Club Dead ss(v-3 Page 19

  Bill gently held me up, while Eric propped pillows behind my back. I was glad to see one of them had had the presence of mind to spread the yellow blanket over the bed so I wouldn't stain the bedspread. All this while, I'd held the phone clamped to my ear, and when it squawked, I was actually startled.

  "We got him down in time," Betty Joe said brightly.

  "The call came in time," I told Eric. He closed his eyes and seemed to be offering up a prayer. I wondered to whom Eric prayed. I waited for further instructions.

  "Tell them," he said, "to just let him go, and he will take himself home. Tell them that we apologize for letting him stray."

  I relayed that message from my "abductors."

  Betty Jo was quick to dismiss the directions. "Would you ask if he could stay and sing to us a little? He's in pretty good shape," she said.

  So I relayed that. Eric rolled his eyes. "She can ask him, but if he says no, she must take it to heart and not ask him anymore," he said. "It just upsets him, if he's not in the mood. And sometimes when he does sing, it brings back memories, and he gets, ah, obstreperous."

  "All right," she said, after I'd explained. "We'll do our best. If he doesn't want to sing, we'll let him go right away." From the sound of it, she turned to someone by her. "He can sing, if he'll consent," she said, and the someone said, "Yippee!" Two big nights in a row for the crowd at the king of Mississippi's mansion, I guess.

  Betty Joe said into the telephone, "I hope you get out of your difficulties. I don't know how whoever's got you got lucky enough to have the care of the greatest star in the world. Would he consider negotiating?"

  She didn't know yet about the troubles that entailed. "Bubba" had an unfortunate predilection for cat blood, and he was addlepated, and he could only follow the simplest directions; though every now and then, he exhibited a streak of shrewdness. He followed directions quite literally.

  "She wants permission to keep him," I told Eric. I was tired of being the go-between. But Betty Joe couldn't meet with Eric, or she'd know he was the supposed friend of Alcide's who'd helped me get to the mansion the night before.

  This was all too complicated for me.

  "Yes?" Eric said into the telephone. Suddenly he had an English accent. Mr. Master of Disguise. Soon he was saying things like, "He's a sacred trust," and, "You don't know what you're biting off," into the phone. (If I'd had any sense of humor that night, I would have thought the last statement was pretty funny.) After a little more conversation, he hung up, with a pleased air.

  I was thinking how strange it was that Betty Joe hadn't indicated that anything else was amiss at the compound. She hadn't accused Bubba of taking their prisoner, and she hadn't commented on finding the body of Lorena. Not that she'd necessarily mention these things in a phone conversation with a human stranger; and, for that matter, not that there'd be much to find; vampires disintegrate pretty quickly. But the silver chains would still be in the pool, and maybe enough sludge to identify as the corpse of a vampire. Of course, why would anyone look under the pool cover? But surely someone had noticed their star prisoner was gone?

  Maybe they were assuming Bubba had freed Bill while he was roaming the compound. We'd told him not to say anything, and he would follow that directive to the letter.

  Maybe I was off the hook. Maybe Lorena would be completely dissolved by the time they started to clean the pool in the spring.

  The topic of corpses reminded me of the body we'd found stuffed in the closet of this apartment. Someone sure knew where we were, and someone sure didn't like us. Leaving the body there was an attempt to tie us to the crime of murder, which, actually, I had committed. I just hadn't done that particular murder. I wondered if the body of Jerry Falcon had been discovered yet. The chance seemed remote. I opened my mouth to ask Alcide if it had been on the news, and then I closed it again. I lacked the energy to frame the sentence.

  My life was spinning out of control. In the space of two days I'd hidden one corpse and created another one. And all because I'd fallen in love with a vampire. I gave Bill an unloving glance. I was so absorbed in my thoughts, I hardly heard the telephone. Alcide, who had gone into the kitchen, must have answered it on the first ring.

  Alcide appeared in the door of the bedroom. "Move," he said, "you all have to move next door into the empty apartment. Quick, quick!"

