Dead until Dark ss(v-1

by Шарлин Харрис

  "Are you going to take me to the bar?"

  "What's your next night off?"

  "Two nights from now."

  "Then, at sunset. I'll drive."

  "You have a car?"

  "How do you think I get places?" There might have been a smile on his shining face. He turned to melt into the woods. Over his shoulder he said, "Sookie. Do me proud."

  I was left standing with my mouth open.

  Do him proud indeed.

  Chapter 4

  HALF THE PATRONS of Merlotte's thought Bill had had a hand in the markings on the women's bodies. The other 50 percent thought that some of the vampires from bigger towns or cities had bitten Maudette and Dawn when they were out barhopping, and they deserved what they got if they wanted to go to bed with vampires. Some thought the girls had been strangled by a vampire, some thought they had just continued their promiscuous ways into disaster.

  But everyone who came into Merlotte's was worried that some other woman would be killed, too. I couldn't count the times I was told to be careful, told to watch my friend Bill Compton, told to lock my doors and not let anyone in my house.... As if those were things I wouldn't do, normally.

  Jason came in for both commiseration and suspicion as a man who'd "dated" both women. He came by the house one day and held forth for a whole hour, while Gran and I tried to encourage him to keep going with his work like an in­nocent man would. But for the first time in my memory, my handsome brother was really worried. I wasn't exactly glad he was in trouble, but I wasn't exactly sorry, either. I know that was small and petty of me.

  I am not perfect.

  I am so not-perfect that despite the deaths of two women I knew, I spent a substantial amount of time wondering what Bill meant about doing him proud. I had no idea what con­stituted appropriate dress for visiting a vampire bar. I wasn't about to dress in some kind of stupid costume, as I'd heard some bar visitors did.

  I sure didn't know anyone to ask.

  I wasn't tall enough or bony enough to dress in the sort of spandex outfit the vampire Diane had worn.

  Finally I pulled a dress from the back of my closet, one I'd had little occasion to wear. It was a Nice Date dress, if you wanted the personal interest of whoever was your escort. It was cut square and low in the neck and it was sleeveless. It was tight and white. The fabric was thinly scattered with bright red flowers with long green stems. My tan glowed and my boobs showed. I wore red enamel earrings and red high-heeled screw-me shoes. I had a little red straw purse. I put on light makeup and wore my wavy hair loose down my back.

  Gran's eyes opened wide when I came out of my room.

  "Honey, you look beautiful," she said. "Aren't you going to be a little cold in that dress?"

  I grinned. "No, ma'am, I don't think so. It's pretty warm outside."

  "Wouldn't you like to wear a nice white sweater over that?"

  "No, I don't think so." I laughed. I had pushed the other vampires far enough back in my mind to where looking sexy was okay again. I was pretty excited about having a date, though I had kind of asked Bill myself and it was more of a fact-finding mission. That, too, I tried to forget, so I could just enjoy myself.

  Sam called me to tell me my paycheck was ready. He asked if I'd come in and pick it up, which I usually did if I wasn't going to work the next day.

  I drove to Merlotte's feeling a little anxious at walking in dressed up.

  But when I came in the door, I got the tribute of a moment of stunned silence. Sam's back was to me, but Lafayette was looking through the hatch and Rene and JB were at the bar. Unfortunately, so was my brother, Jason, whose eyes opened wide when he turned to see what Rene was staring at.

  "You lookin' good, girl!" called Lafayette enthusiastically. "Where you get that dress?"

  "Oh, I've had this old thing forever," I said mockingly, and he laughed.

  Sam turned to see what Lafayette was gawking at, and his eyes got wide, too.

  "God almighty," he breathed. I walked over to ask for my check, feeling very self-conscious.

  "Come in the office, Sookie," he said, and I followed him to his small cubicle by the storeroom. Rene gave me a half-hug on my way by him, and JB kissed my cheek.

  Sam rummaged through the piles of paper on top of his desk, and finally came up with my check. He didn't hand it to me, though.

  "Are you going somewhere special?" Sam asked, almost unwillingly.

  "I have a date," I said, trying to sound matter-of-fact.

