While I took their drink and food orders, I discovered that (a) Lindsay had the mistaken idea that she looked like Christina Aguilera, (b) Little Greg thought he would never go into insurance because it was so boring, and (c) Christy thought Greg might be interested in another woman because he’d been so distracted lately. As you can imagine, it takes a lot of mental doing to separate what I’m getting from people’s minds from what I’m hearing directly from their mouths, which accounts for the strained smile I often wear—the smile that’s led some people to think I’m just crazy.
After I’d brought them their drinks and turned in their food order, I puttered around studying the Aubert family. They seemed so typical it just hurt. Little Greg thought about his girlfriend mostly, and I learned more than I wanted to know.
Greg was just worried.
Christy was thinking about the dryer in their laundry room, wondering if it was time to get a new one.
See? Most people’s thoughts are like that. Christy was also weighing Marge Barker’s virtues (efficiency, loyalty) against the fact that she seriously disliked the woman.
Lindsay was thinking about her secret boyfriend. Like teenage girls everywhere, she was convinced her parents were the most boring people in the universe and had pokers up their asses besides. They didn’t understand anything. Lindsay herself didn’t understand why Dustin wouldn’t take her to meet his folks, why he wouldn’t let her see where he lived. No one but Dustin knew how poetic her soul was, how fascinating she truly could be, how misunderstood she was.
If I had a dime for every time I’d heard that from a teenager’s brain, I’d be as rich as John Edward, the psychic.
I heard the bell ding in the service window, and I trotted over to get the Auberts’ order from our current cook. I loaded my arms with the plates and hustled them over to the table. I had to endure a full-body scan from Little Greg, but that was par for the course, too. Guys can’t help it. Lindsay didn’t register me at all. She was wondering why Dustin was so secretive about his daytime activities. Shouldn’t he be in school?
Okay, now. We were getting somewhere.
But then Lindsay began thinking about her D in algebra and how she was going to get grounded when her parents found out and then she wouldn’t get to see Dustin for a while unless she climbed out of her bedroom window at two in the morning. She was seriously considering going all the way.
Lindsay made me feel sad and old. And very smart. By the time the Aubert family paid their bill and left, I was tired of all of them, and my head was exhausted (a weird feeling, and one I simply can’t describe).
I plodded through work the rest of the night, glad to the very ends of my Roses on Ice toenails when I headed out the back door.
“Psst,” said a voice from behind me while I was unlocking my car door.
With a stifled shriek, I swung around with my keys in my hand, ready to attack.
“It’s me,” Amelia said gleefully.
“Dammit, Amelia, don’t sneak up on me like that!” I sagged against the car.
“Sorry,” she said, but she didn’t sound very sorry. “Hey,” she continued, “I’ve been over by the insurance agency. Guess what!”
“What?” My lack of enthusiasm seemed to register with Amelia.
“You tired or something?” she asked.
“I just had an evening of listening in on the world’s most typical family,” I said. “Greg’s worried, Christy’s worried, Little Greg is horny, and Lindsay has a secret love.”
“I know,” Amelia said. “And guess what?”
“He might be a vamp.”
“Oh.” She sagged. “You already knew?”
“Not for sure. I know other fascinating stuff, though. I know he understands Lindsay as she’s never been understood before in her whole underappreciated life, that he just might be The One, and that she’s thinking of having sex with this goober.”
“Well, I know where he lives. Let’s go by there. You drive; I need to get some stuff ready.” We got into Amelia’s car. I took the driver’s seat. Amelia began fumbling in her purse through the many little Ziplocs that filled it. They were all full of magic ready to go: herbs and other ingredients. Bat wings, for all I knew.
“He lives by himself in a big house with a FOR SALE sign in the front yard. No furniture. Yet he looks like he’s eighteen.” Amelia pointed at the house, which was dark and isolated.
“Hmmm.” Our eyes met.
“What do you think?” Amelia asked.
