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.
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.
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.
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.
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...
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?
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.
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, Fiction(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.
Dead until dark first chapter (true blood series #1 by Charlaine Harris
| Labels: Fantasy, Fiction, first chaptersChapter1
i'd beenWAITING for the vampire for years when he walked into the bar.
Ever since vampires came out of the coffin (as they laughingly
put it) four years ago, I'd hoped one
would come to Bon Temps. We had all the other minorities in our little town—why not the newest, the
legally recognized undead? But rural northern Louisiana wasn't too tempting to vampires,
apparently; on
the other hand, New Orleans was a real center for them—the whole Anne Rice thing, right?
It's not that long a drive from Bon Temps to New Orleans, and everyone who came into the bar said
that if you threw a rock on a street comer you'd hit one. Though you better not.
But I was waiting for my own vampire.
You can tell I don't get out much. And it's not because I'm not pretty. I am. I'm blond and blue-eyed and
twenty-five, and my legs are strong and my bosom is substantial, and I have a waspy waistline. I look
good in the warm-weather waitress outfit Sam picked for us: black shorts, white T, white socks, black
Nikes.
But I have a disability. That's how I try to think of it.
The bar patrons just say I'm crazy.
Either way, the result is that I almost never have a date. So little treats count a lot with me.
And he sat at one of my tables—the vampire.
I knew immediately what he was. It amazed me when no one else turned around to stare. They couldn't
tell! But to me, his skin had a little glow, and I just knew.
I could have danced with joy, and in fact I did do a little step right there by the bar. Sam Merlotte, my
boss, looked up from the drink he was mixing and gave me a tiny smile. I grabbed my tray and pad and
went over to the vampire's table. I hoped that my lipstick was still even and my ponytail was still neat. I'm
kind of tense, and I could feel my smile yanking the corners of my mouth up.
He seemed lost in thought, and I had a chance to give him a good once-over before he looked up. He
was a little under six feet, I estimated. He had thick brown hair, combed straight back and brushing his
collar, and his long sideburns seemed curiously old-fashioned. He was pale, of course; hey, he was dead,
if you believed the old tales. The politically correct theory, the one the vamps themselves publicly
backed, had it that this guy was the victim of a virus that left him apparently dead for a couple of days
and thereafter allergic
to sunlight, silver, and garlic. The details depended on which newspaper you read.
They were all full of vampire stuff these days.
Anyway, his lips were lovely, sharply sculpted, and he had arched dark brows. His nose swooped down
right out of that arch, like a prince's in a Byzantine mosaic. When he finally looked up, I saw his eyes
were even darker than his hair, and the whites were incredibly white.
"What can I get you?" I asked, happy almost beyond words.
He raised his eyebrows. "Do you have the bottled synthetic blood?" he asked.
"No, I'm so sorry! Sam's got some on order. Should be in next week."
"Then red wine, please," he said, and his voice was cool and clear, like a stream over smooth stones. I
laughed out loud. It was too perfect.
"Don't mind, Sookie, mister, she's crazy," came a familiarvoice from the booth against the wall. All my
happiness deflated,
though I could feel the smile still straining my lips. The vampire was staring at me,
watching the life go out of my face.
"I'll get your wine right away," I said, and strode off, not even looking at Mack Rattray's smug face. He
was there almost every night, he and his wife Denise. I called them the Rat Couple. They'd done their
best to make me miserable since they'd moved into the rent trailer at Four Tracks Corner.
I had hoped
that they'd blow out of Bon Temps as suddenly
as they'd blown in.
When they'd first come into Merlotte's, I'd very rudely listened in to their thoughts—I know, pretty
low-class of me. But I get bored like everyone else, and though I spend most of my time blocking out the
thoughts of other people that try to pass through my brain, sometimes I just give in. So I knew some
things about the Rattrays that maybe no one else did. For one thing, I knew they'd been in jail, though I
didn't know why. For another, I'd read the nasty thoughts Mack Rattray had entertained about yours
truly. And then I'd heard in Denise's thoughts that she'd abandoned a baby she'd had two years before, a
baby that wasn't Mack's.
And they didn't tip, either.
Sam poured a glass of the house red wine, looking over at the vampire's table as he put it on my tray.
