Шарлин Харрис: Dead to the World

"No," I said promptly, and I was telling the truth, though only by a narrow margin. We'd been interrupted in time, thank God. I'm not married. I have weak moments. He is gorgeous. What can I say?

But he was looking at me with intense eyes, and I felt color flooding my face.

"This is not your brother's bathrobe."

Oh, boy. I stared into the fire as if it were going to spell out an answer for me.

"Whose, then?"

"Bill's," I said. That was easy.

"He is your lover?"

I nodded. "Was," I said honestly.

"He is my friend?"

I thought that over. "Well, not exactly. He lives in the area you're the sheriff of? Area Five?" I resumed brushing my hair and discovered it was dry. It crackled with electricity and followed the brush. I smiled at the effect in my reflection in the mirror over the mantel. I could see Eric in the reflection, too. I have no idea why the story went around that vampires can't be seen in mirrors. There was certainly plenty of Eric to see, because he was so tall and he hadn't wrapped the robe very tightly. . . . I closed my eyes.

"Do you need something?" Eric asked anxiously.

More self-control.

"I'm just fine," I said, trying not to grind my teeth. "Your friends will be here soon. Your jeans are in the dryer, and I'm hoping Jason will be back any minute with some clothes."

"My friends?"

"Well, the vampires who work for you. I guess Pam counts as a friend. I don't know about Chow."

"Sookie, where do I work? Who is Pam?"

This was really an uphill conversation. I tried to explain to Eric about his position, his ownership of Fangtasia, his other business interests, but truthfully, I wasn't knowledgeable enough to brief him completely.

"You don't know much about what I do," he observed accurately.

"Well, I only go to Fangtasia when Bill takes me, and he takes me when you make me do something." I hit myself in the forehead with my brush. Stupid, stupid!

"How could I make you do anything? May I borrow the brush?" Eric asked. I stole a glance at him. He was looking all broody and thoughtful.

"Sure," I said, deciding to ignore his first question. I handed over the brush. He began to use it on his own hair, making all the muscles in his chest dance around. Oh boy. Maybe I should get back in the shower and turn the water on cold? I stomped into the bedroom and got an elastic band and pulled my hair back in the tightest ponytail I could manage, up at the crown of my head. I used my second-best brush to get it very smooth, and checked to make sure I'd gotten it centered by turning my head from side to side.

"You are tense," Eric said from the doorway, and I yipped.

"Sorry, sorry!" he said hastily.

I glared at him, full of suspicion, but he seemed sincerely contrite. When he was himself, Eric would have laughed. But darn if I didn't miss Real Eric. You knew where you were with him.

I heard a knock on the front door.

"You stay in here," I said. He seemed pretty worried, and he sat on the chair in the corner of the room, like a good little fella. I was glad I'd picked up my discarded clothes the night before, so my room didn't seem so personal. I went through the living room to the front door, hoping for no more surprises.

"Who is it?" I asked, putting my ear to the door.

"We are here," said Pam.

I began to turn the knob, stopped, then remembered they couldn't come in anyway, and opened the door.

Pam has pale straight hair and is as white as a magnolia petal. Other than that, she looks like a young suburban housewife who has a part-time job at a preschool.

Though I don't think you'd really ever want Pam to take care of your toddlers, I've never seen her do anything extraordinarily cruel or vicious. But she's definitely convinced that vampires are better than humans, and she's very direct and doesn't mince words. I'm sure if Pam saw that some dire action was necessary for her well-being, she'd do it without missing any sleep. She seems to be an excellent second-in-command, and not overly ambitious. If she wants to have her own bailiwick, she keeps that desire very well concealed.

Chow is a whole different kettle of fish. I don't want to know Chow any better than I already do. I don't trust him, and I've never felt comfortable around him. Chow is Asian, a small-built but powerful vampire with longish black hair. He is no more than five foot seven, but every inch of visible skin (except his face) is covered with those intricate tattoos that are true art dyed into human skin. Pam says they are yakuza tattoos. Chow acts as Fangtasia's bartender some evenings, and on other nights he just sits around to let patrons approach him. (That's the whole purpose of vampire bars, to let regular humans feel they're walking on the wild side by being in the same room with the in-the-flesh undead. It's very lucrative, Bill told me.)

Pam was wearing a fluffy cream sweater and golden-brown knit pants, and Chow was in his usual vest and slacks. He seldom wore a shirt, so the Fangtasia patrons could get the full benefit of his body art.

I called Eric, and he came into the room slowly. He was visibly wary.

"Eric," Pam said, when she saw him. Her voice was full of relief. "You're well?" Her eyes were fixed on Eric anxiously. She didn't bow, but she sort of gave a deep nod.

"Master," Chow said, and bowed.

I tried not to overinterpret what I was seeing and hearing, but I assumed that the different greetings signified the relationships among the three.

Eric looked uncertain. "I know you," he said, trying to make it sound more statement than question.

The two other vampires exchanged a glance. "We work for you," Pam said. "We owe you fealty."

I began to ease out of the room, because they'd want to talk about secret vampire stuff, I was sure. And if there was anything I didn't want to know, it was more secrets.

"Please don't go," Eric said to me. His voice was frightened. I froze and looked behind me. Pam and Chow were staring over Eric's shoulders at me, and they had quite different expressions. Pam looked almost amused. Chow looked openly disapproving.

I tried not to look in Eric's eyes, so I could leave him with a clear conscience, but it just didn't work. He didn't want to be left alone with his two sidekicks. I blew lots of air out, puffing up my cheeks. Well, dammit. I trudged back to Eric's side, glaring at Pam the whole way.

There was another knock at the door, and Pam and Chow reacted in a dramatic way. They were both ready to fight in an instant, and vampires in that readiness are very, very scary. Their fangs run out, their hands arch like claws, and their bodies are on full alert. The air seems to crackle around them.

"Yes?" I said from right inside the door. I had to get a peephole installed.

"It's your brother," Jason said brusquely. He didn't know how lucky he was that he hadn't just walked in.

Something had put Jason into a foul mood, and I wondered if there was anyone with him. I almost opened the door. But I hesitated. Finally, feeling like a traitor, I turned to Pam. I silently pointed down the hall to the back door, making an opening-and-closing gesture so she could not mistake what I meant. I made a circle in the air with my finger— Come around the house, Pam —and pointed at the front door.

Pam nodded and ran down the hall to the back of the house. I couldn't hear her feet on the floor. Amazing.

Eric moved away from the door. Chow got in front of him. I approved. This was exactly what an underling was supposed to do.

In less than a minute, I heard Jason bellow from maybe six inches away. I jumped away from the door, startled.

Pam said, "Open up!"

I swung the door wide to see Jason locked in Pam's arms. She was holding him off the ground with no effort, though he was flailing wildly and making it as hard as he could, God bless him.