Dead Reckoning

 

I heard my two housemates come in Sunday night, not too late. Hooligans wasn't open on Sunday, and I tried not to wonder what they'd been doing all day. They were still asleep when I made my coffee on Monday morning. I moved around the house as quietly as I could, getting dressed and checking my e-mail. Amelia was on her way, she said, and she added cryptically that she had something important to tell me. I wondered if she had found out information about my "c.d." already.



Tara had sent out a group e-mail with an attached picture of her huge belly, and I reminded myself that the baby shower I was giving her was the next weekend. Yikes! After a moment of panic, I calmed myself. The invitations were sent, I'd bought her gift, and I'd planned the food. I was as ready as I could be, aside from the last-minute flurry of cleaning.



I was working the early shift today. As I put on my makeup, I took out the cluviel dor and held it to my chest. Touching it seemed important, seemed to make it more vital. My skin warmed it quickly. Whatever lay at the heart of that smooth pale greenness seemed to quicken. I felt more alive, too. I took a deep, shaky breath and returned it to the drawer, again dusting it with powder to make it look like it had been there forever. I shut the drawer with something like regret.



My grandmother felt very close to me that day. I thought about her on the drive to work, during my prep work, and in odd moments as I fetched and carried. Andy Bellefleur was eating lunch with Sheriff Dearborn. I was a little surprised Andy wanted to sit down in Merlotte's again after the invasion of two days before.



But my new favorite detective seemed happy enough to be there, joking with his boss and eating a salad with low-fat dressing. Andy was looking slimmer and younger these days. Married life and impending fatherhood agreed with him. I asked him how Halleigh was doing.



"She says her stomach's huge, but it's not," he said with a smile. "I think she's glad school's out. She's making curtains for the baby's room." Halleigh taught at the elementary school.



"Miss Caroline would be so proud," I said. Andy's grandmother, Caroline Bellefleur, had died just weeks before.



"I'm glad she knew before she passed," he said. "Hey, did you know my sister's pregnant, too?"



I tried not to look too astonished. Andy and Portia had had a double wedding in their grandmother's garden, and though it hadn't been a surprise to hear that Andy's wife was pregnant, somehow the older Portia had never struck me as someone who'd welcome motherhood. I told Andy how glad I was, and that was the truth.



"Would you tell Bill?" Andy asked, a little shyly. "I still feel a little weird about calling him."



My neighbor and former flame, Bill Compton, who happened to be a vampire, had finally told the Bellefleurs that he was their ancestor right before Miss Caroline died. Miss Caroline had reacted beautifully to the startling news, but it had been a little harder for Andy, who was both proud and not too fond of the undead. Portia had actually gone out with Bill a few times before he'd figured out the relationship--awkward, huh? She and her husband had sucked up their reservations about their newly acquired living ancestor, and they'd surprised me with their dignity in acknowledging Bill.



"I'm always glad to pass along good news, but he'd be glad to hear from you."



"I, ah, I hear he's got a vampire girlfriend?"



I made myself look cheerful. "Yeah, she's been there for a few weeks," I said. "I haven't talked to him much about it." Like, not ever.



"You've met her."



"Yeah, she seems nice." In fact, I'd been responsible for their reunion, but that wasn't something I wanted to share. "If I see him, I'll tell him for you, Andy. I know he'll want to know when the baby's born. Do you know what you and Halleigh are having?"



"It's a girl," he said, and his smile almost split his face in two. "We're gonna name her Caroline Compton Bellefleur."



"Oh, Andy! That's so nice!" I was ridiculously pleased, because I knew Bill would be.



Andy looked embarrassed. I could tell he was relieved when his cell phone chirped.



"Hey, honey," he said, having glanced at the caller number before he flipped his phone open. "What's up?" He smiled as he listened. "Okay, I'll bring you a milkshake," he said. "See you in a few."



Bud was coming back to the table, and Andy glanced at the check and slapped a ten down. "There's my part," he said. "Keep the change. Bud, I got to go run by the house. Halleigh needs me to put up the curtain rod in the baby's room, and she's dying for a butterscotch milkshake. I won't be but ten minutes." He grinned at us and was out the door.



