Dead Ever After ss-13

by Charlaine Harris

  “Barry’s got demon blood and he’s a telepath. Why can I read his mind and not yours?” I asked him out of the blue.

  “Because your power was a gift from me to Fintan’s lineage. You’re not my child as Pam and Karin are Eric’s, but the result is somewhat the same. I’m not your maker; I’m more like your godfather or your teacher.”

  “Without ever actually teaching me anything,” I said, and then winced when I heard how accusing that sounded.

  He didn’t seem to take offense. “It’s true, perhaps I failed you in that respect,” Desmond Cataliades said. “I tried to make up for it in other ways. For example, I’m here now, which is probably more effective than any attempt I might have made when you were a child to explain myself to your parents and tell them they had to trust me alone with you.”

  There was a pregnant silence.

  “Good point,” I said. “That would not have flown.”

  “Plus, I had my own children to raise, and pardon me if they took precedence over the human descendants of my friend Fintan.”

  “I get that, too,” I said. “I am glad you’re here now, and I’m glad you’re helping.” If I sounded a little stiff, it was because I was getting tired of the need to thank people for helping me out of trouble, because I was tired of getting in trouble.

  “You are very welcome. It’s been most entertaining for Diantha and myself,” he said ponderously, and we went our separate ways.

  Chapter 20

  The demons departed the next morning before I got up. They left me a note on the kitchen table to the effect that they were going to comb Bon Temps to look for traces of Barry. It was kind of nice to have a morning to myself again and to prepare breakfast only for myself. It was Monday and Sam had called to say Holly was working in my place. I’d started to protest that I could work, but in the end I just said, “Thanks.” I didn’t want to answer questions about the shooting. Give the excitement a week to die down.

  I knew exactly what I did want to do. I put on my black and white bikini, slathered myself with lotion, and went outside wearing dark glasses and carrying a book. Of course it was hot, really hot, and the blue sky was decorated with only a few random clouds. Insects hummed and buzzed, and the Stackhouse yard bloomed and bloomed with flowers and fruit and all sorts of vegetation. It was like living in a botanical garden, except without the gardeners to keep the yard mowed.

  I relaxed on my old chaise and let the warmth soak into me. After five minutes, I flipped over.

  In the way your brain will work hard to keep you from being 100 percent content, the notion suddenly popped into my head that it would be nice to listen to my iPod, a belated birthday gift from me to me, but I’d left it in my locker at Merlotte’s. Instead of going inside to get my old radio, I lay there and let the lack of the iPod nag at me. I thought, If I just jump in the car, I can be back here listening to music in twenty minutes, tops. Finally, after saying “Dammit” a few times, I dashed in the house, pulled on a sleeveless gauze cover-up and buttoned it, slid into my flip-flops, and grabbed my keys. As often happened, I didn’t meet a single car on my way to the bar. Sam’s truck was parked at his trailer, but I figured he must need some rest and recuperation as much as I did, so I didn’t stop. I unlocked the back door of the bar and trotted in to my locker. I didn’t meet anyone along the way, and from the low buzz I could hear and the visual aid of very few cars in the parking lot, I could tell we were having a slow day. I was out in less than a minute.

  I’d tossed the iPod through the open window of my car and was about to open the door when a voice said, “Sookie? What you doing?”

  I looked around and spotted Sam. He was in his yard, and he’d just straightened up from raking twigs and leaves.

  “Getting my iPod,” I said. “What about you?”

  “The rain knocked down some stuff, and this is the first chance I’ve had to get it cleaned up.” He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and the blond-red hairs on his chest shone in the bright light. Of course, he was sweating. He looked relaxed and peaceful.

  “Your shoulder,” he said, nodding at it. “How come it’s looking so good?”

  “Pam came by,” I said. “She was celebrating being made sheriff.”

  “That’s good news,” he said, while he went over to his garbage can and dumped the armful of trash in. I glanced down at my shoulder. It still showed reddened dimples and it was tender, but it was maybe two weeks better than it should have been. “You and Pam have always gotten along good.”

