Sookie Stackhouse 8-copy Boxed Set (236 page)

“Thanks,” I said, and then recalled that I’d better dress that up a bit. “Thank you, ma’am, and you have a good night. See you tomorrow evening.”

I was glad to get out of there. With the room chock full o’ vampires, the glances I was getting were a little on the pointy-toothed side. Individual bloodsuckers had an easier time of it sticking to the artificial blood than a group did. Something about the memory of the good ole days just made them want something warm from the source, rather than a liquid created in a lab and heated up in a microwave. Right on schedule, the crowd of Willing Donors returned through a back door and lined up, more or less, against the back wall. In very short order, they were all occupied, and (I suppose) happy.

After Bill had taken my blood during lovemaking, he’d told me blood from the neck of a human—after a diet of TrueBlood, say—was like going to Ruth’s Chris Steak House after many meals at McDonald’s. I saw Gervaise nuzzling Carla off in a corner, and I wondered if she needed help; but when I saw her face, I decided not.

Carla didn’t come in that night, either, and without the distraction of Quinn, I was kind of sorry. I had too much to think about. It seemed that trouble was looking for me in the corridors of the Pyramid of Gizeh, and no matter which turn I took, it was going to find me.

I
’D FINALLY GONE TO BED AT FOUR IN THE MORNING, and I woke at noon. That eight hours wasn’t a good eight hours. I kept starting half awake, and I couldn’t regulate my temperature, which might have had something to do with the blood exchange . . . or not. I had bad dreams, too, and twice I thought I heard Carla entering the room, only to open my eyes enough to see she wasn’t there. The weird light that entered through the heavily colored glass of the human-only floor was not like real daylight, not at all. It was throwing me off.

I felt a tad bit better after a long shower, and I lifted the phone to call room service to get something to eat. Then I decided to go down to the little restaurant. I wanted to see other humans.

There were a few there; not my roommate, but a human playmate or two, and Barry. He gestured to the empty chair at his table, and I dropped into it, looking around for the waiter to signal for coffee. It came right away, and I shuddered with pleasure at the first sip. After I’d finished the first cup, I said—in my way—
How are you today? Were you up all night?

No, Stan went to bed early with his new girlfriend, so I wasn’t needed. They’re still in the honeymoon stage. I went to the dance for a while, then I hung out with the makeup girl the Queen of Iowa brought with her.
He waggled his eyebrows to tell me that the makeup girl was hot.

Did you get one of these slid under your door?
Barry pushed a stapled sheaf of papers across the table to me just as the waiter brought my English muffin and eggs.

Yeah, I stuffed it in my purse.
Wow, I could talk to Barry while I ate, the neatest answer to talking with your mouth full I could ever devise.

While Barry cut open a biscuit to slather it with butter, I scanned the pages. An agenda for the night, which was very helpful. Sophie-Anne’s trial had been the most serious case that had to be adjudicated, the only one involving royalty. But there were a couple of others. The first session was set for 8:00, and it was a dispute over a personal injury. A Wisconsin vampire named Jodi (which seemed unlikely in and of itself ) was being sued by an Illinois vampire named Michael. Michael alleged that Jodi had waited until he had dozed off for the day and then broken off one of his canines. With pliers.

Wow. That sounds . . . interesting.
I raised my eyebrows.
How come the sheriffs aren’t handling this?
Vampires really didn’t like airing their dirty laundry.

“Interstate,” Barry said succinctly. The waiter had just brought a whole pot of coffee, so Barry topped off my cup and filled his own.

I flipped over a page. The next case involved a Kansas City, Missouri, vampire named Cindy Lou Suskin, who’d turned a child. Cindy Lou claimed that the child was dying of a blood disorder anyway, and she’d always wanted a child; so now she had a perpetual vampire preteen. Furthermore, the boy had been turned with his parents’ consent, gotten in writing. Kate Book, the Kansas City, Kansas, lawyer appointed by the state to supervise the child’s welfare, was complaining that now the child refused to see his human parents or to have any interaction with them, which was contrary to the agreement between the parents and Cindy Lou.

