I’d reached the limit of my imagination. I rolled to my knees and rose from the floor, wondering if I was imagining a slight stiffness in my joints.
Sleep was long in coming that night, despite my very long and very scary day. The silence of the house pressed in around me. Claude came home in the wee hours, whistling.
When I got up the next morning, not bright but way too early, I felt sluggish and dispirited. I found two envelopes shoved under my front door on my way to the porch with my coffee. The first note was from Mr. Cataliades, and it had been hand-delivered by his niece Diantha at three a.m., she’d noted on the envelope. I was sorry to miss a chance to talk to Diantha, though I was grateful she hadn’t woken me. I opened that envelope first out of sheer curiosity. “Dear Miss Stackhouse,” Mr. Cataliades wrote. “Here is a check for the amount in Claudine Crane’s account when she passed away. She wanted you to have it.”
Short and to the point, which was more than most people I’d talked to recently. I flipped the check over and found that it was for a hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
“Oh my God,” I said out loud. “Oh my God.” I dropped it because my fingers suddenly lost their power, and the check drifted down to the porch. I scrambled to retrieve it and read it again to make sure I hadn’t been mistaken.
“Oh,” I said. I was sticking with the classics, because saying anything else seemed to be beyond me. I couldn’t even imagine what I would do with so much money. That was beyond me, too. I had to give myself a little space until I could think about this unexpected legacy with any rational plan.
I carried the amazing check into the house and put it in a drawer, terrified something would happen to it before I got it to the bank. Only when I was sure it was safe did I even think of opening my other note, which was from Bill.
I carried it back out to the porch chair and took a gulp of my cooling coffee. I tore open the envelope.
“Dearest Sookie—I didn’t want to frighten you by knocking on your door at two in the morning, so I’m leaving this for you to read in the daylight. I wondered why you had been in my house last week. I knew you’d come in, and I knew that sooner or later your motive would become apparent. Your generous heart has given me the cure I needed.
“I never thought I would see Judith after the last time we parted. There were reasons I didn’t call her over the years. I understand she told you why Lorena picked her to turn vampire. Lorena didn’t ask me before she attacked Judith. Please believe this. I would never condemn someone to our life unless she wanted it and told me so.”
Okay, Bill was giving me credit for some complicated thinking. I’d never dreamed of suspecting that Bill had asked Lorena to find him a mate resembling his late wife.
“I would never have been brave enough to contact Judith myself for fear she hated me. I am so glad to see her again. And her blood, freely given, has already worked a great healing in me.”
All right! That had been the whole point.
“Judith has agreed to stay for a week so we can ‘catch up’ with each other. Maybe you will join us some evening? Judith was most impressed with your kindness. Love, Bill.”
I forced myself to smile down at the folded piece of paper. I’d just write him right back and tell him how pleased I was that he was better and that he’d renewed his old relationship with Judith. Of course, I hadn’t been happy when he was dating Selah Pumphrey, a human real estate dealer, because we had only recently broken up, and I knew he didn’t really care about her. Now I was determined to be happy for Bill. I was not going to be one of those awful people who gets all bent out of shape when the ex acquires a replacement. That was hypocritical and selfish to the extreme, and I hoped I was a better person than that. At least I was determined to provide a good imitation of such a person.
“Okay,” I said to my coffee mug. “That turned out great.”
“Would you rather talk to me than to your coffee?” Claude asked.
I’d heard feet on the creaky stairs through the open window, and I’d registered that another brain was up and working, but I hadn’t foreseen that he’d join me on the porch.
“You got in late,” I said. “You want me to get you a cup of coffee? I made plenty.”
“No, thank you. I’ll have some pineapple juice in a minute. It’s a beautiful day.” Claude was shirtless. At least he was wearing drawstring pants with the Dallas Cowboys all over them. Ha! He wished!
“Yeah,” I said, with a marked lack of enthusiasm. Claude raised one perfectly shaped black eyebrow.
“Who’s down in the dumps?” he asked.
