Sookie Stackhouse 8-copy Boxed Set (168 page)

I managed a smile. That was definitely true.

“So when I found myself wondering, I asked Bill to go to work, and Bill traced Twining from his birth as a vampire to his pledge to Hot Rain.”

“This Hot Rain was the one who made him a vampire?”

“No, no,” Eric said impatiently. “Hot Rain made the pirate’s sire a vampire. And when Charles’s sire was killed during the French and Indian War, Charles pledged himself to Hot Rain. When Hot Rain was dissatisfied with Long Shadow’s death, he sent Charles to exact payment for the debt he felt was owed.”

“Why would killing me cancel the debt?”

“Because he decided after listening to gossip and much reconnoitering that you were important to me, and that your death would wound me the way Long Shadow’s had him.”

“Ah.” I could not think of one thing to say. Not one thing.

At last I asked, “So Hot Rain and Long Shadow were doing the deed, once upon a time?”

Eric said, “Yes, but it wasn’t the sexual connection, it was the . . . the affection. That was the valuable part of the bond.”

“So because this Hot Rain decided the fine you paid him for Long Shadow’s death just didn’t give him closure, he sent Charles to do something equally painful to you.”

“Yes.”

“And Charles got to Shreveport, kept his ears open, found out about me, decided my death would fill the bill.”

“Apparently.”

“So he heard about the shootings, knew Sam is a shifter, and shot Sam so there’d be a good reason for him to come to Bon Temps.”

“Yes.”

“That’s real, real complicated. Why didn’t Charles just jump me some night?”

“Because he wanted it to look like an accident. He didn’t want blame attached to a vampire at all, because not only did he not want to get caught, he didn’t want Hot Rain to incur any penalty.”

I closed my eyes. “He set fire to my house,” I said. “Not that poor Marriot guy. I bet Charles killed him before the bar even closed that night and brought him back to my house so he’d take the blame. After all, the guy was a stranger to Bon Temps. No one would miss him. Oh my God! Charles borrowed my keys! I bet the man was in my trunk! Not dead, but hypnotized. Charles planted that card in the guy’s pocket. The poor fella wasn’t a member of the Fellowship of the Sun anymore than I am.”

“It must have been frustrating for Charles, when he found you were surrounded by friends,” Eric said a little coldly, since a couple of those “friends” had just clomped by noisily, using a trip to the john as a pretext to keep an eye on him.

“Yes, must have been.” I smiled.

“You seem better than I expected,” Eric said a little hesitantly. “Less traumatized, as they say now.”

“Eric, I’m a lucky woman,” I said. “Today I’ve seen more bad stuff than you can imagine. All I can think is, I escaped. By the way, Shreveport now has a new packmaster, and he’s a lying, cheating bastard.”

“Then I take it Jackson Herveaux lost his bid for the job.”

“Lost more than that.”

Eric’s eyes widened. “So the contest was today. I’d heard Quinn was in town. Usually, he keeps transgressions to a minimum.”

“It wasn’t his choice,” I said. “A vote went against Jackson; it should have helped him, but it . . . didn’t.”

“Why were you there? Was that blasted Alcide trying to use you for some purpose in the contest?”

“You should talk about using.”

“Yes, but I’m straightforward about it,” Eric said, his blue eyes wide and guileless.

I had to laugh. I hadn’t expected to laugh for days, or weeks, and yet here I was, laughing. “True,” I admitted.

“So, I’m to understand that Charles Twining is no more?” Eric asked quite soberly.

“That’s correct.”

“Well, well. The people here are unexpectedly enterprising. What damage have you suffered?”

“Broken rib.”

“A broken rib is not much when a vampire is fighting for his life.”

“Correct, again.”

“When Bubba got back and I found he hadn’t exactly delivered his message, I rushed here gallantly to rescue you. I had tried calling the bar tonight to tell you to beware, but Charles answered the phone every time.”

“It was gallant of you, in the extreme,” I admitted. “But, as it turns out, unnecessary.”

“Well, then . . . I’ll go back to my own bar and look at my own bar patrons from my own office. We’re expanding our Fangtasia product line.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. What would you think of a nude calendar? ‘Fangtasia’s Vampire Hunks’ is what Pam thinks it should be called.”

“Are you gonna be in it?”

“Oh, of course. Mr. January.”

“Well, put me down for three. I’ll give one to Arlene and one to Tara. And I’ll put one up on my own wall.”

“If you promise to keep it open to my picture, I’ll give you one for free,” Eric promised.

“You got a deal.”

He stood up. “One more thing, before I go.”

I stood, too, but much more slowly.

“I may need to hire you in early March.”

“I’ll check my calendar. What’s up?”

“There’s going to be a little summit. A meeting of the kings and queens of some of the southern states. The location hasn’t been settled, but when it is, I wonder if you can get time off from your job here to accompany me and my people.”

