Charlaine Harris - Deadlocked

Oh.

I froze, one arm through an armhole, the rest of the nightshirt bunched around my neck. I didn’t breathe for a long moment.

Eric knew about the cluviel dor.

Chapter 15

I sat up all night.

My brain ran through the same old paces like a chipmunk in a cage. I always ended with the same conclusion.

Eric was trying to get me to admit I had the cluviel dor. What would have happened if I’d understood him last night, if I’d admitted it? Would he have taken it from me? I didn’t know if he simply sought it for himself, or if Freyda would barter the cluviel dor in return for Eric’s services, or if Eric simply wanted me to use it to stop him from going to Oklahoma.

And here’s what happens when you have too much time to think: I actual y considered the idea that Eric might have engineered this whole episode with Freyda to get me to reveal the location of the cluviel dor. That was a sickening possibility. If I hadn’t experienced past betrayals, such an idea would never have crossed my mind. Even though I had accepted the world as it was, it made me sad that I was sure such a long-term and planned deception was possible.

Every new thought seemed to be worse than the previous one.

I lay in the dark watching the clock change.

I tried to think of things I could do, something besides lie in this bed. I could run across the cemetery to talk to Bil , who was surely up. That was a terrible idea, and I discarded it the first ten times it occurred to me. The eleventh time, I actual y got out of bed and walked to the back door before I made myself turn away. I knew if I went over to talk to Bil right now, something might happen that I would surely regret—and that wasn’t fair to me or Eric. Not until I knew for sure.

(I real y knew for sure.)

I opened my purse and took the cluviel dor into my hand. Its warm, smooth surface relieved my pain, calmed me. I didn’t know if I could trust this feeling or not, but it was far preferable to my previous misery. I heard Dermot come in and walk very quietly through the house. I couldn’t bear the idea of explaining the situation, so I didn’t let him know I was awake.

When he was safely upstairs, I moved into my dark living room and waited for the dawn. I fel asleep just as the night was lightening gradual y into day. I slept sitting up on the couch until I woke four hours later, a cramp in my neck and stiffness in al my joints. I got up, feeling like I imagined an old woman felt first thing in the morning. I unlocked the front door and stepped out onto the porch. I heard birds singing, and the heat of the day was wel advanced. Life was trudging onward.

Since I couldn’t think what else to do, I went into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. At least I didn’t have to go to work today, since Merlotte’s was closed on Sunday.

The night before, I had tossed our weekly local newspaper on the table unread, so while I sipped the coffee I took off the rubber band and spread it out. It was only a few pages, a little tube compared to the Shreveport daily paper, which I also read. Often the Bon Temps paper had news that was more interesting, though. That was the case today. Bear in Local Woods? read the headline. I skimmed the article hastily, and my heart sank, if there were any lower depths to hold it.

Two deer carcasses found by local men had led to some excited speculation. “Some large predator did this,” said Terry Bellefleur, who happened upon one of the killing sites while training his dog. “It didn’t exactly look like a bear or panther kill, but this deer was killed by something big.”

Dammit. I’d warned Bel enos to stick to my woods.

“Oh, I didn’t have quite enough to worry about,” I said, rising to pour some more coffee. “I needed something else.”

“What are you worried about?” Claude asked.

I screamed, and my coffee mug went flying.

When I could speak, I said, “You. Do. Not. Do. That. To. Me.” He must have come in through the unlocked front door. He had keys, anyway, but I would have heard them in the lock and had some warning.

“Cousin, I’m sorry,” he said contritely, but I could see the amusement in his eyes.

Oh, shit. Where had I put the cluviel dor?

I’d left it on the coffee table in the living room. It took every bit of self-control I had not to break and run for the living room.

“Claude,” I said, “things haven’t been going wel while you were gone.” I struggled to make my voice level. “Some of your fae workers have been taking little vacations.” I pointed to the paper. “I guess Dermot spent the night at Hooligans. You should read this.” If he hadn’t come through the backyard, he might not have seen Dermot’s car.

Claude poured himself a cup of coffee and obediently pul ed out a chair.

His actions weren’t threatening, but I was looking at the man who’d sent Kym Rowe to her death; for al I knew, he was the one who’d kil ed her when she hadn’t gotten Eric to do the job. Claude’s sudden reappearance—without Nial —would have been enough to raise the hair on my arms even if I hadn’t known about his col usion with Jannalynn.

Why had Claude returned by himself? There was something in his face that hadn’t been there before. I was wil ing him to sit down, wil ing him to give me the time to walk into the living room and retrieve the magical object.

“Where is Nial ?” I asked, picking up my mug, which (amazingly) hadn’t broken. After I put it by the sink, I got a wad of paper towels to mop up the spil ed coffee.

“Stil in Faery,” Claude said, ostensibly concentrating on the paper. “Oh, did you like your friend’s act at Hooligans? Your human friend?”

“JB. Wel , his wife and I were sure surprised. Him being the only human, and her not knowing he was doing it and al .”

“He needed a job, and I remembered the pretty lady who was with child,” Claude said. “See, I did a good thing. I’m not so bad.”

“I never said you were.”

“You look at me, though, from time to time, as if you can’t understand why I get to breathe the same air you do.”

I was genuinely staggered. “Claude, I’m so sorry if I’ve ever given the impression I thought you were worthless. Certainly I don’t feel that way.” Or did I? No, I didn’t. I thought he was selfish and charmless and maybe guilty of murder, but that was different.

“You don’t want to have sex with me. If you had more fae blood, you certainly would want it.”

“But I don’t. You’re gay. I’m in love with someone else. I don’t believe in having sex with relatives. We’ve had this conversation before. I real y, real y don’t want to have it again.”

The feeling of wrongness and badness kept growing; especial y after my experience with the rogue Weres, I knew better than to ignore it. I also knew Claude was stronger than I was, and I assumed he had skil s I’d never seen.

“Okay,” he said. “You’re trying to let me know that my kith and kin are hunting at night? Is that the point of giving me this newspaper?”

“Yes, Claude. That’s the point. Dermot’s about been nuts, trying to keep them in line. Did Nial get the letter I sent?”

“I don’t know,” Claude said.

I was bewildered. “I thought you went back with Nial to investigate who’d cast the crazy spel on Dermot,” I said. “He’s been spending lots of nights at the club and trying real hard to keep things running.” I was frightened for myself, of course, but I was frightened for Dermot, too. I hoped Dermot was awake by now; Claude wouldn’t take my word for it that Dermot wasn’t there. He’d go up to check.

“So what have you been doing in Faery? Did you ever find out who cast the spel ?”