Sookie Stackhouse 8-copy Boxed Set

by Charlaine Harris

  “I think I can manage my own grooming, if you wouldn’t mind heating up some blood in the microwave—of course, for yourself as well. I’m sorry, I wasn’t being polite.”

  Pam gave me a skeptical look, but trotted off to the kitchen without further comment. I listened for a minute to make sure she knew how to operate a microwave, and I heard reassuringly unhesitating beeps as she punched in the numbers and hit Start.

  Slowly and painfully, I washed off in the sink, brushed my hair and teeth, and put on some silky pink pajamas and a matching robe and slippers. I wished I had the energy to dress, but I just couldn’t face underwear and socks and shoes.

  There was no point putting on makeup over the bruises. There was no way I could cover them. In fact, I wondered why I’d gotten up from the couch to put myself through this much pain. I looked in the mirror and told myself I was an idiot to make any preparation for their arrival. I was just plain primping. Given my overall misery (mental and physical), my behavior was ridiculous. I was sorry I had felt the impulse, and even sorrier Pam had witnessed it.

  But the first male caller I had was Bubba.

  He was all decked out. The vampires of Jackson had enjoyed Bubba’s company, it was apparent. Bubba was wearing a red jumpsuit with rhinestones on it (I wasn’t too surprised one of the boy toys at the mansion had had one) complete with wide belt and half boots. Bubba looked good.

  He didn’t seem pleased, though. He seemed apologetic. “Miss Sookie, I’m sorry I lost you last night,” he said right away. He brushed past Pam, who looked surprised. “I see something awful happened to you last night, and I wasn’t there to stop it like Eric told me to be. I was having a good time in Jackson, those guys there really know how to throw themselves a party.”

  I had an idea, a blindingly simple idea. If I’d been in a comic strip, it would have shown itself as a lightning bolt over my head. “You’ve been watching me every night,” I said, as gently as I could, trying hard to keep all excitement out of my voice. “Right?”

  “Yes’m, ever since Mr. Eric told me to.” He was standing straighter, his head full of carefully combed hair gelled into the familiar style. The guys at Russell’s mansion had really worked hard on him.

  “So you were out there the night we came back from the club? The first night?”

  “You bet, Miss Sookie.”

  “Did you see anyone else outside the apartment?”

  “I sure did.” He looked proud.

  Oh, boy. “Was this a guy in gang leathers?”

  He looked surprised. “Yes’m, it was that guy hurt you in the bar. I seen him when the doorman threw him out back. Some of his buddies came around back there, and they were talking about what had happened. So I knew he’d offended you. Mr. Eric said not to come up to you or him in public, so I didn’t. But I followed you back to the apartment, in that truck. Bet you didn’t even know I was in the back.”

  “No, I sure didn’t know you were in the back of the pickup. That was real smart. Now tell me, when you saw the Were later, what was he doing?”

  “He had picked the lock on the apartment door by the time I snuck up behind him. I just barely caught that sucker in time.”

  “What did you do with him?” I smiled at Bubba.

  “I broke his neck and stuffed him in the closet,” Bubba said proudly. “I didn’t have time to take the body anywhere, and I figured you and Mr. Eric could figure out what to do about it.”

  I had to look away. So simple. So direct. Solving that mystery had just taken asking the right person the right question.

  Why hadn’t we thought of it? You couldn’t give Bubba orders and expect him to adapt them to circumstances. Quite possibly, he had saved my life by killing Jerry Falcon, since my bedroom was the first one the Were would have come to. I had been so tired when I finally got to bed, I might not have woken until it was too late.

  Pam had been looking back and forth between us with a question on her face. I held up a hand to indicate I’d explain later, and I made myself smile at Bubba and tell him he’d done the right thing. “Eric will be so pleased,” I said. And telling Alcide would be an interesting experience.

  Bubba’s whole face relaxed. He smiled, that upper lip curling just a little. “I’m glad to hear you say so,” he said. “You got any blood? I’m mighty thirsty.”

  “Sure,” I said. Pam was thoughtful enough to fetch the blood, and Bubba took a big swig.

  “Not as good as a cat’s,” he observed. “But mighty fine just the same. Thank you, thank you very much.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  WHAT A COZY evening it was turning out to be—yours truly and four vampires, after Bill and Eric arrived separately but almost simultaneously. Just me and my buds, hanging at the house.

  Bill insisted on braiding my hair for me, just so he could show his familiarity with my house and habits by going in the bathroom and getting my box of hair doodads. Then he put me on the ottoman in front of him as he sat behind me to brush and fix my hair. I have always found this a very soothing process, and it aroused memories of another evening Bill and I had begun just about the same way, with a fabulous finale. Of course, Bill was well aware he was pushing those memories to the fore.

  Eric observed this with the air of one taking notes, and Pam sneered openly. I could not for the life of me understand why they all had to be here at the same time, and why they all didn’t get sick of one another—and me—and go away. After a few minutes of having a comparative crowd in my house, I longed to be alone once more. Why had I thought I was lonely?

