I cast the chest of drawers a proud glance when I went in the bedroom. I knew everything in it was organized, as was everything in the night table and everything in the vanity. I didn't have control over much in my life, but by golly, my drawers were tidy. I noticed one was pulled out, just a little. I frowned. I habitually pushed drawers all the way in. That was one of my mom's rules, and though I'd lost her when I was only seven, it had stuck with me. Even Jason was careful to close drawers all the way.

I pulled it open and looked inside. My odds-and-ends drawer (stockings, scarves, evening purses, and belts) was still orderly, though the scarves didn't seem to be lined up quite like I'd left them, and one of the brown belts was mixed in with the black belts. Huh. After staring at the drawer's contents for a long moment, wishing I could get the items to talk, I pushed the drawer shut, this time making sure it closed properly. The sound of wood meeting wood was loud in the quiet house.

The big old place, which had sheltered Stackhouses for more than a hundred and fifty years, had never seemed particularly empty until I'd had long-term houseguests. After Amelia had left to go back to New Orleans to pay her debt to the coven, I'd felt like my home was a lonely place. But I'd readjusted. Then Claude and Dermot had moved in . . . and left for good. Now I felt like a small bee bumbling around inside an empty hive.

Just at this moment, I found it was actually comforting to think that across the cemetery, Bill would rise; but he was dead until dark.

I felt a touch of melancholy when I thought of Bill's dark eyes, and slapped myself on the cheek. Okay, now I was just being silly. I wasn't going to let sheer loneliness drive me back to my ex. I reminded myself I was still Eric Northman's wife under vampire custom, though he wasn't talking to me right now.

Though I was reluctant to attempt to approach Eric again for several reasons (I have my pride and it was hurt), I was sick of waiting and wondering what was happening in the closed society of the vampires.

Oh, sure, I reflected, they're glad to see me when I have a good plan for killing someone, but when I want a relationship update, I'm not hearing from a single soul.

Not that I was bitter or anything. Or mad, or hurt. Or knew if vampires had souls.

I could feel myself shake all over like a dog coming out of a pond. Regret, impatience, flying off me. Was it my place to worry about souls? No. That was up to a higher power than me.

I glanced outside to see that it was just full dark. Before I could have another thought, I picked up my cell phone and speed-dialed Eric. I had to do this before I lost my nerve.

"Sookie," he said, after the second ring, and I let myself feel surprised. I'd truly doubted he'd answer.

"We need to talk," I said, making a huge effort to sound calm. "After my visit to Fangtasia, I understand that you're dodging me. You made it clear that you don't want me visiting the club. I assume you don't want me dropping by your place, either. But you know we have to have a conversation."

"Then talk."

Okay, this was going pretty damn badly. I didn't have to look in a mirror to know I was wearing my mad face. "Face-to-face," I said, and it sounded like I was biting out the words. Too late, I had second thoughts. This was going to be painful in the extreme. Wouldn't it be better to just let our relationship drift away - avoid having the conversation I was almost certain I could script ahead of time?

"I can't come tonight," Eric said. He sounded as if he were on the moon, he was so distant. "There are people in line to see me, much to be done."

And still his voice was empty. I let my anger rip, in that sudden way I have when I'm tense. "So we take second place. You could at least sound sorry," I said, each word distinct and bitter.

"You have no idea how I feel," he said. "Tomorrow night." And he hung up.

"Well, fuck him and the horse he rode in on," I said.

After gearing up for a marathon conversation, Eric's quick cutoff left me overflowing with restless energy.

"This is no good," I told the silent house. I turned on the radio and I started dancing. That is something I can do, though at the moment my skill was not important. It was the activity that counted. I threw myself into it. I thought, Maybe Tara and I can do a dance exercise program together. She and I had done routines together all through high school, and it would be easy for Tara to get back in shape that way (not that I needed to bring that up when I asked her). To my dismay, I was huffing and puffing after less than ten minutes, a not-so-subtle reminder that I myself could use a regular exercise program. I drove myself to continue for fifteen more minutes.

