yesterday was the release day for the redesigned edition of succubus blues by Richelle mead. new cover, compact size, lower price.
and ofcourse same book, for those who might think it's something else!
for those who didn't buy it yet, or knows someone that would like it as a gift, it's your chance. (:
Playing favorites with vampires and their authors
Wednesday, August 4, 2010 | Labels: Fantasy, News, vote and support, votesThere is another voting thingie going on.
and it's for vampire novels, and their authors , so if you wish to vote for your fav, just go here.
Richelle Mead is the one with most votes (until now)- (the author of vampire academy series, and few more)
my vote was for her as well. (:
Someone Will Be with You Shortly: Notes from a Perfectly Imperfect Life
Tuesday, August 3, 2010 | Labels: discriptions, Lisa Kogan, summaries
Someone Will Be with You Shortly: Notes from a Perfectly Imperfect Life
By Lisa Kogan
208 pages; HarperStudio
Fans of Lisa Kogan's column in this very magazine will revel in the characteristic deadpan wit on display in her first book, Someone Will Be with You Shortly. Like the bit of banter you don't think of until ten minutes after the dinner party has broken up, Kogan's riffs on motherhood, politics, relationships, and life itself are what we wish we'd said, only sharper and funnier. ("Johannes and I are not married in the eyes of the law," she writes about her daughter's father, who lives in Switzerland, "[but] we have privately vowed to irritate each other for as long as we both shall live.") This is good stuff. And believe us: We're not just saying that because her office is down the hall.
The Summer We Read Gatsby
| Labels: Danielle Ganek, discriptions, summaries, The summer we read gatsby
The Summer We Read Gatsby
By Danielle Ganek
304 pages; Viking
A sophisticated comedy of manners about a wealthy family torn apart and brought together by the contents of a will. A bit over-the-top and rarified—as befits both the title reference and the author's history. Ganek wrote about the chi-chi New York arts scene in Lulu Meets God and Doubts Him. — Sara Nelson
Father of the Rain
By Lily King
384 pages; Atlantic
Early in Father of the Rain, 11-year-old Daley experiences a moment she'll treasure for decades: "My father grinning his biggest grin and looking at me like he loves me, truly loves me...." Never mind that he's high on martinis and the thrill of pulling a stunt that humiliates his wife and insults her dinner guests. Lily King's luminous novel centers on a child's blinding hunger for a parent's affection. King makes this well-worn theme seem fresh with her vividly drawn characters—especially Daley's father, Gardiner, a narcissistic alcoholic with an ugly temper and a magnetic charm—and a clear eye for the details of their singularly messed-up relationships. Set in the affluent East Coast seaside town where Gardiner was raised, in a world of Wasp privilege he takes for granted, the novel covers three decades starting in the mid-'70s. Daley's mother leaves Gardiner, but Daley can't give up hoping he'll change. "You want the daddy you never got," her boyfriend says. Obvious? Maybe to us. The uplifting ending comes as Daley finally sees for herself what's been clear all along. — Karen Holt
A Mango shaped space
by Wendy Mass.
hirteen-year-old Mia Winchell appears to be a typical eighth grader. But Mia is keeping a secret from everyone who knows her: sounds, numbers and words appear in color for her. Mia has synesthesia, the mingling of perceptions whereby a person can see sounds, smell colors, or taste shapes. A Mango-Shaped Space is a poignant, coming-of-age novel spiced with wit and humor that chronicles Mia’s developing appreciation of her gift and the part it plays in her life.
Lolita
by Vladimir Nabokov
His powerful sentences of lust, but more interesting is the inescapable lust the reader is subjected to — turning us into Humbertish perverts.
Waiting for Godot
The particular sadness of lemon cake
| Labels: Aimee Bender, discriptions, summaries, The particular sadness of lemon cakeThe Particular Sadnes
s of Lemon Cake
By Aimee Bender
304 pages
At age 8, Rose Edelstein discovers she can taste feelings in food—lonely pie, adulterous roast beef, resentment soup—whatever angst or elation the cook might have experienced while preparing the meal. Weird for any kid, yes. But when a family like the Edelsteins is serving up its own wacky stew of alienation and contradiction—from the taciturn father, who "always seemed a little like a guest," to the misanthropic brother, a physics prodigy with KEEP OUT posted (in 17 languages) on his bedroom door—having the ability to sense the dissonance between emotion and behavior can be especially painful. It's no wonder Rose's insights and subsequent psychic ramblings land her in the ER. Thankfully, George Malcolm, an adorable science whiz, comes to the rescue, simply by believing her. Voracious for human connection, Rose comes of age while unraveling family secrets as strangely lucid as they are nightmarish. At its core, Aimee Bender's novel The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake encourages us all to make the most of our unique gifts while still finding a way to live in the so-called real world. — Kristy Davis
Irene Stanley thought her world had come to an end when her husband finds their 15-year-old son, Shep, murdered in their Oregon home. Daniel Robbin, who had spent his teenage years in and out of trouble, gave himself up to the police and was given the state’s harshest sentence: death by lethal injection..
Now, nineteen years later, as the superintendent of the state penitentiary prepares to execute Robbin, Irene Stanley must reveal what she has been hiding from her family. That in order to survive the anger and grief she had at losing her son, she not only had forgiven the man who killed him, but had come to be his friend.
Her revelation stuns her family, church and community and cracks open the secrets that had been surrounding her son’s death. Secrets that reveal how little she understood Shep, her husband, or herself.
Dramatic, emotional, and ultimately uplifting, The Crying Tree is an unforgettable story of love and redemption, the unbreakable bonds of family, and the transformative power of forgiveness.
published
July 7th 2009 by Broadway Books/Random House (first published 2009)
details
Hardcover, 304 pages
What Pete Tarslaw wants is simple enough: a realistic amount of fame that will open new avenues of sexual opportunity; the kind of financial comfort that will allow him to spend his life pursuing hobbies such as boating or skeet shooting at his stately home by the ocean or a scenic lake; and perhaps mostly importantly the chance to humiliate his ex-girlfriend at her wedding. This is the story of how he succeeds in getting it all, and what it costs him in the end.
Narrated by an unlikely literary legend, How I Became A Famous Novelist pinballs from the post-college slums of Boston, to the fear-drenched halls of Manhattan's publishing houses, from the gloomy purity of Montana’s foremost writing workshop to the hedonistic hotel bars of the Sunset Strip. The horrifying, hilarious tale of how Pete’s “pile of garbage” called The Tornado Ashes Club became the most talked about, blogged about, read, admired, and reviled novel in America will change everything you think you know about literature, appearance, truth, beauty, and those people out there, somewhere in America, who still care about books
Twenty-something Kate Davis can't seem to get this grieving widow thing right. She's supposed to put on a brave face and get on with her life, right? Instead she's camped out on her living room floor, unwashed, unkempt, and unable to sleep-because her husband Kevin keeps talking to her. Is she losing her mind? Kate's attempts to find the source of the voice she hears are both humorous and humiliating, as she turns first to an "eclectically spiritual" counselor, then a shrink with a bad toupee, a mean-spirited exorcist, and finally group therapy. There she meets Jack, the warmhearted, unconventional pastor of a ramshackle church, and at last the voice subsides. But when she stumbles upon a secret Kevin was keeping, Kate's fragile hold on the present threatens to implode under the weight of the past . and Kevin begins to shout. Will the voice ever stop? Kate must confront her grief to find the grace to go on, in this tender, quirky story about second chances.