When Sam looked back at me, I could tell he too knew our new customer was undead. Sam's eyes are
Paul Newman blue, as opposed to my own hazy blue gray. Sam is blond, too, but his hair is wiry and his
blond is almost a sort of hot red gold. He is always a little sunburned, and though he looks slight in his
clothes, I have seen him unload trucks with his shirt off, and he has plenty of upper body strength. I never
listen to Sam's thoughts. He's my boss. I've had to quit jobs before because I found out things I didn't
want to know about my boss.
But Sam didn't comment, he just gave me the wine. I checked the glass to make sure it was sparkly
clean and made my way back to the vampire's table.
"Your wine, sir," I said ceremoniously and placed it carefully
on the table exactly in front of him. He
looked at me again, and I stared into his lovely eyes while I had the chance. "Enjoy," I said proudly.
Behind me, Mack Rattray yelled, "Hey, Sookie! We need another pitcher of beer here!" I sighed and
turned to take the empty pitcher from the Rats' table. Denise was in fine form tonight, I noticed, wearing
a halter top and short shorts, her mess of brown hair floofing around her head in fashionable tangles.
Denise wasn't truly pretty, but she was so flashy and confident that it took awhile to figure that out.
A little while later, to my dismay, I saw the Rattrays had moved over to the vampire's table. They were
talking at him. I couldn't see that he was responding a lot, but he wasn't leaving either.
"Look at that!" I said disgustedly to Arlene, my fellow waitress. Arlene is redheaded and freckled and
ten years older than me, and she's been married four times. She has two kids, and from time to time, I
think she considers me her third.
"New guy, huh?" she said with small interest. Arlene is currently dating Rene Lenier, and though I can't
see the attraction,
she seems pretty satisfied. I think Rene was her second
husband.
"Oh, he's a vampire," I said, just having to share my delight with someone.
"Really? Here? Well, just think," she said, smiling a little to show she appreciated my pleasure. "He can't
be too bright, though, honey, if he's with the Rats. On the other hand, Denise is giving him quite a show."
I figured it out after Arlene made it plain to me; she's much better at sizing up sexual situations than I am
due to her experience and my lack.
The vampire was hungry. I'd always heard that the synthetic
blood the Japanese had developed kept
vampires up to par as far as nutrition, but didn't really satisfy their hunger, which was why there were
"Unfortunate Incidents" from time to time. (That was the vampire euphemism for the bloody slaying of a
human.) And here was Denise Rattray, stroking her throat, turning her neck from side to side... what a
bitch.
My brother, Jason, came into the bar, then, and saunteredover to give me a hug. He knows that women
like a man who's good to his family and also kind to the disabled, so hugging me is a double whammy of
recommendation. Not that Jason needs many more points than he has just by being himself. He's
handsome. He can sure be mean, too, but most women seem quite willing to overlook that.
"Hey, sis, how's Gran?"
"She's okay, about the same. Come by to see."
"I will. Who's loose tonight?"
"Look for yourself." I noticed that when Jason began to glance around there was a flutter of female
hands to hair, blouses, lips.
"Hey. I see DeeAnne. She free?"
"She's here with a trucker from Hammond. He's in the bathroom. Watch it."
Jason grinned at me, and I marvelled that other women could not see the selfishness of that smile. Even
Arlene tucked in her T-shirt when Jason came in, and after four husbands she should have known a little
about evaluating men. The other waitress I worked with, Dawn, tossed her hair and straightened her
back to make her boobs stand out. Jason gave her an amiable wave. She pretended to sneer. She's on
the outs with Jason, but she still wants him to notice her.
I got really busy—everyone came to Merlotte's on Saturday
night for some portion of the evening—so
I lost track of my vampire for a while. When I next had a moment to check on him, he was talking to
Denise. Mack was looking at him with an expression so avid that I became worried.
I went closer to the table, staring at Mack. Finally, I let down my guard and listened.
Mack and Denise had been in jail for vampire draining.
Deeply upset, I nevertheless automatically carried a pitcher of beer and some glasses to a raucous table
of four. Since vampire blood was supposed to temporarily relieve symptoms
of illness and increase
sexual potency, kind of like pred-nisone and Viagra rolled into one, there was a huge black market for
genuine, undiluted vampire blood. Where there's a market there are suppliers; in this case, I'd just
learned, the scummy Rat Couple. They'd formerly trapped vampires anddrained them, selling the little
vials of blood for as much as $200 apiece. It had been the drug of choice for at least two years now.