  "You look great," Sam said, and I saw him swallow. His eyes were hot.

  "Thank you. Urn, Sam, can I have my check?"

  "Sure." He handed it to me, and I popped it in my purse.

  "Good-bye, then."

  "Good-bye." But instead of indicating I should leave, Sam stepped over and smelled me. He put his face close to my neck and inhaled. His brilliant blue eyes closed briefly, as if to evaluate my odor. He exhaled gently, his breath hot on my bare skin.

  I stepped out of the door and left the bar, puzzled and interested in Sam's behavior.

  When I got home a strange car was parked in front of the house. It was a black Cadillac, and it shone like glass. Bill's. Where did they get the money to buy these cars? Shaking my head, I went up the steps to the porch and walked in. Bill turned to the door expectantly; he was sitting on the couch talking to Gran, who was perched on one arm of an old overstuffed chair.

  When he saw me, I was sure I'd overdone it, and he was really angry. His face went quite still. His eyes flared. His fingers curved as if he were scooping something up with them.

  "Is this all right?" I asked anxiously. I felt the blood surge up into my cheeks.

  "Yes," he said finally. But his pause had been long enough to anger my grandmother.

  "Anyone with a brain in his head has got to admit that Sookie is one of the prettiest girls around," she said, her voice friendly on the surface but steel underneath.

  "Oh, yes," he agreed, but there was a curious lack of in­flection in his voice.

  Well, screw him. I'd tried my best. I stiffened my back, and said, "Shall we go, then?"

  "Yes," he said again, and stood. "Good-bye, Mrs. Stack­house. It was a pleasure seeing you again."

  "Well, you two have a good time," she said, mollified. "Drive careful, Bill, and don't drink too much."

  He raised an eyebrow. "No, ma'am."

  Gran let that sail right on past.

  Bill held my car door open as I got in, a carefully calcu­lated series of maneuvers to keep as much of me as possible in the dress. He shut the door and got in on the driver's side. I wondered who had taught him to drive a car. Henry Ford, probably.

  "I'm sorry I'm not dressed correctly," I said, looking straight ahead of me.

  We'd been going slowly on the bumpy driveway through the woods. The car lurched to a halt.

  "Who said that?" Bill asked, his voice very gentle.

  "You looked at me as though I'd done something wrong," I snapped.

  "I'm just doubting my ability to get you in and out without having to kill someone who wants you."

  "You're being sarcastic." I still wouldn't look.

  His hand gripped the back of my neck, forced me to turn to him.

  "Do I look like I am?" he asked.

  His dark eyes were wide and unblinking.

  "Ah ... no," I admitted.

  "Then accept what I say."

  The ride to Shreveport was mostly silent, but not uncom­fortably so. Bill played tapes most of the way. He was partial to Kenny G.

  Fangtasia, the vampire bar, was located in a suburban shopping area of Shreveport, close to a Sam's and a Toys 'R' Us. It was in a shopping strip, which was all closed down at this hour except for the bar. The name of the place was spelled out in jazzy red neon above the door, and the facade was painted steel gray, a red door providing color contrast. Whoever owned the place must have thought gray was less obvious than black because the interior was decorated in the same colors.

  I wa
s carded at the door by a vampire. Of course, she recognized Bill as one of her own kind and acknowledged him with a cool nod, but she scanned me intently. Chalky pale, as all Caucasian vampires are, she was eerily striking in her long black dress with its trailing sleeves. I wondered if the overdone "vampire" look was her own inclination, or if she'd just adopted it because the human patrons thought it appropriate.

  "I haven't been carded in years," I said, fishing in my red purse for my driver's license. We were standing in a little boxy entrance hall.

  "I can no longer tell human ages, and we must be very careful we serve no minors. In any capacity," she said with what was probably meant to be a genial smile. She cast a sideways look at Bill, her eyes flicking up and down him with an offensive interest. Offensive to me, at least.

  "I haven't seen you in a few months," she said to him, her voice as cool and sweet as his could be.

  "I'm mainstreaming," he explained, and she nodded.

  "What were YOU telling her?" I whispered as we walked down the short hall and through the red double doors into the main room.

