Dead Ever After (Sookie Stackhouse #13)(41)
Author: Charlaine Harris

"Sookie," he said, sounding simply weird. "Listen, you stay home today. You were a real trooper yesterday, but give yourself a break."

"But I want to work," I said, speaking very slowly, while I scrambled to figure out what was happening with my friend.

"Sook . . . today, no, don’t come in." And he hung up.

Had the whole world gone crazy? Or was it just me? While I stood there holding my phone, doubtless looking like an idiot (which was okay, since there was no one to see me), the phone vibrated in my hand. I shrieked and almost threw it across the room, then gathered myself together and held it to my ear.

"Sookie," said Amelia Broadway, "we’ll be there in a little over an hour. Mr. C said I should call you. Don’t worry about breakfast, we’ve already eaten."

It was a measure of how busy my head was that I’d completely forgotten that my New Orleans company was arriving this morning. "Who all’s with you?"

"It’s me, Bob, Diantha, Mr. C, and an old buddy of yours. You’ll be so surprised!" And Amelia hung up.

I hate surprises. But at least I had something to do. Upstairs, the bed in Claude’s former room was made up with clean sheets, and I hauled an air mattress I’d gotten for Dermot into the former attic, now a large, empty room with a very large closet. The cot Dermot had used until I’d gotten the air mattress was easy to set up in the second-floor sitting room. After everything was ready upstairs, I made sure the downstairs hall bathroom was still clean, the bedroom across the hall from mine was ready, and the kitchen was orderly. Since I wasn’t going to work, I put on some civilian shorts, black with white polka dots, and a white shirt.

Clean enough. Oh, food! I tried to figure out a menu, but I didn’t know how long they’d be staying. And Mr. Cataliades was quite an eater.

By the time I heard a car on the gravel driveway, I was more or less ready for company, though I have to admit I wasn’t too excited about having more visitors. Amelia and I hadn’t parted on good terms in our last face-to-face discussion, though we’d been extending hands to each other across the Internet. Mr. Cataliades always had something interesting to say, but it was seldom news I wanted to hear. Diantha was a mother lode of unexpected talents and very handy to have around. And then there was the mystery guest.

Amelia dashed in first, rain spots all over her blouse, and her boyfriend, Bob, was right on her heels. Bob particularly hated getting wet. I didn’t know if that was because he’d spent time as a cat, or if it was because he simply liked dryness. Diantha danced inside, her small bony figure outlined with tight clothes in bright colors. Mr. Cataliades, in his usual black suit, pounded up the steps after her, moving swiftly despite his bulk.

The last person into the house was Barry Bellboy, formerly known as Barry Horowitz.

Years younger than me, Barry was the first telepath I met. Mr. Cataliades was Barry’s great-great-grandfather, though I didn’t know if Barry had been made aware of that or not.

Like Amelia and me, Barry and I hadn’t parted on perfect terms. But we’d gone through a great ordeal together, and that made a bond between us that nothing could break, especially considering the fact that we shared the same disability. The last I’d heard, he’d been working for Stan, the King of Texas . . . though since Stan had been badly injured in the explosion in Rhodes, I had figured Barry’d really been working for Stan’s lieutenant, Joseph Velasquez, since then.

Since I’d last seen Barry at a hotel in Rhodes, he had aged and his body had matured. He’d completely lost his endearing gawkiness. Now he seemed more . . . intense and spidery. I handed him a towel to dry his face, which he did with vigor.

How are you? I asked him.

It’s a long story, he said. Later.

"Okay," I said out loud. I turned away to greet my other guests. Amelia and I hugged rather awkwardly, inevitably reminded of our final quarrel the last time she’d been here, when she’d totally crossed the line into my personal life. Amelia had rounded out.

"Okay," she began. "Listen, just getting this out of the way. I’ve said this before, but I want to say it again. I’m sorry. Being such a good witch gave me inflated ideas of running your life, and I’m aware I overshot my boundaries. I won’t do it again. I’ve been trying to mend my fences everywhere. I’ve been trying to create a relationship with my father, though he turned out to be nothing like I thought he was, and I’m learning some impulse control."

I looked at her carefully, a little confused about the reading I was getting. Amelia had always been an exceptional broadcaster, and she still was. She was sending off waves of sincerity and fear that I’d reject her apology. (However, she still thought very highly of herself, with some justification.) But there was an extra vibe from her. "We’ll give starting over a shot," I said, and we smiled at each other in a tentative way. "Bob, how you doing?" I turned to her companion. Bob was not a big man. If I had to pick two adjectives for Bob, they would be "dark" and "nerdy." But I could see that Bob, like Barry, had changed. He was carrying more weight, which looked good. Gauntness had not become him. And Amelia had been smartening up his wardrobe, including his glasses, which now looked sort of European and sophisticated.

"Dang, Bob, you clean up good," I told him, and his thin lips parted in a surprisingly charming smile.

"Thanks, Sookie, you’re looking good yourself." He glanced down at his clothes. "Amelia thought I ought to update."

I still couldn’t imagine how Bob had forgiven Amelia for turning him into a cat when she didn’t know how to turn him back, but after his initial spasm of loathing sent him running to find his remaining family when he’d been returned to human form, he’d come back to her.

"Dear Sookie," said the nearly-all-demon Desmond Cataliades, and I embraced him. It was an effort, but that was what you did with friends. He didn’t feel human to the touch, though he looked human enough, with his circular body and scanty dark hair, his dark eyes and jowly face. But there was a certain rubbery feel to his flesh that was not standard. He inhaled deeply while his arms were around me, and I had to fight to keep myself from flinching. Of course, he knew that. He was very skilled at keeping it secret that he could read minds like I could – but he was the one who’d made me what I was, and Barry, too.

"HeySookie," Diantha said. "Igottapee. Bathroom?"

"Of course, down the hall," I said, and off she sped, her hair and clothes dark with rain.

I made sure everyone had a towel, and there was a lot of milling around as I assigned rooms: Bob and Amelia downstairs across from me, Mr. C and Diantha in Claude’s bedroom and sitting room upstairs, and Barry got the air mattress in the former attic/unfinished bedroom. My house was full of voices and activity. Feet went up and down the stairs, the bathroom door opened and shut repeatedly, and there was life around me. It felt good. Though Claude and Dermot had been less-than-stellar houseguests (especially the traitorous Claude), I’d missed the sound of them in the house, and most of all I’d missed Dermot’s smile and willingness to help. I hadn’t admitted that to myself until now.