  I went over to the hedge. “Yeah, some good news for a change. Ummm . . . your hedge is looking nice and even.”

  “I just gave it a little trim,” he said self-consciously. “I know people laugh about it.”

  “It looks great,” I assured him. Sam had made a double-wide into a little slice of suburbia.

  I stepped through the gate in the hedge, my flip-flops thwacking on the pavers Sam had laid to form a path. He propped his rake against the only tree in his yard, a small oak. I looked more closely at him. “You got stuff in your hair,” I said, and he tilted his head down to me. His hair was always such a tangle, of course he wouldn’t have even felt anything in there. I removed one twig with great care, then extricated a leaf. I had to get very close to do that. Gradually, as I worked, I became aware that Sam was standing absolutely still. The air was still, too. A mockingbird did his best to sing louder than all the other birds. A yellow butterfly drifted through the air and landed on the hedge.

  Sam’s hand came up to take mine the next time I reached up to his hair. He held it against his chest, and he looked at me. I came a few inches closer. He bent his head and kissed me. The air around us seemed to tremble in the heat.

  After a long, long kiss, Sam came up for air. “All right?” he asked quietly.

  I nodded. “All right,” I whispered, and our lips touched again, this time with more fire. I was completely pressed up against him now, and with only a bikini and a gauze cover-up on me and shorts on him, we were sharing plenty of skin. Hot, oily, scented skin. Sam made a noise deep in his throat that sounded suspiciously like a growl.

  “You mean it?” he asked.

  “I do,” I said, and the kiss deepened, though I hadn’t thought that possible. This was so fireworks and Fourth of July and oh my God I wanted him so bad. I thought if we didn’t get down to it soon I was going to explode, and not in the way I needed to.

  “Please don’t change your mind,” he said, and began walking me back to the trailer. “I think I’d have to go out and shoot something.”

  “Not gonna happen,” I said, working at the button on his shorts. He said, “Hold up your arms,” and I did, and the gauze cover-up was history. We’d made it to the trailer door, and he reached behind me to turn the knob. We tumbled into the dark interior of the trailer, and though I paused by the couch, he said, “No, a real bed.” He picked me up and turned sideways to get us through the narrow trailer hall, and then we were in his bedroom and there was indeed a bed, in fact a king-sized one.

  “Yay,” I said as he laid me on the bed and joined me, practically in one movement, and then I couldn’t say another word, though I was thinking plenty of them, one-syllable words like good please again dick long hard. My bikini bra was history, and he was so happy with my breasts. “I knew they’d be even better than I remembered,” he said. “I am so . . . wow.” And while he was busy with those, he was working with the bikini bottom, which proved Sam could multitask. I was freeing him from the ancient cutoffs he’d been wearing, and they might have had a new hole or two by the time I finally skinned them down his legs and tossed them off the bed. “Can’t wait,” I said. “You ready?” He fumbled in his night table drawer.

  “I’ve been ready for years,” he told me, and he rolled on a condom and plunged in.

  Oh my God, it was so good. The years of experience of my vampire lovers might have made them skillful, but there is so much to say for sheer heartfelt enthusiasm; and the heat of Sam, the warmth of him, it
was like the sun was soaking into my body. The tanning lotion and the sweat meant we slid against each other like seals, and it was wonderful all the way to the shuddering, straining climax.

  Would we have ended up making the best love ever if we both hadn’t been altered by the magic of the cluviel dor, if Sam had never died and I had never brought him back?

  I don’t know and I don’t care.

  The air-conditioned cool of the trailer was heaven after the heat of our joining. I shivered with the cooling of my skin and the aftershocks of the explosion.

  “Don’t even think of asking if it was good for me,” I said in a limp voice, and he laughed breathlessly.

  “If I lie very still for about four hours, I might be ready to see if we could match the experience,” he said.

  “I can’t even think about that right now,” I said. “I feel like I just plowed the back forty with a team of mules.”

  “If that’s a euphemism, I can’t figure it out,” he said. The best I could manage was a feeble giggle.

