Sookie relayed the message.
“We might want to keep him,” Betty Joe said, “if he’s the real thing.”
Sookie gave the phone to someone, not saying who it was, and someone with a British accent spoke to Betty Joe. He explained that Bubba was a sacred trust of the Louisiana vampires, and he’d better be allowed to leave. Otherwise there would be certain unspecified consequences.
Betty Joe didn’t want to cause any trouble for Edgington, so she agreed to persuade him to allow Bubba to leave. That was too bad. If Bubba was the real thing, he’d be fun to have around. On the other hand, if he wasn’t the real thing, if he was just some impersonator, it would go hard with him. Very hard.
-4-
Bubba didn’t know what was going on, but he knew it looked good for him. Edgington came in and announced that the crucifixion was over. There was a lot of hubbub when he said it, but the redheaded vampire explained that there would be other, better, entertainment, so things calmed down. Oscar and Earl led the drainers away. They weren’t happy at first, either, but since they were allowed to keep the little blood they’d drawn, they didn’t put up any argument. Bubba figured they knew better than to do that.
A couple of vampires removed the chains and mesh from Bubba. Bubba felt better instantly, the cuts on his wrist already healing. Relief surged through him, and he dropped down from the cross, striking a martial arts pose as his feet hit the floor.
“Any of you sumbitches lays a hand on me’s gonna be sorry,” he said.
Edgington walked toward him, arms raised, palms out. “Nobody’s going to harm you. This has all been a terrible mistake. We didn’t realize that, like me, you are royalty.”
“I ain’t like you,” Bubba said.
Edgington dropped his arms to his sides. “I’m sure that’s true. For one thing, I don’t sing. Nobody can sing like you do. I was wondering if you might treat us to a song.”
Normally a request like that would rile Bubba up, but the memories he’d had of his past in the last hours hadn’t bothered him at all for whatever reason, and the thought of singing didn’t, either. Maybe it was relief that was working on him now. Bubba didn’t do much self-analysis, so he didn’t know, or care. He dropped his pose and looked down at his clothes, which were shabby and dirty. He ran a hand through his hair, which hadn’t been washed in a while, much less styled.
“I don’t know about that,” he said. “I’m not really dressed right.”
A young-looking vampire leaned forward and whispered in Edgington’s ear. Edgington nodded, and the vampire spoke to Bubba.
“I’m Talbot,” he said, “and I think a new wardrobe can be arranged. If you’ll follow me, I’ll see what we can do.”
Bubba wasn’t too sure about that, but he figured it wouldn’t hurt. He reckoned he could handle Talbot or anybody else in that room. Put a few karate moves on them, and they’d be down for the count.
“Come along,” Talbot said. He gestured to someone else. “My friend Felix and I will fix you right up.”
Another young-looking vampire joined them, and Talbot led the way out of the room. Bubba got a lot of curious and eager stares, but he was used to that. Or he had been at one time. These days it usually bothered him, though not now. First the fear and then the feeling of relief that had come over him had taken away the bother.
Talbot and Felix led Bubba to a second-floor bedroom that was tastefully decorated with scarlet wall hangings, a chandelier, and elaborate sconces. The king-sized bed was covered with a furry red bedspread, and there was a dressing table nearby. It was a lot different from the room where Bubba had left Mr. Eric and Miss Sookie. He approved.
“Nice room,” he said.
“It’s mine,” Talbot said. “I’m glad you like it. The bathroom’s right over there. You get cleaned up while we lay out some clothes.”
Bubba went into the bathroom. It had black granite countertops and gold fixtures. The walk-in shower, also granite, was huge. Bubba shucked off his clothes and turned on the water in the shower. When it was just right, he got under the stream and luxuriated in it for a few minutes. On a little shelf sat a bottle of fancy shampoo and some good-smelling soap. Bubba took the time to wash his hair and get really clean.
When he emerged from the shower, he found a thick towel and a fluffy white robe. He dried off and put on the robe. On the counter lay a hair dryer that was already plugged in. Bubba dried his hair.