In telling the true story of book thief John Charles Gilkey and the man who was driven to capture him, Journalist Allison Hoover Bartlett explores the larger history of book passion, collection, and theft through the ages.
published
September 17th 2009 by Riverhead Hardcover
details
Hardcover, 274 pages
Fegan has been a “hard man,” an IRA killer in northern Ireland. Now that peace has come, he is being haunted day and night by twelve ghosts: a mother and infant, a schoolboy, a butcher, an RUC constable, and seven other of his innocent victims. In order to appease them, he’s going to have to kill the men who gave him orders. As he’s working his way down the list he encounters a woman who may offer him redemption; she has borne a child to an RUC officer and is an outsider too. Now he has given Fate—and his quarry—a hostage. Is this Fegan’s ultimate mistake?
"You alone know that the world will end thirty-six years after your birth. Do you succumb to nihilistic apathy? Use your singular knowledge to save mankind? To what end do you live your life?" "While still in his mother's womb, Junior Thibodeau is encoded with a prophecy: in thirty-six years a comet will obliterate life on Earth. Born to a working-class family in rural Maine, he comes of age in the shabby-decadent eighties, a time of Atari, baseball cards, pop Catholicism, and cocaine, all the while grappling with one question: Does anything I do matter? While Junior searches for meaning in a world only he knows is doomed, the voice that has accompanied him since conception appraises his choices - from sibling rivalry over the cable box to first love in grade school; from crazed misadventures in Chicago to an all-out attempt to cheat death itself. Junior's loved ones, too, reckon with lives that cast his existential crisis into sharp relief: his anxious mother; his older brother, a child cocaine addict turned pro-baseball savant; his exalted father, whose mortal illness summons the best and worst in his sons; and Amy, the love of Junior's life and a North Star to his journey through romance and heartbreak, drug-addled despair, and superheroic feats that might save humanity." "As our recognizable world is transformed into a bizarre nation at endgame, where government agents conspire in subterranean bunkers, preparing citizens for emigration from the planet, Junior's final triumph ushers in something else altogether - an astonishing outcome that reconfigures everything we thought we knew about his universe, as well as our own." A coming-of-age tale, a love story, and amarvelous family drama, Everything Matters! drives to the human heart of these characters, and the indelible voices who narrate this American tour de force leave the reader exhilarated.
published
June 25th 2009 by Viking Adult (first published January 1st 2009)
details
Hardcover, 320 pages
By sixth grade, Miranda and her best friend, Sal, know how to navigate their New York City neighborhood. They know where it’s safe to go, like the local grocery store, and they know whom to avoid, like the crazy guy on the corner.
But things start to unravel. Sal gets punched by a new kid for what seems like no reason, and he shuts Miranda out of his life. The apartment key that Miranda’s mom keeps hidden for emergencies is stolen. And then Miranda finds a mysterious note scrawled on a tiny slip of paper:
I am coming to save your friend’s life, and my own.
I must ask two favors. First, you must write me a letter.
The notes keep coming, and Miranda slowly realizes that whoever is leaving them knows all about her, including things that have not even happened yet. Each message brings her closer to believing that only she can prevent a tragic death. Until the final note makes her think she’s too late.
published:
July 14th 2009 by Wendy Lamb Books
details:
Hardcover, 199 pages
Micah freely admits that she's a compulsive liar. And that may be the one honest thing she'll ever tell you. Over the years she's duped her classmates, her teachers, and even her parents. But when her boyfriend, Zach, dies under brutal circumstances, the shock might be enough to set her straight. Or maybe not. Especially when lying comes as naturally to her as breathing. Was Micah dating Zach? Or was Sarah his real girlfriend? And are the stories Micah tells about inheriting a "family gene" real or are they something that only exists in her mind?
Breathtaking in its plotting, and narrated by one of the most psychologically complex young women to emerge since Sybil, Liar is a roller-coaster that will have listeners grasping for the truth. Honestly.
A sophisticated, layered, and heartachingly beautiful story about the power of family and friends, the choices we all make—and the ultimate choice Mia commands.
In a single moment, everything changes. Seventeen-year-old Mia has no memory of the accident; she can only recall riding along the snow-wet Oregon road with her family. Then, in a blink, she finds herself watching as her own damaged body is taken from the wreck...
published:
April 9th 2009 by Dutton Juvenile (first published 2009)
details:
Hardcover, 199 pages
The first book to use the unexpected discoveries of neuroscience to help us make the best decisions.
Since Plato, philosophers have described the decision-making process as either rational or emotional: we carefully deliberate, or we blink and go with our gut. But as scientists break open the mind's black box with the latest tools of neuroscience, they re discovering that this is not how the mind works. Our best decisions are a finely tuned blend of both feeling and reason and the precise mix depends on the situation. When buying a house, for example, it s best to let our unconscious mull over the many variables. But when we re picking a stock, intuition often leads us astray. The trick is to determine when to use the different parts of the brain, and to do this, we need to think harder (and smarter) about how we think.
Jonah Lehrer arms us with the tools we need, drawing on cutting-edge research as well as the real-world experiences of a wide range of deciders from airplane pilots and hedge fund investors to serial killers and poker players.
Lehrer shows how people are taking advantage of the new science to make better television shows, win more football games, and improve military intelligence. His goal is to answer two questions that are of interest to just about anyone, from CEOs to firefighters: How does the human mind make decisions? And how can we make those decisions better?
published:
February 9th 2009 by Houghton Mifflin Co (first published 2009)
details:
Hardcover, 302 pages
Paulo Coelho's enchanting novel has inspired a devoted following around the world. This story, dazzling in its simplicity and wisdom, is about an Andalusian shepherd boy named Santiago who travels from his homeland in Spain to the Egyptian desert in search of treasure buried in the Pyramids. Along the way he meets a Gypsy woman, a man who calls himself king, and an Alchemist, all of whom point Santiago in the direction of his quest. No one knows what the treasure is, or if Santiago will be able to surmount the obstacles along the way But what starts out as a journey to find worldly goods turns into a meditation on the treasures found within. Lush, evocative, and deeply humane, the story of Santiago is art eternal testament to the transforming power of our dreams and the importance of listening to our hearts.
Arcane vault has few new VA products,
really cool.
unfortunately we don't have from it here, and they don't ship over here either =c
Zvezda t-shirts.
promise mark t-shirts.
St. Vladimir's academy t-shirts.
check 'em out here.
if you got one, or can get one, then your lucky. v_v
Vampire Academy is going to be made into a graphic novel, that will be out August 2011
and this is the cover:
pretty coo, eh? but don't you think they look a lil' ugly? xP
no offense, just my opinion.
My Review
*sigh*. finally done reading it.
to be honest, i had to read this play over again, for several times, so I'd understand the old English of shakespear, i even read things i already understood again and again, to make sure i completely understood, but isn't this why i read this play from the first place? for it is the old English that attracted me to read it.
though it makes no sense sometimes, yet i enjoy reading it.
it is i would like to say "extra-straight and man-ish". for it's based upon heroism, courage, revenge, war, power, and honor.
and all it's characters are men, except for 2 women, who barely existed (Brutus' and Caesar's wives, yeah, and the wife of Brutus would die too)
In Julius Caesar it is pretty difficult to figure who the hero of the play is, or whom did shakespear want to let him be the hero.
you might say it's Caesar, because the play is named on him. But i don't think say, for he soon dies, and has no long role. and was rarely present, unless you count his ghost/evil spirit of course.
i might say Antony (My fav character) is the Hero, as he is the one who won the war, what makes him more "hero-ish" to me is that he started a war only to take revenge for his best friend's murder.
something else i like about him is that he can move crowds with his words, (the way he did in his speech at Caesar's funeral.)
