Dead to the World (Sookie Stackhouse #4)(11)
Author: Charlaine Harris

I was stronger than I should be because I’d had vampire blood – most recently, Eric’s. The effects would last around three more weeks, maybe longer. I knew this from past experience.

Unfortunately, I’d needed that extra strength at a low point in my life. The very vampire who was now draped in my former boyfriend’s bathrobe had donated that blood when I was grievously wounded but had to keep going.

"Jason," I said in a level voice – as though the vampires couldn’t hear me – "please watch yourself." That was as close as I could come to telling Jason to be smart for once in his life. He was way too fond of walking on the wild side.

Very slowly and cautiously, as if an uncaged lion were in the room, Jason and I went to sit on the old couch to one side of the fireplace. That notched the situation down a couple of degrees. After a brief hesitation, Eric sat on the floor and pressed himself into my legs. Pam settled on the edge of the recliner, closest to the fireplace, but Chow chose to remain standing (within what I calculated was lunging distance) near Jason. The atmosphere became less tense, though not by any means relaxed – but still, this was an improvement over the moments before.

"Your brother must stay and hear this," Pam said. "No matter how much you don’t want him to know. He needs to learn why he mustn’t try to earn that money."

Jason and I gave quick nods. I was hardly in a position to throw them out. Wait, I could! I could tell them all that their invitation to come in was rescinded, and whoosh, out the door they’d go, walking backward. I found myself smiling. Rescinding an invitation was extremely satisfying. I’d done it once before; I’d sent both Bill and Eric zooming out of my living room, and it had felt so good I’d rescinded the entrance invite of every vampire I knew. I could feel my smile fading as I thought more carefully.

If I gave way to this impulse, I’d have to stay in my house every night for the rest of my life, because they’d return at dusk the next day and the day after that and so on, until they got me, because I had their boss. I glowered at Chow. I was willing to blame this whole thing on him.

"Several night ago, we heard – at Fangtasia," Pam explained for Jason’s benefit, "that a group of witches had arrived in Shreveport. A human told us, one who wants Chow. She didn’t know why we were so interested in that information."

That didn’t sound too threatening to me. Jason shrugged. "So?" he said. "Geez, you all are vampires. What can a bunch of girls in black do to you?"

"Real witches can do plenty to vampires," Pam said, with remarkable restraint. "The ‘girls in black’ you’re thinking of are only poseurs. Real witches can be women or men of any age. They are very formidable, very powerful. They control magical forces, and our existence itself is rooted in magic. This group seems to have some extra…" She paused, casting around for a word.

"Juice?" Jason suggested helpfully.

"Juice," she agreed. "We haven’t discovered what makes them so strong."

"What was their purpose in coming to Shreveport?" I asked.

"A good question," Chow said approvingly. "A much better question."

I frowned at him. I didn’t need his damn approval.

"They wanted – they want – to take over Eric’s businesses," Pam said. "Witches want money as much as anyone, and they figure they can either take over the businesses, or make Eric pay them to leave him alone."

"Protection money." This was a familiar concept to a television viewer. "But how could they force you into anything? You guys are so powerful."

"You have no idea how many problems a business can develop if witches want a piece of it. When we met with them for the first time, their leaders – a sister and brother team – spelled it out. Hallow made it clear she could curse our labor, turn our alcoholic drinks bad, and cause patrons to trip on the dance floor and sue us, to say nothing of plumbing problems." Pam threw up her hands in disgust. "It would make every night a bad dream, and our revenues would plummet, maybe to the point that the Fangtasia would become worthless."

Jason and I gave each other cautious glances. Naturally, vampires were heavily into the bar business, since it was most lucrative at night, and they were up then. They’d dabbled in all-night dry cleaners, all-night restaurants, all-night movie theaters… but the bar business paid best. If Fangtasia closed, Eric’s financial base would suffer a blow.

"So they want protection money," Jason said. He’d watched the Godfather trilogy maybe fifty times. I thought about asking him if he wanted to sleep with the fishes, but Chow was looking antsy, so I refrained. We were both of us just a snick and a snee away from an unpleasant death, and I knew it was no time for humor, especially humor that so nearly wasn’t.

"So how did Eric end up running down the road at night without a shirt or shoes?" I asked, thinking it was time to get down to brass tacks.

Much exchanging of glances between the two subordinates. I looked down at Eric, pressed up against my legs. He seemed to be as interested in the answer as we were. His hand firmly circled my ankle. I felt like a large security blanket.

Chow decided to take a narrative turn. "We told them we would discuss their threat. But last night, when we went to work, one of the lesser witches was waiting at Fangtasia with an alternative proposal." He looked a little uncomfortable. "During our initial meeting, the head of the coven, Hallow, decided she, uh, lusted after Eric. Such a coupling is very frowned upon among witches, you understand, since we are dead and witchcraft is supposed to be so… organic." Chow spat the word out like it was something stuck to his shoe. "Of course, most witches would never do what this coven was attempting. These are all people drawn to the power itself, rather than to the religion behind it."

This was interesting, but I wanted to hear the rest of the story. So did Jason, who made a "hurry along" gesture with his hand. With a little shake to himself, as if to rouse himself from his thoughts, Chow went on. "This head witch, this Hallow, told Eric, through her subordinate, that if he would entertain her for seven nights, she would only demand a fifth of his business, rather than a half."

"You must have some kind of reputation," my brother said to Eric, his voice full of honest awe. Eric was not entirely successful at hiding his pleased expression. He was glad to hear he was such a Romeo. There was a slight difference in the way he looked up at me in the next moment, and I had a feeling of horrid inevitability – like when you see your car begin to roll downhill (though you’re sure you left it in park), and you know there’s no way you can catch up to it and put on the brakes, no matter how much you want to. That car is gonna crash.