He went into the bedroom, where Talbot and Felix stood beside the bed. Laid out on the furry bedspread were some clean red boxers, a red jumpsuit sparkling with rhinestones, and a wide white belt with a huge gold buckle. A pair of black half boots sat beside the bed.
“I think you’ll find that everything fits,” Talbot said.
Bubba grinned. “You boys sure been TCB.”
Talbot looked at Felix, who shrugged.
“Takin’ care of business,” Bubba said. “It’s a motto I heard somewhere.”
Talbot nodded. “It’s a good one. Do you want us to step outside while you try on the outfit?”
“Naw, you can stay in. Just turn your backs.” Bubba undid the belt of the robe. “No peekin’, now.”
“We wouldn’t dream of it,” Talbot said. “Would we, Felix?”
“Us?” Felix said. “Never, ever, cross our hearts.”
“All right, then. Gimme a minute.”
They turned their backs. Bubba dropped the robe and reached for the jumpsuit. He thought he saw Felix sneaking a peek, but he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t say anything, just slipped into the boxers and tried on the jumpsuit. It was just right. He found a pair of socks in the half boots. He pulled on the socks and then sat on the bed to put on the boots. Not a perfect fit, but they’d do. He stood up and spread his arms wide.
“You can turn around now, fellas.”
Felix and Talbot swiveled to look at him.
“You look marvelous,” Felix said.
“He looks better in it than you do, even,” Talbot said.
Felix looked hurt.
“Just kidding,” Talbot said, giving Bubba a critical look. “His hair’s a mess.”
“We can fix that,” Felix said. “Sit right over here, Bubba.”
He went to the dressing table and pulled out a stool. Bubba sat down, and Felix and Oscar went to work. It didn’t take them long to get his hair gelled and styled into a modified duck’s ass.
“What do you think?” Oscar said.
Bubba looked into the mirror and admired himself. “I still got it. I damn sure do.”
“Do you feel like singing, Bubba?”
Bubba thought about it. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to sing for a bunch of folks again. He was feeling better than he had in a long time.
“You got a guitar around here anywhere?” he said.
“We can get one,” Talbot said. “Felix, go tell Jack to fetch his guitar.”
“Hold on,” Bubba said. “I’m kinda hard on guitars. I break a lotta strings.” He touched the big buckle on his wide belt. “These buckles tend to scratch ’em up, too.”
“Jack won’t mind,” Talbot said. “He’ll be honored.”
“Okay,” Bubba said, “but remember I warned you.”
“Go on, Felix,” Talbot said. “We’ll meet you downstairs.”
-5-
Bubba heard the hum of conversation as he followed Talbot down the stairs and along the hallway, but when he entered the room where the big wood cross still stood, the voices trailed off. People turned to look and stopped talking the instant they saw him. Soon there was complete silence as the vampires and fangbangers stared at him.
Felix came up behind him and handed him a guitar. Bubba put the strap over his neck and settled the guitar until he had it just right. He strummed a couple of chords. Russell Edgington brought a microphone and set it in front of Bu
bba.
“The amplifier isn’t state of the art, I’m afraid,” he said, “but it will work well enough.”
Bubba cleared his throat and said, “Hi, ever’body.”
One of the fangbangers screamed, “It’s him! It’s him!”
The vampire standing beside her shushed her. Edgington said, “Everyone’s looking forward to hearing you sing.”
“Well, I guess I could give it a try,” Bubba said. “My throat’s kinda dry, though.”
Edgington waved a hand at the room. “Pick anyone.”
Bubba looked around the room. “I like somethin’ a little different if it’s all the same to you. You wouldn’t happen to have a cat around, would ya?”
Edgington looked at him. “A cat? Really?”
Bubba looked back. “Yeah. A cat.”
“No cats. I’m sorry.”
“Shoot.”
“What about TrueBlood?”
“I guess if that’s all you got, it’ll have to do.”
Edgington snapped his fingers, and in seconds someone handed him a bottle of TrueBlood, which he gave to Bubba. Bubba took a couple of swallows, then drained the bottle and smacked his lips.
