Sookie Stackhouse 8-copy Boxed Set (198 page)

He snapped the tiny phone shut. “Jake is asking for me,” he said.

I was so at sea with a strange combination of lust and relief that it took me a moment to connect the dots. Jake Purifoy, Quinn’s employee, was experiencing his second night as a vampire. Having been fed some volunteer, he was enough himself to want to talk to Quinn. He’d been in suspended animation in a closet for weeks, and there was a lot he would need to catch up on.

“Then you have to go,” I said, proud that my voice was practically rock steady. “Maybe he’ll remember who attacked him. Tomorrow, I have to tell you about what I saw here tonight.”

“Would you have said yes?” he asked. “If we’d been undisturbed for another minute?”

I considered for a minute. “If I had, I would’ve been sorry I did,” I said. “Not because I don’t want you. I do. But I had my eyes opened in the past couple of days. I know that I’m pretty easy to fool.” I tried to sound matter-of-fact, not pitiful, when I said that. No one likes a whiny woman, least of all me. “I’m not interested in starting that up with someone who’s just horny at the moment. I never set out to be a one-night-stand kind of woman. I want to be sure, if I have sex with you, that it’s because you want to be around for a while and because you like me for who I am, not what I am.”

Maybe a million women had made approximately the same speech. I meant it as sincerely as any one of those million.

And Quinn gave a perfect answer. “Who would want just one night with you?” he said, and then he left.

I
SLEPT THE SLEEP OF THE DEAD. WELL, PROBABLY not, but as close as a human would ever come. As if in a dream, I heard the witches come carousing back into the courtyard. They were still congratulating one another with alcohol-lubricated vigor. I’d found some real, honest cotton sheets among the linens (Why are they still called linens? Have you seen a linen sheet in your life?) and I’d tossed the black silky ones into the washer, so it was very easy to slip back into sleep.

When I got up, it was after ten in the morning. There was a knocking at the door, and I stumbled down the hall to unlock it after I’d pulled on a pair of Hadley’s spandex exercise pants and a hot pink tank top. I saw boxes through the peephole, and I opened the door feeling really happy.

“Miss Stackhouse?” said the young black man who was holding the flattened boxes. When I nodded, he said, “I got orders to bring you as many boxes as you want. Will thirty do to start with?”

“Oh, yes,” I said. “Oh, that’ll be great.”

“I also got instructions,” he said precisely, “to bring you anything related to moving that you might need. I have here strapping tape, masking tape, some Magic Markers, scissors, and stick-on labels.”

The queen had given me a personal shopper.

“Did you want colored dots? Some people like to put living room things in boxes with an orange dot, bedroom things in boxes with a green dot, and so on.”

I had never moved, unless you counted taking a couple of bags of clothes and towels over to Sam’s furnished duplex after the kitchen burned, so I didn’t know the best way to go about it. I had an intoxicating vision of rows of neat boxes with colored dots on each side, so there couldn’t be any mistake from any angle. Then I snapped back to reality. I wouldn’t be taking that much back to Bon Temps. It was hard to form an estimate, since this was unknown territory, but I knew I didn’t want much of the furniture.

“I don’t think I’ll need the dots, thanks anyway,” I said. “I’ll start working on these boxes, and then I can call you if I need any more, okay?”

“I’ll assemble them for you,” he said. He had very short hair and the curliest eyelashes I’d ever seen on a person. Cows had eyelashes that pretty, sometimes. He was wearing a golf-type shirt and neatly belted khakis, along with high-end sneakers.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” I said, as he whipped a roll of strapping tape from a large lumpy plastic shopping bag. He set to work.

“Oh, ’scuse me,” he said, and it was the first time he’d sounded natural. “My name is Everett O’Dell Smith.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” I said, and he paused in his work so we could shake hands. “How did you come to be here?”

“Oh, I’m in Tulane Business School, and one of my professors got a call from Mr. Cataliades, who is, like,
the
most famous lawyer in the vampire area. My professor specializes in vampire law. Mr. Cataliades needed a day person; I mean, he can come out in the day, but he needed someone to be his gofer.” He’d gotten three boxes done, already.

“And in return?”

“In return, I get to sit in court with him on his next five cases, and I get to earn some money I need real bad.”