Sounded like something on daytime television.
Judge Judy
, anyone?

So, tonight is court cases,
I summarized after scanning the remaining sheets. “I guess we’re needed?”

“Yes, I guess so. There’ll be human witnesses for the second case. Stan wants me to be there, and I’m betting your queen will want you there, too. Her subject Bill is one of the appointed judges. Only kings and queens can judge other kings and queens, but for cases involving lesser vampires, the judges are picked from a pool. Bill’s name came out of the hat.”

“Oh, goody.”

Yeah. But I think he’d probably be a good judge.
I wasn’t sure why I believed this; after all, Bill had shown he was capable of great deception. But I thought he would try to be fair and dispassionate.

I had noticed that the “court” cases would take up the hours between eight and eleven. After that, midnight to four a.m. was blocked out as “Commerce.” Barry and I looked at each other and shrugged.

“Swap meet?” I suggested. “Flea market?”

Barry had no idea.

The fourth night of the conference was the last, and the first half of it was marked “Free Time for Everyone in Rhodes.” Some of the suggested activities: seeing the Blue Moon dancers again, or their more explicit division, Black Moon. The difference wasn’t spelled out, but I got the definite idea that the Black Moon employees did much more sexually oriented performances. Different dance teams from the studio were listed as appearing at different venues. The visiting vampires were also advised to visit the zoo, which would be open at night by special arrangement, or the city museum, ditto. Or they could visit a club “for the particular enjoyment of those who enjoy their pleasures on the darker side.” It was called Kiss of Pain.
Remind me to walk down the other side of the street from that one,
I told Barry.

You never enjoy a little bite?
Barry touched his tongue to his own blunt canines so I couldn’t miss the implication.

There’s lots of pleasure in that,
I said, because I could hardly deny it.
But I think this place probably goes a little beyond a nip in the neck. Are you busy right now? Because I have to do some leg-work for Eric, and I could use some help.

“Sure,” Barry said. “What’s up?”

“We need to find archery places,“ I said.

“This was left for you at the desk, miss,” said our waiter, who dropped a manila envelope on the table and retreated as if he suspected we had rabies. Evidently our silent exchanges had freaked someone out.

I opened the envelope to find a picture of Kyle Perkins inside. There was a note paper-clipped to it in Bill’s familiar cramped handwriting. “Sookie: Eric says you need this to do some detective work, and that this picture is necessary. Please be cautious. William Compton.” And just when I was thinking about asking the waiter for a phone book, I saw there was a second sheet. Bill had searched the Internet and made a list of all the archery practice places in the city. There were only four. I tried not to be impressed by Bill’s thoughtfulness and assistance. I’d done with being impressed by Bill.

I called the hotel garage to get one of the cars brought by the Arkansas contingent. The queen had assumed ownership of them, and Eric had offered me one of them.

Barry had run up to his room to get a jacket, and I was standing by the front door, waiting for the car to be brought around and wondering how much I should tip the valet when I spotted Todd Donati. He came over to me, walking slowly and somehow heavily, though he was a thin man. He looked bad today, the scalp exposed by his receding hairline gray and damp looking, even his mustache sagging.

He stood facing me for a moment, not speaking. I thought he was gathering his courage, or his hopelessness. If ever I saw death riding on a man’s shoulder, it was on Todd Donati’s.

“My boss is trying to interest your boss in hooking up,” he said abruptly. If I’d imagined how he’d open our conversation, it had never included that line.

“Yeah, now that she’s a widow, she’s attracting quite a lot of interest,” I said.

“He’s an old-fashioned guy in a lot of ways,” Todd Donati said. “Comes from an old family, doesn’t like modern thinking.”

“Um-hum,” I said, trying to sound neutral but encouraging.

“He don’t believe in women making up their own minds, being able to fend for themselves,” the security chief said.

I couldn’t look like I understood what Donati was talking about, because I sure didn’t.

“Even vampire women,” he said, and looked at me squarely and directly.

“Okay,” I said.

“Think about it,” Donati said. “Get your queen to ask him where the security tape is that shows that area in front of her room.”