Some buyers went crazy after drinking pure vampire
blood, but that didn't slow the market any.
The drained vampire didn't last long, as a rule. The drainers
left the vampires staked or simply dumped
them out in the open. When the sun came up, that was all she wrote. From time to time, you read about
the tables being turned when the vampire managed to get free. Then you got your dead drainers.
Now my vampire was getting up and leaving with the Rats. Mack met my eyes, and I saw him looking
distinctly startled at the expression on my face. He turned away, shrugging me off like everyone else.
That made me mad. Really mad.
What should I do? While I struggled with myself, they were out the door. Would the vampire believe me
if I ran after them, told him? No one else did. Or if by chance they did, they hated and feared me for
reading the thoughts concealed
in people's brains. Arlene had begged me to read her fourth husband's
mind when he'd come in to pick her up one night because she was pretty certain he was thinking of
leaving her and the kids, but I wouldn't because I wanted to keep the one friend I had. And even Arlene
hadn't been able to ask me directly because that would be admitting I had this gift, this curse. People
couldn't admit it. They had to think I was crazy. Which sometimes I almost was!
So I dithered, confused and frightened and angry, and then I knew I just had to act. I was goaded by the
look Mack had given me—as if I was negligible.
I slid down the bar to Jason, where he was sweeping DeeAnne off her feet. She didn't take much
sweeping, popular
opinion had it. The trucker from Hammond was glowering
from her other side.
"Jason," I said urgently. He turned to give me a warning glare. "Listen, is that chain still in the back of the
pickup?"
"Never leave home without it," he said lazily, his eyes scanning my face for signs of trouble. "You going
to fight, Sookie?"
I smiled at him, so used to grinning that it was easy. "I sure hope not," I said cheerfully.
"Hey, you need help?" After all, he was my brother.
"No, thanks," I said, trying to sound reassuring. And I slipped over to Arlene. "Listen, I got to leave a
little early. My tables are pretty thin, can you cover for me?" I didn't think I'd ever asked Arlene such a
thing, though I'd covered for her many times. She, too, offered me help. "That's okay," I said. "I'll be
back in if I can. If you clean my area, I'll do your trailer."
Arlene nodded her red mane enthusiastically.
I pointed to the employee door, to myself, and made my fingers walk, to tell Sam where I was going.
He nodded. He didn't look happy.
So out the back door I went, trying to make my feet quiet on the gravel. The employee parking lot is at
the rear of the bar, through a door leading into the storeroom. The cook's car was there, and Arlene's,
Dawn's, and mine. To my right, the east, Sam's pickup was sitting in front of his trailer.
I went out of the gravelled employee parking area onto the blacktop that surfaced the much larger
customer lot to the west of the bar. Woods surrounded the clearing in which Merlotte's stood, and the
edges of the parking lot were mostly gravel. Sam kept it well lit, and the surrealistic glare of the high,
parking lot lights made everything look strange.
I saw the Rat Couple's dented red sports car, so I knew they were close.
I found Jason's truck at last. It was black with custom aqua and pink swirls on the sides. He sure did
love to be noticed. I pulled myself up by the tailgate and rummaged around in the bed for his chain, a
thick length of links that he carried in case of a fight. I looped it and carried it pressed to my body so it
wouldn't chink.
I thought a second. The only halfway private spot to which the Rattrays could have lured the vampire
was the end of the parking lot where the trees actually overhung the cars. So I crept in that direction,
trying to move fast and low.
I paused every few seconds and listened. Soon I heard a groan and the faint sounds of voices. I snaked
between the cars, and I spotted them right where I'd figured they'd be.
The vampire was down on the ground on his back, his face contorted in agony, and the gleam of chains
crisscrossed his wrists and ran down to his ankles. Silver. There were two little vials of blood already on
the ground beside Denise's feet, and as I watched, she fixed a new Vacutainer to the needle. The
tourniquet above his elbow dug cruelly into his arm.
Their backs were to me, and the vampire hadn't seen me yet I loosened the coiled chain so a good three
feet of it swung free. Who to attack first? They were both small and vicious.