Bud resumed his seat while he slowly got his own money out of his worn old wallet.



"Halleigh's having one, Portia's having one, Tara's having two, I hear. Sookie, you need to get you one of those little 'uns," he said, and took a drink. "Good iced tea." He set his empty glass down with a little thump.



"I don't need to have a baby just because other women are doing it," I said. "I'll have one when I'm ready."



"Well, you ain't having one at all if you keep dating that deader," Bud said bluntly. "What do you think your gran would say?"



I took the money, turned on my heel, and walked away. I asked Danielle if she'd take Bud his change. I didn't want to talk to Bud anymore.



Stupid, I know. I had to be thicker-skinned than that. And Bud had only spoken the truth. Of course, he had the perspective that all young women wanted to have children, and he was pointing out to me that I was on the wrong track. As if I didn't know that! What would Gran have said?



I would have answered without a pause a few days ago. Now, I wasn't so sure. There'd been so much I hadn't known about her. But my best guess was that she would have told me to go with my heart. And I loved Eric. As I picked up a burger basket and took it to Maxine Fortenberry's table (she was having lunch with Elmer Claire Vaudry), I found myself anticipating the moment of dark when he would wake. I looked forward to seeing him with a kind of desperation. I needed the reassurance of his presence, the assurance that he loved me, too, the passionate connection we felt when we touched each other.



As I waited for an order at the hatch, I watched Sam pull a draft. I wondered if he felt the same way about Jannalynn as I felt about Eric. He'd dated her longer than he'd dated anyone since I'd known him. Maybe I figured he was more serious because he was arranging for nights off so he could see her more often, something he'd never done before. Sam smiled at me when his eyes caught mine. It was sure nice to see him happy.



Though Jannalynn was not good enough for him.



I almost clapped a hand over my mouth. I felt as guilty as though I'd said that out loud. Their relationship wasn't any of my business, I told myself sternly. But a softer voice inside me said that Sam was my friend and that Jannalynn was too ruthless and violent to make him happy in the long run.



Jannalynn had killed people, but I had, too. Maybe I judged her as violent because she sometimes seemed to enjoy the killing. The idea that I might be like Jannalynn at heart--how many people did I want dead?--was another downer. Surely the day had to get better?



Pretty much always a fatal thought. Sandra Pelt strode into the bar. It had been a long time since I'd seen her--and she'd been trying to kill me then, too. She'd been a teenager then, and she still had yet to turn twenty, I figured; but she looked a little older, her body more mature, and she had a cute shag hairdo that contrasted oddly with the snarl on her face. She brought with her an aura of rage. Though her slim body was appropriately dressed in jeans and a tank top, a loose shirt open and flapping, you could see the crazy in her face. She enjoyed dealing out the damage. You couldn't see into her head and miss that. Her movements were jerky with tension, and her eyes roved from one person to another until they found mine. They lit up like Fourth of July fireworks. I could see right inside her brain, and I saw she had a gun tucked in the back of her jeans.



"Uh-oh," I said, very quietly.



"What more do I have to do?" Sandra screamed.



Conversations all over the bar dwindled to silence. From the corner of my eye, I saw Sam reach down under the bar. He wouldn't make it in time.



"I try to burn you up, and the fire goes out." She was still at full volume. "I give those jerks free drugs and sex, and send them to grab you, and they bungle it. I try your house, and the magic won't let me enter. I've tried to kill you over and over, and you just won't die!"



I almost felt like apologizing.



At the same time, it was a good thing that Bud Dearborn had heard all this. But he was standing facing Sandra, his table between them, and I knew it would be much better if he were behind her. Sam began to move to his left, but the pass-through was to his right, and I didn't see how he could get across the bar and behind her before she worked herself up to killing me. But that wasn't Sam's plan. While Sandra was focused on me, he passed the wooden bat to Terry Bellefleur, who'd been playing darts with another vet. Terry was a little crazy at times and awfully scarred, but I'd always liked him and gotten along with him well. Terry put his hand on the bat, and I was glad the jukebox was playing because it covered the little sounds.



In fact, the jukebox was playing the old Whitney Houston ballad "I Will Always Love You," which was kind of funny, actually.



