Sookie Stackhouse 8-copy Boxed Set (215 page)

“Maybe it’s the fairy blood,” Amelia said, staring at me thoughtfully.

I shrugged again, this time with a definite drop-this-subject air. I’d learned I had a trace of fairy in my lineage only recently, and I wasn’t happy about it. I didn’t even know which side of my family had bequeathed me this legacy, much less which individual. All I knew was that at some time in the past, someone in my family had gotten up close and personal with a fairy. I’d spent a couple of hours poring over the yellowing family trees and the family history my grandmother had worked so hard to compile, and I hadn’t found a clue.

As if she’d been summoned by the thought, Claudine knocked at the back door. She hadn’t flown on gossamer wings; she’d arrived in her car. Claudine is a full-blooded fairy, and she has other ways of getting places, but she uses those ways only in emergencies. Claudine is very tall, with a thick fall of dark hair and big, slanted dark eyes. She has to cover her ears with her hair, since unlike her twin, Claude, she hasn’t had the pointy parts surgically altered.

Claudine hugged me enthusiastically but gave Amelia a distant wave. They are not nuts about each other. Amelia has acquired magic, but Claudine is magic to the bone. Neither quite trusts the other.

Claudine is normally the sunniest creature I ever met. She is very kind, and sweet, and helpful, like a supernatural Girl Scout, because it’s her nature and because she’s trying to work her way up the magical ladder to become an angel. Tonight, Claudine’s face was unusually serious. My heart sank. I wanted to go to bed, and I wanted to miss Quinn in private, and I wanted to get over the jangling my nerves had taken at Merlotte’s. I didn’t want bad news.

Claudine settled at the kitchen table across from me and held my hands. She spared a look for Amelia. “Take a hike, witch,” she said, and I was shocked.

“Pointy-eared bitch,” muttered Amelia, getting up with her mug of tea.

“Mate killer,” responded Claudine.

“He’s not dead!” shrieked Amelia. “He’s just—different!”

Claudine snorted, and actually that was an adequate response.

I was too tired to scold Claudine for her unprecedented rudeness, and she was holding my hands too tight for me to be pleased about her comforting presence. “What’s up?” I asked. Amelia stomped out of the room, and I heard her shoes on the stairs up to the second floor.

“No vampires here?” Claudine said, her voice anxious. You know how a chocoholic feels about chunky fudge ice cream, double dipped in dark chocolate? That’s how vamps feel about fairies.

“Yeah, the house is empty except for me, you, Amelia, and Bob,” I said. I was not going to deny Bob his person-hood, though sometimes it was pretty hard to recall, especially when his litter box needed cleaning.

“You’re going to this summit?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

That was a good question. “The queen is paying me,” I said.

“Do you need the money so badly?”

I started to dismiss her concern, but then I gave it some serious thought. Claudine had done a lot for me, and the least I could do for her was think about what she said.

“I can live without it,” I said. After all, I still had some of the money Eric had paid me for hiding him from a group of witches. But a chunk of it had gone, as money seems to; the insurance hadn’t covered everything that had been damaged or destroyed by the fire that had consumed my kitchen the winter before, and I’d upgraded my appliances, and I’d made a donation to the volunteer fire department. They’d come so quickly and tried so hard to save the kitchen and my car.

Then Jason had needed help to pay the doctor’s bill for Crystal’s miscarriage.

I found I missed that layer of padding between being solvent and being broke. I wanted to reinforce it, replenish it. My little boat sailed on precarious financial waters, and I wanted to have a towboat around to keep it afloat.

“I can live without it,” I said, more firmly, “but I don’t want to.”

Claudine sighed. Her face was full of woe. “I can’t go with you,” she said. “You know how vampires are around us. I can’t even put in an appearance.”

“I understand,” I said, a bit surprised. I’d never dreamed of Claudine’s going.

“And I think there’s going to be trouble,” she said.

“What kind?” The last time I’d gone to a vampire social gathering, there had been big trouble, major trouble, the bloodiest kind of trouble.

“I don’t know,” Claudine said. “But I feel it coming, and I think you should stay home. Claude does, too.”