  "That I'm trying to live among humans."

  I wanted to hear more, but then I got my first comprehen­sive look at Fangtasia's interior. Everything was in gray, black, and red. The walls were lined with framed pictures of every movie vampire who had shown fangs on the silver screen, from Bela Lugosi to George Hamilton to Gary Oldman, from famous to obscure. The lighting was dim, of course, nothing unusual about that; what was unusual was the clientele. And the posted signs.

  The bar was full. The human clients were divided among vampire groupies and tourists. The groupies (fang-bangers, they were called) were dressed in their best finery. It ranged from the traditional capes and tuxes for the men to many Morticia Adams ripoffs among the females. The clothes ranged from reproductions of those worn by Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise in Interview with the Vampire to some modern outfits that I thought were influenced by The Hunger. Some of the fang-bangers were wearing false fangs, some had painted trickles of blood from the corners of their mouths or puncture marks on their necks. They were extraordinary, and extraordinarily pathetic.

  The tourists looked like tourists anywhere, maybe more adventurous than most. But to enter into the spirit of the bar, they were nearly all dressed in black like the fang-bangers. Maybe it was part of a tour package? "Bring some black for your exciting visit to a real vampire bar! Follow the rules, and you'll be fine, catching a glimpse of this exotic under­world."

  Strewn among this human assortment, like real jewels in a bin of rhinestones, were the vampires, perhaps fifteen of them. They mostly favored dark clothes, too.

  I stood in the middle of the floor, looking around me with interest and amazement and some distaste, and Bill whis­pered, "You look like a white candle in a coal mine."

  I laughed, and we strolled through the scattered tables to the bar. It was the only bar I'd ever seen that had a case of warmed bottled blood on display. Bill, naturally, ordered one, and I took a deep breath and ordered a gin and tonic. The bartender smiled at me, showing me that his fangs had shot out a little at the pleasure of serving me. I tried to smile back and look modest at the same time. He was an American Indian, with long coal black straight hair and a craggy nose, a straight line of a mouth, and a whippy build.

  "How's it going, Bill?" the bartender asked. "Long time, no see. This your meal for the night?" He nodded toward me as he put our drinks on the bar before us.

  "This is my friend Sookie. She has some questions to ask."

  "Anything, beautiful woman," said the bartender, smiling once again. I liked him better when his mouth was the straight line.

  "Have you seen this woman, or this one, in the bar?" I asked, drawing the newspaper photos of Maudette and Dawn from my purse. "Or this man?" With a jolt of misgiving, I pulled out my brother's picture.

  "Yes to the women, no to the man, though he looks de­licious," said the bartender, smiling at me again. "Your brother, perhaps?"

  "Yes."

  "What possibilities," he whispered.

  It was lucky I'd had extensive practice in face control. "Do you remember who the women hung around with?"

  "That's something I wouldn't know," he replied quickly, his face closing down. "That's something we don't notice, here. You won't, either."

  "Thank you," I said politely, realizing I'd broken a bar rule. It was dangerous to ask who left with whom, evidently. "I appreciate your taking the time."

  He looked at me consideringly. "That one," he said, pok­ing a finger at Dawn's picture, "she wanted to die."

  "How do you know?"

  "Everyone who comes here does, to one extent or an­other," he said so matter-of-factly I could tell he took that for granted. "That is what we are. Death."

  I shuddered. Bill's hand on my arm drew me away to a just-vacated booth. Underscoring the Indian's pronounce­ment, at regular intervals wall placards proclaimed, "No biting on premises." "No lingering in the parking lot." "Con­duct your personal business elsewhere." "Your patronage is appreciated. Proceed at your own risk."

  Bill took the top off the bottle with one finger and took a sip. I tried not to look, failed. Of course he saw my face, and he shook his head.

  "This is the reality, Sookie," he said. "I need it to live."

  There were red stains between his teeth.

  "Of course," I said, trying to match the matter-of-fact tone of the bartender, I took a deep breath. "Do you suppose I want to die, since I came here with you?"

  "I think you want to find out why other people are dying," he said. But I wasn't sure that was what he really believed.

