Dead until Dark ss(v-1

by Шарлин Харрис

  I looked down at myself. I was bloodstained and wrinkled, and I smelled funny. Yuck. I looked over at Bill to share my disgust with him, but he was looking at me in an unmistak­able way.

  "No," I said forcefully. "You start this car and get out of here before anything else happens, Bill Compton. I tell you flat, I'm not in the mood."

  He scooted across the seat toward me, his arms scooping me up before I could say anything else. Then his mouth was on mine, and after a second his tongue began licking the blood from my face.

  I was really scared. I was also really angry. I grabbed his ears and pulled his head away from mine using every ounce of strength I possessed, which happened to be more than I thought I had.

  His eyes were still like caves with ghosts dwelling in their depths.

  "Bill!" I shrieked. I shook him. "Snap out of it!"

  Slowly, his personality seeped back into his eyes. He drew a shuddering sigh. He kissed me lightly on the lips.

  "Okay, can we go home now?" I asked, ashamed that my voice was so quavery.

  "Sure," he said, sounding none too steady himself.

  "Was that like sharks scenting blood?" I asked, after a fifteen-minute silent drive that almost had us out of Shreve­port.

  "Good analogy."

  He didn't need to apologize. He'd been doing what nature dictated, as least as natural as vampires got. He didn't bother to. I would kind of liked to have heard an apology.

  "So, am I in trouble?" I asked finally. It was two in the morning, and I found the question didn't bother me as much as it should have.

  "Eric will hold you to your word," Bill said. "As to whether he will leave you alone personally, I don't know. I wish..." but his voice trailed off. It was the first time I'd heard Bill wish for anything.

  "Sixty thousand dollars isn't a lot of money to a vampire, surely," I observed. "You all seem to have plenty of money."

  "Vampires rob their victims, of course," Bill said matter-of-factly. "Early on, we take the money from the corpse. Later, when we're more experienced, we can exert enough control to persuade a human to give us money willingly, then forget it's been done. Some of us hire money managers, some of us go into real estate, some of us live on the interest from our investments. Eric and Pam went in together on the bar. Eric put up most of the money, Pam the rest. They had known Long Shadow for a hundred years, and they hired him to be bartender. He betrayed them."

  "Why would he steal from them?"

  "He must have had some venture he needed the capital for," Bill said absently. "And he was in a mainstreaming position. He couldn't just go out and kill a bank manager after hypnotizing him and persuading the man to give him the money. So he took it from Eric."

  "Wouldn't Eric have loaned it to him?"

  "If Long Shadow hadn't been too proud to ask, yes," Bill said.

  We had another long silence. Finally I said, "I always think of vampires as smarter than humans, but they're not, huh?"

  "Not always," he agreed.

  When we reached the outskirts of Bon Temps, I asked Bill to drop me off at home. He looked sideways at me, but didn't say anything. Maybe vampires were smarter than humans, after all.

  Chapter 10

  THE NEXT DAY, when I was getting ready for work, I realized I was definitely off vampires for a while. Even Bill.

  I was ready to remind myself I was a human.

  The trouble was, I had to notice that I was a changed human.

  It wasn't anything major. After the first infusion of Bill's blood on the night the Rats had beaten me, I'd felt healed, healthy, stronger. But not markedly different. Maybe more— well, sexier.

  After my second draft of Bill's blood, I'd felt really strong, and I'd been braver because I'd had more confidence. I felt more secure in my sexuality and its power. It seemed appar­ent I was handling my disability with more aplomb and capa­bility.

  I'd had Long Shadow's blood by accident. The next morn­ing, looking in the mirror, my teeth were whiter and sharper. My hair looked lighter and livelier, and my eyes were brighter. I looked like a poster girl for good hygiene, or some healthy cause like taking vitamins or drinking milk. The sav­age bite on my arm (Long Shadow's last bite on this earth, I realized) was not completely healed, but it was well on its way.

  Then my purse spilled as I picked it up, and my changerolled under the couch. I held up the end of the couch with one hand while with the other I retrieved the coins.

  Whoa.

