Charlaine Harris - Dead Ever After

“Oh, Callisto . . .” He reddened. “She’s a force of nature, you understand, Sookie? A maenad is impossible to resist. If you’re a shifter or a wild thing of any sort, you have to answer her call. I don’t know how sex is with a vampire, I never did that, but you always seemed to think it was really great . . . and I guess Callisto would be sort of the shifter equivalent. She’s wild herself, and dangerous.”

There were things about his analogy I didn’t like, but it wasn’t the time to discuss details. “So, you’ve dated women you’re not proud of dating, and you think you picked them because . . . ?” I really wanted to know where this was going.

“There was a part of me that recognized . . . Oh, this sounds like the worst self-serving bullshit. There was a part of me that kept insisting that I was a big bad supe and born to be a lone shifter, and the women I wanted had to be as wild and antisocial as that stupid picture I had of myself.”

“And now you feel you are . . . ?”

“I feel I’m a man. A man who’s a shifter, too,” he said. “I think I’m ready to begin a relationship . . . a partnership . . . with someone I respect and admire.”

“Rather than . . . ?”

“Rather than another sociopathic bitch who just offers excitement and wild sex.” He looked at me hopefully.

“Okay, I think you kind of took a wrong turn there.”

“Uh-oh.” He thought about that. “Someone I respect and admire whom I also suspect is capable of exciting and wild sex,” he amended.

“Better.”

He looked relieved.

“I’m not as surprised by this as I ought to be,” I said. “I guess Eric read you better than I did. He knew if he let me go, you were standing first in line waiting. Not that I think there’s a line!” I added hastily, when Sam looked startled. “I just mean . . . he saw more than I did. Or he could see it more clearly.”

“I’m kind of ready for Eric to have no part of this conversation,” Sam said.

“I can manage that.”

“Do you still love him?” Sam promptly reintroduced the forbidden topic.

I thought before I answered. “I guess the cluviel dor magic changed you into someone who wants a different thing out of life than you wanted before. Well, using it changed me, too. Or maybe it just woke me up. I want to make sure. I don’t want any more impulse relationships or relationships that could kill me. I don’t want any secret agendas or misunderstandings on a massive scale. I’ve done enough of that. Call me chicken, if it seems I’m being cowardly. I want something different now.”

“All right,” he said. “We’ve listened to each other. Enough serious stuff for today, huh? I’m going to help you get to bed, because I think that’s where you need to be.”

“You’re right,” I said, stifling a groan as I got up from the couch. “And I’d appreciate your help. Would you bring me a pain pill and some water? They’re on the kitchen counter.” Sam vanished. I called after him, “I keep expecting Mr. Cataliades and Diantha to come in. Or Barry. I wish I knew where my houseguests are.”

Sam was back with the pill and a glass of water in nothing flat. “I’m sorry, Sook. I got so—distracted—by our talk. I forgot to tell you Barry came into the bar early this evening to say that he and the two demons were looking for something. Or someone? He said to tell you not to worry, they’d be in touch. Oh, and he gave me this. If you hadn’t called, I would have sent Jason out here with it.”

That made me feel some better.

Sam pulled a folded yellow sheet of paper from his pocket. It was legal paper, and it smelled faintly as though it had come out of a garbage bag. With no regard for the lines, one side was covered by large writing in very strange penmanship. Whoever had done the writing had used a fading Sharpie. It said, “Your front door was open, so I stored something in your hiding place. See you later.”

“Oh my God,” I said. “They’ve put something in the vampire hidey-hole, the one in the guest bedroom.” Bill had built it when I was dating him, so he could spend the day in my house if he had to. The floor of the closet in my guest room could be lifted up. Mustapha had come to get a few possessions of Eric’s from it before Eric left. I wondered if he’d had the chance to complete that task the day Warren had shot Tyrese.

“Do you think there’s a vampire in there?” Sam was startled, to put it mildly. He handed me the water and pill, and I swallowed and drank.

“If it were a vampire, he’d be up by now.”

“I guess we better check,” Sam said. “You don’t want to spend the night wondering what might come out of that hole.” He helped me up, and together we went to the guest bedroom. We opened the door and went into the room. Amelia had packed all her belongings and Bob’s, too, but the bed was disheveled. I spied a sock under the night table as I got a flashlight out of the drawer and handed it to Sam.

He had the unenviable job of opening the hole.

The tension got worse and worse as he figured out how to lift the floor of the closet. Then he swung it up and looked inside the hidey-hole.

“Well, shit,” Sam said. “Sookie, come see.”

I slowly made my way over to the open closet door. I looked down over Sam’s shoulder. Copley Carmichael was there, securely bound and gagged. He glared up at us.

“Close it up, please,” I said, and walked out of the room slowly.

I’d imagined spending a day or two relaxing and recuperating, reading in bed with maybe a foray into the living room to watch television or to try to learn how to play computer games. There was plenty of food in the refrigerator since I’d so recently stocked up for my houseguests. I would not have anything more to worry about than getting well and who was working in my place at the bar.

“But no ,” I said out loud. “Unh- uh . Not gonna happen.”

“Are you feeling sorry for yourself?” Sam asked. “Come on, Sook, if we’re not pulling him out, let me help you climb into bed.”

But I sat down in the chair in the corner of my room. “Yes, I’m feeling sorry for myself. And I may whine a little. What’s it to you?”

“Oh, nothing,” he said, with a suspicion of a smile. “I’m all for a good sulk every now and then.”

“I’m just supposing that Mr. Cataliades or Diantha thought this would be a good after-birthday present for me, if they’re responsible,” I said. “I wonder what they’re doing for their follow-up. Maybe they’ll wash my car. I wish they’d call. I’m kind of worried about Barry.” In case it wasn’t obvious, the pain pill was beginning to work.

“Have you checked your cell phone or your answering machine?” Sam asked.

“Well, no, kind of busy getting shot and going to the hospital,” I said, my self-pity deflated by Sam’s practical suggestion. After a moment, I asked Sam if he’d bring me my purse from the kitchen.

I had all kinds of voice mail: Tara, India, Beth Osiecki, the bank, and, weirdly, Pam, who only said she needed to have a word with me. I subdued my curiosity and continued going down the list. Yes, here was a call from Mr. Cataliades.

“Sookie,” he said in his rich voice. “When we returned and found you had been shot, we knew we had to search farther afield. Copley Carmichael has vanished, but we are on the trail of other game. I truly think you take the prize for having more people wanting to kill you than anyone I’ve ever known. I’m only trying to get to them first. But it’s fun, in a way.”

“Right,” I muttered. “I arranged all this so you’d have a good time. Sounds like Mr. C and Diantha didn’t know Copley was in my house all today.”

“Text him and then move over,” Sam said. “You’re in the middle of the bed. Pick a side.”