Sookie Stackhouse 8-copy Boxed Set (233 page)

“And what business is it of yours?”

“You know it is my business. Now we are tied.”

“Is this going to fade? It will, right? We won’t always be like this?”

“I like being like this. You’ll like it, too,” he said, and he seemed mighty damn sure.

“Who was the vampire who tried to kill us?” I asked, to change the subject. I was hoping he wasn’t right, and anyway, we’d said everything there was to say on the subject, as far as I was concerned.

“Let’s go find out,” he said, and took my hand. I trailed along with him, simply because I wanted to know.

Batanya was standing by the vampire’s body, which had begun the rapid disintegration of its kind. She’d retrieved her throwing star, and she was polishing it on her pants leg.

“Good throw,” Eric said. “Who was he?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. The guy with the arrows, was all I know. All I care.”

“He was the only one?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me what he looked like?”

“I was sitting next to him,” said a very small male vampire. He was perhaps five feet tall, and slim besides. His hair trailed down his back. If he went to jail, he’d have guys knocking on his cell door within thirty minutes. They’d be sorry, of course, but to the unobservant eye, he did look like the world’s easiest target. “He was a rough one, and not dressed for the evening. Khakis and a striped dress shirt . . . well, you can see.”

Though the body was blackening and flaking away as vamp corpses did, naturally the clothes were intact.

“Maybe he had a driver’s license?” I suggested. That was almost a given with humans, but not with vampires. However, it was worth a shot.

Eric squatted and inserted his fingers into the man’s front pocket. Nothing came out, or from the other front pocket, so without further ado Eric rolled him over. I took a couple of steps back to avoid the flurry of flakes of ash. There was something in the rear pocket: a regular wallet. And inside it, sure enough, was a driver’s license.

It had been issued by Illinois. Under blood type was the designation “NA.” Yep, a vamp, for sure. Reading over Eric’s shoulder, I could see that the vamp’s name had been Kyle Perkins. Perkins had put “3V” as his age, so he had been a vamp for only three years.

“He must have been an archer before he died,” I said. “Because that’s not a skill you’d pick up right away, especially that young.”

“I agree,” Eric said. “And in the daytime, I want you to check all the local places you can practice archery. Throwing arrows is not a skill you can improvise. He trained. The arrow was specially made. We need to find out what happened to Kyle Perkins, and why this rogue accepted the job to attend this meeting and kill whomever necessary.”

“So he was a . . . vampire hit man?”

“Yes, I think so,” Eric said. “Someone is maneuvering us very carefully. Of course, this Perkins was simply backup in case the trial went wrong. And if it hadn’t been for you, the trial might well have gone wrong. Someone went to a lot of trouble to play on Henrik Feith’s fears, and stupid Henrik was about to give that someone up. This Kyle, he was planted to prevent just that.”

Then the cleanup crew arrived: a group of vampires with a body bag and cleaning supplies. The human maids would not be asked to mop up Kyle. Luckily, they were all occupied in refreshing the vampire rooms, which were off-limits to them during the day.

In very short order, the residue of Kyle Perkins was bagged up and taken away, with one vampire remaining behind to wield a little handheld vacuum. Let Rhodes CSI try to get ahold of
that.

I sensed a lot of movement and looked up to see that the service doors were open and staff was pouring into the large room to pack away the chairs. In less than fifteen minutes, Quinn’s judicial paraphernalia was being stored away, his sister directing the work. Then a band set up on the platform, and the room was cleared for dancing. I’d never seen anything like it. First a trial, then a few murders, then dancing. Life goes on. Or, in this case, death continues.

Eric said, “You had better check in with the queen.”

“Oh. Yeah, she might have a few words to say to me.” I glanced around and spotted Sophie-Anne pretty quickly. She was surrounded by a crowd of people congratulating her on the favorable verdict. Of course, they would have been just as glad to see her executed, or whatever would have happened if the Ancient Pythoness had turned thumbs down. Speaking of the A.P....

“Eric, where’d the old gal go?” I asked.

“The Ancient Pythoness is the original oracle that Alexander consulted,” he said, his voice quite neutral. “She was considered so revered that even in her old age, she was converted by the very primitive vampires of her time. And now she has outlasted all of them.”