"Why are you always sending other people to do your jobs?" I asked, to cover the sound of Terry's quiet advance. "You some kind of coward? You think a woman can't do the job right?"



Maybe taunting Sandra hadn't been such a good idea, because her hand darted to her back with shifter speed, and then the gun was out and pointing at me, and then I saw her finger begin to tighten in a moment that seemed to stretch forever. And then I saw the bat swing and connect, and Sandra went down like someone had cut her strings, and there was blood everywhere.



And Terry went crazy. He crouched, screaming, and dropped the bat as if it had burned him. No matter what anyone said (the most popular thing was "SHUT UP, TERRY!"), he howled.



I never thought I'd end up sitting on the floor cradling Terry Bellefleur in my arms, rocking him and murmuring to him. But that was where I was, since he seemed to get worse if anyone else approached him. Even the ambulance people got nervous when Terry shrieked at them. He was still crouched on the balls of his feet, speckled with blood, after Sandra Pelt had gone to the hospital in Clarice.



I was beholden to Terry, who had always been kind to me even when he was having one of his bad spells. He'd come to clear away the debris when an arsonist had set fire to my kitchen. He'd offered me one of his puppies. Now he'd damaged his fragile mind to save my life. As I rocked him and patted him on the back while he wept, I listened to the steady stream of his words as the few people left in Merlotte's did their best to stay a decent distance away.



"I done what he told me," Terry said, "the shining man, I kept track of Sookie and I tried to keep her from harm, no one should hurt Sookie, I tried to watch out for her, and then today that bitch come in here and I knew she was going to kill Sook, I knew it, I never wanted to take blood again in my life but I couldn't let her hurt the gal, I couldn't do it, and I never wanted to kill another person in my whole existence, I never did."



"She's not dead, Terry," I said, kissing him on the head. "You didn't kill anyone."



"Sam passed me the bat," Terry said, sounding a little more alert.



"Sure, because he couldn't get out from behind the bar in time. Thanks so much, Terry, you've been a friend to me always. God bless you for saving my life."



"Sookie? You knew they wanted me to watch out for you? They come to my trailer at night, for months, that big blond one and then the shining one. They always wanted to know about you."



"Sure," I said, thinking, What?



"They wanted to know how you were doing and who was you hanging with and who hated you and who loved you. . . ."



"That's okay," I said. "It was okay to tell them."



Eric and my great-grandfather, I guessed. Picking the damaged one, the one easiest to persuade. I'd known Eric had had someone watching me while I dated Bill and while I was on my own later. I'd guessed that my great-grandfather had had some source of knowledge, too. Whether he'd gotten the name from Eric or had discovered Terry on his own, it was very like Niall to use the handiest tool, whether or not the tool snapped during use.



"I met Elvis in your woods one night," Terry said. One of the EMTs had given him a shot, and I thought it was beginning to work. "I knew I was nuts then. He was telling me how much he liked cats. I told him I was a dog person, myself."



The vampire formerly known as Elvis had not translated well because his system had been so saturated with drugs when he'd been brought over by an ardent fan in the Memphis morgue. Bubba, as he preferred to be called now, had a preference for feline blood, luckily for Terry's beloved Catahoula, Annie.



"We got along real well," Terry was saying, and his voice was getting slower and sleepier. "I guess I better go home now."



"We're gonna take you out back to Sam's trailer," I said. "That's where you'll wake up." Didn't want Terry waking up in a panic. God, no.



The police had taken my statement, in a sketchy kind of way, and at least three people had heard Sandra say she'd firebombed the bar.



Of course, I'd been at the bar much later than I'd planned, and it was now dark. I knew that Eric was outside waiting for me, and I wanted more than anything to get up and foist the problem of Terry on someone else, but I simply couldn't. What he'd done for me had damaged Terry even more, and I had no way to pay him back. It didn't bother me that he'd been keeping track of me--okay, spying on me--for Eric before Eric was my lover, or for my great-grandfather. It hadn't done me any harm. Since I knew Terry, I knew there had to have been pressure involved, of one kind or another.



Sam and I helped Terry to his feet, and we began to move, going down the hall that led to the back of the bar and across the employee parking lot to Sam's trailer.