  Bill scooped me up, blanket and all. We were out the door and Eric was breaking the lock on the apartment next to Alcide's before you could say "Jack Daniels." I heard the slow grumble of the elevator arriving on the fifth floor as Bill closed the door behind us.

  We stood stock-still in the empty cold living room of the barren apartment. The vampires were listening intently to what was going on next door. I began to shiver in Bill's arms.

  To tell the truth, it felt great to be held by him, no matter how angry I had been at him, no matter how many issues we had to settle. To tell the truth, I had a dismayingly wonderful sense of homecoming. To tell the truth, no matter how battered my body was-and battered at his hands, or rather, his fangs-that body could hardly wait to meet up with his body again, buck naked, despite the terrible incident in the trunk. I sighed. I was disappointed in myself. I would have to stand up for my psyche, because my body was ready to betray me, big time. It seemed to be blacking out Bill's mindless attack.

  Bill laid me on the floor in the smaller guest bedroom of this apartment as carefully as if I'd cost him a million dollars, and he swaddled me securely in the blanket. He and Eric listened at the wall, which was shared with Alcide's bedroom.

  "What a bitch," Eric murmured. Oh. Debbie was back.

  I closed my eyes. Eric made a little noise of surprise and I opened them again. He was looking at me, and there was that disconcerting amusement in his face again.

  "Debbie stopped by his sister's house last night to grill her about you. Alcide's sister likes you very much," Eric said in a tiny whisper. "This angers the shape-shifter Debbie. She is insulting his sister in front of him."

  Bill's face showed he was not so thrilled.

  Suddenly every line in Bill's body became tense, as if someone had jammed Bill's finger in an electric socket. Eric's jaw dropped and he looked at me with an unreadable expression.

  There was the unmistakable sound of a slap-even I could hear it-from the next room.

  "Leave us for a moment," Bill said to Eric. I didn't like the sound of his voice.

  I closed my eyes. I didn't think I was up to whatever would come next. I didn't want to argue with Bill, or upbraid him for his unfaithfulness. I didn't want to listen to explanations and excuses.

  I heard the whisper of movement as Bill knelt beside me on the carpet. Bill stretched out beside me, turned on his side, and laid his arm across me.

  "He just told this woman how good you are in bed," Bill murmured gently.

  I came up from my prone position so fast that it tore my healing neck and gave me a twinge in my nearly healed side.

  I clapped my hand to my neck and gritted my teeth so I wouldn't moan. When I could talk, I could only say, "He what? He what?" I was almost incoherent with anger. Bill gave me a piercing look, put his finger over his lips to remind me to be quiet.

  "I never did," I whispered furiously. "But even if I had, you know what? It would serve you right, you betraying son of a bitch." I caught his eyes with mine and stared right into them. Okay, we were going to do this now.

  "You're right," he murmured. "Lie down, Sookie. You are hurting."

  "Of course I'm hurting," I whispered, and burst into tears. "And to have the others tell me, to hear that you were just going to pension me off and go live with her without even having the courage to talk to me about it yourself! Bill, how could you be capable of such a thing! I was idiot enough to think you really loved me!" With a savagery I could scarcely believe was coming from inside me, I tossed off the blanket and threw myself on him, my fingers scrabbling for his throat.

  And to hell with the pain.

  My hands coul
d not circle his neck, but I dug in as hard as I could and I felt a red rage carry me away. I wanted to kill him.

  If Bill had fought back, I could have kept it up, but the longer I squeezed, the more the fine rage ebbed away, leaving me cold and empty. I was straddling Bill, and he was prone on the floor, lying passively with his hands at his sides. My hands eased off of his neck and I used them to cover my face.

  "I hope that hurt like hell," I said, my voice choking but clear enough.

  "Yes," he said. "It hurt like hell."

  Bill pulled me down to the floor by him, covered us both with the blanket. He gently pushed my head into the notch of his neck and shoulder.