  I straightened and took a deep breath. At least the sunlight didn't hurt my eyes, and I didn't want to bite everyone I saw. I'd enjoyed my breakfast toast, rather than longing for tomato juice. I wasn't turning into a vampire. Maybe I was sort of an enhanced human?

  Life had sure been simpler when I hadn't dated.

  When I got to Merlotte's, everything was ready except for slicing the lemons and limes. We served the fruit both with mixed drinks and with tea, and I got out the cutting board and a sharp knife. Lafayette was tying on his apron as I got the lemons from the big refrigerator.

  "You highlighted your hair, Sookie?"

  I shook my head. Under the enveloping white apron, La­fayette was a symphony of color; he was wearing a fuschia thin-strap tee, dark purple jeans, red thong sandals, and he had sort of raspberry eye shadow on.

  "It sure looks lighter," he said skeptically, raising his own plucked brows.

  "I've been out in the sun a lot," I assured him. Dawn had never gotten along with Lafayette, whether because he was black or because he was gay, I didn't know ... maybe both. Arlene and Charlsie just accepted the cook, but didn't go out of their ways to be friendly. But I'd always kind of liked Lafayette because he conducted what had to be a tough life with verve and grace.

  I looked down at the cutting board. All the lemons had been quartered. All the limes had been sliced. My hand was holding the knife, and it was wet with juices. I had done it without knowing it. In about thirty seconds. I closed my eyes. My God.

  When I opened them, Lafayette was staring from my face to my hands.

  "Tell me I didn't just see that, girlfriend," he suggested.

  "You didn't," I said. My voice was cool and level, I was surprised to note. "Excuse me, I got to put these away." I put the fruit in separate containers in the big cooler behind the bar where Sam kept the beer. When I shut the door, Sam was standing there, his arms crossed across his chest. He didn't look happy.

  "Are you all right?" he asked. His bright blue eyes scanned me up and down. "You do something to your hair?" he said uncertainly.

  I laughed. I realized that my guard had slid into place easily, that it didn't have to be a painful process. "Been out in the sun," I said. "What happened to your arm?"

  I looked down at my right forearm. I'd covered the bite with a bandage. "Dog bit me."

  "Had it had its shots?"

  "Sure."

  I looked up at Sam, not too far, and it seemed to me his wiry, curly, red-blond hair snapped with energy. It seemed to me I could hear his heart beating. I could feel his uncer­tainty, his desire. My body responded instantly. I focussed on his thin lips, and the rich smell of his aftershave filled my lungs. He moved two inches closer. I could feel the breath going in and out of his lungs. I knew his penis was stiffening. Then Charlsie Tooten came in the front door and slammed it behind her. We both took a step away from each other. Thank God for Charlsie, I thought. Plump, dumb, good-natured, and hardworking, Charlsie was a dream employee. Married to Ralph, her high school sweetheart, who worked at one of the chicken processing plants, Charlsie had a girl in the eleventh grade and a married daughter. Charlsie loved to work at the bar so she could get out and see people, and she had a knack for dealing with drunks that got them out the door without a fight.

  "Hi, you two!" she called cheerfully. Her dark brown hair (L'Oreal, Lafayette said) was pulled back dramatically to hang from the crown of her head in a cascade of ringlets. Her blouse was spotless and the pockets of her shorts gaped since the contents were too packe
d. Charlsie was wearing sheer black support hose and Keds, and her artificial nails were a sort of burgundy red.

  "That girl of mine is expecting. Just call me Grandma!" she said, and I could tell Charlsie was happy as a clam. I gave her the expected hug, and Sam patted her on the shoul­der. We were both glad to see her.

  "When is the baby due?" I asked, and Charlsie was off and running. I didn't have to say anything for the next five minutes. Then Arlene trailed in, makeup inexpertly covering the hickeys on her neck, and she listened to everything all over again. Once my eyes met Sam's, and after a little mo­ment, we looked away simultaneously.

  Then we began serving the lunchtime crowd, and the in­cident was over.

