"Be quiet," I said, finally feeling that there was something I could do rather than get swept into events as they passed me by. I sent out my other sense, the one that had shaped my life, the one given me at my birth by the demon Mr. Cataliades. I searched and searched, looking for the signature of a mind, and just when I was going to give up, I felt a faint flicker of thought. "There is someone," I said very quietly. "There is someone."

"Where?" Mustapha asked eagerly.

"In the attic over the garage," I said, and it was like I'd fired off the starting gun. Werewolves are creatures of action, after all.

There were outside stairs on the side of the garage, which I hadn't seen. The sharper eyes of Alcide and Mustapha had, and up they swarmed. Mustapha, catching a scent he recognized, threw back his head and howled. It made my hair stand up. I moved to the foot of the steps, and though I still couldn't see much, I could make out the two figures on the landing above beginning a furious motion. It accompanied a rhythmic thud. I realized the two men were throwing themselves against a door. There was a ka-BANG that had to be the door flying back, and then a light came on.

Mustapha howled again, and I feared that Warren was dead.

I just couldn't stand it; the death of the little blond sharpshooter with his pale freckled skin and his missing teeth was somehow more than I could bear tonight. I sank to my knees.

"Sookie," Alcide said urgently.

I looked up. Mustapha was coming down the stairs, a body in his arms. Alcide was right in front of me.

"He's alive," Alcide said. "But he's been up there without air-conditioning or ventilation or food or water for God knows how long. I guess the bitch couldn't be bothered. We got to get him some help."

"Vampire blood?" I suggested, but very quietly.

"I think Mustapha might consider that now," Alcide said, and I knew that Warren must be very bad.

I called Bill. "Sookie, where are you?" he yelled. "I've been calling! What happened?"

I glanced at the screen. I did have a lot of missed calls. "I had the phone on vibrate," I said. "I'll tell you everything, but I want to ask you a favor first. Are you still in Shreveport?"

"Yes, I'm back outside the Trifecta, trying to pick up the trail of those dogs!"

"Hey, listen, chill. It's been a real bad night. I need you now, my friend."

"Anything."

"Meet me at Alcide's. You can save a life."

"I'm on my way."

On our way back into Shreveport, Mustapha took my place in the backseat with Warren's head on his lap. When I proposed that Bill give Warren a drink to help him live, Mustapha said, "If it can bring him back, I'll do it. He may hate me later. Hell, I may hate myself. But we got to save him."

Our drive back into Alcide's neighborhood was shorter than our drive out because we knew our way now, but we grudged every stoplight or slow driver ahead of us, and Mustapha's urgency pounded at me. Warren's brain signature became weaker, flickered, resumed.

Sure enough, Bill was standing waiting at Alcide's, and I leaped out of the car and pulled Bill around to the backseat. When the door opened and he saw Warren, recognition flared in his eyes. Of course, Bill knew Mustapha, and he remembered Warren the shooter. I hoped it hadn't occurred to Bill that it might be a good thing if he died, since he was yet another witness who could testify-at least in a limited way-to what had happened the night we'd killed Victor.

"He wasn't in the club," I said, grabbing Bill's wrist, as Mustapha gently lifted Warren's head so he could vacate the car to leave room for Bill.

And Bill looked at me, a huge question on his face.

"Feed him," I said. Without another word, Bill knelt by the car, bit his own wrist, and held the bleeding wrist over Warren's parched mouth.

I don't know if Warren would have done it if he hadn't been so thirsty. At first, Bill's blood trickling into the slack mouth seemed to raise no reaction. But then something sparked in Warren, and he began to consciously drink. I could see his throat moving.

"Enough," I said, after a minute. I could sense Warren's brain firing back up. "Now, take him to the hospital, and they'll do all the right stuff for him."

"But they'll know." Alcide was scowling at me, and so was Mustapha. "They'll question him about who took him." Bill, standing and holding his wrist, looked only mildly interested.