Claude didn’t give a rat’s ass what happened to me, but Claudine was generous enough to include her brother in her kindness. As far as I could tell, Claude’s benefit to the world was strictly as a decoration. He was utterly selfish, had no social skills, and was absolutely beautiful.

“I’m sorry, Claudine, and I’ll miss you while I’m in Rhodes,” I said. “But I’ve obligated myself to go.”

“Going in the train of a vampire,” Claudine said dismally. “It’ll mark you as one of their world, for good. You’ll never be an innocent bystander again. Too many creatures will know who you are and where you can be found.”

It wasn’t so much what Claudine said as the way she said it that made cold prickles run up my spine and crawl along my scalp. She was right. I had no defense, though I rather thought that I was already into the vamp world too deeply to opt out.

Sitting there in my kitchen with the late afternoon sun slanting through the window, I had one of those illuminations that changes you forever. Amelia was silent upstairs. Bob had come back into the room to sit by his food bowl and stare at Claudine. Claudine herself was gleaming in a beam of sunlight that hit her square in the face. Most people would be showing every unattractive skin flaw. Claudine still looked perfect.

I wasn’t sure I would ever understand Claudine and her thinking about the world, and I still knew frighteningly little about her life; but I felt quite sure that she had devoted herself to my well-being, for whatever reason, and that she was really afraid for me. And yet I knew I was going to Rhodes with the queen, and Eric, and the abjured one, and the rest of the Louisiana contingent.

Was I just curious about what the agenda might be at a vampire summit? Did I want the attention of more undead members of society? Did I want to be known as a fangbanger, one of those humans who simply adored the walking dead? Did some corner of me long for a chance to be near Bill without seeking him out, still trying to make some emotional sense of his betrayal? Or was this about Eric? Unbeknownst to myself, was I in love with the flamboyant Viking who was so handsome, so good at making love, and so political, all at the same time?

This sounded like a promising set of problems for a soap opera season.

“Tune in tomorrow,” I muttered. When Claudine looked at me askance, I said, “Claudine, I feel embarrassed to tell you I’m doing something that really doesn’t make much sense in a lot of ways, but I want the money and I’m going to do it. I’ll be back here to see you again. Don’t worry, please.”

Amelia clomped back into the room, began making herself some more tea. She was going to float away.

Claudine ignored her. “I’m going to worry,” she said simply. “There is trouble coming, my dear friend, and it will fall right on your head.”

“But you don’t know how or when?”

She shook her head. “No, I just know it’s coming.”

“Look into my eyes,” muttered Amelia. “I see a tall, dark man . . .”

“Shut up,” I told her.

She turned her back to us, made a big fuss out of pinching the dead leaves off some of her plants.

Claudine left soon after. For the remainder of her visit, she didn’t recover her normal happy demeanor. She never said another word about my departure.

O
N THE SECOND MORNING AFTER JASON’S WEDDING, I was feeling much more myself. Having a mission helped. I needed to be at Tara’s Togs right after it opened at ten. I had to pick out the clothes Eric said I needed for the summit. I wasn’t due at Merlotte’s until five thirty or so that night, so I had that pleasant feeling of the whole day stretching ahead of me.

“Hey, girl!” Tara said, coming from the back of the shop to greet me. Her part-time assistant, McKenna, glanced at me and resumed moving clothes around. I assumed she was putting misplaced items back into their correct positions; clothing store employees seem to spend a lot of time doing that. McKenna didn’t speak, and unless I was much mistaken, she was trying to avoid talking to me at all. That hurt, since I’d gone to see her in the hospital when she’d had her appendix out two weeks ago, and I’d taken her a little present, too.

“Mr. Northman’s business associate Bobby Burnham called down here to say you needed some clothes for a trip?” Tara said. I nodded, trying to look matter of fact. “Would casual clothes be what you needed? Or suits, something of a business nature?” She gave me an utterly false bright smile, and I knew she was angry with me because she was scared for me. “McKenna, you can take that mail to the post office,” Tara told McKenna with an edge to her voice. McKenna scuttled out the back door, the mail stuffed under her arm like a riding crop.

“Tara,” I said, “it’s not what you think.”

“Sookie, it’s none of my business,” she said, trying hard to sound neutral.