  Most people didn't drink much at lunchtime, maybe a beer or a glass of wine. A hefty proportion just had iced tea or water. The lunch crowd consisted of people who happened to be close to Merlotte's when the lunch hour came, people who were regulars and thought of it naturally, and the local alcoholics for whom their lunchtime drink was maybe the third or fourth. As I began to take orders, I remembered my brother's plea.

  I listened in all day, and it was gruelling. I'd never spent the day listening; I'd never let my guard down for so long. Maybe it wasn't as painful as it had been; maybe I felt cooler about what I was hearing. Sheriff Bud Dearborn was sitting at a table with the mayor, my grandmother's friend Sterling Norris. Mr. Norris patted me on the shoulder, standing up to do so, and I realized it was the first time I'd seen him since Gran's funeral.

  "How are you doing, Sookie?" he asked in a sympathetic voice. He was looking poorly, himself.

  "Just great, Mr. Norris. Yourself?"

  "I'm an old man, Sookie," he said with an uncertain smile. He didn't even wait for me to protest. "These murders are wearing me down. We haven't had a murder in Bon Temps since Darryl Mayhew shot Sue Mayhew. And there wasn't no mystery about that."

  'That was ... what? Six years ago?" I asked the sheriff, just to keep standing there. Mr. Norris was feeling so sad at seeing me because he was thinking my brother was going to be arrested for murder, for killing Maudette Pickens, and the mayor reckoned that meant Jason had most likely also killed Gran. I ducked my head to hide my eyes.

  "I guess so. Let's see, I remember we were dressed up for Jean-Anne's dance recital... so that was ... yes, you're right, Sookie, six years ago." The sheriff nodded at me with approval. "Jason been in today?" he asked casually, as if it were a mere afterthought.

  "No, haven't seen him," I said. The sheriff told me he wanted iced tea and a hamburger; and he was thinking of the time he'd caught Jason with his Jean-Anne, making out like crazy in the bed of Jason's pickup truck.

  Oh, Lord. He was thinking Jean-Anne was lucky she hadn't been strangled. And then he had a clear thought that cut me to the quick: Sheriff Dearborn thought, 'These girls are all bottom-feeders, anyway.'

  I could read his thought in its context because the sheriff happened to be an easy scan. I could feel the nuances of the idea. He was thinking, "Low-skill jobs, no college, screwing vampires ... bottom of the barrel."

  Hurt and angry didn't begin to describe how I felt at this assessment.

  I went from table to table automatically, fetching drinks and sandwiches and clearing up the remainders, working as hard as I usually did, with that awful smile stretching my face. I talked to twenty people I knew, most of whom had thoughts as innocent as the day is long. Most customers were thinking of work, or tasks they had to get done at home, or some little problem they needed to solve, like getting the Sears repairman to come work on the dishwasher or getting the house clean for weekend company.

  Arlene was relieved her period had started.

  Charlsie was immersed in pink glowing reflections on her shot at immortality, her grandchild. She was praying earn­estly for an easy pregnancy and safe delivery for her daugh­ter.

  Lafayette was thinking that working with me was getting spooky.

  Policeman Kevin Pryor was wondering what his partner Kenya was doing on her day off. He himself was helping his mother clean out the tool shed and hating every minute of it.

  I heard many comments, both aloud and unspoken, about my hair and complexion and the bandage on my arm. I seemed more desirable to more men, and one woman. Some of the guys who'd gone on the vampire burning expedition were thinking they didn't have a chance with me because of my vampire sympathies, and they were regretting their im­pulsive act. I marked their identities in my mind. I wasn't going to forget they could have killed my Bill, even though at the moment the rest of the vampire community was low on my list of favorite things.

  Andy Bellefleur and his sister, Portia, were having lunch together, something they did at least once every week. Portia was a female version of Andy: medium height, blocky build, determined mouth and jaw. The resemblance between brother and sister favored Andy, not Portia. She was a very com­petent lawyer, I'd heard. I might have suggested her to Jason when he was thinking he'd need an attorney, if she'd not been female ... and I'd been thinking about Portia's welfare more than Jason's.