"They promised they wouldn't let nothing happen to my dog," Terry whispered. "And they promised the dreams would stop."



"Did they keep their promises?" I asked back, my voice just as quiet.



"Yes," he said gratefully. "No more dreams, and I got my dog."



That didn't seem to be so much to ask. I should be angrier at Terry, but I couldn't scrape up the emotional energy. I was all worn out.



Eric was standing in the shadow of the trees. He stayed back so his presence wouldn't agitate Terry. From the sudden stiffness in Sam's face, I knew he was aware Eric was there, but Sam didn't say anything.



We got Terry settled on Sam's couch, and when he drifted away into the stream of sleep, I hugged Sam. "Thanks," I said.



"For what?"



"For passing Terry the bat."



Sam stepped back. "It was all I could think of to do. I couldn't clear the bar without alerting her. She had to be surprised or it was all over."



"She's that strong?"



"Yeah," he said. "And she's convinced her world would be okay if it weren't for you, sounded like. Fanatics are hard to beat down. They keep coming."



"Are you thinking about the people who are trying to get Merlotte's closed?"



His smile was bitter. "Maybe I am. I can't believe this is happening in our country, and me a veteran. Born and bred in the USA."



"I feel guilty, Sam. Some of this has happened because of me. The firebombing . . . Sandra wouldn't have done that if I hadn't been there. And the fight. Maybe you should let me go. I can work somewhere else, you know."



"Do you want to?"



I couldn't read the expression on his face, but at least it wasn't relief.



"No, of course not."



"Then you have a job. We're a package deal."



He smiled, and somehow it didn't light up his blue eyes the way his smiles usually did, but he meant what he said. Shifter or not, snarly brained or not, I could tell that much.



"Thanks, Sam. I better go see what my better half wants."



"Whatever Eric is to you, Sook, he's not your better half."



I paused, my hand on the doorknob, and couldn't think of anything to say to that. So I just left.



Eric was waiting, but not patiently. He took my face between his big hands and examined it under the harsh glare of the security lights on the corners of the bar. India came out the back way, gave us a startled look, and got in her car and drove off. Sam stayed in the trailer.



"I want you to move in with me," Eric said. "You can stay in one of the upstairs bedrooms if you want. The one we usually use. You don't have to stay down in the dark with me. I don't want you to be alone. I don't want to feel your fear one more time. It makes me crazy to know someone is attacking you, and I'm not there."



We had gotten into the habit of making love in the largest upstairs bedroom. (Waking up in the windowless room downstairs gave me the heebie- jeebies.) Now Eric was offering that room to me permanently. I knew this was a big deal for Eric, a major deal. And it was huge for me, too. But a decision this big couldn't be made at a moment when I was not myself, and tonight I wasn't myself.



"We need to talk," I said. "Do you have time?"



"Tonight, I'm making time," he said. "Are the fairies at your house?"



I called Claude on my cell. When he answered, I could hear the noise of Hooligans in the background. "I'm just checking to see where you are before Eric and I go to the house," I said.



"We're staying at the club tonight," Claude answered. "Have a good time with your vampire hunk, Cousin."



Eric followed me over to my house. He'd brought the car, because as soon as he'd known I was in danger, he'd known it had passed and he could take the time to drive.



I poured myself a glass of wine--unusual for me--and I microwaved some bottled blood for Eric. We sat in the living room. I pulled up my legs onto the couch and swung around with my back against the arm to face him. He angled toward me on the other end.



"Eric, I know you don't ask people to stay in your house lightly. So, I want you to know how . . . touched and flattered I am that you invited me."



Right away, I realized I'd said the wrong thing. That sounded way too impersonal.



Eric's blue eyes narrowed. "Oh, think nothing of it," he said coldly.



"I didn't say that right." I took a deep breath. "Listen, I love you. I . . . feel thrilled that you want us to live together." He looked a little more relaxed. "But before I make up my mind whether to do that, we need to get some stuff straight."



"Stuff?"



"You married me to protect me. You hired Terry Bellefleur to spy on me, and you applied pressure where he couldn't take it, to get him to comply."



Eric said, "That happened before I knew you, Sookie."