Anyhow i wouldn't argue with those who might decide that Brutus is the Hero, because Shakespear let us know more about him, his thoughts and intentions than the rest of the characters including Antony.
Beside that, Brutus might be the hero, because his intention to kill Julius was for the common good, though he failed, he did admit it, and had the courage to kill himself, instead of giving that honor to any other.
Antony too, had said "the noblest roman of them all, etc" about him.
though this isn't my fav of shakespear's , as i prefer other plays such as the midsummer night's dream, and the merchant of Venice.
i did enjoy reading this one, and i did like it.
Julius Caesar was like none of the similar plays/novels i read, it is indeed simple, but had things that you might not expect from plays with similar subjects.
for reasons such as
- the early death of Caesar.
- Antony winning the War.
- The appearance Caesar's ghost/evil spirit.
- the way Cassius and Brutus died.
- "Cowards die many times before their deaths;the valiant never taste of death but once.
of all the wonders that i yet have heard,
it seems to me most strange that men should fear,
seeing that death, a necessary end,
will come when it will come."
(Caesar)
-"....be near me, that i may remember you."
"Caesar, I will, )Aside) And so near will I be
That your best friends shall wish i had been further."
(Caesar & Trebonius)
- "I could be well moved, if i were as you;
if i could pray to move, prayers would have move me.
but i am constant as the northern star,
of whose true-fixed and resting quality
there is no fellow in the firmament.
the skies are painted with unnumbered sparks,
they are all fire, and every one doth shine;
but there's but one in all doth hold his place.
so in the world: 'tis furnished well with men,
and men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive;
yet in the number i do know but one
that unassailable holds on his rank,
unshaken of motion; and that i am he,"
(Caesar)
- "he that cuts twenty years of life
cuts so many years of fearing death."
(Casca)
- "some that smile have in their hearts, i fear,
millions of mischiefs ."
(Octavius)
- "'tis better that the enemy seek us;
so shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers,
doing himself offence, whilst we, lying still,
are full of rest, defense, and nimbleness."
(Cassius)
My next read by the same author
Helmet + the merchant of Venice + midsummer night's dream
V.A news
Tuesday, July 20, 2010 | Labels: books into movies, News, Richelle Mead, Vampire academy, vote and supportThis is something else i found on Richelle Mead's Blog, and thought you might be interested in .
(note: i copy/pasted this from the author's blog)
* Selling film options means we now have a great production company (Preger Entertainment) and producer that can help make the book(s) into film. Me? I can't make a movie. My specialty is writing books. Theirs is making films happen, which is why we're lucky to have them on board.
* But, no film is being made yet. To do that, we need a lot of things: a script, a cast, and most importantly, a studio. Preger is currently pitching VA to studios, and when a studio picks it up, that's when all that other movie magic can happen. So, if you're hearing about filming taking place right now, it isn't true.
* Like I said earlier: I write books. I don't make movies, so I don't do the casting or directing or anything. People are writing to me about actor choices, but that'll be up to film makers when casting time comes.
* People are worried about differences between the book and a movie, but truthfully? It's impossible for any movie to be exactly like a book. Books are too long to put every page into 2 hours. So cuts and adaptations are always made. Some books turn into good movies; some don't. And of course, no actor will match every single person's vision of a character. It's just impossible.
* Will a movie "ruin the VA books"? I hear people worry about this too. The answer? Of course not! The books already exist, and I'll keep writing the way I want. Nothing will change them. :) A movie's a way of retelling them, and I wouldn't have signed with Preger if I didn't have faith in them doing something really awesome.
* How do we get this thing going? As mentioned, Preger needs a studio to get things started, and one of the best ways to get a studio's attention is to show the fan support. So, if you're on Facebook, join the Official Vampire Academy Movie Page. Its numbers are growing FAST, and it's really sending a message about VA-love. It's also where Preger puts official announcements and dispels rumors. Fans are starting lots of little movie pages, which is awesome, but please make sure to join up with the official one so there's an easy source to see all the fan support as a mass, rather than everyone being split in different places. Preger also has an Official VA Movie Twitter account.
* The Facebook page above is also a great place to discuss your thoughts about casting, what shouldn't be cut, etc. Even though there's no movie yet, Preger and I are both reading the comments there! If you're anti-Facebook, there's my Yahoo Mailing List too. Those are the best locations to discuss your thoughts rather than building long threads here in the comments.
Vampire Academy movie supporting
| Labels: books into movies, News, Richelle Mead, Vampire academy, vote and supportPreger Entertainment--the company that holds Vampire Academy film options--has set an impressive goal of hitting 20,000 fans on their Official VA Movie Facebook page this week. It's already at 15k. So, if you haven't joined up, head over! Remember--there is no actual movie yet, no filming, no hard plans, and no casting. Preger is still speaking to studios, and having so much support on the fan page helps them make a convincing case to make a movie! The fan page is also a good source to get updates--but just make sure the updates are from me or Preger Entertainment. I'm starting to see movie "news" go around that isn't true, with things that I allegedly said. It's kind of weird hearing quotes from yourself.
(PS: copied from Richelle Mead's Blog)
Last Sacrifice comes out December 7 (in the US, Australia/NZ, Canada, and the UK). It's the sixth VA book and will end the series--about Rose. Sometime next year, another series set in the VA world with characters you already know will come out. I keep calling it "the spin-off series," but it'll eventually have its own name. So, in short, Vampire Academy is ending...and yet not ending. Rose will have walk-on roles in the next series, but expect other characters to be the stars. Who, what, and where? Those are details you'll have to wait for! I can tell you with absolute certainty (since I'm asked this a lot) that the VA series is not ever going to be retold from Dimitri's point of view. The saga must go forward!
As it is known Last Sacrifice will be out on December 7. ((in the US, Australia/NZ, Canada, and the UK). it is also the 6th and the last book of the vampire academy series. (About Rose)
Richelle Mead Had announced that sometime next year, another series set in the VA worl with characters we already know will come out. (Exciting, eh?) which the author names "The spin-off series"
It will have it's own name soon.
So vampire academy is ending. but it's world isn't. A new book in the world of morio, strigio, dhampires, etc... will be there. Just that Rose won't be having the main Role. Richelle Mead also said, "the VA series is not ever going to be retold from Dimitri's point of view. The saga must go forward!"
Who are these characters, (what, and where?)Those are details Richelle preferred letting us wait for knowing 'em
i pretty liked the thought of reading the saga from Dimitri's point of view, but soon realized it won't be as interesting and long. so yeah, i think Richelle Mead is taking the better decision of letting other characters be the stars.
I was Excited to Read Last Sacrifice, but more sad that it would be the end of vampire academy, now that it isn't literally ending. i am more excited than sad.
CAN'T WAIT!
Something else from Richelle Mead's Blog.
She had posted pictures of the rest 2 Vampire Academy Tatoos.
the first one is the promise mark.
and the 2nd one is the zvezda mark, aka "the battle mark" the one that is given to those with too many Strigoi kills to count. like rose!! :P
and zvezda means start in Russian. just as molnija is Russian for lightning.
and the 2nd one is the zvezda mark, aka "the battle mark" the one that is given to those with too many Strigoi kills to count. like rose!! :P
and zvezda means start in Russian. just as molnija is Russian for lightning.
and the 2nd one is the zvezda mark, aka "the battle mark" the one that is given to those with too many Strigoi kills to count. like rose!! :P
and zvezda means start in Russian. just as molnija is Russian for lightning.
and the 2nd one is the zvezda mark, aka "the battle mark" the one that is given to those with too many Strigoi kills to count. like rose!! :P
and zvezda means start in Russian. just as molnija is Russian for lightning.