“I will,” I said, having no idea why I was agreeing. Then the ailing man spun on his heel and walked away with an air of having discharged his duty.

Then the car came around, Barry hurried out of the elevator and came over to join me, and any thinking I might have done about the encounter faded in my fear of driving in the city. I don’t think Eric ever considered how hard it would be for me to drive in Rhodes, because he just didn’t think about stuff like that. If I hadn’t had Barry with me, it would have been nearly impossible. I could cope with the driving, or I could look at the map the parking attendant loaned us, but not both.

I didn’t do too bad, though the traffic was heavy and the weather was cold and raining. I hadn’t been out of the hotel since we’d arrived, and it was kind of refreshing to see the outside world. Also, this was probably the only glimpse of the rest of the city I would get. I did as much looking as I could. Who knew if I’d ever come back? And this was so far north.

Barry plotted our course, and we began our archery tour of Rhodes.

We started with the farthest business, called Straight Arrow. It was a long, narrow place on a very busy avenue. It was gleaming, well-lit—and had qualified instructors behind the counter who were heavily armed. I knew this, because a big sign said so. The men there were not impressed by Barry’s southern accent. They thought it made him sound stupid. Though when I talked, they thought I was cute. Okay, how insulting is that? The subtext, which I read very clearly from their minds, was: women sound stupid anyway, so a southern accent just enhances that adorable dimness. Men are supposed to sound crisp and direct, so southern men sound stupid and weak.

Anyway, aside from their built-in prejudices, these men were not helpful. They’d never seen Kyle Perkins at any of their night classes, and they didn’t think he’d ever rented time to practice at their place.

Barry was fuming at the disrespect he’d endured, and he didn’t even want to go in the second place. I trotted in by myself with the picture, and the one guy at work at the second archery supply store, which had no range, said, “No,” immediately. He didn’t discuss the picture, ask me why I wanted to know about Kyle Perkins, or wish me a nice day. He didn’t have a sign to tell me how formidable he was. I figured he just ruded people to death.

The third place, housed in a building that I thought might at one time have been a bowling alley, had a few cars in the parking lot and a heavy opaque door. STOP AND BE IDENTIFIED a sign said. Barry and I could read it from the car. It seemed a little ominous.

“I’m tired of being in the car anyway,” he said gallantly, and got out with me. We stood where we could be seen, and I alerted Barry when I spotted the camera above our heads. Barry and I both looked as pleasant as we could. (In Barry’s case, that was pretty pleasant. He just had a way about him.) After a few seconds, we heard a loud click, and the door unlocked. I glanced at Barry, and he pulled open the heavy door while I stepped inside the room and to one side so he could enter, too.

We were faced with a long counter extending the length of the opposite wall. There was a woman about my age behind the counter, with coppery hair and skin, the product of an interesting racial blend. She’d dyed her eyebrows black, which added a touch of the bizarre to the whole uni-color effect.

She looked us over just as carefully in person as she had over the camera, and I could read the thought that she was much happier to see Barry than she was to see me. I told Barry,
You better take this one.

Yeah, I’m getting the idea,
he answered, and while I laid Kyle’s picture on the counter, he said, “Could you tell us if this guy ever came in here to buy arrows or to practice?”

She didn’t even ask why we wanted to know. She bent over to look at the picture, maybe a little farther than necessary to give Barry the benefit of her neckline. She scanned Kyle’s picture and immediately made a face. “Yeah, he came in here right after dark yesterday,” she said. “We’d never had a vampire customer, and I didn’t really want to serve him, but what are you gonna do? He had the money, and the law says we can’t discriminate.” She was a woman who was ready and willing to discriminate, no doubt about it.

“Was anyone with him?” Barry asked.

“Oh, let me think.” She posed, her head thrown back, for Barry’s benefit.
She
didn’t think his southern accent sounded stupid. She thought it was adorable and sexy. “I just can’t remember. Listen, I’ll tell ya what I’ll do. I’ll get the security tape for last night; we’ve still got it. And I’ll let you have a look at it, okay?”