Шарлин Харрис - Dead until Dark

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

I puttered around the house, took a short nap, watered Gran's flowers. Toward dusk, I ate something I'd nuked in the microwave. Wavering up until the last moment aboutgoing out, I finally put on a red shirt and white slacks and some jewelry and drove back to Merlotte's.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'd had another drink.

Jason and I had been swapping conjectures about how much the lawyer's fees would be when Gran's estate was settled. He glanced at the doorway and said, "Uh-oh."

"What?" I asked, not turning to see what he was looking at.

"Sis, the boyfriend's here. And he's not alone." My first idea was that Bill had brought one of his fellow vampires with him, which would have been upsetting and unwise. But when I turned, I realized why Jason had sounded so angry. Bill was with a human girl. He had a grip on her arm, she was coming on to him like a whore, and his eyes were scanning the crowd. I decided he was looking for my reaction.

I got off the barstool and decided another thing. I was drunk. I seldom drank at all, and two bourbon and cokes consumed within minutes had made me, if not knee-walking drunk, at least tipsy.

Bill's eyes met mine. He hadn't really expected to find me here. I couldn't read his mind as I had Eric' for an awful' moment, but I could read his body language.

"Hey, Vampire Bill!" Jason's friend Hoyt called. Bill nod­ded politely in Hoyt's direction, but began to steer the girl—tiny, dark—in my direction. I had no idea what to do.

"Sis, what's his game?" Jason said. He was working up a head of steam. "That gal's a fang-banger from Monroe. I knew her when she liked humans."

I still had no idea what to do. My hurt was overwhelming, but my pride kept trying to contain it. I had to add a dash of guilt to that emotional stew. I hadn't been where Bill had expected me to be, and I hadn't left him a note. Then again—on the other hand (my fifth or sixth)—I'd had a lot of shocks the night before at the command performance in Shreveport; and only my association with him had obliged me to go to that shindig.

My warring impulses held me still. I wanted to pitch my­self on her and beat the shit out of her, but I hadn't been brought up to brawl in barrooms. (I also wanted to beat the shit out of Bill, but I might as well go bang my head on the wall for the all the damage it would do him.) Then, too, I wanted to burst into tears because my feelings were hurt—but that would be weak. The best option was not to show anything because Jason was ready to launch into Bill, and all it needed was some action from me to squeeze his trigger.

Too much conflict on top of too much alcohol.

While I was enumerating all these options, Bill had ap­proached, wending his way through the tables, with the woman in tow. I noticed the room was quieter. Instead of watching, I was being watched.

I could feel my eyes well with tears while my hands fisted. Great. The worst of both responses.

"Sookie," Bill said, "this is what Eric dropped off at my doorstep."

I could hardly understand what he was saying.

"So?" I said furiously. I looked right into the girl's eyes. They were big and dark and excited. I kept my own lids wide apart, knowing if I blinked the tears would flow.

"As a reward," Bill said. I couldn't understand how he felt about this.

"Free beverage?" I said, and couldn't believe how veno­mous my voice sounded.

Jason put his hand on my shoulder. "Steady, girl," he said, his voice as low and mean as mine. "He ain't worth it."

I didn't know what Bill wasn't worth, but I was about to find out. It was almost exhilarating to have no idea what I was about to do, after a lifetime of control.

Bill was regarding me with sharp attention. Under the flourescents over the bar, he looked remarkably white. He hadn't fed from her. And his fangs were retracted.

"Come outside and talk," he said.

"With her?" I was almost growling.

"No," he said. "With me. I have to send her back."

The distaste in his voice influenced me, and I followed Bill outside, keeping my head up and not meeting any eyes. He kept a hold of the girl's arm, and she was practically walk­ing on her toes to keep up. I didn't know Jason was coming with us until I turned to see him behind me as we passed into the parking lot. Outside, people were coming and going, but it was marginally better than the crowded bar.

"Hi," the girl said chattily. "My name's Desiree. I think I've met you before, Jason."

"What are you doing here, Desiree?" Jason asked, his voice quiet. You could almost believe he was calm.

"Eric sent me over here to Bon Temps as a reward for Bill," she said coyly, looking at Bill from the corners of her eyes. "But he seems less than thrilled. I don't know why. I'm practically a special vintage."

"Eric?" Jason asked me.

"A vampire from Shreveport. Bar owner. Head honcho."

"He left her on my doorstep," Bill told me. "I didn't ask for her."

"What are you going to do?"

"Send her back," he said impatiently. "You and I have to talk."

I gulped. I felt my fingers uncurl.

"She needs a ride back to Monroe?" Jason asked.

Bill looked surprised. "Yes. Are you offering? I need to talk to your sister."

"Sure," Jason said, all geniality. I was instantly suspicious.

"I can't believe you're refusing me," Desiree said, looking up at Bill and pouting. "No one has ever turned me down before."

"Of course I am grateful, and I'm sure you are, as you put it, a special vintage," Bill said politely. "But I have my own wine cellar."

Little Desiree stared at him blankly for a second before comprehension slowly lit her brown eyes. "This woman yours?" she asked, jerking her head at me.

"She is."

Jason shifted nervously at Bill's flat statement. Desiree gave me a good looking over. "She's got funny eyes," she finally pronounced.

"She's my sister," Jason said.

"Oh. I'm sorry. You're much more ... normal." Desiree gave Jason the up-and-down, and seemed more pleased with what she saw. "Hey, what's your last name?"

Jason took her hand and began leading her toward his pickup. "Stackhouse," he was saying, giving her the full eye treatment, as they walked away. "Maybe on the way home, you can tell me a little about what you do ..."