I didn’t want to think about how she’d fed before the advent of the synthetic blood that had changed the vampire world. How’d she hobble after her human prey? Maybe they’d brought people to her, like snake owners bring live mice to their pets?

“To answer your question, I would guess her handmaidens have removed her to her suite. She is brought out for special occasions.”

“Like the good silver,” I said seriously, and then burst into giggles. To my surprise, Eric smiled, too, that big smile that made multiple little arcs appear in the corners of his mouth.

We took our places behind the queen. I wasn’t sure she’d even registered my presence, she was so busy being the belle of the ball. But in a momentary lull in the chitchat, she reached behind her and took my hand, squeezing it very lightly. “We’ll talk later,” she said, and then greeted a stout female vampire in a sequined pantsuit. “Maude,” Sophie-Anne said, “how good to see you. And how are things going in Minnesota?”

Just then a tap on the music stand drew everyone’s attention to the band. It was all vampire, I noticed with a start. The slick-haired guy at the podium said, “If all you hot vamps and vampesses are ready to rumble, we’re ready to play! I’m Rick Clark, and this is . . . the Dead Man Dance Band!”

There was a polite smattering of applause.

“Here to open the evening are two of Rhodes’s finest dancers, courtesy of Blue Moon Productions. Please welcome . . . Sean and Layla!”

The pair who stepped out into the middle of the dance floor were striking, whether you were human or vamp. They were both of the cold-blooded variety themselves, though he was very old and she was freshly turned, I thought. She was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen, and she was wearing a beige lace dress that drifted around her world-class legs like snow falling around trees. Her partner was maybe the only vampire I’d ever seen with freckles, and his dusty red hair was as long as hers.

They only had eyes for each other, and they danced together as if they were gliding through a dream.

I had never seen anything like it, and from the rapt attention of the audience, no one else had, either. As the music drew to a conclusion—and to this day, I can’t remember what they danced to—Sean flung Layla back over his arm, bent over her, and bit. I was shocked, but the others seemed to expect it, and it turned them on no little amount. Sophie-Anne smoldered up at Andre (though she didn’t have far to smolder, since he wasn’t much taller than she), and Eric looked down at me with that hot light in his eyes that made me wary.

I turned my attention to the dance floor with determination and clapped like a maniac when the two took their bow and more couples began to join them as the music started up again. From habit I looked around for Bill, who was nowhere to be seen.

Then Eric said, “Let’s dance,” and I found I couldn’t say no.

We took the floor along with the queen and her potential king, and I saw Russell Edgington and his husband, Bart, step out to dance, too. They looked almost as enthralled with each other as the two exhibition dancers.

I can’t sing, but by golly, I can dance. And Eric had had a few ballroom lessons along the way, some century or other. My hand rested on his back, his on mine, our free hands clasped, and off we went. I wasn’t sure exactly what the dance was, but he was a strong leader, so it was easy to follow along. More like the waltz than anything else, I decided.

“Pretty dress,” said the dancer Layla as we swung by them.

“Thank you,” I said, and beamed at her. From someone as lovely as she was, that was a great compliment. Then her partner leaned over to give her a kiss, and they swirled away into the crowd.

“That
is
a pretty dress,” Eric said. “And you are a beautiful woman.”

I was oddly embarrassed. I’d gotten compliments before—you can’t be a barmaid and not get compliments—but most of them had consisted of (various degrees of drunk) guys telling me I was really cute—or, in one man’s case, how impressive my “rack” was. (Somehow, JB du Rone and Hoyt Fortenberry had managed to stomp on that guy’s toes and spill a drink all over him at the same time, just accidentally.)

“Eric,” I said, but I couldn’t finish the sentence because I couldn’t think of what to say next. I had to concentrate on the speed with which my feet were moving. We were dancing so fast I felt like I was flying. Suddenly Eric dropped my hand to grip my waist, and as we turned, he swung me up, and then I was really flying, with a little help from a Viking. I laughed like a loon, my hair billowing out around my head, and then he let me go and caught me, just inches away from the floor, and then he did it again and again, until at last I was standing on the floor and the music was over.