“Will you have time this afternoon to take me to my cousin’s bank?”

“Sure will.”

“You’re not missing a class now, are you?”

“Oh, no, I got two hours before my second class.”

He’d already been to a class and accumulated all this stuff before I’d even gotten up. Well, he hadn’t been up half the night watching his dead cousin walk around.

“You can take these garbage bags of clothes to the nearest Goodwill or Salvation Army store.” That would clear the gallery and make me feel productive all at the same time. I’d gone over the garments quite carefully to make sure Hadley hadn’t hidden anything in them, and I wondered what the Salvation Army would make of them. Hadley had been into Tight and Skimpy; that was the nicest way to put it.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, whipping out a notebook and scribbling in it. Then he waited attentively. “Anything else?” he prompted me.

“Yes, there’s no food in the house. When you come back this afternoon, can you bring me something to eat?” I could drink tap water, but I couldn’t create food out of nothing.

Just then a call from the courtyard made me look over the railing. Quinn was down there with a bag of something greasy. My mouth began watering.

“Looks like the food angle is covered,” I told Everett, waving Quinn up.

“What can I do to help?” Quinn asked. “It struck me your cousin might not have coffee and food, so I brought some beignets and some coffee so strong it’ll make you grow hair on your chest.”

I’d heard that quite a few times, but it still made me smile. “Oh, that’s my goal,” I said. “Bring it on. There’s actually coffee here, but I didn’t have a chance to make it because Everett here is such a take-charge kind of guy.”

Everett smiled up from his tenth box. “You know that’s not true, but it’s good to hear you say it,” he said. I introduced the two men, and after Quinn handed me my bag, he began to help Everett assemble boxes. I sat at the glass-topped dining table and ate every crumb of the beignets that were in the bag and drank every drop of the coffee. I got powdered sugar all over me, and I didn’t care a bit. Quinn turned to look at me and tried to hide his smile. “You’re wearing your food, babe,” he said.

I looked down at the tank top. “No hair on my chest, though,” I said, and he said, “Can I check?”

I laughed and went to the back to brush my teeth and hair, both essential tasks. I checked out Hadley’s clothes that I’d wriggled into. The black spandex workout pants came to midthigh. Hadley probably had never worn them, because they would have been too big, to her taste. On me, they were very snug, but not the snug Hadley liked, where you could count the . . . oh, never mind. The hot pink tank top left my pale pink bra straps showing, to say nothing of a couple of inches of my middle, but thanks to Peck’s Tan-a-Lot (located inside Peck’s Bunch-o-Flicks, a video rental place in Bon Temps), that middle was nice and brown. Hadley would have put a piece of jewelry in her belly button. I looked at myself in the mirror, trying to picture myself with a gold stud or something. Nah. I slipped on some sandals decorated with crystal beads and felt quite glamorous for about thirty seconds.

I began talking to Quinn about what I planned to do that day, and rather than yell, I stepped from the bedroom into the hall with my brush and my elastic band. I bent over at the waist, brushed my hair while I was inverted, and gathered it into a ponytail on top of my head. I was sure it was centered, because the movements were just automatic after all these years. My ponytail came down past my shoulder blades now. I looped the band, ran the ponytail through, and I straightened, ponytail flying back over my shoulders to bounce in the middle. Quinn and Everett had stopped their task to stare. When I looked back at them, the two men hastily bent back to their tasks.

Okay, I didn’t get that I’d done anything interesting, but apparently I had. I shrugged and vanished into the master bathroom to slap on some makeup. After another glance in the mirror, it occurred to me that maybe anything I did in that outfit was fairly interesting, if you were a fully functional guy.

When I came out, Everett had gone and Quinn gave me a slip of paper with Everett’s cell number on it. “He says to call him when you need some more boxes,” Quinn said. “He took all the bagged clothes. Looks like you don’t need me at all.”

“No comparison,” I said, smiling. “Everett didn’t bring me grease and caffeine this morning, and you did.”

“So what’s the plan, and how can I help?”

“Okay, the plan is . . .” I didn’t exactly have one more specific than “go through this stuff and sort it out,” and Quinn couldn’t do that for me.