“I think it is,” I said. “You’re my friend, and I don’t want you thinking I’m just going traveling with a bunch of vampires for fun.”

“Then why are you going?” Tara’s face dropped all the false cheer. She was deadly serious.

“I’m getting paid to go with a few of the Louisiana vamps to a big meeting. I’ll act as their, like, human Geiger counter. I’ll tell them if a human’s trying to bullshit them, and I’ll know what the other vamps’ humans are thinking. It’s just for this one time.” I couldn’t explain more fully. Tara had been into the world of the vampires more heavily than she needed to be, and she’d almost gotten killed. She wanted nothing more to do with it, and I couldn’t blame her. But she still couldn’t tell me what to do. I’d gone through my own soul searching over this issue, even before Claudine’s lecture, and I wasn’t going to permit anyone else to second-guess me once I’d made up my mind. Getting the clothes was okay. Working for the vamps was okay . . . as long as I didn’t turn humans over to get killed.

“We’ve been friends for a coon’s age,” Tara said quietly. “Through thick and thin. I love you, Sookie, I always will; but this is a real thin time.” Tara had had so much disappointment and worry in her life that she simply wasn’t willing to undertake any more. So she was cutting me loose, and she thought she would call JB that night and renew their carnal acquaintance, and she would do that almost in memory of me.

It was a strange way to write my premature epitaph.

“I need an evening dress, a cocktail-type dress, and some nice day clothes,” I said, checking my list quite unnecessarily. I wasn’t going to fool with Tara anymore. I was going to have fun, no matter how sour she looked. She’d come around, I told myself.

I was going to enjoy buying clothes. I started off with an evening dress and a cocktail dress. And I got two suits, like business suits (but not really, since I can’t see myself in black pinstripes). And two pants outfits. And hose and knee-highs and a nightgown or two. And a bit of lingerie.

I was swinging between guilt and delight. I spent more of Eric’s money than I absolutely had to, and I wondered what would happen if Eric asked to see the things he’d bought. I’d feel pretty bad then. But it was like I’d been caught up in a buying frenzy, partly out of the sheer delight of it, and partly out of anger at Tara, and partly to deny the fear I was feeling at the prospect of accompanying a group of vampires anywhere.

With another sigh, this one a very quiet and private one, I returned the lingerie and the nightgowns to their tables. Nonessentials. I felt sad to part with them, but I felt better overall. Buying clothes to suit a specific need, well, that was okay. That was a meal. But buying underthings, that was something else entirely. That was like a MoonPie. Or Ding Dongs. Sweet, but bad for you.

The local priest, who had started attending Fellowship of the Sun meetings, had suggested to me that befriending vamps, or even working for them, was a way of expressing a death wish. He’d told me this over his burger basket the week before. I thought about that now, standing at the cash register while Tara rang up all my purchases, which would be paid for with vampire money. Did I believe I wanted to die? I shook my head. No, I didn’t. And I thought the Fellowship of the Sun, which was the ultra right-wing anti-vampire movement that was gaining an alarming stronghold in America, was a crock. Their condemnation of all humans who had any dealings with vampires, even down to visiting a business owned by a vamp, was ridiculous. But why was I even drawn to vamps to begin with?

Here was the truth of it: I’d had so little chance of having the kind of life my classmates had achieved—the kind of life I’d grown up thinking was the ideal—that any other life I could shape for myself seemed interesting. If I couldn’t have a husband and children, worry about what I was going to take to the church potluck and if our house needed another coat of paint, then I’d worry about what three-inch heels would do to my sense of balance when I was wearing several extra pounds in sequins.

When I was ready to go, McKenna, who’d come back from the post office, carried my bags out to my car while Tara cleared the amount with Eric’s day man, Bobby Burnham. She hung up the phone, looking pleased.

“Did I use it all up?” I asked, curious to find out how much Eric had invested in me.

“Not nearly,” she said. “Want to buy more?”

But the fun was over. “No,” I said. “I’ve gotten enough.” I had a definite impulse to ask Tara to take every stitch back. Then I thought what a shabby thing that would be to do to her. “Thanks for helping me, Tara.”