you had your main income from your rental property. What are your plans now?
What’s the state of your property?” Quinn asked, carrying his plate and mine to the sink. He
wasn’t being bashful with the personal questions tonight. I waited with interest to hear
Amelia’s answers. I’d always wanted to know a lot of things about Amelia that were just
plain rude to ask: like, What was she living on now? Though she had worked part-time for
my friend Tara Thornton at Tara’s Togs while Tara’s help was sick, Amelia’s outgo far
exceeded her visible income. That meant she had good credit, some savings, or another
source of income besides the tarot readings she’d done in a shop off Jackson Square and her
rent money, which now wasn’t coming in. Her mom had left her some money. It must have
been a chunk.
“Well, I’ve been back into New Orleans once since the storm,” Amelia said. “You’ve met
Everett, my tenant?”
Quinn nodded.
“When he could get to a phone, he reported some damage to the bottom floor, where I live.
There were trees and branches down, and of course there wasn’t electricity or water for a
couple of weeks. But the neighborhood didn’t suffer as badly as some, thank God, and
when the electricity was back on, I snuck down there.” Amelia took a deep breath. I could
hear right from her brain that she was scared to venture into the territory she was about to
reveal to us. “I, um, went to talk to my dad about fixing the roof. Right then, we had a blue
roof like half the people around us.” The blue plastic that covered damaged roofs was the
new norm in New Orleans.
This was the first time Amelia had mentioned her family to me, in more than a very
general way. I’d learned more from her thoughts than I’d learned from her conversation,
and I had to be careful not to mix the two sources when we talked. I could see her dad’s
presence in her head, love and resentment mixing in her thoughts to form a confused
mishmash.
“Your dad is going to repair your house?” Quinn asked casually. He was excavating in my
Tupperware box in which I stored any cookies that happened to cross my threshold—not a
frequent occurrence, since I have a tendency to put on weight when sweets are in the house.
Amelia had no such problem, and she’d stocked the box with a couple of kinds of Keebler
cookies and told Quinn he was welcome to help himself.
Amelia nodded, much more fascinated by Bob’s fur than she had been a moment before.
“Yeah, he’s got a crew on it,” she said.
This was news to me.
“So who is your dad?” Quinn was keeping up the directness. So far it had worked for him.
Amelia squirmed on the kitchen chair, making Bob raise his head in protest.
“Copley Carmichael,” she muttered.
We were both silent with shock. After a minute, she looked up at us. “What?” she said.
“Okay, so he’s famous. Okay, so he’s rich. So?”
“Different last name?” I said.
“I use my mom’s. I got tired of people being weird around me,” Amelia said pointedly.
Quinn and I exchanged glances. Copley Carmichael was a big name in the state of
Louisiana. He had fingers in all kinds of financial pies, and all those fingers were pretty
dirty. But he was an old-fashioned human wheeler-dealer: no whiff of the supernatural
around Copley Carmichael.
“Does he know you’re a witch?” I asked.
“He doesn’t believe it for a minute,” Amelia said, sounding frustrated and forlorn. “He
thinks I’m a deluded little wannabe, that I’m hanging with weird little people and doing
weird little jobs to stick my tongue out at him. He wouldn’t believe in vampires if he hadn’t
seen them over and over.”
“What about your mom?” Quinn asked. I got myself a refill on my tea. I knew the answer
to this one.
“Dead,” Amelia told him. “Three years ago. That’s when I moved out of my dad’s house
and into the bottom floor of the house on Chloe. He’d given it to me when I graduated from
high school so I’d have my own income, but he made me manage it myself so I’d have the
experience.”
That seemed like a pretty good deal to me. Hesitantly I said, “Wasn’t that the right thing to
do? Get you to learn by doing?”
“Well, yeah,” she admitted. “But when I moved out, he wanted to give me an allowance…
at my age! I knew I had to make it on my own. Between the rent, and the money I picked
up doing fortunes, and magic jobs I got on my own, I’ve been making a living.” She threw
up her head proudly.