  Bubba left fairly quickly, anxious to do some hunting. I didn’t want to think too closely about that. When he’d left, I was able to tell the other vampires about what had really happened to Jerry Falcon.

  Eric didn’t seem too upset that his directions to Bubba had caused the death of Jerry Falcon, and I’d already admitted to myself that I couldn’t be too wrought up about it, either. If it came down to him, or me, well, I liked me better. Bill was indifferent to Jerry’s fate, and Pam thought the whole thing was funny.

  “That he followed you to Jackson, when his instructions were just for here, for one night . . . that he kept following his instructions, no matter what! It’s not very vampiric, but he’s certainly a good soldier.”

  “It would have been much better if he’d told Sookie what he’d done and why he’d done it,” Eric observed.

  “Yes, a note would have been nice,” I said sarcastically. “Anything would have been better than opening that closet and finding the body stuffed in there.”

  Pam hooted with laughter. I’d really found the way to tickle her funny bone. Wonderful.

  “I can just see your face,” she said. “You and the Were had to hide the body? That’s priceless.”

  “I wish I’d known all this when Alcide was here today,” I said. I’d closed my eyes when the full effect of the hair brushing had soothed me. But the sudden silence was delightful. At last, I was getting to amuse my own self a little bit.

  Eric said, “Alcide Herveaux came here?”

  “Yeah, he brought my bag. He stayed to help me out, seeing as how I’m banged up.”

  When I opened my eyes, because Bill had quit brushing, I caught Pam’s eyes. She winked at me. I gave her a tiny smile.

  “I unpacked your bag for you, Sookie,” Pam said smoothly. “Where did you get that beautiful velvet shawl-thing?”

  I pressed my lips together firmly. “Well, my first evening wrap got ruined at Club—I mean, at Josephine’s. Alcide very kindly went shopping and bought it to surprise me . . . he said he felt responsible for the first one getting burned.” I was delighted I’d carried it up to the apartment from its place on the front seat of the Lincoln. I didn’t remember doing that.

  “He has excellent taste, for a Were,” Pam conceded. “If I borrow your red dress, can I borrow the shawl, too?”

  I hadn’t known Pam and I were on clothes-swapping terms. She was definitely up to mischief. “Sure,” I said. />
  Shortly after that, Pam said she was leaving. “I think I’ll run home through the woods,” she said. “I feel like experiencing the night.”

  “You’ll run all the way back to Shreveport?” I said, astonished.

  “It won’t be the first time,” she said. “Oh, by the way, Bill, the queen called Fangtasia this evening to find out why you are late with her little job. She had been unable to reach you at your home for several nights, she said.”

  Bill resumed brushing my hair. “I will call her back later,” he said. “From my place. She’ll be glad to hear that I’ve completed it.”

  “You nearly lost everything,” Eric said, his sudden outburst startling everyone in the room.

  Pam slipped out the front door after she’d looked from Eric to Bill. That kind of scared me.

  “Yes, I’m well aware of that,” Bill said. His voice, always cool and sweet, was absolutely frigid. Eric, on the other hand, tended toward the fiery.

  “You were a fool to take up with that she-demon again,” Eric said.

  “Hey, guys, I’m sitting right here,” I said.

  They both glared at me. They seemed determined to finish this quarrel, and I figured I would leave them to go at it. Once they were outside. I hadn’t thanked Eric for the driveway yet, and I wanted to, but tonight was maybe not the time.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’d hoped to avoid this, but . . . Bill, I rescind your invitation into my house.” Bill began walking backward to the door, a helpless look on his face, and my brush still in his hand. Eric grinned at him triumphantly. “Eric,” I said, and his smile faded. “I rescind your invitation into my house.” And backward he went, out my door and off my porch. The door slammed shut behind (or maybe in front of?) them.

  I sat on the ottoman, feeling relief beyond words at the sudden silence. And all of a sudden, I realized that the computer program so desired by the queen of Louisiana, the computer program that had cost lives and the ruin of my relationship with Bill, was in my house . . . which not Eric, or Bill, or even the queen, could enter without my say-so.

  I hadn’t laughed so hard in weeks.

  About the Author

  Charlaine Harris has produced two mystery series in addition to her Sookie Stackhouse books. She lives in southern Arkansas with her husband, three children, two dogs, two ferrets, and a duck. An avid reader, mild cinemaphile, and occasional weightlifter, her favorite activity is cheering her children on in various sports while sitting on uncomfortable bleachers. Her website is www.charlaineharris.com.

  DEAD TO THE WORLD

  Ace books by Charlaine Harris

  DEAD UNTIL DARK

  LIVING DEAD IN DALLAS

  CLUB DEAD

  DEAD TO THE WORLD

  Berkley Prime Crime books by Charlaine Harris

  SHAKESPEARE’S TROLLOP

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  DEAD TO THE WORLD

  AN ACE Book / published by arrangement with the author

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2003 by The ACE Publishing Group.

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by

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  Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes

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  For information address:

  The ACE Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

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  ISBN: 0-7865-4849-5

  AN ACE BOOK®

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  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ACE and the “A” design are trademarks belonging to

  Penguin Putnam Inc.