“Vampire, almost surely.”
“Could be. But why would a strange vampire be in Bon Temps? Why don’t any of the other vamps know about him?” It was all right to be a vampire in today’s America, but the vamps were still trying to keep a low profile. They regulated themselves rigorously.
“How do you know they don’t? Know about him, that is.”
Good question. Would the area vampires be obliged to tell me? It wasn’t like I was an official vampire greeter or anything.
“Amelia, you went looking around after a vampire? Not smart.”
“It wasn’t like I knew he might be fangy when I started. I just followed him after I saw him cruising around the Auberts’ house.”
“I think he’s in the middle of seducing Lindsay,” I said. “I better make a call.”
“But does this have anything to do with Greg’s business?”
“I don’t know. Where is this boy now?”
“He’s at Lindsay’s house. He finally just parked outside. I guess he’s waiting for her to come out.”
“Crap.” I pulled in a little way down the street from the Auberts’ ranch style. I flipped open my cell phone to call Fangtasia. Maybe it’s not a good sign when the area vampire bar is on your speed dial.
“Fangtasia, the bar with a bite,” said an unfamiliar voice. Just as Bon Temps and our whole area was saturated with human evacuees, the vampire community in Shreveport was, too.
“This is Sookie Stackhouse. I need to speak with Eric, please,” I said.
“Oh, the telepath. Sorry, Miss Stackhouse. Eric and Pam are out tonight.”
“Maybe you can tell me if any of the new vampires are staying in my town, Bon Temps?”
“Let me inquire.”
The voice was back after a few minutes. “Clancy says no.” Clancy was like Eric’s third-in-command, and I was not his favorite person. You’ll notice Clancy didn’t even ask the phone guy to find out why I needed to know. I thanked the unknown vampire for his trouble and hung up.
I was stumped. Pam, Eric’s second-in-command, was sort of a buddy of mine, and Eric was, occasionally, something more than that. Since they weren’t there, I’d have to call our local vampire, Bill Compton.
I sighed. “I’m going to have to call Bill,” I said, and Amelia knew enough of my history to understand why the idea was so traumatic. And then I braced myself and dialed.
“Yes?” said a cool voice.
Thank goodness. I’d been scared the new girlfriend, Selah, would answer.
“Bill, this is Sookie. Eric and Pam are out of touch, and I have a problem.”
“What?”
Bill has always been a man of few words.
“There’s a young man in town we think is a vampire. Have you met him?”
“Here in Bon Temps?” Bill was clearly surprised and displeased.
That answered my question. “Yes, and Clancy told me they hadn’t farmed out any new vamps to Bon Temps. So I thought maybe you’d encountered this individual?”
“No, which means he’s probably taking care not to cross my path. Where are you?”
“We’re parked outside the Auberts’ house. He’s interested in the daughter, a teenager. We’ve pulled into the driveway of a house for sale across the street, middle of the block on Hargrove.”
“I’ll be there very soon. Don’t approach him.”
As if I would. “He thinks I’m stupid enough—” I began, and Amelia already had her “Indignant for You” face on when t
he driver’s door was yanked open and a white hand latched onto my shoulder. I squawked until the other hand clamped over my mouth.
“Shut up, breather,” said a voice that was even colder than Bill’s. “Are you the one that’s been following me around all night?”
Then I realized that he didn’t know Amelia was in the passenger’s seat. That was good.
Since I couldn’t speak, I nodded slightly.
“Why?” he growled. “What do you want with me?” He shook me like I was a dustcloth, and I thought all my bones would come disjointed.
Then Amelia leaped from the other side of the car and darted over to us, tossing the contents of a Ziploc on his head. Of course, I had no idea what she was saying, but the effect was dramatic. After a jolt of astonishment, the vampire froze. The problem was, he froze with me clasped with my back to his chest in an unbreakable hold. I was mashed against him, and his left hand was still hard over my mouth, his right hand around my waist. So far, the investigative team of Sookie Stackhouse, telepath, and Amelia Broadway, witch, was not doing a top-flight job.
