Charlaine Harris - Sookie Stackhouse 01 - Dead Until Dark

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Charlaine Harris

Dead until Dark

Scanned by Ginevra September 29th 2002

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and

neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used

fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

DEAD UNTIL DARK An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author

PRINTING HISTORY

Ace mass-market edition / May 2001

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My thanks and appreciation go to the people who thought this book

was a good idea— Dean James, Toni L. P. Kelner

and Gary and Susan Nowlin

Chapter 1

i'd been WAITING for the vampire for years when he walked into the bar.

Ever since vampires came out of the coffin (as they laugh-ingly put it) four years ago, I'd hoped one would come to

Bon Temps. We had all the other minorities in our little town—why not the newest, the legally recognized undead? But

rural northern Louisiana wasn't too tempting to vam-pires, apparently; on the other hand, New Orleans was a real

center for them—the whole Anne Rice thing, right?

It's not that long a drive from Bon Temps to New Orleans, and everyone who came into the bar said that if you threw a

rock on a street comer you'd hit one. Though you better not.

But I was waiting for my own vampire.

You can tell I don't get out much. And it's not because I'm not pretty. I am. I'm blond and blue-eyed and twenty-five,

and my legs are strong and my bosom is substantial, and I have a waspy waistline. I look good in the warm-weather

waitress outfit Sam picked for us: black shorts, white T, white socks, black Nikes.

But I have a disability. That's how I try to think of it.

The bar patrons just say I'm crazy.

Either way, the result is that I almost never have a date. So little treats count a lot with me.

And he sat at one of my tables—the vampire.

I knew immediately what he was. It amazed me when no one else turned around to stare. They couldn't tell! But to me,

his skin had a little glow, and I just knew.

I could have danced with joy, and in fact I did do a little step right there by the bar. Sam Merlotte, my boss, looked up

from the drink he was mixing and gave me a tiny smile. I grabbed my tray and pad and went over to the vampire's table.

I hoped that my lipstick was still even and my ponytail was still neat. I'm kind of tense, and I could feel my smile

yanking the corners of my mouth up.

He seemed lost in thought, and I had a chance to give him a good once-over before he looked up. He was a little under

six feet, I estimated. He had thick brown hair, combed straight back and brushing his collar, and his long sideburns

seemed curiously old-fashioned. He was pale, of course; hey, he was dead, if you believed the old tales. The politically

correct theory, the one the vamps themselves publicly backed, had it that this guy was the victim of a virus that left

him apparently dead for a couple of days and thereafter al-lergic to sunlight, silver, and garlic. The details depended on

which newspaper you read. They were all full of vampire stuff these days.

Anyway, his lips were lovely, sharply sculpted, and he had arched dark brows. His nose swooped down right out of

that arch, like a prince's in a Byzantine mosaic. When he finally looked up, I saw his eyes were even darker than his

hair, and the whites were incredibly white.

"What can I get you?" I asked, happy almost beyond words.

He raised his eyebrows. "Do you have the bottled synthetic blood?" he asked.

"No, I'm so sorry! Sam's got some on order. Should be in next week."

"Then red wine, please," he said, and his voice was cool and clear, like a stream over smooth stones. I laughed out

loud. It was too perfect.

"Don't mind, Sookie, mister, she's crazy," came a familiar voice from the booth against the wall. All my happiness

de-flated, though I could feel the smile still straining my lips. The vampire was staring at me, watching the life go out of

my face.

"I'll get your wine right away," I said, and strode off, not even looking at Mack Rattray's smug face. He was there

almost every night, he and his wife Denise. I called them the Rat Couple. They'd done their best to make me miserable

since they'd moved into the rent trailer at Four Tracks Cor-ner. I had hoped that they'd blow out of Bon Temps as

sud-denly as they'd blown in.

When they'd first come into Merlotte's, I'd very rudely listened in to their thoughts—I know, pretty low-class of me.

