Sookie Stackhouse 8-copy Boxed Set

by Charlaine Harris

  “I’m saying, I’m going with you, unless you tell me different.”

  “What will you do when Mr. Big and Blond tells you to hop in bed with him?”

  “I’ll tell him I’m spoken for . . . if you’re going to speak.”

  Quinn shifted restlessly on the narrow bed. “I’m healing, but I’m hurting,” he admitted. He looked very tired.

  “I wouldn’t trouble you with all this if it didn’t seem pretty important to me,” I said. “I’m trying to be honest with you. Absolutely honest. You took the arrow for me, and it’s the least I can do in return.”

  “I know that. Sookie, I’m a man who almost always knows his own mind, but I have to tell you . . . I don’t know what to say. I thought we were just about ideal for each other until this.” Quinn’s eyes blazed in his face suddenly. “If he died, we’d have no problems.”

  “If you killed him, I’d have a problem,” I said. I couldn’t get any plainer than that.

  Quinn closed his eyes. “We have to think about this again when I’m all healed and you’ve had sleep and time to relax,” he said. “You gotta meet Frannie, too. I’m so . . .” To my horror, I thought Quinn was going to choke up. If he cried, I would, too, and the last thing I needed was tears. I leaned over so far I thought I was going to fall on top of him, and I kissed him, just a quick pressure of my mouth on his. But then he held my shoulder and pulled me back to him, and there was much more to explore, his warmth and intensity . . . but then his gasp drew us out of the moment. He was trying not to grimace with pain.

  “Oh! I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t ever apologize for a kiss like that,” he said. And he didn’t look teary anymore. “We definitely have something going on, Sookie. I don’t want Andre’s vampire crap to ruin it.”

  “Me, either,” I said. I didn’t want to give Quinn up, not the least because of our sizzling chemistry. Andre terrified me, and who knew what his intentions were? I certainly didn’t. I suspected Eric didn’t know, either, but he was never averse to power.

  I said good-bye to Quinn, a reluctant good-bye, and began finding my way back to the dance. I felt obliged to check in with the queen to make sure she didn’t need me, but I was exhausted, and I needed to get out of my dress and collapse on my bed.

  Clovache was leaning against a wall in the corridor ahead, and I had the impression she was waiting for me. The younger Britlingen was less statuesque than Batanya, and while Batanya looked like a striking hawk with dark curls, Clovache was lighter altogether, with feathery ash-brown hair that needed a good stylist and big green eyes with high, arched brows.

  “He seems like a good man,” she said in her harsh accent, and I got the strong feeling that Clovache was not a subtle woman.

  “He seems that way to me, too.”

  “While a vampire, by definition, is twisty and deceptive.”

  “By definition? You mean, without exception?”

  “I do.”

  I kept silent as we walked. I was too tired to figure out the warrior’s purpose in telling me this. I decided to ask. “What’s up, Clovache? What’s the point?”

  “Did you wonder why we were here, guarding the King of Kentucky? Why he had decided to pay our truly astronomical fees?”

  “Yes, I did, but I figured it wasn’t my business.”

  “It’s very much your business.”

  “Then tell me. I’m not up to guessing.”

  “Isaiah caught a Fellowship spy in his entourage a month ago.”

  I stopped dead, and Clovache did, too. I processed her words. “That’s really bad,” I said, knowing the words were inadequate.

  “Bad for the spy, of course. But she gave up some information before she went to the vale of shadows.”

  “Wow, that’s a pretty way to put it.”

  “It’s a load of crap. She died, and it wasn’t pretty. Isaiah is an old-fashioned guy. Modern on the surface, a traditional vampire underneath. He had a wonderful time with the poor bitch before she gave it up.”

  “You think you can trust what she said?”

  “Good point. I’d confess to anything if I thought it would spare me some of the things his cronies did to her.”

  I wasn’t sure that was true. Clovache was made of pretty stern stuff.