"Yeah, I get that. But it's the nature of the pressure you applied to a man whose mental state is so wobbly. It's the way you got me to marry you, without knowing what I was doing."



"You wouldn't have done it otherwise," Eric said. As always, practical and to the point.



"You're right, I wouldn't," I said, trying to smile at him. But it wasn't easy. "And Terry wouldn't have told you things about me, if you'd offered him money. I know you see this as the smart way to do business, and I'm sure a lot of people would agree with you."



Eric was trying to follow my thinking, but I could tell he wasn't making any sense of it. I kept struggling upstream. "We're both living with this bond. I'm sure sometimes you would rather I didn't know what you're feeling. Would you be wanting me to live with you if we didn't have the bond? If you didn't feel it every time I was in danger? Or angry? Or afraid?"



"What a strange thing to say, my lover." Eric took a swallow of his drink, set it down on the old coffee table. "Are you saying that if I didn't know you needed me, I wouldn't need you?"



Was that what I was saying? "I don't think so. What I'm trying to say is that I don't think you'd want me to live with you unless you felt like people were out to get me." Was that the same thing? Geez Louise, I hated conversations like this. Not that I'd ever had one before.



"What difference does that make?" he said, more than a trace of impatience in his voice. "If I want you with me, I want you. The circumstances don't matter."



"But they do matter. And we're so different."



"What?"



"Well, there are so many things you take for granted that I don't."



Eric rolled his eyes. A total guy. "Like what?"



I groped around for an example. "Well, like Appius having sex with Alexei. It was not a big deal for you, even though Alexei was thirteen." Eric's maker, Appius Livius Ocella, had become a vampire during the time when Romans ruled much of the world.



"Sookie, it was what you call a done deal long before I even knew I had a brother. In Ocella's time, people were reckoned practically grown at thirteen. They were even married that young. Ocella never understood some of the changes in society that came with the centuries. And Alexei and Ocella are both dead now." Eric shrugged. "There was another side of that coin, you remember? Alexei used his youth, his childlike looks, to disarm all the vampires and humans around him. Even Pam was loath to put him down, though she knew how destructive he was, how insane. And she's the most ruthless vampire I know. He was a drain on all of us, sucking the will and force from us with the depth of his need."



And with that unexpectedly poetic sentence, Eric was done talking about Alexei and Ocella. His whole face turned stony. I recalled my main point: our irreconcilable differences. "What about the fact that you're going to outlive me for, like, forever?"



"We can take care of that easily enough."



I just stared at him.



"What?" Eric said, almost genuinely amazed. "You don't want to live forever? With me?"



"I don't know," I said, finally. I tried to imagine it. The night, forever. Endless. But with Eric!



I said, "You know, Eric, I can't . . ." And then I stopped dead. I'd almost insulted him unforgivably. I knew he felt the wave of doubt emanating from me.



I'd almost said, "I just can't imagine you sticking around after I start to look old."



Though there were a few more topics I had hoped we'd cover in our rare t?te-?-t?te, I felt the conversation was teetering on the edge of Disaster Canyon. Maybe it was lucky there was knocking at the back door. I'd heard the car coming, but my attention had been so focused on my companion that I hadn't really registered its meaning.



Amelia Broadway and Bob Jessup were at the back door. Amelia looked the same as ever: healthy and fresh faced, her short brown hair tousled and her skin and eyes clear. Bob, not much taller than Amelia and equally lean, was a small-boned guy who looked kind of like a sexy Mormon missionary. His black-framed glasses managed to look retro instead of geeky. He was wearing jeans, a black-and-white plaid shirt, and tasseled loafers. He'd been a very cute cat, but his attraction as a guy escaped me--or rather it showed itself to me only now and then.



I beamed at them. It felt great to see Amelia, and I felt relieved that my conversation with Eric had been interrupted. We did have to talk about our future, but I had a creepy feeling that finishing that conversation would make both of us unhappy. Postponing it probably wouldn't change that outcome, but both Eric and I had enough on our plates of problems. "Come on in!" I said. "Eric's here, and he'll be glad to see you both."



Of course, that wasn't true. Eric was completely indifferent about ever seeing Amelia again in his life--his long, long life--and Bob didn't even register on Eric's radar.