I remembered Mack's contemptuous dismissal and the fact that he never left me a tip. Mack first.
I'd never actually been in a fight before. Somehow I was positively looking forward to it.
I leapt out from behind a pickup and swung the chain. It thwacked across Mack's back as he knelt
beside his victim. He screamed and jumped up. After a glance, Denise set about getting the third
Vacutainer plugged. Mack's hand dipped down to his boot and came up shining. I gulped. He had a
knife in his hand.
"Uh-oh," I said, and grinned at him.
"You crazy bitch!" he screamed. He sounded like he was looking forward to using the knife. I was too
involved to keep my mental guard up, and I had a clear flash of what Mack wanted to do to me. It drove
me really crazy. I went for him with every intention of hurting him as badly as I could. But he was ready
for me and jumped forward with the knife while I was swinging the chain. He sliced at my arm and just
missed it. The chain, on its recoil, wrapped around his skinny neck like a lover. Mack's yell of triumph
turned into a gurgle. He dropped the knife and clawed at the links with both hands. Losing air, he
dropped to his knees on the rough pavement, yanking the chain from my hand.
Well, there went Jason's chain. I swooped down and scooped up Mack's knife, holding it like I knew
how to use it. Denise had been lunging forward, looking like a redneck witch in the lines and shadows of
the security lights.
She stopped in her tracks when she saw I had Mack'sknife. She cursed and railed and said terrible
things. I waited till she'd run down to say, "Get. Out. Now."
Denise stared holes of hate in my head. She tried to scoop up the vials of blood, but I hissed at her to
leave them alone. So she pulled Mack to his feet. He was still making choking, gurgling sounds and
holding the chain. Denise kind of dragged him along to their car and shoved him in through the
passenger's side. Yanking some keys from her pocket, Denise threw herself in the driver's seat.
As I heard the engine roar into life, suddenly I realized that the Rats now had another weapon. Faster
than I've ever moved, I ran to the vampire's head and panted, "Push with your feet!" I grabbed him under
the arms and yanked back with all my might, and he caught on and braced his feet and shoved. We were
just inside the tree line when the red car came roaring down at us. Denise missed us by less than a yard
when she had to swerve to avoid hitting a pine. Then I heard the big motor of the Rats' car receding in
the distance.
"Oh, wow," I breathed, and knelt by the vampire because my knees wouldn't hold me up any more. I
breathed heavily for just a minute, trying to get hold of myself. The vampire moved a little, and I looked
over. To my horror, I saw wisps of smoke coming up from his wrists where the silver touched them.
"Oh, you poor thing," I said, angry at myself for not caring for him instantly. Still trying to catch my
breath, I began to unwind the thin bands of silver, which all seemed to be part of one very long chain.
"Poor baby," I whispered, never thinking until later how incongruous that sounded. I have agile fingers,
and I released his wrists pretty quickly. I wondered
how the Rats had distracted him while they got into
position to put them on, and I could feel myself reddening as I pictured it.
The vampire cradled his arms to his chest while I worked on the silver wrapped around his legs. His
ankles had fared better since the drainers hadn't troubled to pull up his jeans legs and put the silver
against his bare skin.
"I'm sorry I didn't get here faster," I said apologetically. "You'll feel better in a minute, right? Do you
want me to leave?"
That made me feel pretty good until he added, "They might come back, and I can't fight yet." His cool
voice was uneven, but I couldn't exactly say I'd heard him panting.
I made a sour face at him, and while he was recovering, I took a few precautions. I sat with my back to
him, giving him some privacy. I know how unpleasant it is to be stared at when you're hurting. I hunkered
down on the pavement, keeping watch on the parking lot. Several cars left, and others came in, but none
came down to our end by the woods. By the movement of the air around me, I knew when the vampire
had sat up.
He didn't speak right away. I turned my head to the left to look at him. He was closer than I'd thought.
His big dark eyes looked into mine. His fangs had retracted; I was a little disappointed about that.
"Thank you," he said stiffly.
So he wasn't thrilled about being rescued by a woman. Typical guy.
Since he was being so ungracious, I felt I could do something
rude, too, and I listened to him, opening
my mind completely.
And I heard ... nothing
"Oh," I said, hearing the shock in my own voice, hardly knowing what I was saying. "Ican't hear you."