“Thank you,” I said, knowing I must look like I’d been standing in a high gale. “Excuse me while I go to the ladies’ room.”

I scooted off through the crowd, trying not to grin like an idiot. I should be with—oh, yeah—
my boyfriend.
Instead of dancing with another guy until I felt tingly with happiness. And it didn’t do any good, excusing myself on account of our blood tie.

Sophie-Anne and Andre had stopped dancing, and they were standing with a group of other vampires. She couldn’t need me, then, since there were no humans for me to “listen” to. I spotted Carla dancing with Gervaise, and they seemed happy enough. Carla was getting lots of admiring looks from other vampires, and that would make Gervaise swell with pride. Having his fellow vampires craving what he was already getting was sweet.

I knew how Gervaise felt.

I stopped in my tracks.

Had I . . . I wasn’t really reading his mind, was I? No, I couldn’t. The only times I’d caught a fragment of vampire thought prior to tonight, that fragment had felt cold and snaky.

But I knew how Gervaise felt, for sure, just as I’d read Henrik’s thoughts. Was it just my knowledge of men and their reactions or my knowledge of vampires, or could I really follow vampire emotions better since I’d had Eric’s blood for a third time? Or had my skill, or my talent, or my curse—whatever I called it—broadened to include vampires since I was closer to being one myself?

No. No, no, no. I felt like myself. I felt human. I felt warm. I was breathing. I had to use the bathroom. I was hungry, too. I thought about old Mrs. Bellefleur’s famous chocolate cake. My mouth watered. Yep, human.

Okay, then, this new affinity for vamps would fade, like my extra strength would fade, in time. I’d had two drinks from Bill, I thought; maybe more. And three from Eric. And every time I’d had their blood, two or three months had seen the waning of the strength and acuity I’d gained from the intake. So that would happen this time, too, right? I shook myself briskly. Sure, it would.

Jake Purifoy was leaning against the wall, watching the couples dance. I’d glimpsed him earlier steering a young vampire woman around the floor, and she’d been laughing. So it wasn’t all melancholy for Jake, and I was glad.

“Hey,” I said.

“Sookie, that was quite some action at the trial.”

“Yeah, it was scary.”

“Where’d that guy come from?”

“Rogue, I guess. Eric’s got me looking at archery ranges tomorrow to track him down, try to find out who hired him.”

“Good. That was a close call for you. I’m sorry,” he said awkwardly. “I know you must have been frightened.”

I’d really been too worried about Quinn to think about the arrow being aimed at me. “I guess I was. You have a good time, now.”

“Something’s got to make up for not being able to change anymore,” Jake said.

“I didn’t know you’d tried.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Over and over,” he said. We looked at each other for a long, long moment. “Well, I’m off to find another partner,” he told me, and headed purposefully in the direction of a vampire who’d come with Stan Davis’s group from Texas. She looked glad to see him coming.

By that time I was ducking into the ladies’ room, which was small, of course; most of the females at the Pyramid of Gizeh wouldn’t need to use such a facility, except to comb their hair. There was an attendant, a nicety I’d never seen before though I’d read about it in books. I was supposed to tip her. I still had my little evening purse with my room key in it, and I was relieved to recall I’d slipped a few dollars in there, along with some tissues and breath mints and a tiny brush. I nodded to the attendant, a squatty, dark-skinned woman with an unhappy face.

I took care of business in the nice clean stall and then emerged to wash my hands and to try to smooth out my hair. The attendant, wearing a name tag that read “Lena,” turned on the water for me, which kind of weirded me out. I mean, I can turn a faucet. But I washed my hands and used the towel she extended to me, figuring this was the routine and I shouldn’t act ignorant. I dropped two dollars in the tip bowl, and she tried to smile at me, but she looked too unhappy to manage it. She must be having a bad night.

“Thanks,” I said, and turned to leave. I don’t know why, but I glanced into the mirror on the inside of the door before I pulled on the handle. There Lena was, staring a hole into my back. She’d looked so unhappy because she’d been having to suppress how much she loathed me.