But Eric smiled (though not a large smile) and told them how glad he was they'd come to visit me--though there was a bit of a question in his voice, since he didn't know why they were here. No matter how long a talk Eric and I had, we never seemed to cover enough ground.



With a huge effort, Amelia repressed a frown. She was not a fan of the Viking. And she was a very clear broadcaster, so I got that with as much volume as if she'd yelled out loud. Bob eyed Eric with caution, and as soon as I'd explained the bedroom situation to Amelia (of course, she'd assumed they'd be upstairs), Bob vanished into the room across from mine with their bags. After a few minutes fiddling around in there, he ducked into the hall bathroom. Bob had gotten good at evasiveness while he was a cat.



"Eric," Amelia said, stretching unself-consciously. "How are things going at Fangtasia? How's the new management?" She couldn't know she'd hit a nerve. And when Eric's eyes narrowed--I suspected that he thought she'd said that on purpose to rile him--Amelia was staring at her toes as she touched them with the palms of her hands. I wondered if I could do that, and then my mind snapped back to the current moment.



"Business is going all right," Eric said. "Victor has opened some new clubs close by."



Amelia understood immediately that this was a bad development, but she was smart enough not to say anything. Honestly, it was like being in the room with someone who was shouting her inmost thoughts. "Victor's the smiley guy who was out in the yard the night of the takeover, right?" she said, straightening and rotating her head from side to side.



"Yes," Eric said, one corner of his mouth going up in a sardonic look. "The smiley guy."



"So, Sook, what troubles do you have now?" Amelia asked me, evidently considering that she'd been polite enough to Eric. She was ready to plunge into whatever problem I described.



"Yes," Eric said, looking at me with hard eyes. "What troubles do you have now?"



"I was just going to get Amelia to reinforce the wards around the house," I said casually. "Since so much stuff has happened at Merlotte's I was feeling kind of insecure."



"So she called me," Amelia said pointedly.



Eric looked from me to Amelia. He looked mighty displeased. "But now that the bitch has been cornered, Sookie, surely the threat's been removed?"



"What?" Amelia asked. It was her turn to look from face to face. "What happened tonight, Sookie?"



I told her, briefly. "I'd still feel better if you made sure the wards were in place, though."



"That's one of the things I've come to do, Sookie." For some reason, she smiled broadly at Eric.



Bob sidled in then and took up a position beside Amelia but slightly behind her. "Those weren't my kittens," he told me, and Eric gaped. I'd seldom seen him genuinely startled. It was all I could do to keep from laughing. "I mean, weres can't breed with the animal they turn into. So I don't think those were my kittens. Especially since--think about it!--I was only a cat by magic, not a genetic were."



Amelia said, "Honey, we've talked about this. You don't need to be embarrassed. It was a perfectly natural thing to do. I admit I got a little snitty about it, but, you know . . . the whole thing was my fault, anyway."



"Don't worry about it, Bob. Sam already spoke up in your defense." I smiled at Bob, who looked relieved.



Eric decided to ignore this exchange. "Sookie, I need to get back to Fangtasia."



We would never have a chance to say the things we needed to say, at this rate. "Okay, Eric. Tell Pam I said hello, if you two are back to speaking."



"She's a better friend to you than you know," Eric said darkly.



I didn't know how to respond to that, and he turned so quickly my eyes couldn't track him. I heard his car door slam outside, and then he was driving down the driveway. No matter how many times I saw it, I still found it amazing that vamps could move so fast.



I'd hoped to have a chance to talk more to Amelia that night, but she and Bob were ready to turn in after their drive. They'd left New Orleans after a full day's work, Amelia at the Genuine Magic Shop and Bob at the Happy Cutter. After fifteen minutes or so of going to and fro between the bathroom and the kitchen and the car, they became silent in the room across the hall. I'd taken off my shoes, and I padded into the kitchen to lock up.



I was just expelling a sigh of relief at the end of the day when there was a very quiet knock at the back door. I jumped like a frog. Who could be there at this time of night? I looked out across the back porch very cautiously.