  Sam rolled to his side to face me, and I mimicked his move. He put his arm around me. I could feel him get ready to say something at least three times, but every time he’d relax, as if he’d thought the better of it.

  “What do you want to tell me that’s taking you so long?” I asked.

  “I keep thinking of things to say and deciding not to,” Sam said. “Like, I hope we can do this again, and lots. Like, I hope this was something you wanted as much as I did. Like . . . I hope this is the beginning of something and not just . . . recreation. But you aren’t casual about who you decide to go to bed with.”

  I thought carefully before I spoke. “I wanted to do this a lot,” I said. “I’ve put you off forever, because I didn’t want to lose the good thing I had in my job and your friendship. But I’ve always thought you’re wonderful, a great man.” I ran my thumbnail down his back, and he did a little shivering of his own. “Now I think you’re even greater.” I kissed his neck. “It’s awful soon after the ending of my relationship with Eric. For that reason, if no other, I’d like to take the heart-to-hearts slow. As we said when we first talked about this.”

  I could feel him smiling against my forehead. “Are you saying you want us to have wild, insane sex and not talk about a relationship? Are you aware that’s most guys’ dream?”

  “I’m real aware of that, believe me,” I said. “Telepath, remember? But I know there’s more to you than that, Sam. I’m giving you respect, and I’m giving myself some time to make sure I’m not rebounding.”

  “Speaking of rebounding . . .” Sam guided my hand down to his shaft, which was already well on its way to being up for activity. He didn’t need four hours after all.

  “I don’t know,” I said, considering. “This seems more like a ricochet.”

  “I’ll ricochet you,” he said, grinning.

  And he did.

  Back in my own bathroom later that afternoon, I took my own sweet time soaking in a hot tub. My favorite bath oil scented the air pleasantly as I shaved my legs. Though I’d been tempted to linger in Sam’s bed all day, I’d made myself get up and go home . . . to get ready for our date.

  Sam had agreed to come line dancing with me tonight, which was a happy thing for many reasons. For one thing, I was excited about spending time with him now that we’d smashed down a huge barrier. For another thing, it would be nice not to be a third wheel with Jason and Michele. For a third thing, I hadn’t heard a word from Mr. Cataliades or Diantha, so I was still in the dark about where Barry was and what he was doing, and I didn’t want to sit at home thinking about what his absence might mean.

  And here’s my selfish confession: I was so happy, while I was soaking in the bathtub, that I almost resented having to worry about something, since I wanted to just roll in the pleasure of the moment.

  I reminded myself in severe terms that my previous lover had barely left town and that it was absurd for a grown woman to plunge into something else so quickly. And I’d told Sam we were going to go slow about making promises and commitments to each other. I meant those things. But that didn’t mean the physical release and the excitement of having great sex with Sam wasn’t completely satisfying.

  I shaved my legs and curled my hair and got my cowboy boots out of the closet. I’d had them for years, and since I wasn’t an actual cowgirl, they were still in really good shape. Black and white with red roses and green vines: I was proud every time I looked at them. I could go fundamental cowgirl with tight jeans and a sleeveless shirt, or I could go flirty dance hall with a full short skirt and an off-the-shoulder blouse. Hmmm.

  Yep, flirty dance hall it was. I made my hair big and ripply, and put on my push-up bra to make my assets look outstanding and tan under the off-the-shoulder white eyelet blouse. The red-and-black-roses skirt swung with every step. I felt so good. I knew I would have to go back to my troubles and worries the next morning, but I was enjoying taking a little break from them tonight.

  I’d called Michele, and we were meeting her and Jason at Stompin’ Sally’s, a big western bar out in the middle of the country twenty miles south of Bon Temps. I’d been to the bar/dance hall only twice in my life, once with JB du Rone and Tara back in our younger years, and once with some guy whose name I couldn’t even recall.

  Sam and I got there about ten minutes late because we’d been a little shy at meeting again after our amazing encounter, and he’d wanted to break the ice by making out a little. I’d had to remind him sternly that we were going out tonight, not staying in.