Vampire Academy's 6th book's ; Last Sacrifice's (by Richelle Mead) Official Cover had been finally published.
personal opinion: this cover is good, but her hair isn't well edited. also, i am having a hard time figuring out which characters do the people in all V.A covers present, including this one, probably rose? but rose has dark eyes unlike the girl in the cover, which has gray , and a dark hair, but this one can be categorized as dark hair too.
the girl/model in the cover is the same one that was in Blood Promise, Spirit Bond, and the new version of Shadow Kiss
( my source: Richelle Mead's Blog)
YOUR BOOKS. YOUR VOTE. YOUR AWARDS.
This is the 1st annual Teen Read Awards presented by Indigo! This is your chance to vote on the hottest character, the dreamiest kiss and even your fave read of the whole year. you also have a chance to win some sweet prizes!
please vote and don’t forget to tell your friends – they should do it too!
wanna know my votes?
best read : Vampire Academy
Best series: Vampire academy
Best : vampire academy
best Hero: Rose Hathaway from vampire academy
best hottie : Vampire academy (couldn't make up between adrian and dimitri so made that vote instead)
best candian read : vampire academy
Oh yes, i am a Vampire Academy HUGE FAN!!
now you go make your own votes too
http://www2.teenreadawards.ca/
It's been too long since i posted anything but i have been pretty busy.
sooo....
More news, this time from Mari de la Cruz website,
so okay- i was wrong m the 5th book of blue bloods, ain't a part of the series, instead it is full of short story collection, which includes character profiles, a dictionary of terms, and other stuff, like maps.
The next book in the BLUE BLOODS series is MISGUIDED ANGEL and will be out OCTOBER 26, 2010.
The author is also working on WOLF PACT, the first book in the Blue Bloods spinoff starring Bliss Llewellyn (Yaay, i am excited xD)
And a new adult fantasy series -THE WITCHES OF EAST END.
Dead, Undead, or Somewhere in Between
Tuesday, July 6, 2010 | Labels: Dead undead or somewhere in between, Fantasy, FictionNo one knows better than Rhiannon Murphy that one bad corpse can ruin your whole day. She left behind flash sass Miami for no-nonsense groove New York City, eager for clean slate andfresh start. A bartender by trade, loud mouth by choice, and necromancer by chance; she managed keep her nifty talent hidden from those around her-until now. The deliciously good-looking vampire, Disco, knows her secret. When he strolls into her bar solicit help investigating mysterious disappearances his kind from city, Rhiannon discovers he’s not kind person that appreciates significance of word no. But inworld where vampires peddle ir blood as latest greatest drug choice, it’s only matter time before next big thing hits market. Someone or something killing vampires steal ir hearts, unlike Rhiannon, this isn’t ir first stroll around undead block.
(copied)
(copied)
Yay a new name !!
the blog's name/address had been changed !!
from reading-is-passion , to Reading-aholic .. xD
club dead first chapter (True blood series by Charlaine Harris)
Friday, July 2, 2010 | Labels: Fantasy, Fiction, first chaptersChapter 1
Bill was hunched over the computer when I let
myself in his house. This was an all-too-familiar scenario
in the past month or two. He'd torn himself away
from his work when I came home, until the past couple
of weeks. Now it was the keyboard that attracted him.
"Hello, sweetheart," he said absently, his gaze riveted to the screen. An empty bottle of type O
TrueBlood was on the desk beside the keyboard. At least he'd remembered to eat.
Bill, not a jeans-and-tee kind of guy, was wearing khakis and a plaid shirt in muted blue and green. His
skin was glowing, and his thick dark hair smelled like Herbal Essence. He was enough to give any
woman a hormonal surge. I kissed his neck, and he didn't react. I licked his ear. Nothing.
I'd been on my feet for six hours straight at Merlotte's Bar, and every time some customer had
under-tipped, or some fool had patted my fanny, I'd reminded myself that in a short while I'd be with my
boyfriend, having incredible sex and basking in his attention.
That didn't appear to be happening.
I inhaled slowly and steadily and glared at Bill's back.
It was a wonderful back, with broad shoulders, and I had planned on seeing it bare with my nails dug into it.
I had counted on that very strongly. I exhaled, slowly
and steadily.
"Be with you in a minute," Bill said. On the screen, there was a snapshot of a distinguished man with silver
hair and a dark tan. He looked sort of Anthony Quinn- type sexy, and he looked powerful. Under the
picture was a name, and under that was some text. "Born 1756 in Sicily," it began. Just as I opened my
mouth to comment that vampires did appear in photographs despite the legend, Bill twisted around and
realized I was reading.
He hit a button and the screen went blank.
I stared at him, not quite believing what had just happened.
"Sookie," he said, attempting a smile. His fangs were retracted, so he was totally not in the mood in
which I'd hoped to find him; he wasn't thinking of me carnally. Like all vampires, his fangs are only fully
extended when he's in the mood for the sexy kind of lust, or the feeding-and-killing kind of lust.
(Sometimes, those lusts all get kind of snarled up, and you get your dead fang- bangers. But that element
of danger is what attracts most fang-bangers, if you ask me.) Though I've been accused of being one of
those pathetic creatures that hang around vampires in the hope of attracting their attention, there's only
one vampire I'm involved with (at least voluntarily) and it was the one sitting right in front of me. The one
who was keeping secrets from me. The one who wasn't nearly glad enough to see me.
"Bill," I said coldly. Something was Up, with a capital U. And it wasn't Bill's libido. (Libido had just been
on my Word-A-Day calendar.)
"You didn't see what you just saw," he said steadily.
His dark brown eyes regarded me without blinking.
"Uh-huh," I said, maybe sounding just a little sarcastic. "What are you up to?"
"I have a secret assignment."
I didn't know whether to laugh or stalk away in a snit. So I just raised my eyebrows and waited for more.
Bill was the investigator for Area 5, a vampire division of Louisiana. Eric, the head of Area 5, had never
given Bill an "assignment" that was secret from me before. In fact, I was usually an integral part of the
investigation team, however unwilling I might be.
"Eric must not know. None of the Area 5 vampires can know."
My heart sank. "So--if you're not doing a job for Eric, who are you working for?" I knelt because my
feet were so tired, and I leaned against Bill's knees.
"The queen of Louisiana," he said, almost in a whisper.
Because he looked so solemn, I tried to keep a straight face, but it was no use. I began to laugh, little
giggles that I couldn't suppress.
"You're serious?" I asked, knowing he must be. BUI was almost always a serious kind of fellow. I buried
my face on his thigh so he couldn't see my amusement. I rolled my eyes up for a quick look at his face.
He was looking pretty pissed.
"I am as serious as the grave," Bill said, and he sounded so steely, I made a major effort to change my
attitude.
"Okay, let me get this straight," I said in a reasonably level tone. I sat back on the floor, cross-legged,
and rested my hands on my knees. "You work for Eric, who is the boss of Area 5, but there is also a
queen? Of Louisiana?"
Bill nodded.
"So the state is divided up into Areas? And she's
Eric's superior, since he runs a business in Shreveport,
which is in Area 5."Again with the nod. I put my hand over my face and shook my head. "So, where does she live, Baton
Rouge?" The state capital seemed the obvious place.