“Pretty good, huh?” Amelia said.
I managed to move my head a fraction. “Yes, if I could breathe,” I said. I wished I hadn’t wasted breath speaking.
Then Bill was there, surveying the situation.
“You stupid woman, Sookie’s trapped,” Bill said. “Undo the spell.”
Under the streetlight, Amelia looked sullen. Undoing was not her best thing, I realized with some anxiety. I couldn’t do anything else, so I waited while she worked on the counterspell.
“If this doesn’t work, it’ll only take me a second to break his arm,” Bill told me. I nodded . . . well, I moved my head a fraction of an inch . . . because that was all I could do. I was getting pretty breathless.
Suddenly there was a little pop! in the air, and the younger vampire let go of me to launch himself at Bill—who wasn’t there. Bill was behind him, and he grabbed one of the boy’s arms and twisted it up and back. The boy screamed, and down they went to the ground. I wondered if anyone was going to call the police. This was a lot of noise and activity for a residential neighborhood after one o’clock. But no lights came on.
“Now, talk.” Bill was absolutely determined, and I guess the boy knew it.
“What’s your problem?” the boy demanded. He had spiked brown hair and a lean build and a couple of diamond studs in his nose. “This woman’s been following me around. I need to know who she is.”
Bill looked up at me questioningly. I jerked my head toward Amelia.
“You didn’t even grab the right woman,” Bill said. He sounded kind of disappointed in the youngster. “Why are you here in Bon Temps?”
“Getting away from Katrina,” the boy said. “My sire was staked by a human when we ran out of bottled blood substitute after the flood. I stole a car outside of New Orleans, changed the license plates, and got out of town. I reached here at daylight. I found an empty house with a FOR SALE sign and a windowless bathroom, so I moved in. I’ve been going out with a local girl. I take a sip every night. She’s none the wiser,” he sneered.
“What’s your interest?” Bill asked me.
“Have you two been going into her dad’s office at night?” I asked.
“Yeah, once or twice.” He smirked. “Her dad’s office has a couch in it.” I wanted to slap the shit out of him, maybe smacking the jewelry in his nose just by accident.
“How long have you been a vampire?” Bill asked.
“Ah . . . maybe two months.”
Okay, that explained a lot. “So that’s why he didn’t know to check in with Eric. That’s why he doesn’t realize what he’s doing is foolish and liable to get him staked.”
“There’s only so much excuse for stupidity,” Bill said.
“Have you gone through the files in there?” I asked the boy, who was looking a little dazed.
“What?”
“Did you go through the files in the insurance office?”
“Uh, no. Why would I do that? I was just loving up the girl, to get a little sip, you know? I was real careful not to take too much. I don’t have any money to buy artificial stuff.”
“Oh, you are so dumb.” Amelia was fed up with this kid. “For goodness’ sake, learn something about your condition. Stranded vampires can get help just like stranded people. You just ask the Red Cross for some synthetic blood, and they dole it out free.”
“Or you could have found out who the sheriff of the area is,” Bill said. “Eric would never turn away a vampire in need. What if someone had found you biting this girl? She’s under the age of consent, I gather?” For blood “donation” to a vampire.
“Yeah,” I said, when Dustin looked blank. “It’s Lindsay, daughter of Greg Aubert, my insurance agent. He wanted us to find out who’d been going into his building at night. Called in a favor to get me and Amelia to investigate.”
“He should do his own dirty work,” Bill said quite calmly. But his hands were clenched. “Listen, boy, what’s your name?”
“Dustin.” He’d even given Lindsay his real name.
“Well, Dustin, tonight we go to Fangtasia, the bar in Shreveport that Eric Northman uses as his headquar ters. He will talk to you there, decide what to do with you.”
“I’m a free vampire. I go where I want.”
