Шарлин Харрис: Dead to the World

We laughed all the way into town at the idea of staging a Survivor episode in Bon Temps.

"What with the razorbacks in the woods, and that panther print, they might have an exciting time of it if we had Survivor: Bon Temps, " Arlene said. "Tack and me would just sit back and laugh at them."

That gave me a nice opening to tease her about Tack, which she enjoyed, and altogether she cheered up me just as much as Jason. Arlene was good about stuff like that. I had a brief conversation with Sam in the storeroom of Merlotte's, and he told me Andy and Alcee had already been by to see if his story meshed with mine.

He hushed me before I could thank him again.

I took Jason home, though he hinted broadly he'd like to stay with me one more night. I took the Benelli with us, and I told him to clean it that evening. He promised he would, and when he looked at me, I could tell he wanted to ask me again why I'd had to use it. But he didn't. Jason had learned some things in the past few days, himself.

I was working the late shift again, so I would have a little time on my hands when I got home before I had to go in to work. The prospect felt good. I didn't see any running men on my way back to my house, and no one phoned or popped in with a crisis for a whole two hours. I was able to change the sheets on both beds, wash them, and sweep the kitchen and straighten up the closet concealing the hidey-hole, before the knock came at the front door.

I knew who it would be. It was full dark outside, and sure enough, Eric stood on my front porch.

He looked down at me with no very happy face. "I find myself troubled," he said without preamble.

"Then I've got to drop everything so I can help you out," I said, going instantly on the offensive.

He cocked an eyebrow. "I'll be polite and ask if I can come in." I hadn't rescinded his invitation, but he didn't want to just stroll into my house. Tactful.

"Yes, you can." I stepped back.

"Hallow is dead, having been forced to counter the curse on me, obviously."

"Pam did a good job."

He nodded. "It was Hallow or me," he said. "I like me better."

"Why'd she pick Shreveport?"

"Her parents were jailed in Shreveport. They were witches, too, but they also ran confidence games of some kind, using their craft to make their victims more convinced of their sincerity. In Shreveport, their luck ran out. The supernatural community refused to make any effort to get the older Stonebrooks out of jail. The woman ran afoul of a voodoo priestess while she was incarcerated, and the man ran afoul of a knife in some bathroom brawl."

"Pretty good reason to have it in for the supernaturals of Shreveport."

"They say I was here for several nights." Eric had decided to change the subject.

"Yes," I said. I tried to look agreeably interested in what he had to say.

"And in that time, we never . . . ?"

I didn't pretend to misunderstand him.

"Eric, does that seem likely?" I asked.

He hadn't sat down, and he moved closer to me, as if looking at me hard would reveal the truth. It would have been easy to take a step, be even closer.

"I just don't know," he said. "And it's making me a little aggravated."

I smiled. "Are you enjoying being back at work?"

"Yes. But Pam ran everything well during my absence. I'm sending lots of flowers to the hospital. Belinda, and a wolf named Maria-Comet or something."

"Maria-Star Cooper. You didn't send any to me," I pointed out tartly.

"No, but I left you something more meaningful under the saltshaker," he said, with much the same edge. "You'll have to pay taxes on it. If I know you, you'll give your brother some of it. I hear you got him back."

"I did," I said briefly. I knew I was getting closer to bursting out with something, and I knew he should leave soon. I'd given Jason such good advice about being quiet, but it was hard to follow it myself. "And your point is?"

"It won't last for long."

I don't think Eric realized how much money fifty thousand dollars was, by my standards. "What's your point? I can tell you have one, but I don't have an idea what it might be."

"Was there a reason I found brain tissue on my coat sleeve?"

I felt all the blood drain from my face, the way it does when you're on the edge of passing out. The next thing I knew, I was on the couch and Eric was beside me.

"I think there are some things you're not telling me, Sookie, my dear," he said. His voice was gentler, though.

The temptation was almost overwhelming.

But I thought of the power Eric would have over me, even more power than he had now; he would know I had slept with him, and he would know that I had killed a woman and he was the only one who'd witnessed it. He would know that not only did he owe me his life (most likely), I certainly owed him mine.

"I liked you a lot better when you didn't remember who you were," I said, and with that truth forefront in my mind, I knew I had to keep quiet.

"Harsh words," he said, and I almost believed he was really hurt.

Luckily for me, someone else came to my door. The knock was loud and peremptory, and I felt a jolt of alarm.

The caller was Amanda, the insulting redheaded female Were from Shreveport. "I'm on official business today," she said, "so I'll be polite."

That would be a nice change.

She nodded to Eric and said, "Glad to have you back in your right mind, vampire," in a completely unconcerned tone. I could see that the Weres and vampires of Shreveport had reverted to their old relationship.

"And good to see you, too, Amanda." I said.

"Sure," she said, but hardly as if she cared. "Miss Stackhouse, we're making inquiries for the shifters of Jackson."

Oh, no. "Really? Won't you please sit down? Eric was just leaving."

"No, I'd love to stay and hear Amanda's questions," Eric said, beaming.

Amanda looked at me, eyebrows raised.

There wasn't a hell of a lot I could do about it.

"Oh, by all means, stay," I said. "Please sit down, both of you. I'm sorry, but I don't have a lot of time before I'm due at work."

"Then I'll get right to the point," Amanda said. "Two nights ago, the woman that Alcide abjured—the shifter from Jackson, the one with the weird haircut?"

I nodded, to show I was on the same page. Eric looked pleasantly blank. He wouldn't in a minute.

"Debbie," the Were recalled. "Debbie Pelt."

Eric's eyes widened. Now, that name he did know. He began to smile.

"Alcide abjured her?" he said.

"You were sitting right there," snapped Amanda. "Oh, wait, I forgot. That was while you were under a curse. "

She enjoyed the hell out of saying that.

"Anyway, Debbie didn't make it back to Jackson. Her family is worried about her, especially since they heard that Alcide abjured her, and they're afraid something might have happened to her."

"Why do you think she would have said anything to me?"

Amanda made a face. "Well, actually, I think she would rather have eaten glass than talked to you again. But we're obliged to check with everyone who was there."

So this was just routine. I wasn't being singled out. I could feel myself relax. Unfortunately, so could Eric. I'd had his blood; he could tell things about me. He got up and wandered back to the kitchen. I wondered what he was doing.

"I haven't seen her since that night," I said, which was true, since I didn't specify what time. "I have no idea where she is now." That was even truer.

Amanda told me, "No one admits to having seen Debbie after she left the area of the battle. She drove off in her own car."

Eric strolled back into the living room. I glanced at him, worried about what he was up to.

"Has her car been seen?" Eric asked.

He didn't know he'd been the one who'd hidden it.