"No, no. New Orleans, of course."
Of course. Vampire central. You could hardly throw a rock in the Big Easy without hitting one of the
undead, according to the papers (though only a real fool would do so). The tourist trade in New Orleans
was booming, but it was not exactly the same crowd as before, the hard-drinking, rollicking crowd
who'd filled the city to party hearty. The newer tourists were the ones who wanted to rub elbows with the
undead; patronize a vampire bar, visit a vampire prostitute, watch a vampire sex show.
This was what I'd heard; I hadn't been to New Orleans since I was little. My mother and father had
taken my brother, Jason, and me. That would have been before I was seven, because that's when they
died.
Mama and Daddy died nearly twenty years before vampires had appeared on network television to
announce the fact that they were actually present among us, an announcement that had followed on the
Japanese development of synthetic blood that actually maintained a vampire's life without the necessity of
drinking from humans.
The United States vampire community had let the Japanese vampire clans come forth first. Then,
simultaneously, in most of the nations of the world that had television--and who doesn't these days?--the
announcement had been made in hundreds of different languages, by hundreds of carefully picked
personable vampires.
That night, two and half years ago, we regular old
live people learned that we had always lived with monsters
among us.
"But"--the burden of this announcement had been-- "now we can come forward and join with you in
harmony. You are in no danger from us anymore. We don't need to drink from you to live."
As you can imagine, this was a night of high ratings and tremendous uproar. Reaction varied sharply,
depending on the nation.
The vampires in the predominantly Islamic nations had fared the worst. You don't even want to know
what happened to the undead spokesman in Syria, though perhaps the female vamp in Afghanistan died
an even more horrible--and final--death. (What were they thinking, selecting a female for that particular
job? Vampires could be so smart, but they sometimes didn't seem quite in touch with the present world.)
Some nations--France, Italy, and Germany were the most notable--refused to accept vampires as equal
citizens. Many--like Bosnia, Argentina, and most of the African nations--denied any status to the
vampires, and declared them fair game for any bounty hunter. But America, England, Mexico, Canada,
Japan, Switzerland, and the Scandinavian countries adopted a more tolerant attitude.
It was hard to determine if this reaction was what the vampires had expected or not. Since they were still
struggling to maintain a foothold in the stream of the living, the vampires remained very secretive about
their organization and government, and what Bill was telling me now was the most I'd ever heard on the
subject.
"So, the Louisiana queen of the vampires has you working on a secret project," I said, trying to sound
neutral. "And this is why you have lived at your computer every waking hour for the past few weeks."
"Yes," Bill said. He picked up the bottle of TrueBlood
and tipped it up, but there were only a couple of drops
left. He went down the hall into the small kitchen area
(when he'd remodeled his old family home, he'd pretty
much left out the kitchen, since he didn't need one) and extracted another bottle from the refrigerator. I was
tracking him by sound as he opened the bottle and
popped it into the microwave. The microwave went off,
and he reentered, shaking the bottle with his thumb over
the top so there wouldn't be any hot spots.
"So, how much more time do you have to spend on this project?" I asked--reasonably, I thought.
"As long as it takes," he said, less reasonably. Actually, Bill sounded downright irritable.
Hmmm. Could our honeymoon be over? Of course I mean figurative honeymoon, since Bill's a vampire
and we can't be legally married, practically anywhere in the wor ld.
Not that he's asked me.
"Well, if you're so absorbed in your project, I'll just stay away until it's over," I said slowly.
"That might be best," Bill said, after a perceptible pause, and I felt like he'd socked me in the stomach. In
a flash, I was on my feet and pulling my coat back over my cold-weather waitress outfit--black slacks,
white boat-neck long-sleeved tee with "Merlotte's" embroidered over the left breast. I turned my back to
Bill to hide my face.
I was trying not to cry, so I didn't look at him even after I felt Bill's hand touch my shoulder.
"I have to tell you something," Bill said in his cold, smooth voice. I stopped in the middle of pulling on my
gloves, but I didn't think I could stand to see him. He could tell my backside.
"If anything happens to me," he continued (and here's where I should have begun worrying), "you must
look in the hiding place I built at your house. My computer
should be in it, and some disks. Don't tell anyone. If the computer isn't in the hiding place, come over to
my house and see if it's here. Come in the daytime, and come armed. Get the computer and any disks
you can find, and hide them in my hidey-hole, as you call it."
I nodded. He could see that from the back. I didn't trust my voice.
"If I'm not back, or if you don't get word from me, in say ... eight weeks--yes, eight weeks, then tell Eric
everything I said to you today. And place yourself under his protection."
I didn't speak. I was too miserable to be furious, but it wouldn't be long before I reached meltdown. I
acknowledged his words with a jerk of my head. I could feel my ponytail switch against my neck.
"I am going to ... Seattle soon," Bill said. I could feel his cool lips touch the place my ponytail had
brushed.
He was lying.
"When I come back, we'll talk."
Somehow, that didn't sound like an entrancing prospect. Somehow, that sounded ominous.
Again I inclined my head, not risking speech because I was actually crying now. I would rather have died
than let him see the tears.
And that was how I left him, that cold December night.
1 he next day, on my way to work, I took an unwise
detour. I was in that kind of mood where I was
rolling in how awful everything was. Despite a nearly
sleepless night, something inside me told me I could
probably make my mood a little worse if I drove along
Magnolia Creek Road: so sure enough, that's what I did.
The old Bellefleur mansion, Belle Rive, was a beehive
of activity, even on a cold and ugly day. There were
vans from the pest control company, a kitchen design firm, and a siding contractor parked at the kitchen entrance
to the antebellum home. Life was just humming
for Caroline Holliday Bellefleur, the ancient lady who
had ruled Belle Rive and (at least in part) Bon Temps
for the past eighty years. I wondered how Portia, a lawyer,
and Andy, a detective, were enjoying all the changes
at Belle Rive. They had lived with their grandmother (as
I had lived with mine) for all their adult lives. At the
very least, they had to be enjoying her pleasure in the
mansion's renovation.
My own grandmother had been murdered a few months ago.
The Bellefleurs hadn't had anything to do with it, of course. And there was no reason Portia and Andy
would share the pleasure of this new affluence with me. In fact, they both avoided me like the plague.
They owed me, and they couldn't stand it. They just didn't know how much they owed me.
The Bellefleurs had received a mysterious legacy from a relative who had "died mysteriously over in
Europe somewhere," I'd heard Andy tell a fellow cop while they were drinking at Merlotte's. When she
dropped off some raffle tickets for Gethsemane Baptist Church's Ladies' Quilt, Maxine Fortenberry told
me Miss Caroline had combed every family record she could unearth to identify their benefactor, and she
was still mystified at the family's good fortune.
She didn't seem to have any qualms about spending the money, though.
Even Terry Bellefleur, Portia and Andy's cousin, had a new pickup sitting in the packed dirt yard of his
double-wide. I liked Terry, a scarred Viet Nam vet who didn't have a lot of friends, and I didn't grudge
him a new set of wheels.
But I thought about the carburetor I'd just been forced
to replace in my old car. I'd paid for the work in full, though I'd considered asking Jim Downey if I could
just pay half and get the rest together over the next two months. But Jim had a wife and three kids. Just
this morning I'd been thinking of asking my boss, Sam Mer- lotte, if he could add to my hours at the bar.
Especially with Bill gone to "Seattle," I could just about live at Merlotte's, if Sam could use me. I sure
needed the money.