“Did that help?” Edgington asked.
“We’ll see,” Bubba said.
He struck another chord and then began strumming a rhythm, striking the strings hard. He cleared his throat and sped up the strumming. He felt something moving in him, something that he hadn’t felt in . . . He didn’t know how long it had been. The feeling had been building in him for a while now, ever since he got unchained.
“Sing it!” someone yelled, and Bubba did. He sang “Mystery Train” and “That’s All Right, Mama” and “My Baby Left Me.”
He swiveled his hips. People screamed. He grinned, remembering how it had felt when people had screamed for him at other times, in other places. More people screamed, and his grin grew wider. He launched into “Heartbreak Hotel.”
Betty Joe stood by Edgington and whispered in his ear. “It’s like pure hot gold is pouring from his throat.”
“Don’t swoon,” Edgington said.
“You just don’t know,” she said. “You just don’t know.”
Bubba segued into some slower numbers, a sultry “One Night” followed by “Love Me Tender.” Then he launched into “Good Rockin’ Tonight.”
“I’ll say there is,” Betty Joe murmured.
Bubba was enjoying himself, something rare for him. He found himself wishing he had a bass player. And maybe a few backup singers. But he didn’t, so he sang “Don’t Be Cruel” without them.
After that number, Bubba stopped and looked around. The room was hushed. He stood quietly for a second before slipping the guitar strap off his neck. When he did that, everyone began to applaud. The noise crescendoed. It echoed off the walls and floor, and it sounded as if there were a thousand people there instead of only seventy or eighty. Bubba grinned and handed the guitar to Talbot.
“Tell Jack I said thank yew,” he said. “I hope I didn’t hurt it much.”
“Oh, my, no. You’ve made it into a sacred object.”
“I need to go,” Bubba said. “I gotta get back to where I belong.”
Edgington was suddenly beside him. “You can’t just leave us like this. Stay awhile.”
“Can’t do it. Bubba’s gotta leave the buildin’. I know the way out.”
Edgington put a hand on Bubba’s arm and started to speak, but Betty Joe came up and said, “I promised we’d let him leave. We have to honor that promise.”
“We do?” Edgington said.
“You know we do.”
Edgington dropped his hand. “Very well, Bubba. You may go.”
“You can keep the suit, too,” Felix said. “I want to dream of you wearing it.”
“Thank yew,” Bubba said. “Thank you ver’ much.”
He turned and slipped away.
When he was outside in the cool night, Bubba took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He took a few steps with a little swagger, the way he had long ago. It had been a long time since he’d had so much fun. The evening had started out bad, but it had ended real well.
Bubba felt changed somehow. He felt good. He felt as if things were going to be different from now on, at least for a while. He didn’t know how or why, and he didn’t care. He just knew it was a pleasure to experience what had happened.
There was just one thing he needed to make his night complete. There had already been a little bit of magic, so maybe he could find a cat on the way back to Bon Temps.
It could happen.
WHAT A DREAM I HAD
NANCY HOLDER
Alcide Herveaux, werewolf and member of the Long Tooth pack, has always carried a torch for Sookie. Alcide famously has a disastrous history with women. Though he and Sookie had chemistry, Sookie had to kill Alcide’s murderous ex, Debbie Pelt. After that, Alcide’s love Maria-Star Cooper was murdered. Then her replacement, Annabelle, was unfaithful. Maybe this pattern of bad luck began with Alcide’s prom date, Emmaline Ravel. You be the judge.
—
NOW . . .
“That best friend must still be dying, Alcide,” Dale the bartender said. “Third night in a row you been in here.”
“Someone’s dying, but he’s no friend of mine,” Alcide muttered.
Dale put down Alcide’s first shot of the evening—what had once been an occasional ritual was becoming more customary—and Alcide threw it back. The bourbon was as hot going down as the slap that still burned his cheek. Dale placed another shot on the shiny varnished oak bar without being asked.