  “But I think she told him the truth. Her story was, a splinter group in the Fellowship got wind of this summit and decided it would be a golden opportunity to come out in the open with their fight against the vampires. Not simply protests and sermons against the vamps, but out-and-out warfare. This isn’t the main body of the Fellowship . . . the leaders are always careful to say, ‘Oh, gosh, no, we don’t condone violence against anyone. We’re only cautioning people to be aware that if they consort with vampires, they’re consorting with the devil.’ ”

  “You know a lot about things in this world,” I said.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “I do a lot of research before we take a job.”

  I wanted to ask her what her world was like, how she got from one to the other, how much she charged, if all the warriors on (in?) her world were women or could the guys kick butt, too; and if so, what they looked like in the wonderful pants. But this wasn’t the time or the place.

  “So, what’s the bottom line on this?” I asked.

  “I think maybe the Fellowship is trying to mount some major offensive here.”

  “The bomb in the soda can?”

  “Actually, that baffles me. But it was outside Louisiana’s room, and the Fellowship has to know by now that their operative didn’t succeed, if it was their work.”

  “And there are also the three murdered vampires in the Arkansas suite,” I pointed out.

  “Like I say, baffled,” Clovache said.

  “Would they have killed Jennifer Cater and the others?”

  “Certainly, if they had a chance. But to tip their hand in such a small way when according to the spy they have planned something really big—that seems very unlikely. Also, how could a human get into the suite and kill three vampires?”

  “So, what was the result of the Dr Pepper bomb?” I asked, trying hard to figure out the thinking behind it. We’d resumed walking, and now we were right outside the ceremonies room. I could hear the orchestra.

  “Well, it gave you a few new white hairs,” Clovache said, smiling.

  “I can’t think that was the goal,” I said. “I’m not that egocentric.”

  Clovache had made up her mind. “You’re right,” she said, “because the Fellowship wouldn’t have planted it. They wouldn’t want to draw attention to their larger plan with the little bomb.”

  “So it was there for some other purpose.”

  “And what was that purpose?”

  “The end result of the bomb, if it had gone off, would have been that the queen got a big scare,” I said slowly.

  Clovache looked startled. “Not killed?”

  “She wasn’t even in the room.”

  “It should have gone off earlier than it did,” Clovache said.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Security guy. Donati. That’s what the police told him. Donati sees us as fellow professionals.” Clovache grinned. “He likes women in armor.”

  “Hey, who doesn’t?” I grinned back.

  “And it was a weak bomb, if any bomb can be called weak. I’m not saying there wouldn’t have been damage. There would have. Maybe even someone killed, like you could have been. But the episode seems to be ineffective and ill-planned.”

  “Unless it was designed only to scare. Designed to be spotted. Designed to be disarmed.”

  Clovache shrugged.

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “If not the Fellowship, who? What does the Fellowship plan to do? Charge the lobby armed with sharpened baseball bats?”

  “The security here is not so good,” Clovache said.

  “Yeah, I know. When I was down in the basement, getting a suitcase for the queen, the guards were pretty lazy, and I don’t think the employees
are searched as they come in, either. And they got a lot of suitcases mixed up.”

  “And the vampires hired these people. Unbelievable. On one level vampires realize they’re not immortal. They can be killed. On another, they’ve survived for so long, it makes them feel omnipotent.” Clovache shrugged. “Well, back to duty.” We’d reached the ballroom. The Dead Man Dance Band was still playing.

  The queen was standing very close to Andre, who no longer stood behind her but to her side. I knew this was significant, but it wasn’t plain enough to cause Kentucky to give up hope. Christian Baruch was also in close attendance. If he’d had a tail, it would have been wagging, he was so anxious to please Sophie-Anne. I glanced around the room at the other kings and queens, recognizable by their entourages. I hadn’t seen them in a room all together before, and I counted. There were only four queens. The other twelve rulers were males. Of the four queens, Minnesota appeared to be mated with the King of Wisconsin. Ohio had his arm around Iowa, so they were a couple. Besides Alabama, the only unmated queen was Sophie-Anne.

  Though many vampires tend to be elastic about the gender of their sexual partner, or at least tolerant of those who prefer something different, some of them definitely aren’t. No wonder Sophie-Anne was shining so brightly, even from under the lifted cloud of Peter Threadgill’s death. Vampires didn’t seem to be afraid of merry widows.

