Dead Reckoning (Sookie Stackhouse #11)(25)
Author: Charlaine Harris

There was a pause that might be called "pregnant." It was clear that Dermot and Claude weren’t going to respond. At least they weren’t going to lie. "So explain why you’re living with me and what you want from me," I said, hoping they’d answer that one.

"We’re living with you because it seemed like a good idea to be with the kin we could find," Claude said. "We felt weak cut off from our homeland, and we had no notion that there were so many fae left out here. We were surprised when the other stranded fae in North America began to arrive at Hooligans, but we were happy. As we told you, we’re stronger when we’re together."

"Are you telling me the whole truth?" I got up and began pacing back and forth. "You could have told me all this before, and you didn’t. Maybe you’re lying." I held out my arms to either side, palms up. Well?

"What?" Claude looked affronted. Well, it was about time I served him up what he’d been dishing out. "Fairies don’t lie. Everyone knows that."

Right. Sure. Common knowledge on the street. "You may not lie, but you don’t always tell the whole truth," I pointed out. "You certainly have that in common with vampires. Maybe you have some other reason for being here? Maybe you want to be around to see who comes through the portal."

Dermot shot to his feet.

Now we were all three angry, all three agitated. The room was full of accusation.

"I want to get back into Faery because I want to see Niall once more," Claude said, picking his words. "He’s my grandfather. I’m tired of receiving the occasional message. I want to visit our sacred places, where I can be close to my sisters’ spirits. I want to come and go between the worlds, as is my right. This is the closest portal. You’re our closest relative. And there’s something about this house. We belong here, for now."

Dermot went to look out the front window at the warm morning. There were butterflies outside and blooming things and lots of gorgeous sunshine. I felt a wave of intense longing to be outside with things I understood rather than in here, engaged in this bizarre conversation with relatives I didn’t understand or wholly trust. If reading his body language was a reliable gauge, Dermot seemed to share the same mixed and unhappy feelings.

"I’ll think about what you’ve said," I told Claude. Dermot’s shoulders seemed to relax just a hair. "I have something else on my mind, too. I told you about the firebombing at the bar." Dermot turned around and leaned against the open window. Though his hair was longer than my brother’s and his expression was more (sorry, Jason) intelligent, it was scary how much they looked alike. Not by any means identical, but they could certainly be mistaken for one another, at least briefly. But there were darker tones in Dermot than I’d ever seen in Jason.

Both the fairies nodded when I mentioned the firebombing. They looked interested, but uninvolved–a look I was used to seeing from vampires. They didn’t really care a whole hell of a bunch about what happened to humans they didn’t know. If they’d ever read John Donne, they would have disagreed with his idea that no man is an island. Most humans were on one big island, to the fairies, and that island was adrift on a sea called I Totally Don’t Care.

"People talk in bars, so I’m sure they talk in strip clubs. Please let me know if you hear anything about who did it. This is important to me. If you could ask the staff at Hooligans to listen for talk about the bombing, I’d sure appreciate it."

Dermot said, "Is business bad at Sam’s, Sookie?"

"Yes," I said, not completely surprised at this turn of conversation. "And the new bar up off the highway is making inroads into our clientele. I don’t know if it’s the novelty of Vic’s Redneck Roadhouse and Vampire’s Kiss pulling people away, or if folks are turned off because Sam’s a shifter, but it’s not going so good at Merlotte’s."

I was trying to decide how much I wanted to tell them about Victor and his evilness when Claude suddenly said, "You’d be out of a job," and closed his mouth, as if that had sparked a chain of thoughts.

Everyone was mighty interested in what I’d be doing if Merlotte’s closed. "Sam would be out of his living," I pointed out, as I half turned to go to the kitchen to get another cup of coffee. "Which is way more important than my job. I can find another place to work."

"He could run a bar somewhere else," Claude said, shrugging.

"He’d have to leave Bon Temps," I said sharply.

"That wouldn’t suit you, would it?" Claude looked thoughtful in a way that made me distinctly uneasy.

"He’s my best friend," I said. "You know that." Maybe that was the first time I had said that aloud, but I guess I’d known it for quite a while. "Oh, by the way, if you want to know what happened to Cait, you might try contacting a human guy with gray eyes who works at Vampire’s Kiss. The name on his uniform was Colton." I knew some places just handed out name tags every night, without any worries about who actually owned the name. But at least it was a start. I started back to the kitchen.

"Wait," Dermot said, so abruptly that I turned my head to look at him. "When are the antiques people coming to look at your junk?"

"Should be here in a couple hours."

Dermot said, "The attic is more or less empty. Didn’t you plan to clean it?"

"That’s what I was thinking of doing this morning."

"Do you want us to help?" Dermot asked.

Claude was clearly appalled. He glared at Dermot.

We were back on more familiar ground, and I, for one, was grateful. Until I’d had a chance to think all this new information through, I couldn’t even guess at the right questions to ask. "Thanks," I said. "It would be great if you could carry up one of the big garbage cans. Then after I sweep and pick up all the bits and pieces, you could tote it down." Having relatives who are superhumanly strong can be very handy.

I went to the back porch to gather up my cleaning supplies, and when I trudged upstairs with laden arms, I saw that Claude’s door was closed. My previous tenant, Amelia, had turned one upstairs bedroom into a pretty little boudoir with a cheap (but cute) dressing table, chest of drawers, and bed. Amelia had used another bedroom as her living room, complete with two comfortable chairs, a television, and a large desk, which now stood empty. The day we’d cleaned out the attic, I’d noticed that Dermot had set up a cot in the former living room.

Before I’d had time to say "Jack Robinson," Dermot appeared at the attic door carrying the garbage can. He set it down and looked around him. "I think it looked better with the family things in it," he said, and I had to agree. In the daylight streaming through the filthy windows, the attic looked sad and shabby.