When I collapsed onto the couch, I felt relaxed, exhausted, and just about in need of another shower. As I sprawled there, taking deep breaths, I noticed my answering machine was blinking. In fact, it was blinking frequently. I had more than one message. I hadn't checked my e-mail in days, either. Plus, I'd gotten that call on my cell phone while I'd been in the shower. I had to reconnect with the world.

First, the answering machine. After the first beep, I heard a hang-up. I didn't recognize the number. Then a call from Tara to tell me she thought baby Sara had allergies. Then a request to take an important survey. It wasn't too surprising that amid all this exciting communication, I began to think about the lawsuit again.

Jane Bodehouse loved wrestling. Maybe if I called the only wrestler I knew, a guy named T-Rex, I could get her some ringside tickets. She'd be so happy she'd drop her lawsuit against Merlotte's . . . if she was even aware of it.

And there I was, back to worrying.

After my phone messages, I checked my e-mails. Most of them suggested I enlarge my nonexistent penis or help desperate lawyers get huge sums of money out of Africa, but one was from my godfather, Desmond Cataliades, the mostly demon lawyer who had (in my view) given me the bane of my existence when he "gifted" me with telepathy. In his view, he'd endowed me with a priceless advantage over other humans. I'd received this birth present because I was the granddaughter of Mr. Cataliades's great friend Fintan and Fintan's, well, his girlfriend - my grandmother, Adele Stackhouse. Not only was I a descendant of a fairy, I possessed the "essential spark." Whatever that was. And that was why I'd been lucky enough to manifest the telepathy.

Mr. Cataliades wrote:

Dearest Sookie, I am back in New Orleans, having settled my issues with the local supernatural community and done some essential detective work. I hope to visit you very soon to verify your well-being and to give you some information. I hear rumors of what is happening in your life, and those rumors disturb me.

Me, too, Mr. C. Me, too. I responded by telling him that I was doing okay and that I'd be glad to see him. I wasn't sure if any of that was true, but it sounded good.

Michele, Jason's fiancee, had e-mailed me two days ago from her job at the car dealership.

Hi Sookie! Let's get a pedicure together tomorrow! I have the morning off. What about nine o'clock at Rumpty?

I'd had only one pedicure before, but I'd enjoyed it, and I liked Michele fine; but we didn't necessarily have the same idea about what constituted a good time. However, she was going to be my sister-in-law soon, and I sent back an abject apology for not checking my e-mail sooner.

Tara had sent me a message.

Hey girlfriend, I really enjoyed our road trip. I'm wearing the shorts right now, lol. We have to do something about the babies' room, I can hardly get my fat ass in there. I thought it was big enuf before I had twins! I'm hiring a babysitter so I can get back to work part time. Here are some more pictures of the babies.

They didn't look much different from the way they had in the pictures she had yesterday. Nonetheless, I sent her an admiring message. I know what a friend should do. I wondered how Tara and JB could increase the size of the babies' little room. Sam was pretty handy with carpentry. Maybe they'd rope him in, too.

I'd gotten a text from Jason. "U working 2morrow?" I assured him I was. He probably needed to drop in to talk about some detail of the wedding, which was going to be about as casual as a wedding could be.

I thought of turning on the television, but it was summer, so there wasn't much point. I'd read instead. I got the top book off the library stack on my bedside table and was pleased to discover it was the latest Dana Stabenow. It's really a treat to read about Alaska when it's a summer day that peaked at 104 degrees. I hoped that maybe someday I'd get up there. I wanted to see a grizzly bear, and I wanted to see a glacier, and I wanted to eat fresh salmon.

I found I was holding the book in both hands and imagining. Since I couldn't concentrate on the page, I might as well throw supper together. It was getting late. While I made a salad with cherry tomatoes and dried cranberries and chopped chicken, I tried to picture how big a grizzly might be. I'd never seen any kind of bear in the wild, though twice I'd found prints in the woods I was pretty sure were a black bear's.

I was in a better mood altogether as I ate and read, two of my favorite activities.

