Шарлин Харрис - From Dead To Worse

"She's a spy," Amelia said. Amelia could cut right to the chase.

"Who for?" Calvin tilted his head to one side, unsurprised and curious.

I told him an edited version of the story, a story I was extremely sick of repeating. Calvin needed to know that the Pelts had a big beef with me, that Sandra would hound me to my grave, that Tanya had been planted as a gadfly.

Calvin stretched out his legs while he listened, his arms crossed over his chest. He was wearing brand-new jeans and a plaid shirt. He smelled like fresh-cut trees.

"You want to put a spell on her?" he asked Amelia when I'd finished.

"We do," she said. "But we need you to get her here."

"What would the effect be? Would it hurt her?"

"She'd lose interest in doing harm to Sookie and all her family. She wouldn't want to obey Sandra Pelt anymore. It wouldn't hurt her physically at all."

"Would this change her mentally?"

"No," Octavia said. "But it's not as sure a spell as the one that would make her not want to be here anymore. If we cast that one, she'd leave here, and she wouldn't want to come back."

Calvin mulled this over. "I kind of like that ole girl," he said. "She's a live one. I've been pretty concerned over the trouble she's causing Crystal and Jason, though, and I've been wondering what steps to take about Crystal's crazy spending. I guess this kind of brings the issue front and center."

"You like her?" I said. I wanted all cards on the table.

"I said that."

"No, I mean, you like her."

"Well, her and me, we've had some good times now and then."

"You don't want her to go away," I said. "You want to try the other thing."

"That's about the size of it. You're right: she can't stay and keep on going like she is. She either changes her ways, or she leaves." He looked unhappy about that. "You working today, Sookie?"

I looked at the wall calendar. "No, it's my day off." I'd have two days in a row off.

"I'll get aholt of her and bring her by tonight. That give you ladies enough time?"

The two witches looked at each other and consulted silently.

"Yes, that will be fine," Octavia said.

"I'll get her here by seven," Calvin said.

This was moving with unexpected smoothness.

"Thanks, Calvin," I said. "This is really helpful."

"This'll kill a lot of birds with one stone, if it works," Calvin said. "Of course, if it don't work, you two ladies won't be my favorite people." His voice was completely matter-of-fact.

The two witches didn't look happy.

Calvin eyed Bob, who happened to stroll into the room. "Hello, brother," Calvin said to the cat. He gave Amelia a narrowed-eye look. "Seems to me like your magic don't work all the time."

Amelia looked guilty and offended simultaneously. "We'll get this to work," she said, tight-lipped. "You just see."

"I aim to."

I spent the rest of the day doing my laundry, redoing my nails, changing my sheets—all those tasks you save up for your day off. I went by the library to swap books and absolutely nothing happened. One of Barbara Beck's part-time assistants was on duty, which was good. I didn't want to experience the horror of the attack all over again, as I surely would in every encounter with Barbara for a long time to come. I noticed the stain was gone from the library floor.

After that, I went to the grocery store. No Weres attacked, no vampires rose. No one tried to kill me or anyone I knew. No secret relatives revealed themselves, and not a soul tried to involve me in his or her problems, marital or otherwise.

I was practically reeking with normality by the time I got home.

Tonight was my cooking night, and I'd decided to fix pork chops. I have a favorite homemade breading mix that I make in a huge batch, so I soaked the chops in milk and then dredged them with the mix so they were ready for the oven. I fixed baked apples stuffed with raisins and cinnamon and butter and popped them in to bake and I flavored some canned green beans and some canned corn and put them on low heat. After a while, I opened the oven to put in the meat. I thought about making biscuits, but there seemed to be more than enough calories on board.

While I cooked, the witches were doing stuff in the living room. They seemed to be having a good old time. I could hear Octavia's voice, which sounded very much like it was in teaching mode. Every now and then, Amelia would ask a question.

I did a lot of muttering to myself while I cooked. I hoped this magical procedure worked, and I was grateful to the witches for being so willing to help. But I was feeling a little sideswiped on the domestic front. My brief mention to Amelia that Octavia could stay with us for a little while had been a spur of the moment thing. (I could tell I was going to have to be more careful in conversations with my roomie from now on.) Octavia hadn't said she'd be in my house for a weekend, or a month, or any measure of time. That scared me.

I could have cornered Amelia and told her, "You didn't ask me if Octavia could stay right now at this moment , and it's my house," I supposed. But I did have a free room, and Octavia did need someplace to stay. It was a little late to discover that I wasn't entirely happy at having a third person in the house—a third person I barely knew.

Maybe I could find a job for Octavia, because regular earnings would allow the older woman her independence and she'd move out of here. I wondered about the state of her house in New Orleans. I assumed it was unlivable. For all the power she had, I guess even Octavia couldn't undo the damage a hurricane had done. After her references to stairs and increased bathroom needs, I'd revised her age upward, but she still didn't seem any older than, say, sixty-three. That was practically a spring chicken, these days.

I called Octavia and Amelia to the table at six o'clock. I had the table set and the iced tea poured, but I let them serve their own plates from the stove. Not elegant, but it did save on dishes.

We didn't talk a lot as we ate. All three of us were thinking about the evening to come. As much as I disliked her, I was a little worried about Tanya.

I felt funny about the idea of altering someone, but the bottom line was, I needed Tanya off my back and out of my life and the lives of those around me. Or I needed her to get a new attitude about what she was doing in Bon Temps. I couldn't see any way around those facts. In line with my new practicality, I'd realized that if I had to choose between continuing my life with Tanya's interference or continuing my life with Tanya altered, there was no contest.

I cleared the plates away. Normally, if one of us cooked, the other did the dishes, but the two women had magical preparations to make. It was just as well; I wanted to keep busy.

We heard the gravel crunching under the wheels of a truck at 7:05.

When we'd asked him to have her here at seven, I hadn't realized he'd bring her as a parcel.

Calvin carried Tanya in over his shoulder. Tanya was compact, but no featherweight. Calvin was definitely working, but his breathing was nice and even and he hadn't broken a sweat. Tanya's hands and ankles were bound, but I noticed he'd wrapped a scarf under the rope so she wouldn't get chafed. And (thank God) she was gagged, but with a jaunty red bandanna. Yes, the head werepanther definitely had a thing for Tanya.

Of course, she was mad as a disturbed rattler, wriggling and twisting and glaring. She tried to kick Calvin, and he slapped her on her butt. "You stop that now," he said, but not as if he was particularly upset. "You've done wrong; you got to take your medicine."

He'd come in the front door, and now he dumped Tanya on the couch.

The witches had drawn some things in chalk on the floor of the living room, a process that hadn't found much favor with me. Amelia had assured me she could clean it all up, and since she was a champion cleaner, I'd let them proceed.