“You have any regrets in life?” Alcide asked Dale. The bartender grunted. And Alcide quirked a half grin. “I’m buying, if you need to lighten your load.”
Behind Dale, the ornate engraved mirror caught a slice of light as someone came in from the steamy Louisiana rain. Idly, Alcide glanced into the glass.
He froze with his second shot of bourbon raised halfway to his mouth. And as he absorbed the shock of what—who—he was seeing, the hard, cynical part of his mind spun lemon-sour thoughts: A dead girl walks into a bar . . .
But his heart broke into a million pieces all over again, and his very soul whispered, Em. Oh, Em.
Oh, Em.
A LIFETIME AGO . . .
Oh, Em. Ma belle.
Alcide was buzzing like a live wire. Emmaline Ravel was a spun-sugar princess in her pink prom dress, rosebud pink she said it was called, her blond curls just rushing down the sides of her face and over her bare shoulders like a waterfall, and she smelled so good, like honeysuckle and roses with a little dash of Old Overholt rye on her breath. They were Cajun kids and of course they’d spiked up the punch at their big fancy fais do-do. The guys had been merciless to him, laying bets that he’d get laid tonight, because what sweet little girl could resist Alcide Herveaux in a damn tuxedo? With that mop of curly hair and those big green eyes? Him with his little rosebud boutonniere Emmaline had bought him to match her dress, all liquored up and horny as hell?
He’d taken her to the prom in his daddy’s Camaro. Steak, dancing, waiting, waiting, waiting. Now that the prom was over, Alcide and Emmaline had finally pulled up at the brand-new construction site his daddy had done the survey for. Alcide was about to unlock the foreman’s motor home with the keys lent to him by his friend Roger, who worked for the construction company.
The motor home was like a real house, far fancier than the more modest Airstreams at most of the other jobs. This was going to be a long job and one of the principals owned an RV lot, so they got the foreman a nice place to stay. Front door, back door, kitchen, And a bedroom. Which, for Alcide, meant Score! It was someplace nice for a nice girl. Also, uninhabited. Roger had told Alcide that the foreman hadn’t moved in because the valuable equipment and material he would guard at night ha
d not yet been delivered.
That morning, Alcide had put fresh sheets on the bed and had almost brought a vase of flowers but he didn’t want to look like he’d planned it that carefully, even though he had thought of little else since he’d asked Em to go to prom. There was no damn way he could take Emmaline to a fancy hotel like the other guys were doing with their dates; someone was sure to talk and if his packmaster Boyd Lescaux found out, there would be hell to pay. Hot-blooded Alcide had been specifically warned off human girls. Maybe other packs had human friends who knew about werewolves, and they even had human babies, but their packmaster said anybody in his pack who changed in front of a non-pack human would sign their own death warrant and the human’s, too. He did not hold to mingling, would have none of this crap of people intermarrying. Wolves were for wolves, period, no matter if you had a firstborn Were or what. Lescaux’s word was law and those who broke it knew it, and he’d just as soon kill a mouthy, horny teenaged boy as run free on a full-moon night.
But Emmaline wasn’t just any human girl; she was Alcide’s girl. And she had a crappy daddy named Zachary Ravel who smacked her around. Ravel subcontracted for several of the larger, statewide construction companies, and he was well-off. But Ravel was a bad man and a worse drinker and Alcide would seriously have loved to kill him. Em had no maman anymore and she had bruises all the time and Alcide just wanted . . . He wanted . . . He didn’t know exactly what he wanted, except to make life good for her. In the pack, mating meant marking and he wanted to extend his protection to her. But he was the worst thing that could happen to her. He told himself that a million times while he was getting the prom tickets and buying the tux and keeping it all on the down-low from Lescaux—thinking he was crazy but he was crazy in love and that had to matter, didn’t it?
So here they were, like newlyweds when the guy carries the girl over the threshold, and he knew she knew why he had driven her there, and that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
His guilt was exactly equal to his lust. He began to think that if he did this he was a pig and he had better just take her bowling with the Baptist kids at their virginal little after-prom instead of acting exactly like the animal he was.
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