Шарлин Харрис - Dead to the World

He turned his head to look at me. He said, "Where?" and I understood he meant the blankets.

"Go in the house, go up the stairs. There's a bedroom at the head of the stairs. There's a blanket chest at the foot of the bed. Get two blankets out of there."

He staggered to his feet, apparently having to deal with some disorientation from his rapid change, before he began striding toward the house.

The girl—Maria-Star—followed him with her eyes.

"Can you talk?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, barely audibly.

"Where does it hurt worst?"

"I think my hips and legs are broken," she said. "The car hit me."

"Did it throw you up in the air?"

"Yes."

"The wheels didn't pass over you?"

She shuddered. "No, it was the impact that hurt me."

"What's your full name? Maria-Star what?" I'd need to know for the hospital. She might not be conscious by then.

"Cooper," she whispered.

By then, I could hear a car coming up Bill's drive.

The colonel, moving more smoothly now, sped out of the house with the blankets, and all the wolves and the one human instantly arrayed themselves around me and their wounded pack member. The car was obviously a threat until they learned likewise. I admired the colonel. It took quite a man to face an approaching enemy stark naked.

The new arrival was Eric, in my old car. He pulled up to Maria-Star and me with considerable panache and squealing brakes. The wolves circled restlessly, their glowing yellow eyes fixed on the driver's door. Calvin Norris's eyes had looked quite different; fleetingly, I wondered why.

"It's my car; it's okay," I said, when one of the Weres began growling. Several pairs of eyes turned to fix on me consideringly. Did I look suspicious, or tasty?

As I finished wrapping Maria-Star in the blankets, I wondered which one of the wolves was Alcide. I suspected he was the largest, darkest one, the one that just that moment turned to look me in the eyes. Yes, Alcide. This was the wolf I'd seen at Club Dead a few weeks ago, when Alcide had been my date on a night that had ended catastrophically—for me and a few other people.

I tried to smile at him, but my face was stiff with cold and shock.

Eric leaped out of the driver's seat, leaving the car running. He opened the back door. "I'll put her in," he called, and the wolves began barking. They didn't want their pack sister handled by a vampire, and they didn't want Eric to be anywhere close to Maria-Star.

Colonel Flood said, "I'll lift her." Eric looked at the older man's slight physique and lifted a doubtful eyebrow, but had the sense to stand aside. I'd wrapped the girl as well as I could without jarring her, but the colonel knew this was going to hurt her even worse. At the last minute, he hesitated.

"Maybe we should call the ambulance," he muttered.

"And explain this how?" I asked. "A bunch of wolves and a naked guy, and her being up here next to a private home where the owner's absent? I don't think so!"

"Of course." He nodded, accepting the inevitable. Without even a hitch in his breathing, he stood with the bundle that was the girl and went to the car. Eric did run to the other side, open that door, and reach in to help pull her farther onto the backseat. The colonel permitted that. The girl shrieked once, and I scrambled behind the wheel as fast as I could. Eric got in the passenger side, and I said, "You can't go."

"Why not?" He sounded amazed and affronted.

"I'll have twice the explaining to do if I have a vampire with me!" It took most people a few minutes to decide Eric was dead, but of course they would figure it out eventually. Eric stubbornly stayed put. "And everyone's seeing your face on the damn posters," I said, working to keep my voice reasonable but urgent. "I live among pretty good people, but there's no one in this parish who couldn't use that much money."

He got out, not happily, and I yelled, "Turn off the lights and relock the house, okay?"

"Meet us at the bar when you have word about Maria-Star!" Colonel Flood yelled back. "We've got to get our cars and clothes out of the cemetery." Okay, that explained the glimpse I'd caught on the way over.

As I steered slowly down the driveway, the wolves watched me go, Alcide standing apart from the rest, his black furry face turning to follow my progress. I wondered what wolfy thoughts he was thinking.

The closest hospital was not in Bon Temps, which is way too small to have its own (we're lucky to have a WalMart), but in nearby Clarice, the parish seat. Luckily, it's on the outskirts of the town, on the side nearest Bon Temps. The ride to the Renard Parish Hospital only seemed to take years; actually, I got there in about twenty minutes. My passenger moaned for the first ten minutes, and then fell ominously silent. I talked to her, begged her to talk to me, asked her to tell me how old she was, and turned on the radio in attempt to spark some response from Maria-Star.

I didn't want to take the time to pull over and check on her, and I wouldn't have known what to do if I had, so I drove like a bat out of hell. By the time I pulled up to the emergency entrance and called to the two nurses standing outside smoking, I was sure the poor Were was dead.

She wasn't, judging from the activity that surrounded her in the next couple of minutes. Our parish hospital is a little one, of course, and it doesn't have the facilities that a city hospital can boast. We counted ourselves lucky to have a hospital at all. That night, they saved the Were's life.

The doctor, a thin woman with graying spiked hair and huge black-rimmed glasses, asked me a few pointed questions that I couldn't answer, though I'd been working on my basic story all the way to the hospital. After finding me clueless, the doctor made it clear I was to get the hell out of the way and let her team work. So I sat in a chair in the hall, and waited, and worked on my story some more.

There was no way I could be useful here, and the glaring fluorescent lights and the gleaming linoleum made a harsh, unfriendly environment. I tried to read a magazine, and tossed it on the table after a couple of minutes. For the seventh or eighth time, I thought of skipping out. But there was a woman stationed at the night reception desk, and she was keeping a close eye on me. After a few more minutes, I decided to visit the women's room to wash the blood off my hands. While I was in there, I took a few swipes at my coat with a wet paper towel, which was largely a wasted effort.

When I emerged from the women's room, there were two cops waiting for me. They were big men, both of them. They rustled with their synthetic padded jackets, and they creaked with the leather of their belts and equipment. I couldn't imagine them sneaking up on anyone.

The taller man was the older. His steel gray hair was clipped close to his scalp. His face was carved with a few deep wrinkles, like ravines. His gut overhung his belt. His partner was a younger man, maybe thirty, with light brown hair and light brown eyes and light brown skin—a curiously monochromatic guy. I gave them a quick but comprehensive scan with all my senses.

I could tell the two were both prepared to find out I'd had a hand in the injuries of the girl I'd brought in, or that I at least knew more than I was saying.

Of course, they were partially right.

"Miss Stackhouse? You brought in the young woman Dr. Skinner is treating?" the younger man said gently.

"Maria-Star," I said. "Cooper."

"Tell us how you came to do that," the older cop said.

It was definitely an order, though his tone was moderate. Neither man knew me or knew of me, I "heard." Good.

I took a deep breath and dove into the waters of mendacity. "I was driving home from work," I said. "I work at Merlotte's Bar—you know where that is?"