Dead Reckoning (Sookie Stackhouse #11)(64)
Author: Charlaine Harris

"What has Eric done to you?" he said.

I condensed the situation into a few sentences.

"What a dilemma," Bill said, not totally displeased.

"So you’d feel the way Eric does?"

In an eerie echo, Bill took my hand just as Eric had earlier. "Not only did Appius already enter negotiations, so there are presumably legal documents on the table, but also I would have to give my maker’s wishes some consideration–as much as I hate to acknowledge that. You have no idea how strong the bond is. The years spent with one’s maker are the most important years of a vampire’s existence. As loathsome as I found Lorena, I have to admit that she did her best to teach me to be an effective vampire. Looking back on her life now–Judith and I talked about this, of course–Lorena betrayed her own maker, and then had years and years to regret it. The guilt drove her mad, we think."

Well, I was glad Bill and Judith had gotten to talk over fun times in the old days with Mama Lorena–murderess, prostitute, torturer. I couldn’t really hold the prostitute part against her, since there hadn’t been that many ways for a woman alone to make a living in the old times, even a vampire woman. But the rest–no matter what her circumstances had been, no matter how hard her life before and after her first death, Lorena had been an evil bitch. I pulled my hand away from Bill.

"Good night," I said. "I’m overdue for bed."

"Are you angry with me?"

"Not exactly," I said. "I’m just tired and sad."

"I love you," Bill said helplessly, as if he wished those magic words would heal me. But he knew they wouldn’t.

"That’s what you all keep saying," I answered. "But it doesn’t seem to get me any happier." I didn’t know if I had a valid point or if I was simply being self-pitying, but it was too late at night–no, too early in the morning–to have the clarity of mind to decide that. A few minutes later, I crawled into my bed in an empty house, and being alone felt pretty damn good.

I woke up at noon on Friday with two pressing thoughts. The first was, Did Dermot renew my wards? And the second was, Oh my God, the baby shower is tomorrow!

After some coffee and pulling on my clothes, I called Hooligans. Bellenos answered.

"Hi," I said. "Can I speak to Dermot? Is he better?"

"He’s well," Bellenos said. "But he’s on his way to your house."

"Oh, good! Listen, maybe you’ll know this. . . . Did he renew the wards on the house, or am I unprotected?"

"God forbid you should be with a fairy unprotected," Bellenos said, trying to sound serious.

"No double entendres!"

"Okay, okay," he said, and I could tell he was flashing that sharptoothed smile. "I myself put wards around your house, and I assure you they will hold."

"Thanks, Bellenos," I said, but I wasn’t completely happy that someone I trusted as little as Bellenos had been in charge of my protection.

"You’re welcome. Despite your doubts, I don’t want anything to happen to you."

"That’s good to know," I said, keeping all expression out of my voice.

Bellenos laughed. "If you get too lonely out there in the woods, you can always call me," he said.

"Hmmm," I said. "Thanks." Was the elf coming on to me? That made no sense. More likely he wanted to eat me, and not in the fun way.

Maybe better not to know. I wondered how Dermot was getting here but not enough to call Bellenos again.

Reassured that Dermot was returning, I studied my list of shower preparations. I’d asked Maxine Fortenberry to make the punch, because hers was famous. I was picking up the cake from the bakery. I didn’t have to work today or tomorrow, which meant a big loss in tips, but it was turning out real convenient. So my to-do list was like: Today, complete all preparations for the baby shower. Tonight, kill Victor. Tomorrow, guests arrive for shower.

In the meantime, like any incipient hostess, I was going to be all about the cleaning. My living room was still below par since the attic stuff had been sitting in it, and I started from the top down: dust the pictures, then the furniture, then the baseboards. Then vacuum. I worked my way down the hall, visiting my bedroom, the guest bedroom, and the hall bathroom. I got a squirt bottle of all-purpose cleaner and attacked the kitchen surfaces. I was about to mop the floors when I saw Dermot in the backyard. He’d driven back in a battered Chevy compact.

"Where’d you get the car?" I called from the back porch.

"I bought it," he said proudly.

I hoped he hadn’t used fairy enchantment or something. I was scared to ask. "Let me see your head," I said, when he got into the house. I looked at the back of his skull where the gash had been. A thin white line, that was all. "Amazing," I said. "How do you feel?"

"Better than I did yesterday. I’m ready to get back to work." He went into the living room. "You’re cleaning," he said. "Is there a special occasion?"

"Yes," I said, smacking myself on the forehead. "I’m so sorry I forgot to tell you. I’m giving Tara Thornton–Tara du Rone–a baby shower tomorrow. She’s expecting twins, Claude believes. Oh, she got that confirmed."

"Can I come?" he asked.

"It’s all right with me," I said, taken aback. Most human guys would rather have their toenails painted than come to such a party. "You’ll be the only man there, but I assume that won’t bother you?"

"Sounds great," he said, smiling that beautiful smile.

"You’ll have to keep your ears covered and listen to about a million comments about how much you look like Jason," I said. "We’ll need to explain you." "Just tell them I’m your great-uncle," he said.

For one fun moment, I envisioned doing just that. I had to give it up, though with some regret. "You look much too young to be my great-uncle, and everyone here knows my family tree. The human part of it," I added hastily. "But I’ll think of something."

While I vacuumed, Dermot looked at the big box of pictures and the smaller one of printed material that I hadn’t yet had a chance to go over. He seemed fascinated by the pictures. "We don’t use this technology," he said.

I sat beside him when I’d put the vacuum away. I’d tried to arrange the images in chronological order, but it had been a hasty task, and I was sure I’d have to redo it.

The pictures at the front of the box were very old. People sitting in stiff groups, their backs rigid, their faces, too. If the backs were labeled, it was in spidery formal handwriting. Many of the men were bearded or mustached, and they wore hats and ties. The women were confined in long sleeves and skirts, and their posture was amazing.