  Electronic edition: July 2004

  Though they’ll probably never read it, this book is dedicated to all the coaches—baseball, football, volleyball, soccer—who’ve worked through so many years, often for no monetary reward, to coax athletic performances out of my children and to instill in them an understanding of The Game. God bless you all, and thanks from one of the moms who crowds the stands through rain, cold, heat, and mosquitoes.

  However, this mom always wonders who else might be watching the night games.

  My thanks to Wiccans who answered my call for knowledge with more information than I could use—Maria Lima, Sandilee Lloyd, Holly Nelson, Jean Hontz, and M. R. “Murv” Sellars. I owe further thanks to other experts in different fields: Kevin Ryer, who knows more about feral hogs than most people do about their own pets; Dr. D. P. Lyle, who is so gracious about answering medical questions; and, of course, Doris Ann Norris, reference librarian to the stars.

  If I have made mistakes in the use of the knowledge these kind people imparted, I’ll do my best to somehow blame it on them.

  I FOUND THE NOTE TAPED TO MY DOOR WHEN I GOT home from work. I’d had the lunch-to-early-evening shift at Merlotte’s, but since we were at the tail end of December, the day darkened early. So Bill, my former boyfriend—that’s Bill Compton, or Vampire Bill, as most of the regulars at Merlotte’s call him—must have left his message within the previous hour. He can’t get up until dark.

  I hadn’t seen Bill in over a week, and our parting hadn’t been a happy one. But touching the envelope with my name written on it made me feel miserable. You’d think—though I’m twenty-six—I’d never had, and lost, a boyfriend before.

  You’d be right.

  Normal guys don’t want to date someone as strange as I am. People have been saying I’m messed up in the head since I started school.

  They’re right.

  That’s not to say I don’t get groped at the bar occasionally. Guys get drunk. I look good. They forget their misgivings about my reputation for strangeness and my ever-present smile.

  But only Bill has ever gotten close to me in an intimate way. Parting from him had hurt me bad.

  I waited to open the envelope until I was sitting at the old, scarred kitchen table. I still had my coat on, though I’d shucked my gloves.

  Dearest Sookie—I wanted to come over to talk to you when you had somewhat recovered from the unfortunate events of earlier this month.

  “Unfortunate events,” my round rear end. The bruises had finally faded, but I had a knee that still ached in the cold, and I suspected that it always would. Every injury I had incurred had been in the course of rescuing my cheating boyfriend from his imprisonment by a group of vampires that included his former flame, Lorena. I had yet to figure out why Bill had been so infatuated with Lorena that he’d answered her summons to Mississippi.

  Probably, you have a lot of questions about what happened.

  Damn straight.

  If you’ll talk to me face-to-face, come to the front door and let me in.

  Yikes. I hadn’t seen that one coming. I pondered for a minute. Deciding that while I didn’t trust Bill anymore, I didn’t believe that he would physically harm me, I went back through the house to the front door. I opened it and called, “Okay, come on in.”

  He emerged from the woods surrounding the clearing in which my old house stood. I ached at the sight of him. Bill was broad-shouldered and lean from his life of farming the land next to mine. He was hard and tough from his years as a Confederate soldier, before his death in 1867. Bill’s nose was straight off a Greek vase. His hair was dark brown and clipped close to his head, and his eyes were just as dark. He looked exactly the same as he had while we were dating, and he always would.

  He hesitated before he crossed the threshold, but I
’d given him permission, and I moved aside so he could step past me into the living room filled with old, comfortable furniture and neat as a pin.

  “Thank you,” he said in his cold, smooth voice, a voice that still gave me a twinge of sheer lust. Many things had gone wrong between us, but they hadn’t started in bed. “I wanted to talk to you before I left.”

  “Where are you going?” I tried to sound as calm as he.

  “To Peru. The queen’s orders.”

  “Still working on your, ah, database?” I knew almost nothing about computers, but Bill had studied hard to make himself computer literate.

  “Yes. I’ve got a little more research to do. A very old vampire in Lima has a great fund of knowledge about those of our race on his continent, and I have an appointment to confer with him. I’ll do some sight-seeing while I’m down there.”

  I fought the urge to offer Bill a bottle of synthetic blood, which would have been the hospitable thing to do. “Have a seat,” I said curtly, and nodded at the sofa. I sat on the edge of the old recliner catty-cornered to it. Then a silence fell, a silence that made me even more conscious of how unhappy I was.

  “How’s Bubba?” I asked finally.

  “He’s in New Orleans right now,” Bill said. “The queen likes to keep him around from time to time, and he was so visible here over the last month that it seemed like a good idea to take him elsewhere. He’ll be back soon.”

  You’d recognize Bubba if you saw him; everyone knows his face. But he hadn’t been “brought over” too successfully. Probably the morgue attendant, who happened to be a vampire, should have ignored the tiny spark of life. But since he was a great fan, he hadn’t been able to resist the attempt, and now the entire southern vampire community shuffled Bubba around and tried to keep him from public view.