It had been a long day, what with one thing and another, and by the time I crawled into my bed, I was ready to sleep. A peaceful night with no dreams; that was what I wanted. And for a while, I got it.

"Sookie."

"Mmmh?"

"Wake up, Sookie. I need to talk to you."

My bedroom was quite dark. Even the little night-light I left on in the bathroom was out. But I knew, even before I caught his familiar scent, that Eric was in my room.

"I'm awake," I said, still struggling to clear the sleep out of my head. The jolt of fear I'd gotten had gone far toward that end. "Why are you sneaking in like this? I gave you a key for emergencies, not for surprise night visits."

"Sookie, listen to me."

"I'm listening." Not happy about this approach to conversation, though.

"I had to be curt on the phone. There are ears all around me. No matter what happens in public - no matter what - don't doubt that I love you and care about your welfare . . . as much as I am able."

Not good.

"And you're telling me this because you're going to do something bad to me in public," I said, sadly unsurprised.

"I hope it won't come to that," he said, and he put his arms around me. In happier times, I'd found that being close to Eric in the summer was very pleasant because his body temp was so low, but I wasn't in the mood to enjoy the sensation just at the moment. "I have to go," he said. "I had only an hour when I wouldn't be missed. I was angry when you saved Sam. But I can't just dismiss you as if I didn't care. And I can't leave you unprotected tonight. My guard will be here if you consent."

"What guard? Okay," I said dazedly. He was leaving someone in the yard?

I felt him get off the bed, and after a second I heard the back door open.

What the hell?

I collapsed back onto the bed, and I spent a few minutes wondering if it was even possible I'd get some more sleep. I looked at the clock. Eleven forty-five p.m.

"Sure, wander in and get in bed with me. I don't mind," I said. "Please, wake me up and scare me to death. I love it!"

"Is that an invitation?" said a voice from the dark.

I did scream then.

Chapter 6

"Who the hell are you?" I asked, fighting the paralysis in my throat.

"Sorry!" said an accented voice. "I'm Karin."

I couldn't place the accent - not Cajun or Spanish or English. . . . "How'd you get in?"

"Eric let me in. You said you consented to be guarded."

"I thought he meant someone would be outside."

"He said, 'here.' "

I thought back over the conversation I'd just had, which I didn't remember any too well. "If you say so," I said doubtfully.

"I do," said the calm voice.

"Karin, why are you here?"

"To guard you," she said, with obvious patience.

"To keep me here? Or to keep other people out?"

"Other people out," Karin said. She didn't sound irritated, just matter-of-fact.

"I'm going to turn on the light," I said. I reached over to my bedside lamp and switched it on. Karin the Slaughterer crouched by the door to my room.

We regarded each other. Weirdly, after a moment, I could see Eric's progression. If I was a golden blonde and Pam was a paler true blonde, Karin's hair was at the ash blond end of the spectrum. It fell in heavy waves down her back. Her face was utterly bare of makeup and utterly lovely. Her lips were narrower than mine, as was her nose, but her eyes were wide and blue. Karin was shorter than me or Pam, but just as curvy. Karin was Me 101.

Eric ran true to type.

The biggest difference was not in our features but in our expressions. When I looked into Karin's eyes, I knew she was a stone-cold killer. All vampires are, but some have more aptitude for it than others. And some take more pleasure in it than others. When Eric had turned Pam and Karin, he'd gotten blond warriors.

If I became a vampire, I'd be like them. I thought of things I'd already done. I shivered.

Then I saw what she was wearing.

"Yoga pants?" I said. "A dread vampire wears yoga pants?"

"Why should I not? They are comfortable," she said. "Freedom of movement. And very washable."

I was on the verge of asking her what detergent she used and if she washed them on the cold cycle when I stopped myself. Her sudden appearance had really thrown me for a loop.

"Okay, I'm betting you heard everything Eric said to me. Would you care to expand on his very unsatisfactory conversation?" I asked, moderating my voice to a calm-and-casual level.