“No, I’m very happy.”
“Yes, I can see the joy written all over your face. What’s the matter, Cousin?”
“I did get the check from Claudine’s estate. God bless her. That was so generous.” I looked up at Claude, putting all my sincerity into my face. “Claude, I hope you’re not mad at me. That’s just. so much money. I haven’t got a clue what I want to do with it.”
Claude shrugged. “That was what Claudine wished. Now, tell me what’s wrong.”
“Claude, you’ll have to excuse me being surprised that you care. I would’ve said you didn’t give a flying eff how I felt. Now you’re being all sweet with Hunter, and you’re offering to help me clean out the attic.”
“Maybe I’m developing a cousinly concern for you.” He raised one eyebrow.
“Maybe pigs will fly.”
He laughed. “I’m trying to be more human,” he confessed. “Since I’ll live out my long existence among humans, apparently, I’m trying to be more. ”
“Likable?” I supplied.
“Ouch,” he said, but he wasn’t really hurt. Being hurt would presuppose that he cared about my opinion. And that was something you couldn’t be taught, right?
“Where’s the boyfriend been?” he asked. “I do so love the smell of vampire around the house.”
“Last night was the first time I’ve seen him in a week. And we didn’t have any alone time.”
“You two have a fight?” Claude settled one hip on the porch railing, and I could tell he was determined to show me he could be interested in someone else’s life.
I felt a certain amount of exasperation. “Claude, I’m drinking my very first cup of coffee, I didn’t get a lot of sleep, and I’ve had a bad few days. Could you just scoot away and take a shower or something?”
He sighed as if I’d broken his heart. “All right, I can take a hint,” he said.
“That really wasn’t so much a hint as an outright statement.”
“Oh, I’ll go.”
But as he straightened up and took a step toward the door, I realized I did have something else to say. “I take that back. There is something we have to talk about,” I said. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you that Dermot was here.”
Claude stood up straight, almost as if he were prepared to bolt. “What did he say? What did he want?”
“I’m not sure what he wanted. I think, like you, he wanted to be close to someone else with a bit of fairy blood. And he wanted to tell me that he was under a spell.”
Claude paled. “From whose magic? Has Grandfather come back through the gate?”
“No,” I said. “But could a fairy have cast a spell on him before the gate closed? And I think you must know there’s another full-blooded fairy on this side of the portal, or gate, whatever you call it.” As I understood fairy morals, it was not possible to answer me with a direct lie.
“Dermot is crazy,” Claude said. “I have no idea what he’ll do next. If he approached you directly, he must be under extreme pressure. You know how ambivalent he is about humans.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“No,” Claude said. “I didn’t. And there’s a reason for that.” He turned his back to me and looked out over the yard. “I like my head on my shoulders.”
“So there is someone else around, and you know who it is. Or you know more about putting spells on than you’re admit
ting?”
“I’m not going to talk about it.” And Claude went inside. Within minutes, I heard him going out the back of the house, and his car passed by on its way down the drive to Hummingbird Road.
So I had gained a valuable piece of knowledge that was completely useless. I couldn’t summon up the fairy, ask the fairy why he or she was still on this side, what his or her intentions were. But if I had to guess, I would have to say I was pretty sure that Claude wouldn’t be this frightened of a sweet fairy who wanted to spread goodness and light. And a really nice fairy wouldn’t have put some spell on poor Dermot that made him so discombobulated.
I said a prayer or two, hoping that would restore my normal good mood, but it didn’t work today. Possibly I wasn’t approaching prayer in the right spirit. Communicating with God isn’t the same as taking a happy pill—far from it.
I pulled on a dress and sandals and went to Gran’s grave. Having a conversation with her usually reminded me of how levelheaded and wise she’d been. Today all I thought about was her wildly out-of-character indiscretion with a half fairy that had resulted in my dad and his sister, Linda. My grandmother had (maybe) had sex with a half fairy because my grandfather couldn’t make babies. So she’d gotten to carry and birth her children, two of them, and she’d raised them with love.