But I get bored like everyone else, and though I spend most of my time blocking out the thoughts of other people that

try to pass through my brain, sometimes I just give in. So I knew some things about the Rattrays that maybe no one

else did. For one thing, I knew they'd been in jail, though I didn't know why. For another, I'd read the nasty thoughts

Mack Rattray had entertained about yours truly. And then I'd heard in Denise's thoughts that she'd abandoned a baby

she'd had two years before, a baby that wasn't Mack's.

And they didn't tip, either.

Sam poured a glass of the house red wine, looking over at the vampire's table as he put it on my tray.

When Sam looked back at me, I could tell he too knew our new customer was undead. Sam's eyes are Paul Newman

blue, as opposed to my own hazy blue gray. Sam is blond, too, but his hair is wiry and his blond is almost a sort of hot

red gold. He is always a little sunburned, and though he looks slight in his clothes, I have seen him unload trucks with

his shirt off, and he has plenty of upper body strength. I never listen to Sam's thoughts. He's my boss. I've had to quit

jobs before because I found out things I didn't want to know about my boss.

But Sam didn't comment, he just gave me the wine. I checked the glass to make sure it was sparkly clean and made my

way back to the vampire's table.

"Your wine, sir," I said ceremoniously and placed it care-fully on the table exactly in front of him. He looked at me

again, and I stared into his lovely eyes while I had the chance. "Enjoy," I said proudly. Behind me, Mack Rattray

yelled, "Hey, Sookie! We need another pitcher of beer here!" I sighed and turned to take the empty pitcher from the

Rats' table. Denise was in fine form tonight, I noticed, wearing a halter top and short shorts, her mess of brown hair

floofing around her head in fashionable tangles. Denise wasn't truly pretty, but she was so flashy and confident that it

took awhile to figure that out.

A little while later, to my dismay, I saw the Rattrays had moved over to the vampire's table. They were talking at him. I

couldn't see that he was responding a lot, but he wasn't leaving either.

"Look at that!" I said disgustedly to Arlene, my fellow waitress. Arlene is redheaded and freckled and ten years older

than me, and she's been married four times. She has two kids, and from time to time, I think she considers me her third.

"New guy, huh?" she said with small interest. Arlene is currently dating Rene Lenier, and though I can't see the

at-traction, she seems pretty satisfied. I think Rene was her sec-ond husband.

"Oh, he's a vampire," I said, just having to share my delight with someone.

"Really? Here? Well, just think," she said, smiling a little to show she appreciated my pleasure. "He can't be too bright,

though, honey, if he's with the Rats. On the other hand, Denise is giving him quite a show."

I figured it out after Arlene made it plain to me; she's much better at sizing up sexual situations than I am due to her

experience and my lack.

The vampire was hungry. I'd always heard that the syn-thetic blood the Japanese had developed kept vampires up to

par as far as nutrition, but didn't really satisfy their hunger, which was why there were "Unfortunate Incidents" from

time to time. (That was the vampire euphemism for the bloody slaying of a human.) And here was Denise Rattray,

stroking her throat, turning her neck from side to side... what a bitch.

My brother, Jason, came into the bar, then, and sauntered over to give me a hug. He knows that women like a man

who's good to his family and also kind to the disabled, so hugging me is a double whammy of recommendation. Not

that Jason needs many more points than he has just by being himself. He's handsome. He can sure be mean, too, but

most women seem quite willing to overlook that.

"Hey, sis, how's Gran?"

"She's okay, about the same. Come by to see."

"I will. Who's loose tonight?"

"Look for yourself." I noticed that when Jason began to glance around there was a flutter of female hands to hair,

blouses, lips.

"Hey. I see DeeAnne. She free?"

"She's here with a trucker from Hammond. He's in the bathroom. Watch it."

Jason grinned at me, and I marvelled that other women could not see the selfishness of that smile. Even Arlene tucked

in her T-shirt when Jason came in, and after four husbands she should have known a little about evaluating men. The

other waitress I worked with, Dawn, tossed her hair and straightened her back to make her boobs stand out. Jason

gave her an amiable wave. She pretended to sneer. She's on the outs with Jason, but she still wants him to notice her.