“How’s this?” I asked. “You get everything out of the kitchen cabinets, and set it out where I can see it all, and I’ll make a ‘keep or toss’ decision. You can pack what I want to keep, and put what I want to toss out on the gallery. I hope the rain stays away.” The sunny morning was clouding over, fast. “While we work, I’ll fill you in on what happened here last night.”

Despite the threat of bad weather, we worked all morning, called in a pizza for lunch, and resumed work in the afternoon. The stuff I didn’t want went into garbage bags, and Quinn furthered his muscular development by carrying all the garbage bags down to the courtyard and putting them in the little shed that had held the lawn chairs, still set up on the grass. I tried to admire his muscles only when he wasn’t looking, and I think I was successful. Quinn was very interested to hear about the ectoplasmic reconstruction, and we talked about what it might all mean without reaching any conclusions. Jake didn’t have any enemies among the vampires that Quinn knew of, and Quinn thought that Jake must have been killed for the embarrassment it would cause Hadley, rather than for any sin of Jake’s own.

I saw neither hide nor hair of Amelia, and I wondered if she’d gone home with the Mormonish Bob. Or maybe he’d stayed with her, and they were having a fabulous time in Amelia’s apartment. Maybe he was a real ball of fire under that white shirt and those black pants. I looked around the courtyard. Yes, Bob’s bicycle was still propped against the brick wall. Since the sky was getting darker by the minute, I put the bike in the little shed, too.

Being with Quinn all day was stoking my fire a bit hotter every moment. He was down to a tank top and jeans, and I found myself wondering what he’d look like without those. And I didn’t think I was the only one conjecturing about what people would look like naked. I could catch a flash from Quinn’s mind every now and then as he was toting a bag down the stairs or packing pots and pans into a box, and those flashes weren’t about opening his mail or doing his laundry.

I had enough practical presence of mind left to switch on a lamp when I heard the first peal of thunder in the distance. The Big Easy was about to be drenched.

Then it was back to flirting with Quinn wordlessly—making sure he had a good view when I stretched up to get a glass down from the cabinets or bent down to wrap that glass in newspaper. Maybe a quarter of me was embarrassed, but the rest of me was having fun. Fun had not been a big factor in my life recently—well, ever—and I was enjoying my little toddle on the wild side.

Downstairs, I felt Amelia’s brain click on, after a fashion. I was familiar with the feel of this, from working in a bar: Amelia had a hangover. I smiled to myself as the witch thought of Bob, who was still asleep beside her. Aside from a basic, “How could I?” Amelia’s most coherent thought was that she needed coffee. She needed it bad. She couldn’t even turn on a light in the apartment, which was darkening steadily with the approach of the storm. A light would hurt her eyes too much.

I turned with a smile on my lips, ready to tell Quinn we might be hearing from Amelia soon, only to find he was right behind me, and his face was intent with a look I could not mistake. He was ready for something entirely different.

“Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you, and I’ll back off,” he said, and then he was kissing me.

I didn’t say a word.

When the height difference became an issue, Quinn just picked me up and put me on the edge of the kitchen counter. A clap of thunder sounded outside as I parted my knees to let him get as close to me as he could. I wrapped my legs around him. He pulled the elastic band out of my hair, not a totally pain-free process, and ran his fingers through the tangles. He crushed my hair in his hand and inhaled deeply, as if he were extracting the perfume from a flower.

“This is okay?” he asked raggedly, as his fingers found the bottom back edge of my tank top and sneaked up under it. He examined my bra tactilely and figured out how to open it in record time.

“Okay?” I said, in a daze. I wasn’t sure whether I meant, “Okay? Hell, yes, hurry up!” or “Which part of this is okay, you want to know?” but Quinn naturally took it as a green light. His hands pushed the bra aside and he ran his thumbs across my nipples, which were already hard. I thought I was going to explode, and only the sure anticipation of better things to come kept me from losing it right then and there. I wriggled even further to the edge of the counter, so the big bulge in the front of Quinn’s jeans was pressed against the notch in my pants. Just amazing, how they fit. He pressed against me, released, pressed again, the ridge formed by the stretch of the jeans over his penis hitting just the right spot, so easy to reach through the thin and stretchy spandex. Once more, and I cried out, holding on to him through the blind moment of orgasm when I could swear I’d been catapulted into another universe. My breathing was more like sobbing, and I wrapped myself around him like he was my hero. In that moment, he certainly was.