  I didn't think Bill had yet realized that his personal posi­tion was precarious. I sipped my drink, felt the blossoming warmth of the gin spread through me.

  A fang-banger approached the booth. I was half-hidden by Bill, but still, they'd all seen me enter with him. She was frizzy-haired and boney, with glasses that she stuffed in a purse as she walked over. She bent across the table to get her mouth about two inches from Bill.

  "Hi, dangerous," she said in what she hoped was a seduc­tive voice. She tapped Bill's bottled blood with a fingernail painted scarlet. "I have the real stuff." She stroked her neck to make sure he got the point.

  I took a deep breath to control my temper. I had invited Bill to this place; he hadn't invited me. I could not comment on what he chose to do here, though I had a surprisingly vivid mental image of leaving a slap mark on this hussy's pale, freckled cheek. I held absolutely still so I wouldn't give Bill any cues about what I wanted.

  "I have a companion," Bill said gently.

  "She doesn't have any puncture marks on her neck," the girl observed, acknowledging my presence with a contemp­tuous look. She might as well have said "Chicken!" and flapped her arms like wings. I wondered if steam was visibly coming out of my ears.

  "I have a companion," Bill said again, his voice not so gentle this time.

  "You don't know what you're missing," she said, her big pale eyes flashing with offense.

  "Yes, I do," he said.

  She recoiled as if I'd actually done the slapping, and stomped off to her table.

  To my disgust, she was only the first of four. These people, men and women, wanted to be intimate with a vampire, and they weren't shy about it.

  Bill handled all of them with calm aplomb.

  "You're not talking," he said, after a man of forty had left, his eyes actually tearing up at Bill's rejection.

  "There's nothing for me to say," I replied, with great self-control.

  "You could have sent them on their way. Do you want me to leave you? Is there someone else here who catches your fancy? Long Shadow, there at the bar, would love to spend time with you, I can tell."

  "Oh, for God's sake, no!" I wouldn't have felt safe with any of the other vampires in the bar, would have been ter­rified they were like Liam or Diane. Bill had turned his dark eyes to me and seemed to be waiting for me to say something else. "I do ha
ve to ask them if they've seen Dawn and Mau­dette in here, though."

  "Do you want me with you?"

  "Please," I said, and sounded more frightened than I'd wanted to. I'd meant to ask like it would be a casual pleasure to have his company.

  "The vampire over there is handsome; he has scanned you twice," he said. I almost wondered if he was doing a little tongue biting himself.

  "You're teasing me," I said uncertainly after a moment.

  The vampire he'd indicated was handsome, in fact, radiant; blond and blue-eyed, tall and broad shouldered. He was wearing boots, jeans, and a vest. Period. Kind of like the guys on the cover of romance books. He scared me to death.

  "His name is Eric," said Bill.

  "How old is he?"

  "Very. He's the oldest thing in this bar."

  "Is he mean?"

  "We're all mean, Sookie. We're all very strong and very violent."

  "Not you," I said. I saw his face close in on itself. "You want to live mainstream. You're not gonna do antisocial stuff."

  "Just when I think you're too naive to walk around alone, you say something shrewd," he said, with a short laugh. "All right, we'll go talk to Eric."

  Eric, who, it was true, had glanced my way once or twice, was sitting with a female vampire who was just as lovely as he. They'd already repelled several advances by humans. In fact, one lovelorn young man had already crawled across the floor and kissed the female's boot. She'd stared down at him and kicked him in the shoulder. You could tell it had been an effort for her not to kick him in the face. Tourists flinched, and a couple got up and left hurriedly, but the fang-bangers seemed to take this scene for granted.

  At our approach, Eric looked up and scowled until he re­alized who the intruders were.

  "Bill," he said, nodding. Vampires didn't seem to shake hands.

  Instead of walking right up to the table, Bill stood a careful distance away, and since he was gripping my arm above my elbow, I had to stop, too. This seemed to be the courteous distance with this set.

  "Who's your friend?" asked the female. Though Eric had a slight accent, this woman talked pure American, and her round face and sweet features would have done credit to a milkmaid. She smiled, and her fangs ran out, kind of ruining the image.