  We lay there in silence for what seemed like a long time, though maybe it was only minutes. My body nestled into his out of habit and out of a deep need; though I didn't know if the need was for Bill specifically, or the intimacy I'd only shared with him. I hated him. I loved him.

  "Sookie," he said, against my hair, "I'm-"

  "Hush," I said. "Hush." I huddled closer against him. I relaxed. It was like taking off an Ace bandage, one that had been wrapped too tight.

  "You're wearing someone else's clothes," he whispered, after a minute or two.

  "Yes, a vampire named Bernard. He gave me clothes to wear after my dress got ruined at the bar."

  "At Josephine's?"

  "Yes."

  "How did your dress get ruined?"

  "I got staked."

  Everything about him went still. "Where? Did it hurt?" He folded down the blanket. "Show me."

  "Of course it hurt," I said deliberately. "It hurt like hell." I lifted the hem of the sweatshirt carefully.

  His fingers stroked the shiny skin. I would not heal like Bill. It might take a night or two more for him to become as smooth and perfect as he had been, but he would look just as before, despite a week of torture. I would have a scar the rest of my life, vampire blood or no vampire blood. The scar might not be as severe, and it was certainly forming at a phenomenal rate, but it was undeniably red and ugly, the flesh underneath it still tender, the whole area sore.

  "Who did this to you?"

  "A man. A fanatic. It's a long story."

  "Is he dead?"

  "Yeah. Betty Joe Pickard killed him with two big blows of her fist. It kind of reminded me of a story I read in elementary school, about Paul Bunyan."

  "I don't know that story." His dark eyes caught mine.

  I shrugged.

  "As long as he's dead now." Bill had a good grip on that idea.

  "Lots of people are dead now. All because of your program."

  There was a long moment of silence.

  Bill cast a glance at the door Eric had tactfully closed behind him. Of course, he was probably listening right outside, and like all vampires, Eric had excellent hearing. "It's safe?"

  "Yes."

  Bill's mouth was right by my ear. It tickled when he whispered, "Did they search my house?"

  "I don't know. Maybe the vamps from Mississippi went in. I never had a chance to get over there after Eric and Pam and Chow came to tell me you'd been snatched."

  "And they told you … ?"

  "That you were planning on leaving me. Yes. They told me."

  "I already got paid back for that piece of madness," Bill said.

  "You might have been paid back enough to suit you" I said, "but I don't know if you've been paid back enough to suit me."

  There was a long silence in the cold, empty room. It was quiet out in the living room, too. I hoped Eric had worked out what we were going to do next, and I hoped it involved going home. No matter what happened between Bill and me, I needed to be home in Bon Temps. I needed to go back to my job and my friends and I needed to see my brother. He might not be much, but he was what I had.

  I wondered what was happening in the next apartment.

  "When the queen came to me and said she'd heard I was working on a program that had never been attempted before, I was flattered," Bill told me. "The money she offered was very good, and she would have been within her rights not to offer any, since I am her subject."

  I could feel my mouth twisting at hearing yet another reminder of how different Bill's world was from mine. "Who do you think told her?" I asked.

  "I don't know. I don't really want to," Bill said. His voice sounded offhand, even gentle, but I knew better.

  "You know I had been working on it for some time," Bill said, when he figured I wasn't going to say anything.

  "Why?"

  "Why?" He sounded oddly disconcerted. "Well, because it seemed like a good idea to me. Having a list of all America's vampires, and at least some of the rest of the world's? That was a valuable project, and actually, it was kind of fun to compile. And once I started doing research, I thought of including pictures. And aliases. And histories. It just grew."

  "So you've been, um, compiling a-like a directory? Of vampires?"

  "Exactly." Bill's glowing face lit up even brighter. "I just started one night, thinking how many other vampires I'd come across in my travels over the past century, and I started making a list, and then I started adding a drawing I'd done or a photograph I'd taken."

  "So vampires do photograph? I mean, they show up in pictures?"