“I can’t think that far ahead just at the moment, Eric,” I said. I winced as I began to walk out of the office.

“Wait one moment,” he said suddenly, and justlikethat he was in front of me.

I looked up, feeling massively tired.

He bent and kissed me on my mouth, as softly as a butterfly’s fluttering.

“You said I told you you were the best I’d ever had,” he said. “But did you respond in kind?”

“Don’t you wish you knew?” I said, and went back to work.

 

DEAD UNTIL DARK
LIVING DEAD IN DALLAS
CLUB DEAD
DEAD TO THE WORLD
DEAD AS A DOORNAIL
DEFINITELY DEAD

 

 

SHAKESPEARE’S LANDLORD
SHAKESPEARE’S TROLLOP
SHAKESPEARE’S COUNSELOR

 

GRAVE SIGHT

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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

 

Copyright © 2006 by Charlaine Harris Schulz.

 

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

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ACE and the “A” design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

First edition: May 2006

 

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

 

Harris, Charlaine.

Definitely dead / Charlaine Harris.—1st ed.

p. cm.

ISBN 0-441-01400-3

1. Waitresses—Fiction. 2. Telepathy—Fiction. 3. Louisiana—Fiction. 4. Vampires—Fiction. I. Title.

 

PS3558.A6427D47 2006

813’.54—dc22

2005032531

 

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

 

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

 

Obviously, this book was finished months before Hurricane Katrina struck the Gulf Coast. Since much of the plot is set in New Orleans, I struggled with whether I would leave
Definitely Dead
as it was, or include the catastrophe of August and September. After much thought, since Sookie’s visit takes place in the early spring of the year, I decided to let the book remain as it was originally written.

 

My heart goes out to the people of the beautiful city of New Orleans and to all the people of the coastal areas of Mississippi, my home state. My thoughts and prayers will be with you as you rebuild your homes and your lives.

My thanks to so many people: Jerrilyn Farmer’s son’s Latin teacher; Toni L.P. Kelner and Steve Kelner, friends and sounding boards; Ivan Van Laningham, who has both knowledge and opinions about many, many subjects; Dr. Stacy Clanton, about whom I can say the same; Alexandre Dumas, author of the fabulous
The Three Musketeers
, which everyone ought to read; Anne Rice, for vampirizing New Orleans; and to the reader at Uncle Hugo’s who guessed the plot of this book in advance . . . hats off to you all!

I
WAS DRAPED OVER THE ARM OF ONE OF THE MOST beautiful men I’d ever seen, and he was staring into my eyes. “Think . . . Brad Pitt,” I whispered. The dark brown eyes still regarded me with remote interest.

Okay, I was on the wrong track.

I pictured Claude’s last lover, a bouncer at a strip joint.

“Think about Charles Bronson,” I suggested. “Or, um, Edward James Olmos.” I was rewarded by the beginnings of a hot glow in those long-lashed eyes.

In a jiffy, you would’ve thought Claude was going to hike up my long rustling skirt and yank down my low-cut push-up bodice and ravish me until I begged for mercy. Unfortunately for me—and all the other women of Louisiana—Claude batted for another team. Bosomy and blond was not Claude’s ideal; tough, rough, and brooding, with maybe a little whisker stubble, was what lit his fire.

“Maria-Star, reach in there and pull that lock of hair back,” Alfred Cumberland directed from behind the camera. The photographer was a heavyset black man with graying hair and mustache. Maria-Star Cooper took a quick step in front of the camera to rearrange a stray strand of my long blond hair. I was bent backward over Claude’s right arm, my invisible (to the camera, anyway) left hand desperately clutching the back of his black frock coat, my right arm raised to rest gently on his left shoulder. His left hand was at my waist. I think the pose was meant to suggest that he was lowering me to the ground to have his way with me.

Claude was wearing the black frock coat with black knee pants, white hose, and a white frothy shirt. I was wearing a long blue dress with a billowing skirt and a score of petticoats. As I’ve mentioned, the dress was scanty on the topside, with the little sleeves pushed down off my shoulders. I was glad the temperature in the studio was moderately warm. The big light (it looked to my eyes like a satellite dish) was not as hot as I’d expected.

Al Cumberland was snapping away as Claude smoldered down at me. I did my best to smolder right back. My personal life had been, shall we say,
barren
for the past few weeks, so I was all too ready to smolder. In fact, I was ready to burst into flames.

Maria-Star, who had beautiful light-toast skin and curly dark hair, was standing ready with a big makeup case and brushes and combs to perform last-minute repairs. When Claude and I had arrived at the studio, I’d been surprised to find that I recognized the photographer’s young assistant. I hadn’t seen Maria-Star since the Shreveport packleader had been chosen a few weeks before. I hadn’t had much of a chance to observe her then, since the packmaster contest had been frightening and bloody. Today, I had the leisure to see that Maria-Star had completely recovered from being hit by a car this past January. Werewolves healed quickly.