"You don't want the police to arrest Jannalynn?" That seemed like the best of all possible worlds to me.

"She'd kill them if they tried," Alcide said, but I knew from the conflict flowing from his head that he wasn't voicing his real concern.

"You want to punish her," I said, in as neutral a voice as I could manage.

"Course he does," Mustapha said. "She's pack. She's his to punish."

"I do want to ask her some questions," I said. It seemed like the right time to get that out in the open. Otherwise, Jannalynn might end up dead before I'd had a chance to extract information.

"What about Sam?" Bill said, out of the blue.

"What about him?" Alcide asked after a moment.

"He's not gonna be happy," I muttered. "They weren't ever as close as she told you they were, but after all ..."

"She's his woman," Mustapha said, shrugging. He looked down at Warren. Just then Warren's eyes fluttered open. He saw Mustapha and smiled. "I knew you'd find me," he said. "I knew you'd come."

It was touching, it was awkward, and I was totally confused.

"So it was Claude," I said out loud. "I just can't believe it. Why would he want Eric to drink from a borderline whore like Kym? Why would he give her his own blood to drink?" I was beyond mincing words, or being charitable.

"Claude could tell you why," Bill said grimly. "Where is he now?"

"Niall came to get him. I haven't seen Claude in days."

"And he left Dermot here?"

"Yeah, he left Dermot in charge of all the stray supes at Hooligans," I said.

"I'd heard everyone there was some form of fae," Bill said, confirming my belief that supes gossiped just like humans did. "Did Claude give you a time for his return?"

"No. Niall took him to Faery to investigate who actually put a curse on Dermot. Claude said it was Murry, but Murry's dead. I killed him, in my backyard." I sure had everyone's attention now. It seemed that all the separate parts of my life were finally colliding. My personal highway was jammed with fairies, werewolves, vampires, and humans.

"So it was pretty convenient for Claude to name Murry as the bad guy," Bill said, and that kind of hung in the air for a minute before everything came crashing down.

"Claude," I said. "It was Claude all along." I felt numb.

After a little while, we were all sorted out. Since no one knew where Jannalynn was, Mustapha and Warren were invited to spend the night at Alcide's, and Mustapha accepted for them both since Warren was still not talking much. Apparently, he wasn't going to go to the hospital, which I had to accept. At least he was getting a bottle of Gatorade. Mustapha let him have it in little sips.

Bill and I got in his car, and Mustapha thanked Bill for coming to Warren's aid. He didn't like telling Bill he owed him a favor, but he did it.

Alcide was already on the phone as we pulled out of the driveway, and I was sure he was checking on his pack members who'd locked up the rogues. I would put money on his main interest being Kandace. I didn't know if she'd go into lockup with the rogues or if she'd abandon the pretense of being a rebel. At the moment, I could only be glad that wasn't my problem.

I was glad Bill was driving. I had too many thoughts crowding my head. I wished there were a way to warn Niall what a snake he was nurturing in his bosom. And as long as I was getting biblical, I'd never in my life been so glad I'd said no to someone when they'd wanted to have sex with me.

"Why would Claude have done such a thing?"

I didn't realize I'd said it out loud until Bill answered.

"Sookie, I don't know. I can't even guess. He doesn't hate Eric, or at least I can't think of any reason why he should. He might be envious you have such a handsome lover, but that's hardly sufficient reason ..."

I wasn't about to tell Bill that Claude had told me he occasionally bedded a real woman. Eric would surely have been more in Claude's natural ballpark.

"Okay, let's think," I said. "Why would he try to make trouble in such a devious way? He could have set fire to my house." (Though that had already been done.) "He could try to shoot me." (Ditto.) "He could abduct me and torture me." (Likewise.) "If his goal was to make trouble for Eric, there were at least twenty more direct ways to cause it."