Amelia didn’t seem to realize the rent was income from a gift of her father’s, not
something she’d actually earned. Amelia was truly pleased as punch with her own selfsufficiency.
My new friend, whom I’d acquired almost by accident, was a bundle of
contradictions. Since she was a very clear broadcaster, I got her thoughts loud and clear.
When I was alone with Amelia, I had to shield like crazy. I’d relaxed with Quinn around,
but I shouldn’t have. I was getting a whole mess from Amelia’s head.
“So, could your dad help you find your mentor?” Quinn asked.
Amelia looked blank for a moment, as if she was considering that. “I don’t see how,” she
said slowly. “He’s a powerful guy; you know that. But he’s having as much trouble in New
Orleans since Katrina as the rest of the people are.”
Except he had a lot more money and he could go somewhere else, returning when he
pleased, which most of the inhabitants of the city could not. I closed my mouth to keep this
observation to myself. Time to change the topic.
“Amelia,” I said. “How well did you know Bob, anyway? Who’s looking for him?”
She looked a little frightened, not Amelia’s normal thing. “I’m wondering, too,” she said.
“I just knew Bob to speak to, before that night. But I do know that Bob had—has—great
friends in the magic community. I don’t think any of them know we got together. That
night, the night before the queen’s ball when the shit hit the fan between the Arkansas
vamps and our vamps, Bob and I went back to my place after we’d left Terry and Patsy at
the pizza place. Bob called in sick to work the next day, since we had celebrated so hard,
and then he spent that day with me.”
“So it’s possible Bob’s family has been looking for him for months? Wondering if he’s
dead or alive?”
“Hey, chill. I’m not that awful. Bob was raised by his aunt, but they don’t get along at all.
He hasn’t had much contact with her for years. I’m sure he does have friends that are
worrying, and I’m really, really sorry about that. But even if they knew what had happened,
that wouldn’t help Bob, right? And since Katrina, everyone in New Orleans has a lot to
worry about.”
At this interesting point in the discussion, the phone rang. I was closest, so I picked it up.
My brother’s voice was almost electric with excitement.
“Sookie, you need to come out to Hotshot in about an hour.”
“Why?”
“Me and Crystal are getting married. Surprise!”
While this was not a total shock (Jason had been “dating” Crystal Norris for several
months), the suddenness of the ceremony made me anxious.
“Is Crystal pregnant again?” I asked suspiciously. She’d miscarried a baby of Jason’s not
long ago.
“Yes!” Jason said, like that was the best news he could possibly impart. “And this time,
we’ll be married when the baby comes.”
Jason was ignoring reality, as he was increasingly willing to do. The reality was that
Crystal had been pregnant at least once before she was pregnant by Jason, and she had lost
that child, too. The community at Hotshot was a victim of its own inbreeding.
“Okay, I’ll be there,” I said. “Can Amelia and Quinn come, too?”
“Sure,” Jason said. “Crystal and me’ll be proud to have them.”
“Is there anything I can bring?”
“No, Calvin and them are getting ready to cook. It’s all going to be outside. We got lights
strung up. I think they’ll have a big pot of jambalaya, some dirty rice, and coleslaw, and me
and my buddies are bringing the alcohol. Just come looking pretty! See you at Hotshot in
an hour. Don’t be late.”
I hung up and sat there for a minute, my hand still clutching the cordless phone. That was
just like Jason: come in an hour to a ceremony planned at the last minute for the worst
possible reason, and don’t be late! At least he hadn’t asked me to bring a cake.
“Sookie, you okay?” Quinn asked.
“My brother Jason’s getting married tonight,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “We’re
invited to the wedding, and we need to be there in an hour.” I’d always figured Jason
wouldn’t marry a woman I truly adored; he’d always shown a partiality to tough sluts. And
that was Crystal, sure enough. Crystal was also a werepanther, a member of a community
that guarded its own secrets jealously. In fact, my brother was now a werepanther himself
because he’d been bitten over and over by a rival for Crystal’s attentions.