I got really busy—everyone came to Merlotte's on Sat-urday night for some portion of the evening—so I lost track of

my vampire for a while. When I next had a moment to check on him, he was talking to Denise. Mack was looking at him

with an expression so avid that I became worried.

I went closer to the table, staring at Mack. Finally, I let down my guard and listened.

Mack and Denise had been in jail for vampire draining.

Deeply upset, I nevertheless automatically carried a pitcher of beer and some glasses to a raucous table of four. Since

vampire blood was supposed to temporarily relieve symp-toms of illness and increase sexual potency, kind of like

pred-nisone and Viagra rolled into one, there was a huge black market for genuine, undiluted vampire blood. Where

there's a market there are suppliers; in this case, I'd just learned, the scummy Rat Couple. They'd formerly trapped

vampires and drained them, selling the little vials of blood for as much as $200 apiece. It had been the drug of choice

for at least two years now. Some buyers went crazy after drinking pure vam-pire blood, but that didn't slow the market

any.

The drained vampire didn't last long, as a rule. The drain-ers left the vampires staked or simply dumped them out in the

open. When the sun came up, that was all she wrote. From time to time, you read about the tables being turned when

the vampire managed to get free. Then you got your dead drainers.

Now my vampire was getting up and leaving with the Rats. Mack met my eyes, and I saw him looking distinctly

startled at the expression on my face. He turned away, shrugging me off like everyone else.

That made me mad. Really mad.

What should I do? While I struggled with myself, they were out the door. Would the vampire believe me if I ran after

them, told him? No one else did. Or if by chance they did, they hated and feared me for reading the thoughts

con-cealed in people's brains. Arlene had begged me to read her fourth husband's mind when he'd come in to pick her

up one night because she was pretty certain he was thinking of leaving her and the kids, but I wouldn't because I

wanted to keep the one friend I had. And even Arlene hadn't been able to ask me directly because that would be

admitting I had this gift, this curse. People couldn't admit it. They had to think I was crazy. Which sometimes I almost

was!

So I dithered, confused and frightened and angry, and then I knew I just had to act. I was goaded by the look Mack

had given me—as if I was negligible.

I slid down the bar to Jason, where he was sweeping DeeAnne off her feet. She didn't take much sweeping, pop-ular

opinion had it. The trucker from Hammond was glow-ering from her other side.

"Jason," I said urgently. He turned to give me a warning glare. "Listen, is that chain still in the back of the pickup?"

"Never leave home without it," he said lazily, his eyes scanning my face for signs of trouble. "You going to fight,

Sookie?"

I smiled at him, so used to grinning that it was easy. "I sure hope not," I said cheerfully.

"Hey, you need help?" After all, he was my brother.

"No, thanks," I said, trying to sound reassuring. And I slipped over to Arlene. "Listen, I got to leave a little early. My

tables are pretty thin, can you cover for me?" I didn't think I'd ever asked Arlene such a thing, though I'd covered for

her many times. She, too, offered me help. "That's okay," I said. "I'll be back in if I can. If you clean my area, I'll do your

trailer."

Arlene nodded her red mane enthusiastically.

I pointed to the employee door, to myself, and made my fingers walk, to tell Sam where I was going.

He nodded. He didn't look happy.

So out the back door I went, trying to make my feet quiet on the gravel. The employee parking lot is at the rear of the

bar, through a door leading into the storeroom. The cook's car was there, and Arlene's, Dawn's, and mine. To my right,

the east, Sam's pickup was sitting in front of his trailer.

I went out of the gravelled employee parking area onto the blacktop that surfaced the much larger customer lot to the

west of the bar. Woods surrounded the clearing in which Merlotte's stood, and the edges of the parking lot were

mostly gravel. Sam kept it well lit, and the surrealistic glare of the high, parking lot lights made everything look strange.

I saw the Rat Couple's dented red sports car, so I knew they were close.

I found Jason's truck at last. It was black with custom aqua and pink swirls on the sides. He sure did love to be

noticed. I pulled myself up by the tailgate and rummaged around in the bed for his chain, a thick length of links that he

carried in case of a fight. I looped it and carried it pressed to my body so it wouldn't chink.