  Today the lawyer was feeling inwardly depressed because she was educated and made good money, but never had a date. That was her inner preoccupation.

  Andy was disgusted with my continued association with Bill Compton, interested in my improved appearance, and curious about how vampires had sex. He also was feeling sorry he was probably going to arrest Jason. He was thinking that the case against Jason was not much stronger than that against several other men, but Jason was the one who looked the most scared, which meant he had something to hide. And there were the videos, which showed Jason having sex—not exactly regular, garden-variety sex—with Maudette and Dawn.

  I stared at Andy while I processed his thoughts, which made him uneasy. Andy really did know what I was capable of. "Sookie, you going to get that beer?" he asked finally, waving a broad hand in the air to make sure he had my attention.

  "Sure, Andy," I said absently, and got one out of the cooler. "You need any more tea, Portia?"

  "No, thanks, Sookie," Portia said politely, patting her mouth with her paper napkin. Portia was remembering highschool, when she would have sold her soul for a date with the gorgeous Jason Stackhouse. She was wondering what Ja­son was doing now, if he had a thought in his head that would interest her—maybe his body would be worth the sac­rifice of intellectual companionship? So Portia hadn't seen the tapes, didn't know of their existence; Andy was being a good cop.

  I tried to picture Portia with Jason, and I couldn't help smiling. That would be an experience for both of them. I wished, not for the first time, that I could plant ideas as well as reap them.

  By the end of my shift, I'd learned—nothing. Except that the videos my brother had so unwisely made featured mild bondage, which caused Andy to think of the ligature marks around the victims' necks.

  So, taken as a whole, letting my head open for my brother had been a futile exercise. All I'd heard tended to make me worry more and didn't supply any additional information that might help his cause.

  A different crowd would come in tonight. I had never come to Merlotte's just for fun. Should I come in tonight? What would Bill do? Did I want to see him?

  I felt friendless. There was no one I could talk to about Bill, no one who wouldn't be halfway shocked I was seeing him in the first place. How could I tell Arlene I was blue because Bill's vampire buddies were terrifying and ruthless, that one of them had bitten me the night before, bled into my mouth, been staked on top of me? This was not the kind of problem Arlene was equipped to handle. I couldn't think of anyone who was. I couldn't recall anyone dating a vampire who wasn't an indiscriminate vampire groupie, a fang-banger who would go with just any bloodsucker.

  By the time I left work, my enhanced physical appearance no longer had the power to make me confident. I felt like a freak.

  I puttered around the house, took a short nap, watered Gran's flowers. Toward dusk, I ate something I'd nuked in the microwave. Wavering up until the las
t moment aboutgoing out, I finally put on a red shirt and white slacks and some jewelry and drove back to Merlotte's.

  It felt very strange entering as a customer. Sam was back behind the bar, and his eyebrows went up as he marked my entrance. Three waitresses I knew by sight were working tonight, and a different cook was grilling hamburgers, I saw through the serving hatch.

  Jason was at the bar. For a wonder, the stool next to him was empty, and I eased onto it.

  He turned to me with his face set for a new woman: mouth loose and smiling, eyes bright and wide. When he saw it was me, his expression underwent a comical change. "What the hell are you doing here, Sookie?" he asked, his voice indig­nant.

  "You'd think you weren't glad to see me," I remarked. When Sam paused in front of me, I asked him for a bourbon and coke, without meeting his eyes. "I did what you told me to do, and so far nothing," I whispered to my brother. "I came in here tonight to try some more people."

  "Thanks, Sookie," he said, after a long pause. "I guess I didn't realize what I was asking. Hey, is something different about your hair?"

  He even paid for my drink when Sam slid it in front of me.

  We didn't seem to have much to talk about, which was actually okay, since I was trying to listen to the other cus­tomers. There were a few strangers, and I scanned them first, to see if they were possible suspects. It didn't seem they were, I decided reluctantly. One was thinking hard about how much he missed his wife, and the subtext was that he was faithful to her. One was thinking about it being his first time here, and the drinks were good. Another was just concen­trating on sitting up straight and hoping he could drive back to the motel.