I tried real hard not to be bitter as I drove away from Belle Rive. I went south out of town and then
turned left onto Hummingbird Road on my way to Merlotte's. I tried to pretend that all was well; that on
his return from Seattle--or wherever--Bill would be a passionate lover again, and Bill would treasure me
and make me feel valuable once more. I would again have that feeling of belonging with someone, instead
of being alone.
Of course, I had my brother, Jason. Though as far as intimacy and companionship goes, I had to admit
that he hardly counted.
But the pain in my middle was the unmistakable pain of rejection. I knew the feeling so well, it was like a
second skin.
I sure hated to crawl back inside it.
Living dead in Dalas first chapter (True blood series by Charlaine Harris)
| Labels: Fantasy, Fiction, first chaptersChapter 1
Andy Bellefleur was as drunk as a skunk. This wasn't normal for Andy—believe me, I know all the
drunks in Bon Temps. Working at Sam Merlotte's bar for several years has pretty much introduced me
to all of them. But Andy Bellefleur, native son and detective on Bon Temps's small police force, had
never been drunk in Merlotte's before. I was mighty curious as to why tonight was an exception.
Andy and I aren't friends by any stretch of the imagination, so I couldn't ask him outright. But other
means were open to me, and I decided to use them. Though I try to limit employing my disability, or gift,
or whatever you want to call it, to find out things that might have an effect on me or mine, sometimes
sheer curiosity wins out.
I let down my mental guard and read Andy's mind. I was sorry.
Andy had had to arrest a man that morning for kidnapping. He'd taken his ten-year-old neighbor to a
place in the woods and raped her. The girl was in the hospital, and the man was in jail, but the damage
that had beendealt was irreparable. I felt weepy and sad. It was a crime that touched too closely on my
own past. I liked Andy a little better for his depression.
"Andy Bellefleur, give me your keys," I said. His broad face turned up to me, showing very little
comprehension. After a long pause while my meaning filtered through to his addled brain, Andy fumbled
in the pocket of his khakis and handed me his heavy key ring. I put another bourbon-and-Coke on the
bar in front of him. "My treat," I said, and went to the phone at the end of the bar to call Portia, Andy's
sister. The Bellefleur siblings lived in a decaying large white two-story antebellum, formerly quite a
showplace, on the prettiest street in the nicest area of Bon Temps. On Magnolia Creek Road, all the
homes faced the strip of park through which ran the stream, crossed here and there by decorative
bridges for foot traffic only; a road ran on both sides. There were a few other old homes on Magnolia
Creek Road, but they were all in better repair than the Bellefleur place, Belle Rive. Belle Rive was just
too much for Portia, a lawyer, and Andy, a cop, to maintain, since the money to support such a home
and its grounds was long since gone. But their grandmother, Caroline, stubbornly refused to sell.
Portia answered on the second ring.
"Portia, this is Sookie Stackhouse," I said, having to raise my voice over the background noise in the
bar.
"You must be at work."
"Yes. Andy's here, and he's three sheets to the wind. I took his keys. Can you come get him?"
"Andy had too much to drink? That's rare. Sure, I'll be there in ten minutes," she promised, and hung up.
"You're a sweet girl, Sookie," Andy volunteered unexpectedly.
He'd finished the drink I'd poured for him. I swept the glass out of sight and hoped he wouldn't ask for
more. "Thanks, Andy," I said. "You're okay, yourself."
"Where's . . . boyfriend?"
"Right here," said a cool voice, and Bill Compton appeared just behind Andy. I smiled at him over
Andy's drooping head. Bill was about five foot ten, with dark brown hair and eyes. He had the broad
shoulders and hard muscular arms of a man who's done manual labor for years. Bill had worked a farm
with his father, and then for himself, before he'd gone to be a soldier in the war. That would be the Civil War.
"Hey, V. B.!" called Charlsie Tooten's husband, Micah. Bill raised a casual hand to return the greeting,
and my brother, Jason, said, "Evening, Vampire Bill," in a perfectly polite way. Jason, who had not
exactly welcomed Bill into our little family circle, had turned over a whole new leaf. I was sort of mentally
holding my breath, waiting to see if his improved attitude was permanent.
"Bill, you're okay for a bloodsucker," Andy said judiciously, rotating on his bar stool so he could face
Bill. I upgraded my opinion of Andy's drunkenness, since he had never otherwise been enthusiastic about
the acceptance of vampires into America's mainstream society.
"Thanks," Bill said dryly. "You're not too bad for a Bellefleur." He leaned across the bar to give me a
kiss. His lips were as cool as his voice. You had to get used to it. Like when you laid your head on his
chest, and you didn't hear a heartbeat inside. "Evening, sweetheart," he said in his low voice. I slid a glass
of the Japanese-developed synthetic B negative across the bar, and he knocked it back and licked his
lips. He looked pinker almost immediately.
"How'd your meeting go, honey?" I asked. Bill had been in Shreveport the better part of the night.
"I'll tell you later."
I hoped his work-related story was less distressingthan Andy's. "Okay. I'd appreciate it if you'd help
Portia get Andy to her car. Here she comes now," I said, nodding toward the door.
For once, Portia was not wearing the skirt, blouse, jacket, hose, and low-heeled pumps that constituted
her professional uniform. She'd changed to blue jeans and a ragged Sophie Newcomb sweatshirt. Portia
was built as squarely as her brother, but she had long, thick, chestnut hair. Keeping it beautifully tended
was Portia's one signal that she hadn't given up yet. She plowed single-mindedly through the rowdy
crowd.
"Well, he's soused, all right," she said, evaluating her brother. Portia was trying to ignore Bill, who made
her very uneasy. "It doesn't happen often, but if he decides to tie one on, he does a good job."
"Portia, Bill can carry him to your car," I said. Andy was taller than Portia and thick in body, clearly too
much of a burden for his sister.
"I think I can handle him," she told me firmly, still not looking toward Bill, who raised his eyebrows at
me.
So I let her get one arm around him and try to hoist him off the stool. Andy stayed perched. Portia
glanced around for Sam Merlotte, the bar owner, who was small and wiry in appearance but very strong.
"Sam's bartending at an anniversary party at the country club," I said. "Better let Bill help."
"All right," the lawyer said stiffly, her eyes on the polished wood of the bar. "Thanks very much."
Bill had Andy up and moving toward the door in seconds, in spite of Andy's legs tending to turn to jelly.
Micah Tooten jumped up to open the door, so Bill was able to sweep Andy right out into the parking lot.
"Thanks, Sookie," Portia said. "Is his bar tab settled up?"
I nodded.
"Okay," she said, slapping her hand on the bar tosignal she was out of there. She had to listen to a
chorus of well-meant advice as she followed Bill out the front door of Merlotte's.
That was how Detective Andy Bellefleur's old Buick came to sit in the parking lot at Merlotte's all night
and into the next day. The Buick had certainly been empty when Andy had gotten out to enter the bar, he
would later swear. He'd also testify that he'd had been so preoccupied by his internal turmoil that he'd
forgotten to lock the car.
At some point between eight o'clock, when Andy had arrived at Merlotte's, and ten the next morning,
when I arrived to help open the bar, Andy's car acquired a new passenger.
This one would cause considerable embarrassment for the policeman.
This one was dead.
***
I shouldn't have been there at all. I'd worked the late shift the night before, and I should've worked the
late shift again that night. But Bill had asked me if I could switch with one of my coworkers, because he
needed me to accompany him to Shreveport, and Sam hadn't objected. I'd asked my friend Arlene if
she'd work my shift. She was due a day off, but she always wanted to earn the better tips we got at night,
and she agreed to come in at five that afternoon.