Jason was older than I, and God knows, he’d had his share of women. I had to assume he
knew when one suited him.
I emerged from my thoughts to find that Amelia was looking startled and excited. She
loved to go out and party, and the chances for that around Bon Temps were limited. Quinn,
who’d met Jason when he was visiting me, looked at me with a skeptical raised eyebrow.
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “It’s crazy and dumb. But Crystal’s pregnant again, and there’s no
stopping him. Do you two want to come along with me? You don’t have to. I’m afraid I’ve
got to get ready right now.”
Amelia said, “Oh, goody, I can wear my new outfit,” and sped upstairs to tear the tags off.
Quinn said, “Babe, do you want me to come?”
“Yes, please,” I said. He came over to me and wrapped his heavy arms around me. I felt
comforted, even though I knew Quinn was thinking what a fool Jason was.
I pretty much agreed with him.
4
IT WAS STILL WARM AT NIGHT, BUT NOT OPPRESSIVELYso, not this late in
September. I wore a sleeveless white dress with red flowers on it, one I’d worn before when
I had a date with Bill (whom Iwouldn’t think about). Out of sheer vanity, I put on my highheeled
red sandals, though they were hardly practical footwear for a wedding on a roughly
paved road. I put on some makeup while Quinn was showering, and I wasn’t displeased
with my reflection. There’s nothing like great sex to give you a glow. I came out of my
room and glanced at the clock. We needed to leave pretty quickly.
Amelia was wearing a short-sleeved dress, beige with a tiny navy pattern. Amelia loved to
buy clothes and considered herself a snappy dresser, but her taste was strictly suburban
young matron. She wore little navy sandals with flowers on the straps, much more
appropriate than my heels.
Just when I was beginning to worry, Quinn came out of my room wearing a brown silk
dress shirt and khakis.
“What about a tie?” he asked. “I’ve got some in my bag.”
I thought of the rural setting and vast lack of sophistication in the little community of
Hotshot. “I don’t think a tie will be necessary,” I said, and Quinn looked relieved.
We piled into my car and drove west and then south. On the drive, I had a chance to
explain to my out-of-town guests about the isolated band of werepanthers and their small
cluster of houses grouped together in rural Renard Parish. I was driving, since that was just
simplest. Once out of sight of the old railroad tracks, the country became increasingly
unpopulated until for two or three miles we saw no lights of any kind. Then we saw cars
and lights at a crossroads ahead. We were there.
Hotshot was out in the middle of nowhere, set in a long depression in the middle of gently
rolling land, swells that were too ill-defined to be called hills. Formed around an ancient
crossroads, the lonely community had a powerful vibration of magic. I could tell that
Amelia was feeling that power. Her face became sharper and wiser as we got closer. Even
Quinn inhaled deeply. As for me, I could detect the presence of magic, but it didn’t affect
non-supernatural me.
I pulled over to the side of the road behind Hoyt Fortenberry’s truck. Hoyt was Jason’s best
friend and lifelong shadow. I spied him right ahead of us, trudging down the road to a welllit
area. I’d handed Amelia and Quinn a flashlight, and I kept one aimed at my feet.
“Hoyt,” I called. I hurried to catch up with him, at least as much as was practical in the red
heels. “Hey, are you okay?” I asked when I saw his downcast face. Hoyt was not a very
good-looking guy, or very bright, but he was steady and tended to see past the moment to
its consequences, something my brother had never mastered.
“Sook,” Hoyt said. “I can’t believe he’s getting hitched. I guess I thought me and Jason
would be bachelors forever.” He attempted to smile.
I gave him a pat on the shoulder. Life would’ve been neat ’n’ tidy if I could have fallen in
love with Hoyt, thus attaching him to my brother forever, but Hoyt and I had never had the
slightest interest in each other.
Hoyt’s mind was radiating a dull misery. He was certain that his life was changing forever
this night. He expected Jason to mend his ways completely, to stay in with his wife like a
husband should, and to forsake all others.
I sure hoped Hoyt’s expectations were right on the money.