“Not within Area Five, you don’t. You go to Eric, the area sheriff.”
Bill marched the young vampire off into the night, probably to load him into his car and get him to Shreveport.
Amelia said, “I’m sorry, Sookie.”
“At least you stopped him from breaking my neck,” I said, trying to sound philosophical about it. “We still have our original problem. It wasn’t Dustin who went through the files, though I’m guessing it was Dustin and Lindsay going into the office at night that disturbed the magic. How could they get past it?”
“After Greg told me his spell, I realized he wasn’t much of a witch. Lindsay’s a member of the family. With Greg’s spell to ward against outsiders, that made a difference,” Amelia said. “And sometimes vampires register as a void on spells created for humans. After all, they’re not alive. I made my ‘freeze’ spell vampire specific.”
“Who else can get through magic spells and work mischief?”
“Magical nulls,” she said.
“Huh?”
“There are people who can’t be affected by magic,” Amelia said. “They’re rare, but they exist. I’ve only met one before.”
“How can you detect nulls? Do they give off a special vibration or something?”
“Only very experienced witches can detect nulls without casting a spell on them that fails,” Amelia admitted. “Greg probably has never encountered one.”
“Let’s go see Terry,” I suggested. “He stays up all night.”
The baying of a dog announced our arrival at Terry’s cabin. Terry lived in the middle of three acres of woods. Terry liked being by himself most of the time, and any social needs he might feel were satisfied by an occasional stint of working as a bartender.
“That’ll be Annie,” I said, as the barking rose in intensity. “She’s his fourth.”
“Wife? Or dog?”
“Dog. Specifically, a Catahoula. The first one got hit by a truck, I think, and one got poisoned, and one got bit by a snake.”
“Gosh, that is bad luck.”
“Yeah, unless it’s not chance at all. Maybe someone’s making it happen.”
“What are Catahoulas for?”
“Hunting. Herding. Don’t get Terry started on the history of the breed, I’m begging you.”
Terry’s trailer door opened, and Annie launched herself off the steps to find out if we were friends or foes. She gave us a good bark, and when we stayed still, she eventually remembered she knew me. Annie weighed about fifty pounds, I guess, a good-sized dog. Catahoulas are not beautiful unless you love the breed. Annie was several shades of brown and red, and one shoulder was a solid color
while her legs were another, though her rear half was covered with spots.
“Sookie, did you come to pick out a puppy?” Terry called. “Annie, let them by.” Annie obediently backed up, keeping her eyes on us as we began approaching the trailer.
“I came to look,” I said. “I brought my friend Amelia. She loves dogs.”
Amelia was thinking she’d like to slap me upside the head because she was definitely a cat person.
Annie’s puppies and Annie had made the small trailer quite doggy, though the odor wasn’t really unpleasant. Annie herself maintained a vigilant stance while we looked at the three pups Terry still had. Terry’s scarred hands were gentle as he handled the dogs. Annie had encountered several gentleman dogs on her unplanned excursion, and the puppies were diverse. They were adorable. Puppies just are. But they were sure distinctive. I picked up a bundle of short reddish fur with a white muzzle, and felt the puppy wiggle against me and snuffle my fingers. Gee, it was cute.
“Terry,” I said, “have you been worried about Annie?”
“Yeah,” he said. Since he was off base himself, Terry was very tolerant of other people’s quirks. “I got to thinking about the things that have happened to my dogs, and I began to wonder if someone was causing them all.”
“Do you insure all your dogs with Greg Aubert?”
“Naw, Diane at Liberty South insured the others. And see what happened to them? I decided to switch agents, and everyone says Greg is the luckiest son of a bitch in Renard Parish.”
The puppy began chewing on my fingers. Ouch. Amelia was looking around her at the dingy trailer. It was clean enough, but the furniture arrangement was strictly utilitarian, like the furniture itself.
A Touch of Dead Page 8