"Thank you!" the vampire said, moving his lips exaggeratedly.
"No, no ... I can hear you speak, but..." and in my excitement,
I did something I ordinarily would never
do, because
it was pushy, and personal, and revealed I was disabled. I turned fully to him and put my
hands on both sides of his white face, and I looked at him intently. I focused with all my energy.Nothing.
It was like having to listen to the radio all the time, to stations you didn't get to select, and then suddenly
tuning in to a wavelength you couldn't receive.
It was heaven.
His eyes were getting wider and darker, though he was holding absolutely still.
"Oh, excuse me," I said with a gasp of embarrassment. I snatched my hands away and resumed staring
at the parkinglot. I began babbling about Mack and Denise, all the time thinking how marvelous it would
be to have a companion I could not hear unless he chose to speak out loud. How beautiful
his silence
was.
"... so I figured I better come out here to see how you were," I concluded, and had no idea what I'd
been saying.
"You came out here to rescue me. It was brave," he said in a voice so seductive it would have shivered
DeeAnne right out of her red nylon panties.
"Now you cut that out," I said tartly, coming right down to earth with a thud.
He looked astonished for a whole second before his face returned to its white smoothness.
"Aren't you afraid to be alone with a hungry vampire?" he asked, something arch and yet dangerous
running beneath the words.
"Nope."
"Are you assuming that since you came to my rescue that you're safe, that I harbor an ounce of
sentimental feeling after all these years? Vampires often turn on those who trust them. We don't have
human values, you know."
"A lot of humans turn on those who trust them," I pointed out. I can be practical. "I'm not a total fool." I
held out my arm and turned my neck. While he'd been recovering, I'd been wrapping the Rats' chains
around my neck and arms.
He shivered visibly.
"But there's a juicy artery in your groin," he said after a pause to regroup, his voice as slithery as a snake
on a slide.
"Don't you talk dirty," I told him. "I won't listen to that."
Once again we looked at each other in silence. I was afraid I'd never see him again; after all, his first visit
to Merlotte's hadn't exactly been a success. So I was trying to absorb every detail I could; I would
treasure this encounter and rehash
it for a long, long time. It was rare, a prize. I wanted to touch his skin
again. I couldn't remember how it felt. But that would be going beyond some boundary of manners, and
also maybe start him going on the seductive crap again.
"Would you like to drink the blood they collected?" he asked unexpectedly. "It would be a way for me
to show my gratitude." He gestured at the stoppered vials lying on theblacktop. "My blood is supposed
to improve your sex life and your health."
"I'm healthy as a horse," I told him honestly. "And I have no sex life to speak of. You do what you want
with it."
"You could sell it," he suggested, but I thought he was just waiting to see what I'd say about that.
"I wouldn't touch it," I said, insulted.
"You're different," he said. "What are you?" He seemed to be going through a list of possibilities in his
head from the way he was looking at me. To my pleasure, I could not hear a one of them.
"Well. I'm Sookie Stackhouse, and I'm a waitress," I told him. "What's your name?" I thought I could at
least ask that without being presuming.
"Bill," he said.
Before I could stop myself, I rocked back onto my butt with laughter. "The vampire Bill!" I said. "I
thought it might be Antoine, or Basil, or Langford! Bill!" I hadn't laughed so hard in a long time. "Well,
see ya, Bill. I got to get back to work." I could feel the tense grin snap back into place when I thought of
Merlotte's. I put my hand on Bill's shoulder and pushed up. It was rock hard, and I was on my feet so
fast I had to stop myself from stumbling. I examined my socks to make sure their cuffs were exactly even,
and I looked up and down my outfit to check for wear and tear during the fight with the Rats. I dusted off
my bottom since I'd been sitting on the dirty pavement and gave Bill a wave as I started off across the
parking lot.
It had been a stimulating evening, one with a lot of food for thought. I felt almost as cheerful as my smile
when I considered it.
But Jason was going to be mighty angry about the chain.
after work thatnight, I drove home, which is only about four miles south from the bar. Jason had been
gone (and so had DeeAnne) when I got back to work, and that had been another good thing. I was
reviewing the evening as I drove to my grandmother's house, where I lived. It's right before Tall Pines
cemetery, which lies off a narrow two-lane parish road. My great-great-great grandfather had started the
house, and he'd had ideas about privacy, so to reach it you had to turn off the parish road into the
driveway, go through some woods, and then you arrived at the clearing in which the house stood.