On the edges of the crowd, Hoyt met up with Catfish Hennessy, and they began making
loud jokes about Jason’s breaking down and marrying.
I hoped the male bonding would help Hoyt get through the ceremony. I didn’t know if
Crystal truly loved my brother—but Hoyt did.
Quinn took my hand, and with Amelia in our wake we forged through the little crowd until
we reached the center.
Jason was wearing a new suit, and the blue of it was only a bit darker than the blue of his
eyes. He looked great, and he was smiling to beat the band. Crystal was wearing a leopardprint
dress cut as low in the front as you could get and still term the garment a dress. I
didn’t know if the leopard motif was an ironic statement on her part or a simple expression
of her fashion sense. I suspected the latter.
The happy couple was standing in the middle of an empty space, accompanied by Calvin
Norris, leader of the Hotshot community. The crowd kept respectfully back, forming an
uneven circle.
Calvin, who happened to be Crystal’s uncle, was holding Crystal’s arm. He smiled at me.
Calvin had trimmed his beard and dug out a suit for the occasion, but he and Jason were the
only men wearing ties. Quinn noticed that and thought relieved thoughts.
Jason spotted me right after Calvin did, and he beckoned to me. I stepped forward,
suddenly realizing that I was going to have a part in the ceremony. I hugged my brother,
smelling his musky cologne…but no alcohol. I relaxed a fraction. I had suspected Jason had
fortified himself with a drink or two, but he was quite sober.
I let go of Jason and glanced behind me to see what had become of my companions, so I
knew the moment when the werepanthers realized Quinn was there. There was a sudden
hush among the two-natured, and I heard his name ripple through them like a little wind.
Calvin whispered, “You broughtQuinn ?” as if I’d arrived with Santa Claus or some other
mythical creature.
“Is that okay?” I said, since I’d had no clue it would create such a stir.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “He’s your man now?” Calvin’s face held such a mixture of startled
reevaluation and speculation that I immediately began wondering what I didn’t know about
my new lover.
“Um, well, sorta,” I said with sudden caution.
“We’re honored to have him here,” Calvin assured me.
“Quinn,” Crystal breathed. Her pupils were dilating, and I felt her brain focus on my date
with a sort of groupie longing. I wanted to kick her.Here to marry my brother, remember?
Jason looked as puzzled as I was. Since he’d been a panther only a few months, there was
a lot about the hidden world of the two-natured he hadn’t picked up on yet.
Me, too.
Crystal made an effort to quell herself and get back into the moment. She was naturally
enjoying being the center of attention, but she spared a moment to reassess her prospective
sister-in-law. Her respect for me (pretty much nonexistent, heretofore) had just shot off the
charts.
“What’s the procedure?” I asked briskly, trying to get us all back on track.
Calvin reverted to his practical self. “Since we have human guests, we’ve adapted the
ceremony,” he explained in a very low voice. “Here’s how it goes…you vouch for Jason as
his closest living relative, because he ain’t got no one older than you to do it. I’m Crystal’s
oldest living relative, so I vouch for her. We offer to take the penalty if either of them does
wrong.”
Ah-oh. I didn’t like the sound of that. I darted a quick look at my brother, who (naturally)
didn’t seem to think twice about the commitment I was making. I shouldn’t have expected
anything else.
“Then the minister comes forward and the service proceeds just like any other wedding,”
Calvin said. “If there weren’t outsiders here, it would be different.”
I was curious about that, but this wasn’t the time to ask lots of questions. However, there
were a few that had to be answered. “What penalty am I promising to pay? What
constitutes ‘doing wrong’?”
Jason huffed a sigh, exasperated that I wanted to find out what I was promising. Calvin’s
calm yellow eyes met mine, and they were full of understanding.
“Here’s what you’re vowing,” Calvin said in a voice that was quiet but intense. We
huddled around him. “Jason, you listen hard. We went over this, but I don’t think you were
giving me your full attention.” Jason was listening now, but I could feel his impatience.