Bill. I hadn't seen him since his "sister" Judith had come to see him. I debated for a second, then decided to slip outside to talk to him. Bill was a lot of things to me: neighbor, friend, first lover. I did not fear him.



"Sookie," he said, his cool, smooth voice as relaxing as a massage. "You have guests?" "Amelia and Bob," I explained. "They just got here from New Orleans. The fairies aren't here tonight. They stay in Monroe most nights, lately."



"Shall we stay out here, so we won't wake your friends?"



It was news to me that our conversation was going to last that long. Apparently, Bill hadn't come over just to borrow a cup of blood. I waved my hand toward the lawn furniture, and we sat in the chairs, already placed at a companionable angle. The warm night with its myriad small sounds closed around us like an envelope. The security light gave the backyard strange patterns of dark and brightness.



When the silence had lasted long enough for me to realize I was sleepy, I said, "How's things going at your house, Bill? Is Judith still staying with you?"



"I'm fully healed from the silver poisoning," he said.



"I, ah, I noticed you looked good," I said. His skin had regained its pale clarity, and even his hair looked more lustrous. "Much better. So Judith's blood worked."



"Yes. But now . . ." He looked off into the night forest.



Uh-oh. "She wants to keep on living with you?"



"Yes," he said, sounding relieved he hadn't had to spell it out. "She does."



"I thought you admired her because she looked so much like your first wife. Judith told me that's why crazy Lorena changed Judith over, to keep you with her. I mean, sorry to bring up bad stuff."



"It's true. Judith does look like my first wife, in many respects. Her face is the same shape, her voice very like my wife's. Her hair is the same color my wife's was when she was a child. And Judith was raised very gently, like my wife."



"So, I would have predicted that would make you happy with Judith," I said.



"But not." He sounded rueful, and he kept his eyes on the trees, carefully averting his gaze from my face. "And in fact, that's why I didn't call Judith when I realized how sick I was. I had to part with her the last time we were together because of her overwhelming obsession with me."



"Oh," I said, my voice very small.



"But you did the right thing, Sookie. She came to me and freely offered her blood. Since you invited her here without my knowledge, I'm at least not guilty of using her. My fault lies in letting her stay after . . . after I healed."



"And why'd you do that?"



"Because I hoped somehow my feelings for her had changed, that I could have a genuine love for her. That would have freed me from . . ." His voice trailed off.



He might have finished the sentence, "loving you." Or maybe, "freed me from the debt I owed her for healing me."



I did feel a little better now that I knew he was glad to be well, even though the price was that he had to deal with Judith. And I could understand how awkward and unpleasant it would be to be saddled with a houseguest who adored you when you didn't return the emotion. Who was the one who'd saddled him? Well, that would be me. Of course, I hadn't known any of the emotional background. Distressed by Bill's condition, I'd reasoned that someone of Bill's bloodline could heal him, and I'd found that there was such a person and tracked her down. I'd further assumed Bill hadn't done that himself from some perverse pride or perhaps even from a suicidal depression. I'd underestimated Bill's desire to live.



"What do you plan to do about Judith?" I asked anxiously, scared to hear his answer.



"He need not do anything," a quiet voice said from the trees.



I came up out of my chair like someone had just shot a few volts through it, and Bill had a big reaction. He turned his head and his eyes widened. That was it, but for a vampire, that indicates major surprise.



"Judith?" I said.



She stepped out of the tree line, far enough for me to recognize her. The security light in the backyard didn't extend that far, and I could only just be sure it was her.



"You keep breaking my heart, Bill," she said.



I eased away from the chair. Maybe I could slink back into the house. Maybe I could avoid witnessing another major scene--because honestly, the day had been chock-full of them.



"No, stay, Miss Stackhouse," Judith said. She was a short, round woman with a sweet face and an abundance of hair, and she carried herself as if she were six feet tall.



Dammit. "You two obviously need to talk," I said cravenly.



"Any conversation with Bill about love has to include you," she said.



Oh . . . poop. I so did not want to be present for this. I stared down at my feet.



"Judith, stop," Bill said, his voice as calm as ever. "I came over to talk to my friend, whom I haven't seen for weeks."