By all rights, Andy should've collected his car that morning, but he'd been too hung over to fool with
getting Portia to run him over to Merlotte's, which was out of the way to the police station. She'd told him
she would pick him up at work at noon, and they'd eat lunch at the bar. Then he could retrieve his car.
So the Buick, with its silent passenger, waited for discovery far longer than it should have.
I'd gotten about six hours' sleep the night before, so I was feeling pretty good. Dating a vampire can be
hard on your equilibrium if you're truly a daytime person, like me. I'd helped close the bar, and left for
home with Bill by one o'clock. We'd gotten in Bill's hot tub together, then done other things, but I'd
gotten to bed by a little after two, and I didn't get up until almost nine. Bill had long been in the ground by
then.
I drank lots of water and orange juice and took a multivitamin and iron supplement for breakfast, which
was my regimen since Bill had come into my life and brought (along with love, adventure, and excitement)
the constant threat of anemia. The weather was getting cooler, thank God, and I sat on Bill's front porch
wearing a cardigan and the black slacks we wore to work at Merlotte's when it was too cool for shorts.
My white golf shirt had MERLOTTE'S BAR embroidered on the left breast.
As I skimmed the morning paper, with one part of my mind I was recording the fact that the grass was
definitely not growing as fast. Some of the leaves appeared to be beginning to turn. The high school
football stadium might be just about tolerable this coming Friday night.
The summer just hates to let go in Louisiana, even northern Louisiana. Fall begins in a very halfhearted
way, as though it might quit at any minute and revert to the stifling heat of July. But I was on the alert, and
I could spot traces of fall this morning. Fall and winter meant longer nights, more time with Bill, more
hours of sleep.
So I was cheerful when I went to work. When I saw the Buick sitting all by its lonesome in front of the
bar, I remembered Andy's surprising binge the night before. I have to confess, I smiled when I thought of
how he'd be feeling today. Just as I was about to drive around in back and park with the other
employees, I noticed thatAndy's rear passenger door was open just a little bit. That would make his
dome light stay on, surely? And his battery would run down. And he'd be angry, and have to come in the
bar to call the tow truck, or ask someone to jump him . . . so I put my car in park and slid out, leaving it
running. That turned out to be an optimistic error.
I shoved the door to, but it would only give an inch. So I pressed my body to it, thinking it would latch
and I could be on my way. Again, the door would not click shut. Impatiently, I yanked it all the way open
to find out what was in the way. A wave of smell gusted out into the parking lot, a dreadful smell. Dismay
clutched at my throat, because the smell was not unknown to me. I peered into the backseat of the car,
my hand covering my mouth, though that hardly helped with the smell.
"Oh, man," I whispered. "Oh, shit." Lafayette, the cook for one shift at Merlotte's, had been shoved into
the backseat. He was naked. It was Lafayette's thin brown foot, its toenails painted a deep crimson, that
had kept the door from shutting, and it was Lafayette's corpse that smelled to high heaven.
I backed away hastily, then scrambled into my car and drove around back behind the bar, blowing my
horn. Sam came running out of the employee door, an apron tied around his waist. I turned off my car
and was out of it so quick I hardly realized I'd done it, and I wrapped myself around Sam like a
static-filled sock.
"What is it?" Sam's voice said in my ear. I leaned back to look at him, not having to gaze up too much
since Sam is a smallish man. His reddish gold hair was gleaming in the morning sun. He has true-blue
eyes, and they were wide with apprehension.
"It's Lafayette," I said, and began crying. That was ridiculous and silly and no help at all, but I couldn't
help it. "He's dead, in Andy Bellefleur's car."
Sam's arms tightened behind my back and drew me into his body once more. "Sookie, I'm sorry you
saw it," he said. "We'll call the police. Poor Lafayette."
Being a cook at Merlotte's does not exactly call for any extraordinary culinary skill, since Sam just offers
a few sandwiches and fries, so there's a high turnover. But Lafayette had lasted longer than most, to my
surprise. Lafayette had been gay, flamboyantly gay, makeup-and-long-fingernails gay. People in northern
Louisiana are less tolerant of that than New Orleans people, and I expect Lafayette, a man of color, had
had a doubly hard time of it. Despite—or because of—his difficulties, he was cheerful, entertainingly
mischievous, clever, and actually a good cook. He had a special sauce he steeped hamburgers in, and
people asked for Burgers Lafayette pretty regular.
"Did he have family here?" I asked Sam. We eased apart self-consciously and went into the building, to
Sam's office.
"He had a cousin," Sam said, as his fingers punched 9-1-1. "Please come to Merlotte's on Hummingbird
Road," he told the dispatcher. "There's a dead man in a car here. Yes, in the parking lot, in the front of
the place. Oh, and you might want to alert Andy Bellefleur. It's his car."
I could hear the squawk on the other end of the line from where I stood.
Danielle Gray and Holly Cleary, the two waitresses on the morning shift, came through the back door
laughing. Both divorced women in their mid-twenties, Danielle and Holly were lifelong friends who
seemed to be quite happy working their jobs as long as they were together. Holly had a five-year-old son
who was at kindergarten, and Danielle had a seven-year-old daughter and a boy too young for school,
who stayed with Danielle's mother while Danielle was at Merlotte's. I would never be anycloser to the
two women—who, after all, were around my age—because they were careful to be sufficient unto
themselves.
"What's the matter?" Danielle asked when she saw my face. Her own, narrow and freckled, became
instantly worried.
"Why's Andy's car out front?" Holly asked. She'd dated Andy Bellefleur for a while, I recalled. Holly
had short blond hair that hung around her face like wilted daisy petals, and the prettiest skin I'd ever
seen. "He spend the night in it?"
"No," I said, "but someone else did."
"Who?"
"Lafayette's in it."
"Andy let a black queer sleep in his car?" This was Holly, who was the blunt straightforward one.
"What happened to him?" This was Danielle, who was the smarter of the two.
"We don't know," Sam said. "The police are on the way."
"You mean," Danielle said, slowly and carefully, "that he's dead."
"Yes," I told her. "That's exactly what we mean."
"Well, we're set to open in an hour." Holly's hands settled on her round hips. "What are we gonna do
about that? If the police let us open, who's gonna cook for us? People come in, they'll want lunch."
"We better get ready, just in case," Sam said. "Though I'm thinking we won't get to open until sometime
this afternoon." He went into his office to begin calling substitute cooks.
It felt strange to be going about the opening routine, just as if Lafayette were going to mince in any
minute with a story about some party he'd been to, the way he had a few days before. The sirens came
shrieking down the county road that ran in front of Merlotte's. Carscrunched across Sam's gravel parking
lot. By the time we had the chairs down, the tables set, and extra silverware rolled in napkins and ready
to replace used settings, the police came in.
Merlotte's is out of the city limits, so the parish sheriff, Bud Dearborn, would be in charge. Bud
Dearborn, who'd been a good friend of my father's, was gray-haired now. He had a mashed-in face, like
a human Pekinese, and opaque brown eyes. As he came in the front door of the bar, I noticed Bud was
wearing heavy boots and his Saints cap. He must have been called in from working on his farm. With
Bud was Alcee Beck, the only African American detective on the parish force. Alcee was so black that
his white shirt gleamed in contrast. His tie was knotted precisely, and his suit was absolutely correct. His
shoes were polished and shining.