And she’d buried both of them.
As I crouched by the headstone looking down at the grass that was getting thicker on her grave, I wondered if I should draw some meaning from that. You could make a case that Gran had done something she shouldn’t have. to get something she wasn’t supposed to get. and after she’d gotten it, she’d lost it in the most painful way imaginable. What could be worse than losing a child? Losing two children.
Or you could decide that everything that had happened was completely at random, that Gran had done the best she could at the moment she’d had to make a decision, and that her decision simply hadn’t worked out for reasons equally beyond her control. Constant blame, or constant blamelessness.
There had to be better choices.
I did the best possible thing for me to do. I put in some earrings and went to church. Easter was over, but the flowers on the Methodist altar were still beautiful. The windows were open because the temperature was pleasant. A few clouds were gathering in the west, but nothing to worry about for the next few hours. I listened to every word of the sermon and I sang along with the hymns, though I kept that down to a whisper because I have a terrible voice. It was good for me; it reminded me of Gran and my childhood and faith and clean dresses and Sunday lunch, usually a roast surrounded by potatoes and carrots that Gran put it in the oven before we left the house. She would have made a pie or a cake, too.
Church isn’t always easy when you can read the minds around you, and I worked very hard on blocking them out and thinking my own thoughts in an attempt to connect to the part of my upbringing, the part of myself, that was good and kind and intent on trying to become better.
When the service was over, I talked to Maxine Fortenberry, who was in seventh heaven over Hoyt and Holly’s wedding plans, and I saw Charlsie Tooten toting her grandbaby, and I talked to my insurance agent, Greg Aubert, who had his whole family with him. His daughter turned red when I looked at her, because I knew a few things about her that made her conscience twinge. But I wasn’t judging the girl. We all misbehave from time to time. Some of us get caught, and some of us don’t.
Sam was in church, too, to my surprise. I’d never seen him there before. As far as I knew, he’d never been to any church in Bon Temps.
“I’m glad to see you,” I said, trying not to sound too startled. “You been going somewhere else, or is this a new venture?”
“I just felt it was time,” he said. “For one thing, I like church. For another thing, a bad time is coming for us two-natured folks, and I want to make sure everyone in Bon Temps knows I’m an okay guy.”
“They’d have to be fools not to know that already,” I said quietly. “Good to see you, Sam.” I moved off because a couple of people were waiting to talk to my boss, and I understood that he was trying to anchor his position in the community.
I tried not to worry about Eric or anything else the rest of the day. I’d had a text message inviting me to have lunch with Tara and JB, and I was glad to have their company. Tara had gotten Dr. Dinwiddie to check very carefully, and sure enough, he’d found another heartbeat. She and JB were stunned, in a happy way. Tara had fi xed creamed chicken to spoon over biscuits, and she’d made a spinach casserole and a fruit salad. I had a great time at their little house, and JB checked my wrists and said they were almost back to normal. Tara was all excited about the baby shower JB’s aunt was planning on giving them in Clarice, and she assured me I’d get an invitation. We picked a date for her shower in Bon Temps, and she promised she’d register online.
By the time I got home, I figured I’d better put a load of wash in, and I washed my bath mat, too, and hung it out on the line to dry. While I was outside, I made sure I had my little plastic squirt gun, full of lemon juice, tucked in my pocket. I didn’t want to get caught by surprise again. I just couldn’t figure out what I’d done to deserve having an apparently (judging by Claude’s reaction) hostile fairy tromping around my property.
My cell phone rang as I trailed gloomily back to the house. “Hey, Sis,” Jason said. He was cooking on the grill. I could hear the sizzle. “Michele and me are cooking out. You want to come? I got plenty of steak.”
“Thanks, but I ate at JB and Tara’s. Give me a rain check on that.”
“Sure thing. I got your message. Tomorrow at eight, right?”
“Yeah. Let’s ride over to Shreveport together.”
“Sure. I’ll pick you up at seven at your place.”