"I heard your conversation," Judith said simply. "I followed you here for the express purpose of listening to whatever you had to say to her. I know that you're not making love to this woman. I know that she's claimed by another. And I also know that you want her more than you ever wanted me. I will not have sex with a man who pities me. I will not live with a man who doesn't want me. I'm worth more than that. I'll stop loving you if it takes me the rest of my existence. If you'll remain here a few moments, I'll return to your house and pack my things and be gone."



I was impressed. That was a damn fine speech, and I hoped she meant every word. Even as I had the thought, Judith was gone--whoosh!--and Bill and I were alone together.



Suddenly he was right in front of me, and he put his cold arms around me. It didn't seem like a betrayal of Eric to let Bill simply hold me for a moment.



"You had sex with her?" I said, trying to sound neutral.



"She had saved me. She seemed to expect it. I felt it was the right thing to do," he said.



As if Judith had sneezed so he'd lent her a handkerchief. I really couldn't think of what to say. Men! Dead or alive, they could be exactly the same.



I stepped back, and he dropped his arms instantly.



"Do you really love me?" I said, out of either insanity or sheer curiosity. "Or have we just been through so much that you think you ought to?"



He smiled. "Only you would say that. I love you. I think you're beautiful and kind and good, and yet you stand up for yourself. You have a lot of understanding and compassion, but you're not a pushover. And to descend a few levels to the carnal, you have a pair of breasts that should win the Miss America Tit Competition, if there were such a thing."



"That's an unusual bunch of compliments." I had a hard time suppressing my own smile.



"You're an unusual woman."



"Good night, Bill," I said. Just then my cell phone rang. I jumped a mile. I'd forgotten it was in my pocket. When I looked at the number, it was a local one I didn't recognize. No call at this hour of the night was a good one. I held up a finger to ask Bill to wait for a moment, and I answered it with a cautious "Hello?" "Sookie," said Sheriff Dearborn, "I thought you oughta know that Sandra Pelt escaped from the hospital. She snuck out the window while Kenya was talking to Dr. Tonnesen. I don't want you to be worried. If you need us to send a car out to your house, we will. You got someone with you?"



I was so shocked I couldn't reply for a second. Then I said, "Yes, I have someone with me."



Bill's dark eyes were serious now. He stepped closer and put one hand on my shoulder.



"You want me to send a patrol car? I don't think that crazy woman will head out to find you. I think she'll find somewhere to hole up and recover. But it seemed like the right thing, telling you, even though it's the middle of the night."



"Definitely the right thing to do, Sheriff. I don't think I need more help out here. I've got friends here. Good friends." And I met Bill's eyes.



Bud Dearborn said the same things all over again several times, but eventually I got to hang up and think about the implications. I'd thought one line of troubles was closed, but I'd been wrong. While I was explaining to Bill, the weariness that had manifested itself earlier began to sweep over me like a blanket of gray. By the time I'd finished answering his questions, I could barely put two words together.



"Don't worry," Bill said. "Go to bed. I'll watch tonight. I've already fed, and I wasn't busy. It doesn't feel like a good night for work, anyway." Bill had created and maintained a CD called The Vampire Directory, which was a catalog of all "living" vampires. It was in popular demand not only among the undead but also among the living, particularly marketing groups. However, the version sold to the public was limited to vampires who'd given their permission to be included, a much shorter list. There were still vampires who didn't want to be known as vampires, odd as that seemed to me. It was easy to forget, in today's vampire-saturated culture, that there were still holdouts, vampires who didn't want to be known to the public in general, vampires who preferred to sleep in the earth or in abandoned buildings rather than in a house or apartment.



And why I was thinking of this . . . Well, it was better than thinking about Sandra Pelt.



"Thanks, Bill," I said gratefully. "I warn you, she's vicious to the nth degree."



"You've seen me fight," he said.



"Yep. But you don't know her. She's completely underhanded and she won't give you any warning."



"I'm a few jumps ahead of her, then, since I know that about her."



Huh? "Okay," I mumbled, putting one foot in front of the other in more or less a straight line. "Night, Bill."



"Night, Sookie," he said quietly. "Lock the doors."



I did, and I went into my room and put on my nightshirt, and then I was in bed and under that gray blanket.