Bud and Alcee, between them, ran the parish . . . at least some of the more important elements that kept it functional. Mike Spencer, funeral home director and parish coroner, had a heavy hand in local affairs,
too, and he was a good friend of Bud's. I was willing to bet Mike was already out in the parking lot,
pronouncing poor Lafayette dead.
Bud Spencer said, "Who found the body?"
"I did." Bud and Alcee changed course slightly and headed toward me.
"Sam, can we borrow your office?" Bud asked. Without waiting for Sam's response, he jerked his head
to indicate I should go in.
"Sure, go right ahead," my boss said dryly. "Sookie, you okay?"
"Fine, Sam." I wasn't sure that was true, but there wasn't anything Sam could do about it without getting
into trouble, and all to no avail. Though Bud gestured to me to sit down, I shook my head as he and
Alcee settled themselves in the office chairs. Bud, of course,took Sam's big chair, while Alcee made do
with the better extra chair, the one with a little padding left.
"Tell us about the last time you saw Lafayette alive," Bud suggested.
I thought about it.
"He wasn't working last night," I said. "Anthony was working, Anthony Bolivar."
"Who is that?" Alcee's broad forehead wrinkled. "Don't recognize the name."
"He's a friend of Bill's. He was passing through, and he needed a job. He had the experience." He'd
worked in a diner during the Great Depression.
"You mean the short-order cook at Merlotte's is avampire!"
"So?" I asked. I could feel my mouth setting stubborn, and my brows drawing in, and I knew my face
was getting mad. I was trying hard not to read their minds, trying hard to stay completely out of this, but it
wasn't easy. Bud Dearborn was average, but Alcee projected his thoughts like a lighthouse sends a
signal. Right now he was beaming disgust and fear.
In the months before I'd met Bill, and found that he treasured that disability of mine—my gift, as he saw
it—I'd done my best to pretend to myself and everyone else that I couldn't really "read" minds. But since
Bill had liberated me from the little prison I'd built for myself, I'd been practicing and experimenting, with
Bill's encouragement. For him, I had put into words the things I'd been feeling for years. Some people
sent a clear, strong message, like Alcee. Most people were more off-and-on, like Bud Dearborn. It
depended a lot on how strong their emotions were, how clear-headed they were, what the weather was,
for all I knew. Some people were murky as hell, and it was almost impossible to tell what they were
thinking. I could get a reading of their moods, maybe, but that was all.
I had admitted that if I was touching people while I tried to read their thoughts, it made the picture
clearer—like getting cable, after having only an antenna. And I'd found that if I "sent" a person relaxing
images, I could flow through his brain like water.
There was nothing I wanted less than to flow through Alcee Beck's mind. But absolutely involuntarily I
was getting a full picture of Alcee's deeply superstitious reaction to finding out there was a vampire working at Merlotte's, his revulsion on discovering I was the woman he'd heard about who was dating a
vampire, his deep conviction that the openly gay Lafayette had been a disgrace to the black community.
Alcee figured someone must have it in for Andy Bellefleur, to have parked a gay black man's carcass in
Andy's car. Alcee was wondering if Lafayette had had AIDS, if the virus could have seeped into Andy's
car seat somehow and survived there. He'd sell the car, if it were his.
If I'd touched Alcee, I would have known his phone number and his wife's bra size.
Bud Dearborn was looking at me funny. "Did you say something?" I asked.
"Yeah. I was wondering if you had seen Lafayette in here during the evening. Did he come in to have a
drink?"
"I never saw him here." Come to think of it, I'd never seen Lafayette have a drink. For the first time, I
realized that though the lunch crowd was mixed, the night bar patrons were almost exclusively white.
"Where did he spend his social time?"
"I have no idea." All Lafayette's stories were told with the names changed to protect the innocent. Well,
actually, the guilty.
"When did you see him last?"
"Dead, in the car."
Bud shook his head in exasperation. "Alive, Sookie."
"Hmmm. I guess . . . three days ago. He was still here when I got here to work my shift, and we said
hello to each other. Oh, he told me about a party he'd been to." I tried to recall his exact words. "He said
he'd been to a house where there were all kinds of sex hijinks going on."
The two men gaped at me.
"Well, that's what he said! I don't know how much truth was in it." I could just see Lafayette's face as
he'd told me about it, the coy way he kept putting his finger across his lips to indicate he wasn't telling me
any names or places.
"Didn't you think someone should know about that?" Bud Dearborn looked stunned.
"It was a private party. Why should I tell anyone about it?"
But that kind of party shouldn't happen in their parish. Both men were glaring at me. Through
compressed lips, Bud said, "Did Lafayette tell you anything about drugs being used at this get-together?"
"No, I don't remember anything like that."
"Was this party at the home of someone white, or someone black?"
"White," I said, and then wished I'd pled ignorance. But Lafayette had been really impressed by the
home—though not because it was large or fancy. Why had he been so impressed? I wasn't too sure what
would constitute impressive for Lafayette, who had grown up poor and stayed that way, but I was sure he'd been talking about the home of someone white, because he'd said, "All the pictures on the walls,
they all white as lilies and smiling like alligators." I didn't offer thatcomment to the police, and they didn't
ask further.
When I'd left Sam's office, after explaining why Andy's car had been in the parking lot in the first place, I
went back to stand behind the bar. I didn't want towatch the activity out in the parking lot, and there
weren't any customers to wait on because the police had the entrances to the lot blocked off.
Sam was rearranging the bottles behind the bar, dusting as he went, and Holly and Danielle had plunked
themselves down at a table in the smoking section so Danielle could have a cigarette.
"How was it?" Sam asked.
"Not much to it. They didn't like hearing about Anthony working here, and they didn't like what I told
them about the party Lafayette was bragging about the other day. Did you hear him telling me? The orgy
thing?"
"Yeah, he said something to me about that, too. Must have been a big evening for him. If it really
happened."
"You think Lafayette made it up?"
"I don't think there are too many biracial, bisexual parties in Bon Temps," he said.
"But that's just because no one invited you to one," I said pointedly. I wondered if I really knew at all
what went on in our little town. Of all the people in Bon Temps, I should be the one to know the ins and
the outs, since all that information was more or less readily available to me, if I chose to dig for it. "At
least, I assume that's the case?"
"That's the case," Sam said, smiling at me a little as he dusted a bottle of whiskey.
"I guess my invitation got lost in the mail, too."
"You think Lafayette came back here last night to talk more to you or me about this party?"
I shrugged. "He may have just arranged to meet someone in the parking lot. After all, everyone knows
where Merlotte's is. Had he gotten his paycheck?" It was the end of the week, when Sam normally paid
us.
"No. Maybe he'd come in for that, but I'd have given it to him at work the next day. Today."
"I wonder who invited Lafayette to that party."
"Good question."
"You don't reckon he'd have been dumb enough to try to blackmail anyone, do you?"
Sam rubbed the fake wood of the bar with a clean rag. The bar was already shining, but he liked to
keep his hands busy, I'd noticed. "I don't think so," he said, after he'd thought it over. "No, they sure
asked the wrong person. You know how indiscreet Lafayette was. Not only did he tell us that he went to
such a party—and I'm betting he wasn't supposed to—he might have wanted to build more on it than the other, ah, participants, would feel comfortable with."
"Like, keep in contact with the people at the party? Give them a sly wink in public?"
"Something like that."
"I guess if you have sex with someone, or watch them having sex, you feel pretty much like you're their
equal." I said this doubtfully, having limited experience in that area, but Sam was nodding.
"Lafayette wanted to be accepted for what he was more than anything else," he said, and I had to agree.
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