  “You were the one who said no love talk,” Sam said, his sharp teeth nipping my earlobe delightfully. “I’m willing to go there. Roses. Moonlight. Your lips.”

  “No, no,” I said, pushing him away, but quite gently. “No, buster, we’re going to go dancing. You start up this truck.”

  In an instant, we were going down the driveway. Sam knew when I was serious. During the drive, he wanted an update on the overall picture, and I described the evening before, including Karin’s yearlong mission and the fact that I’d turned over Copley Carmichael to the vampires.

  “Good Lord,” he said. I braced myself to receive his condemnation of my action. After a moment, he said, “Sookie, I didn’t know that soulless people can’t be glamoured. Huh!”

  “Got anything else to say?” I asked nervously.

  “You know, I never did like Eric. But I’ve got to say that if he was fool enough to leave you for a dead woman, he did try to make life a little easier for you. End of subject.”

  After a pause, I let out my breath, and I asked Sam if he could line dance.

  “You just watch me,” he said. “You notice I’m wearing my cowboy boots.”

  I made a derisive sound. “You wear cowboy boots about half the time,” I said. “Big whoop.”

  “Hey, I’m from Texas,” he protested, and the conversation got even more trivial from there.

  Stompin’ Sally’s was out in the middle of a field, and it was a big place. It had its own brand of fame. The parking lot was huge. A lot of pickup trucks, a lot of SUVs. Big garbage cans set at strategic intervals. Some lights, not quite enough. I spotted Jason’s truck two rows closer to the entrance, so we started in. Sam insisted on walking behind me to admire the way the skirt swayed, until I reached back with my hand and caught his, drawing him to my side. Xavier, Sally’s bouncer, was western from head to toe, including a white hat. He gave us a smile and wave as Sam paid our cover charge.

  In the dim, noisy cavern of the dance hall, we finally tracked down Jason and Michele. Michele had gone the tight-jeans-and-tube-top route, and she looked delicious. Jason, his blond hair carefully combed and styled, hadn’t decided on the cowboy hat, but he was ready to dance. That’s one ability both Jason and I inherited from our mom and dad. We sat down at the table, watching the dancing, for a while until we’d each had a drink. There are a hundred versions of “Cotton-Eyed Joe,” and one of my favorites was playing. My feet began to itch to get out
on the dance floor. Jason was getting that itch, too; I could tell by the way his knees were jiggling.

  “Let’s dance,” I called to Sam. Though he was right next to me, a raised voice was necessary. Sam was looking a little worried as he eyed the dancers. “I’m not that good,” he called back. “Why don’t you and Jason take a turn while me and Michele admire you?” Michele, who was able to hear the gist of the exchange, smiled and pushed Jason, so my brother and I went out onto the dance floor. I saw Sam watching, smiling, and I felt truly happy. I knew it might be only for a moment, but I was willing to take it when I could get it.

  Jason and I stomped and sashayed and moved smoothly through all the steps in good synchronization, beaming at each other. We started out side by side, me in the outer ring, Jason in the inner, and as we circled, we moved away from Sam and Michele’s table at the back of the big room, and closer to the door. When the inner circle rotated a bit, I looked to my left to see my new partner—and recognized the Reverend Steve Newlin.

  The shock almost knocked me down, and I lunged away from him with no plan except to put distance between us. But someone stopped me. An iron grip caught my arm and pulled me toward the door. Johan Glassport was much stronger than he looked, and before I knew it, I was on my way out into the parking lot. “Help!” I yelled to the big bouncer, and Xavier’s eyes widened and he stepped forward, his hand extended to Glassport’s shoulder. Without slowing down, Glassport shoved a knife into the poor man and yanked it out, and I filled my lungs with air and screamed like a banshee. I drew plenty of attention, but too late. From behind me, Newlin shoved me out the door, and Glassport dragged me to the van waiting there, engine idling.

  He pulled the side door open and shoved me inside, launching himself in on top of me. From the flurry of knees and elbows, I could tell Glassport had jumped into the van, too. We took off. I could hear yelling behind us and even a gunshot.