  Alabama’s boy toy scuttled his fingers up her bare back, and she shrieked in pretended fear. “You know I hate spiders,” she said playfully, looking almost human, clutching him close to her. Though he’d played at frightening her, she clung closer.

  Wait, I thought. Wait just a minute. But the idea wouldn’t form.

  Sophie-Anne noticed me lurking, and she beckoned. “I think most of the humans are gone for the night,” she said.

  A glance around the room told me that was true. “What did you think of Julian Trout?” I asked, to allay my fear that she’d do something awful to him.

  “I think he doesn’t understand what he did,” Sophie-Anne said. “At least to some extent. But he and I will come to an understanding.” She smiled. “He and his wife are quite all right. I don’t need you anymore tonight. Go amuse yourself,” she said, and it didn’t sound condescending. Sophie-Anne really wanted me to have a good time, though, granted, she wasn’t too particular about how I did it.

  “Thanks,” I said, and then recalled that I’d better dress that up a bit. “Thank you, ma’am, and you have a good night. See you tomorrow evening.”

  I was glad to get out of there. With the room chock full o’ vampires, the glances I was getting were a little on the pointy-toothed side. Individual bloodsuckers had an easier time of it sticking to the artificial blood than a group did. Something about the memory of the good ole days just made them want something warm from the source, rather than a liquid created in a lab and heated up in a microwave. Right on schedule, the crowd of Willing Donors returned through a back door and lined up, more or less, against the back wall. In very short order, they were all occupied, and (I suppose) happy.

  After Bill had taken my blood during lovemaking, he’d told me blood from the neck of a human—after a diet of TrueBlood, say—was like going to Ruth’s Chris Steak House after many meals at McDonald’s. I saw Gervaise nuzzling Carla off in a corner, and I wondered if she needed help; but when I saw her face, I decided not.

  Carla didn’t come in that night, either, and without the distraction of Quinn, I was kind of sorry. I had too much to think about. It seemed that trouble was looking for me in the corridors of the Pyramid of Gizeh, and no matter which turn I took, it was going to find me.

  15

  I’D FINALLY GONE TO BED AT FOUR IN THE MORNING, and I woke at noon. That eight hours wasn’t a good eight hours. I kept starting half awake, and I couldn’t regulate my temperature, which might have had something to do with the blood exchange . . . or not. I had bad dreams, too, and twice I thought I heard Carla entering the room, only to open my eyes enough to see she wasn’t there. The weird light that entered through the heavily colored glass of the human-only floor was not like real daylight, not at all. It was throwing me off.

  I felt a tad bit better after a long shower, and I lifted the phone to call room service to get something to eat. Then I decided to go down to the little restaurant. I wanted to see other humans.

  There were a few there; not my roommate, but a human playmate or two, and Barry. He gestured to the empty chair at his table, and I dropped into it, looking around for the waiter to signal for coffee. It came right away, and I shuddered with pleasure at the first sip. After I’d finished the first cup, I said—in my way—How are you today? Were you up all night?

  No, Stan went to bed early with his new girlfriend, so I wasn’t needed. They’re still in the honeymoon stage. I went to the dance for a while, then I hung out with the makeup girl the Queen of Iowa brought with her. He waggled his eyebrows to tell me that the makeup girl was hot.

  So, what’s your program for today?

  Did you get one of these slid under your door? Barry pushed a stapled sheaf of papers across the table to me just as the waiter brought my English muffin and eggs.

  Yeah, I stuffed it in my purse. Wow, I could talk to Barry while I ate, the neatest answer to talking with your mouth full I could ever devise.

  Take a look.

  While Barry cut open a biscuit to slather it with butter, I scanned the pages. An agenda for the night, which was very helpful. Sophie-Anne’s trial had been the most serious case that had to be adjudicated, the only one involving royalty. But there were a couple of others. The first session was set for 8:00, and it was a dispute over a personal injury. A Wisconsin vampire named Jodi (which seemed unlikely in and of itself ) was being sued by an Illinois vampire named Michael. Michael alleged that Jodi had waited until he had dozed off for the day and then broken off one of his canines. With pliers.