It's sure not any historic landmark, since most of the oldest parts have been ripped down and replaced
over the years, and of course it's got electricity and plumbing and insulation, all that good modern stuff.
But it still has a tin roof that gleams blindingly on sunny days. When the roof needed to be replaced, I
wanted to put regular roofing tiles on it, but my grandmother said no. Though I was paying, it's her house;
so naturally, tin it was.
Historical or not, I'd lived in this house since I was about seven, and I'd visited it often before then, so I
loved it. It was just a big old family home, too big for Granny and me, I guess. It had a broad front
covered by a screened-in porch, and it was painted white, Granny being a traditionalist all the way. I
went through the big living room, strewn with battered furniture arranged to suit us, and down the hall to
the first bedroom on the left, the biggest.
Adele Hale Stackhouse, my grandmother, was propped up in her high bed, about a million pillows
padding her skinny shoulders. She was wearing a long-sleeved cotton nightgown even in the warmth of
this spring night, and her bedside lamp was still on. There was a book propped in her lap.
"Hey," I said.
"Hi, honey."
My grandmother is very small and very old, but her hair is still thick, and so white it almost has the very
faintest of green tinges. She wears it kind of rolled against her neck during the day, but at night it's loose
or braided. I looked at the cover of her book.
"You reading Danielle Steele again?"
"Oh, that woman can sure tell a story." My grandmother's great pleasures were reading Danielle Steele,
watching her soap operas (which she called her "stories") and attending meetings of the myriad clubs
she'd belonged to all her adult life, it seemed. Her favorites were the Descendants of the Glorious Dead
and the Bon Temps Gardening Society.
"Guess what happened tonight?" I asked her.
"What? You got a date?"
"No," I said, working to keep a smile on my face. "A vampire came into the bar."
"Ooh, did he have fangs?"
I'd seen them glisten in the parking lot lights when the Rats were draining him, but there was no need to
describe that to Gran. "Sure, but they were retracted."
"A vampire right here in Bon Temps." Granny was as pleased as punch. "Did he bite anybody in the
bar?"
"Oh, no, Gran! He just sat and had a glass of red wine. Well, he ordered it, but he didn't drink it. I think
he just wanted some company."
"Wonder where he stays."
"He wouldn't be too likely to tell anyone that."
"No," Gran said, thinking about it a moment. "I guess not. Did you like him?"
Now that was kind of a hard question. I mulled it over. "I don't know. He was real interesting," I said
cautiously.
"I'd surely love to meet him." I wasn't surprised Gran said this because she enjoyed new things almost as
much as I did. She wasn't one of those reactionaries who'd decided vampires
were damned right off the
bat. "But I better go to sleep now. I was just waiting for you to come home before I turned out my light."
I bent over to give Gran a kiss, and said, "Night night."
I half-closed her door on my way out and heard the click of the lamp as she turned it off. My cat, Tina,
came from wherever she'd been sleeping to rub against my legs, and I picked her up and cuddled her for
a while before putting her out for the night. I glanced at the clock. It was almost two o'clock, and my bed
was calling me.
My room was right across the hall from Gran's. When I first used this room, after my folks had died,
Gran had moved my bedroom furniture from their house so I'd feel more homey. And here it was still, the
single bed and vanity in white-painted wood, the small chest of drawers.
I turned on my own light and shut the door and began taking off my clothes. I had at least five pair of
black shorts and many, many white T-shirts, since those tended to getstained so easily. No telling how
many pairs of white socks were rolled up in my drawer. So I didn't have to do the wash tonight. I was
too tired for a shower. I did brush my teeth and wash the makeup off my face, slap on some moisturizer,
and take the band out of my hair.
I crawled into bed in my favorite Mickey Mouse sleep T-shirt, which came almost to my knees. I turned
on my side, like I always do, and I relished the silence of the room. Almost
everyone's brain is turned off
in the wee hours of the night, and the vibrations are gone, the intrusions do not have to be repelled. With
such peace, I only had time to think of the vampire's dark eyes, and then I fell into the deep sleep of
exhaustion.
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