“Being married here”—and Calvin waved a hand to indicate the little Hotshot community
—“means being faithful to your mate, unless the mate has to breed to keep the group up.
Since Crystal’s pretty much out of the running on that, Jason, that means she has to be
faithful to you, and you to her. You don’t have mating obligations like the purebloods do.”
Jason flushed at this reminder that his status was lesser since he was only a shifter because
he’d been bitten by one, not because he’d been born with the gene. “So if Crystal runs
around on you and a member of the community can attest to it, and if she can’t pay the
price for some reason—pregnancy, or illness, or a kid to raise—I have to do it. We’re not
talking money here, you understand?”
Jason nodded. “You’re talking physical punishment,” he said.
“Yes,” Calvin said. “Not only are you promising to be faithful, you’re also swearing to
keep our secret.”
Jason nodded again.
“And to help out other members of the community if they’re in need.”
Jason scowled.
“Example?” I said.
“If Maryelizabeth’s roof needs replacing, we might all chip in a bit to buy the material and
we’d all make time to do the work. If a kid needs a place to stay, your home is open to that
kid. We take care of each other.”
Jason nodded again. “I understand,” he said. “I’m willing.” He would have to give up some
of his buddy time, and I felt sad for Hoyt; and I confess I felt a little sad for myself. I
wasn’t gaining a sister; I was losing my brother, at least to some degree.
“Mean this from the heart or call it off now,” I said, keeping my voice very low. “You’re
committing my life to this, too. Can you keep the promises you’re making to this woman
and her community, or not?”
Jason looked at Crystal for a long moment, and I had no right to be in his head, so I pulled
out and instead cast through the crowd for random thoughts. They were mostly what you’d
expect: a bit of excitement at being at a wedding, a bit of pleasure at seeing the parish’s
most notorious bachelor shackled to a wild young woman, a bit of curiosity about the odd
Hotshot ritual.Hotshot was a byword in the parish—“as weird as a guy from Hotshot” had
been a saying for years, and Hotshot kids who attended the Bon Temps school often had a
hard time of it until after the first few playground fights.
“I’ll keep my promises,” Jason said, his voice hoarse.
“I’ll keep mine,” Crystal said.
The difference between the two was this: Jason was sincere, though I doubted his ability to
stick to his word. Crystal had the ability, but she wasn’t sincere.
“You don’t mean it,” I said to her.
“The hell you say,” she retorted.
“I don’t usually say one way or another,” I said, making the effort to keep my voice low.
“But this is too serious to keep silent. I can see inside your head, Crystal. Don’t you ever
forget I can.”
“I ain’t forgetting nothing,” she said, making sure each word had weight. “And I’m
marrying Jason tonight.”
I looked at Calvin. He was troubled, but in the end, he shrugged. “We can’t stop this,” he
said. For a second, I was tempted to struggle with his pronouncement.Why not? I thought.If
I hauled off and slapped her, maybe that would be enough disruption to stall the whole
thing. Then I reconsidered. They were both grown-ups, at least theoretically. They would
get married if they chose, either here and now or somewhere else on some other night. I
bowed my head and sucked up my misgivings.
“Of course,” I said, raising my face and smiling that bright smile I got when I was really
anxious. “Let’s get on with the ceremony.” I caught a glimpse of Quinn’s face in the crowd.
He was looking at me, concerned by the low-voiced argument. Amelia, on the other hand,
was happily chatting with Catfish, whom she’d met at the bar. Hoyt was by himself right
under one of the portable lights rigged up for the occasion. He had his hands thrust in his
pockets, and he looked more serious than I’d ever seen him. There was something strange
about the sight, and after a second I figured out why.
It was one of the few times I’d ever seen Hoyt alone.
I took my brother’s arm, and Calvin again gripped Crystal’s. The priest stepped into the
center of the circle, and the ceremony began. Though I tried hard to look happy for Jason, I
had a difficult time holding back my tears while my brother became the bridegroom of a
wild and willful girl who had been dangerous from birth.