  Wow. That sounds . . . interesting. I raised my eyebrows. How come the sheriffs aren’t handling this? Vampires really didn’t like airing their dirty laundry.

  “Interstate,” Barry said succinctly. The waiter had just brought a whole pot of coffee, so Barry topped off my cup and filled his own.

  I flipped over a page. The next case involved a Kansas City, Missouri, vampire named Cindy Lou Suskin, who’d turned a child. Cindy Lou claimed that the child was dying of a blood disorder anyway, and she’d always wanted a child; so now she had a perpetual vampire preteen. Furthermore, the boy had been turned with his parents’ consent, gotten in writing. Kate Book, the Kansas City, Kansas, lawyer appointed by the state to supervise the child’s welfare, was complaining that now the child refused to see his human parents or to have any interaction with them, which was contrary to the agreement between the parents and Cindy Lou.

  Sounded like something on daytime television. Judge Judy, anyone?

  So, tonight is court cases, I summarized after scanning the remaining sheets. “I guess we’re needed?”

  “Yes, I guess so. There’ll be human witnesses for the second case. Stan wants me to be there, and I’m betting your queen will want you there, too. Her subject Bill is one of the appointed judges. Only kings and queens can judge other kings and queens, but for cases involving lesser vampires, the judges are picked from a pool. Bill’s name came out of the hat.”

  “Oh, goody.”

  You got a history with him?

  Yeah. But I think he’d probably be a good judge. I wasn’t sure why I believed this; after all, Bill had shown he was capable of great deception. But I thought he would try to be fair and dispassionate.

  I had noticed that the “court” cases would take up the hours between eight and eleven. After that, midnight to four a.m. was blocked out as “Commerce.” Barry and I looked at each other and shrugged.

  “Swap meet?” I suggested. “Flea market?”

  Barry had no idea.

  The fourth night of the conference was the last, and the first half of it was marked “Free Time
for Everyone in Rhodes.” Some of the suggested activities: seeing the Blue Moon dancers again, or their more explicit division, Black Moon. The difference wasn’t spelled out, but I got the definite idea that the Black Moon employees did much more sexually oriented performances. Different dance teams from the studio were listed as appearing at different venues. The visiting vampires were also advised to visit the zoo, which would be open at night by special arrangement, or the city museum, ditto. Or they could visit a club “for the particular enjoyment of those who enjoy their pleasures on the darker side.” It was called Kiss of Pain. Remind me to walk down the other side of the street from that one, I told Barry.

  You never enjoy a little bite? Barry touched his tongue to his own blunt canines so I couldn’t miss the implication.

  There’s lots of pleasure in that, I said, because I could hardly deny it. But I think this place probably goes a little beyond a nip in the neck. Are you busy right now? Because I have to do some leg-work for Eric, and I could use some help.

  “Sure,” Barry said. “What’s up?”

  “We need to find archery places,“ I said.

  “This was left for you at the desk, miss,” said our waiter, who dropped a manila envelope on the table and retreated as if he suspected we had rabies. Evidently our silent exchanges had freaked someone out.

  I opened the envelope to find a picture of Kyle Perkins inside. There was a note paper-clipped to it in Bill’s familiar cramped handwriting. “Sookie: Eric says you need this to do some detective work, and that this picture is necessary. Please be cautious. William Compton.” And just when I was thinking about asking the waiter for a phone book, I saw there was a second sheet. Bill had searched the Internet and made a list of all the archery practice places in the city. There were only four. I tried not to be impressed by Bill’s thoughtfulness and assistance. I’d done with being impressed by Bill.

  I called the hotel garage to get one of the cars brought by the Arkansas contingent. The queen had assumed ownership of them, and Eric had offered me one of them.

  Barry had run up to his room to get a jacket, and I was standing by the front door, waiting for the car to be brought around and wondering how much I should tip the valet when I spotted Todd Donati. He came over to me, walking slowly and somehow heavily, though he was a thin man. He looked bad today, the scalp exposed by his receding hairline gray and damp looking, even his mustache sagging.