“See you then.”
“Gotta go!”
Jason did not like long phone conversations. He’d broken up with girls who wanted to chat while they shaved their legs and painted their nails.
It was not a great commentary on my life that the prospect of meeting with a bunch of unhappy Weres seemed like a good time—or at least an interesting time.
Kennedy was bartending when I got to work the next day. She told me that Sam had a final, take-the-checkbook appointment with his accountant, who’d gotten an extension since Sam had been so late turning all the paperwork over.
Kennedy looked as pretty as she always did. She refused to wear the shorts most of the rest of us wore in warm weather, instead opting for tailored khakis and a fancy belt with her Merlotte’s T-shirt. Kennedy’s makeup and hair were pageant quality. I glanced automatically at Danny Prideaux’s usual barstool. Empty.
“Where’s Danny?” I asked when I went to the bar to get a beer for Catfish Hennessy. He was Jason’s boss, and I half expected to see Jason come in to join him, but Hoyt and a couple of the other roadwork guys sat at Catfish’s table.
“He had to work at his other job today,” Kennedy said, trying to sound offhand. “I appreciate Sam making sure I’ve got protection while I’m working, Sookie, but I really don’t think there’s going to be any trouble.”
The bar door slammed. “I’m here to protest!” yelled a woman who looked like anyone’s grandmother. She had a sign, and she hoisted it up. NO COHABITATION WITH ANIMALS, it read, and you could see that she’d written “cohabitation” while she looked at a dictionary; each letter was written with such care.
“Call the police first,” I told Kennedy. “And then Sam. Tell him to get back here no matter what he’s talking about.” Kennedy nodded and turned to the wall phone.
Our protester was wearing a blue and white blouse and red pants she’d probably gotten at Bealls or Stage. She had short permed hair dyed a reasonable brown and wore wire-rimmed glasses and a modest wedding ring on her arthritic fingers. Despite this completely average exterior, I could feel her thoughts burning with the fire of a zealot.
“Ma’am, you need to take yourself outside. This building is privately owned,” I said
, having no idea if this was a good line to take or not. We’d never had anyone protesting before.
“But it’s a public business. Anyone can come inside,” she said, as if she were the authority.
Not any more than I was. “No, not if Sam doesn’t want them in here, and as his representative, I’m telling you to leave.”
“You’re not Sam Merlotte, or his wife. You’re that girl who dates a vampire,” she said venomously.
“I am Sam’s right-hand person at this bar,” I lied, “and I’m telling you to get out, or I’ll put you out.”
“You lay one finger on me, and I’ll call the law on you,” she said, jerking her head.
Rage flared up in me. I really, really don’t like threats.
“Kennedy,” I said, and in a second she was standing by me. “I’d say between us we’re strong enough to pick up this lady and take her out of the bar. What do you say?”
“I’m all for it.” Kennedy stared down at the woman as if she were only waiting for the starting gun to go off. “And you’re that girl who shot her boyfriend,” the woman said, beginning to look properly frightened.
“I am. I was really mad at him, and at the moment I’m pretty pissed off at you,” Kennedy said. “You get your butt out of here and take your little sign with you, and you do it right now.”
The older woman’s courage broke, and she scuttled out, remembering at the last moment to keep her head up and her back straight since she was one of God’s soldiers. I got that direct from her head.
Catfish clapped for Kennedy, and a few others joined in, but mostly the bar patrons sat in stunned silence. Then we heard the chanting from the parking lot, and we all surged to the windows.
“Jesus Christ, Shepherd of Judea,” I breathed. There were at least thirty protesters in the parking lot. Most of them were middle-aged, but I spotted a few teenagers who should have been in school, and I recognized a couple of guys who I knew to be in their early twenties. I sort of recognized most of the crowd. They attended a “charismatic” church in Clarice, a church that was growing by leaps and bounds (if construction was any indicator). The last time I’d driven by when I was going to have physical therapy with JB, a new activities building had been going up.
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