"Yes," Bill said. "But a direct way would have led straight back to him. It's the indirectness of it, the slyness of it, that convinces me that Claude wanted to stay in your good graces, stay close to you."

"It's not out of love. I can tell you that."

"Is there something I don't know about, Sookie? Some reason Claude would want your company, want to live in your house and stay close to you?" After a moment of silence, Bill hurried to add, "Not that any sane male wouldn't want to, even someone like Claude who likes other men."

"Why, yes, Bill," I said, "And it's funny you should bring that up. As a matter of fact, there is such a reason."

Though I clammed up then because I didn't need to spread the word any wider, I was fuming. I might as well get "I HAVE A CLUVIEL DOR" tattooed on my forehead. Thanks, Grandfather Fintan, for the great gift. And while I was at it, Thanks, Sponsor Cataliades, for the telepathy. And also while I was angry at people in my past-Thanks, Gran, for (a) having an affair with a fairy and (b) not using the cluviel dor while you had the chance and, therefore, sticking me with it.

I had to talk myself down a little bit after that internal explosion of rage, all the more powerful because it was silent.

I took a deep breath and let it out, as Bill had advised me to do earlier in the evening. The procedure did let off some steam and gave me the control necessary to clap some discipline onto my thoughts. One of the things I really like about Bill is that he didn't pester me with questions while I was working through all this. He just drove.

"I can't talk about it now," I said. "I'm sorry."

"Can you tell me if you've heard from Niall or Claude since they left?"

"No, I haven't. I put a letter through ... that is, I sent them a letter because Dermot's having a hard time controlling the remaining fae. I'm sure you know they're getting restless."

"They are not alone," Bill said darkly.

"And you're referring to what?" I was too tired and upset to make any guesses.

"All our guests are still here-Felipe, Horst, Angie," he said. "It's like having a visit from a king in the eighteenth century. You could be poor after such an honor. And they've bonded mightily with the stupid wrestler-T-Rex. Felipe even talks of asking him if he wants to be brought over. Felipe thinks he would make a popular spokesman for the pro-vampire movement."

"Is Freyda still here, too?" I was humiliated that I had to ask Bill to know the answer, but I wanted to know the answer so badly that I would accept the humiliation.

"Yes. She's spending as much time with Eric as he'll permit her."

"I didn't get the impression that she was in the habit of waiting for permission."

"You're absolutely right. I can't decide if Eric is genuinely trying to discourage her or if he's driving up his price."

I felt like Bill had slapped me.

He said instantly, "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry. I should have kept my mouth shut." He sounded genuinely contrite, but I didn't trust anyone anymore.

"You really think Eric's capable of that?"

"Sookie, you know Eric's capable of that, and much more." Bill shrugged. "I won't be less than honest with you. And I won't sugarcoat this situation. From my point of view, Eric's involvement with Freyda is a wonderful thing. But for your sake, I hope Eric is so deeply devoted to you that he's determined to drive Freyda to a more amenable mate."

"He loves me." I sounded like a terrified child telling her father that she really, really wasn't afraid of the dark. I despised that in myself.

"Yes, he does," Bill agreed readily.

That conversation was clearly over, and it was one we wouldn't have again.

I had a fantasy that when we got to my house, Eric would be sitting on the back steps waiting for me. He would have ditched all his Nevada company. He would be waiting to assure me that he had sent Freyda packing, that he'd told her how much he loved me, that he never wanted to leave me no matter how much power and wealth she offered him. He would be shooting a final bird at his maker, Appius Livius Ocella. All the vampires in his sheriffdom would be happy about his decision because they liked me so much.

As long as I was having a fantasy, I decided to build on it. In the daylight, Claude would return to my house with Niall. Niall would say that he had brainwashed Claude, and that Claude was now an agreeable person who regretted any of his past deeds that had offended others. They both embraced Dermot as an equal and took him back to Faery with them, along with all the other fae at Hooligans. I could be sure they would be happy forever, since it was a fairy tale.