  "Sure. We never liked to have our picture made, when photography became a common thing in America, because a picture was proof we'd been in a particular place at a particular time, and if we showed up looking exactly the same twenty years later, well, it was obvious what we were. But since we have admitted our existence, there is no point clinging to the old ways."

  "I'll bet some vampires still do."

  "Of course. There are some who still hide in the shadows and sleep in crypts every night."

  (This from a guy who slept in the soil of the cemetery from time to time.)

  "And other vampires helped you with this?"

  "Yes," he said, sounding surprised. "Yes, a few did. Some enjoyed the exercise of memory … some used it as a reason to search for old acquaintances, travel to old haunts. I am sure that I don't have all the vampires in America, especially the recent immigrants, but I think I have probably eighty percent of them."

  "Okay, so why is the queen so anxious to have this program? Why would the other vampires want it, once they learned about it? They could assemble all the same information, right?"

  "Yes," he said. "But it would be far easier to take it from me. And as for why it's so desirable to have this program … wouldn't you like to have a booklet that listed all the other telepaths in the United States?"

  "Oh, sure," I said. "I could get lots of tips on how to handle my problem, or maybe how to use it better."

  "So, wouldn't it be good to have a directory of vampires in the United States, what they're good at, where their gifts lie?"

  "But surely some vampires really wouldn't want to be in such a book," I said. "You've told me that some vamps don't want to come out, that they want to stay in the darkness and hunt secretly."

  "Exactly."

  "Those vamps are in there, too?"

  Bill nodded.

  "Do you want to get yourself staked?"

  "I never realized how tempting this project would be to anyone else. I never thought of how much power it would give to the one who owned it, until others began trying to steal it."

  Bill looked glum.

  The sound of shouting in the apartment next door drew our attention.

  Alcide and Debbie were at it again. They were really bad for each other. But some mutual attraction kept them ricocheting back to each other. Maybe, away from Alcide, Debbie was a nice person.

  Nah, I couldn't bring myself to believe that. But maybe she was at least tolerable when Alcide's affections weren't an issue.

  Of course they should separate. They should never be in the same room again.

  And I had to take this to heart.

  Look at me. Mangled, drained, staked, battered. Lying in a cold apartment in a strange city with a vampire who had betray
ed me.

  A big decision was standing right in front of my face, waiting to be recognized and enacted.

  I shoved Bill away, and wobbled to my feet. I pulled on my stolen jacket. With his silence heavy at my back, I opened the door to the living room. Eric was listening with some amusement to the battle going on in the next apartment.

  "Take me home," I said.

  "Of course," he said. "Now?"

  "Yes. Alcide can drop my things by when he goes back to Baton Rouge."

  "Is the Lincoln drivable?"

  "Oh, yes." I pulled the keys out of my pocket. "Here."

  We walked out of the empty apartment and took the elevator down to the garage.

  Bill didn't follow.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Eric caught up with me as I was climbing into the Lincoln.

  "I had to give Bill a few instructions about cleaning up the mess he caused," he said, though I didn't ask.

  Eric was used to driving sports cars, and he had a few issues with the Lincoln.

  "Had it occurred to you," he said, after we'd rolled out of the city's center, "that you tend to walk away when things between you and Bill become rocky? Not that I mind, necessarily, since I would be glad for you two to sever your association. But if this is the pattern you follow in your romantic attachments, I want to know now."

  I thought of several things to say, discarded the first few, which would have blistered my grandmother's ears, and drew a deep breath.

  "Firstly, Eric, what happens between Bill and me is just none of your damn business." I let that sink in for a few seconds. "Second, my relationship with Bill is the only one I've ever had, so I've never had any idea what I'm going to do even from day to day, much less establishing a policy." I paused to work on phrasing my next idea. "Third, I'm through with you all. I'm tired of seeing all this sick stuff. I'm tired of having to be brave, and having to do things that scare me, and having to hang out with the bizarre and the supernatural. I am just a regular person, and I just want to date regular people. Or at least people who are breathing."