There was dancing afterward, and a wedding cake, and lots of alcohol. There was food
galore, and consequently there were huge trash cans that filled up with paper plates, cans,
and crumpled paper napkins. Some of the men had brought cases of beer and wine, and
some had hard liquor, too. No one could say that Hotshot couldn’t throw a party.
While a zydeco band from Monroe played, the crowd danced in the street. The music
echoed across the fields in an eerie way. I shivered and wondered what was watching from
the dark.
“They’re good, aren’t they?” Jason asked. “The band?”
“Yeah,” I said. He was flushed with happiness. His bride was dancing with one of her
cousins.
“That’s why we hurried this wedding up,” he said. “She found out she was pregnant, and
we decided to go on and do it—just do it. And her favorite band was free for tonight.”
I shook my head at my brother’s impulsiveness. Then I reminded myself to keep visible
signs of disapproval at a minimum. The bride’s family might take issue.
Quinn was a good dancer, though I had to show him some of the Cajun steps. All the
Hotshot belles wanted a dance with Quinn, too, so I had a turn with Calvin, and Hoyt, and
Catfish. Quinn was having a good time, I could tell, and on one level I was, too. But around
two thirty a.m., we gave each other a little nod. He had to leave the next day, and I wanted
to be alone with him. Plus, I was tired of smiling.
As Quinn thanked Calvin for the wonderful evening, I watched Jason and Crystal dancing
together, both apparently delighted with each other. I knew right from Jason’s brain that he
was infatuated with the shifter girl, with the subculture that had formed her, with the
newness of being a supernatural. I knew from Crystal’s brain that she was exultant. She’d
been determined to marry someone that hadn’t grown up in Hotshot, someone who was
exciting in bed, someone able to stand up to not only her but her extended family…and
now she had.
I made my way over to the happy couple and gave each of them a kiss on the cheek. Now
Crystal was family, after all, and I would have to accept her as such and leave the two to
work out their own life together. I gave Calvin a hug, too, and he held me for a second
before releasing me and giving me a reassuring pat on the back. Catfish danced me around
in a circle, and a drunken Hoyt took up where he’d left off. I had a hard time convincing the
two that I really meant to leave, but finally Quinn and I began to make our way back to my
car.
As we wended through the edges of the crowd, I spotted Amelia dancing with one of her
Hotshot beaux. They were both in high spirits, both literally and libation-wise. I called to
Amelia that we were leaving, and she yelled, “I’ll get a ride with someone later!”
Though I enjoyed seeing Amelia happy, it must have been Misgiving Night, because I
worried about her a little. However, if anyone could take care of herself, it was Amelia.
We were moving slow when we let ourselves into the house. I didn’t check out Quinn’s
head, but mine was muzzy from the noise, the clamor of all the brains around me, and the
extra surges of emotion. It had been a long day. Some of it had been excellent, though. As I
recalled the very best parts, I caught myself smiling down at Bob. The big cat rubbed
himself against my ankles, meowing in an inquiring kind of way.
Oh, geez.
I felt like I had to explain Amelia’s absence to the cat. I squatted down and scratched Bob’s
head, and (feeling incredibly foolish) I said, “Hey, Bob. She’s going to be real late tonight;
she’s still dancing at the party. But don’t you worry, she’ll be home!” The cat turned his
back on me and stalked out of the room. I was never sure how much human was lurking in
Bob’s little feline brain, but I hoped he’d just fall asleep and forget all about our strange
conversation.
Just at that moment, I heard Quinn call to me from my bedroom, and I put thoughts about
Bob on hold. After all, it was our last night together for maybe weeks.
While I brushed my teeth and washed my face, I had one last flare of worry about Jason.
My brother had made his bed. I hoped he could lie comfortably in it for some time.He’s a
grown-up , I told myself over and over as I went into the bedroom in my nicest nightgown.
Quinn pulled me to him, said, “Don’t worry, babe, don’t worry….”
I banished my brother and Bob from my thoughts and this bedroom. I brought a hand up to
trace the curve of Quinn’s scalp, kept those fingers going down his spine, loved it when he
shivered.