I thought a second. The only halfway private spot to which the Rattrays could have lured the vampire was the end of

the parking lot where the trees actually overhung the cars. So I crept in that direction, trying to move fast and low.

I paused every few seconds and listened. Soon I heard a groan and the faint sounds of voices. I snaked between the

cars, and I spotted them right where I'd figured they'd be.

The vampire was down on the ground on his back, his face contorted in agony, and the gleam of chains crisscrossed

his wrists and ran down to his ankles. Silver. There were two little vials of blood already on the ground beside Denise's

feet, and as I watched, she fixed a new Vacutainer to the needle. The tourniquet above his elbow dug cruelly into his

arm.

Their backs were to me, and the vampire hadn't seen me yet I loosened the coiled chain so a good three feet of it

swung free. Who to attack first? They were both small and vicious.

I remembered Mack's contemptuous dismissal and the fact that he never left me a tip. Mack first.

I'd never actually been in a fight before. Somehow I was positively looking forward to it.

I leapt out from behind a pickup and swung the chain. It thwacked across Mack's back as he knelt beside his victim. He

screamed and jumped up. After a glance, Denise set about getting the third Vacutainer plugged. Mack's hand dipped

down to his boot and came up shining. I gulped. He had a knife in his hand.

"Uh-oh," I said, and grinned at him.

"You crazy bitch!" he screamed. He sounded like he was looking forward to using the knife. I was too involved to keep

my mental guard up, and I had a clear flash of what Mack wanted to do to me. It drove me really crazy. I went for him

with every intention of hurting him as badly as I could. But he was ready for me and jumped forward with the knife

while I was swinging the chain. He sliced at my arm and just missed it. The chain, on its recoil, wrapped around his

skinny neck like a lover. Mack's yell of triumph turned into a gurgle. He dropped the knife and clawed at the links with

both hands. Losing air, he dropped to his knees on the rough pavement, yanking the chain from my hand.

Well, there went Jason's chain. I swooped down and scooped up Mack's knife, holding it like I knew how to use it.

Denise had been lunging forward, looking like a redneck witch in the lines and shadows of the security lights.

She stopped in her tracks when she saw I had Mack's knife. She cursed and railed and said terrible things. I waited till

she'd run down to say, "Get. Out. Now."

Denise stared holes of hate in my head. She tried to scoop up the vials of blood, but I hissed at her to leave them

alone. So she pulled Mack to his feet. He was still making choking, gurgling sounds and holding the chain. Denise

kind of dragged him along to their car and shoved him in through the passenger's side. Yanking some keys from her

pocket, Denise threw herself in the driver's seat.

As I heard the engine roar into life, suddenly I realized that the Rats now had another weapon. Faster than I've ever

moved, I ran to the vampire's head and panted, "Push with your feet!" I grabbed him under the arms and yanked back

with all my might, and he caught on and braced his feet and shoved. We were just inside the tree line when the red car

came roaring down at us. Denise missed us by less than a yard when she had to swerve to avoid hitting a pine. Then I

heard the big motor of the Rats' car receding in the distance.

"Oh, wow," I breathed, and knelt by the vampire because my knees wouldn't hold me up any more. I breathed heavily

for just a minute, trying to get hold of myself. The vampire moved a little, and I looked over. To my horror, I saw wisps

of smoke coming up from his wrists where the silver touched them.

"Oh, you poor thing," I said, angry at myself for not caring for him instantly. Still trying to catch my breath, I began to

unwind the thin bands of silver, which all seemed to be part of one very long chain. "Poor baby," I whispered, never

thinking until later how incongruous that sounded. I have agile fingers, and I released his wrists pretty quickly. I

won-dered how the Rats had distracted him while they got into position to put them on, and I could feel myself

reddening as I pictured it.

The vampire cradled his arms to his chest while I worked on the silver wrapped around his legs. His ankles had fared

better since the drainers hadn't troubled to pull up his jeans legs and put the silver against his bare skin.

"I'm sorry I didn't get here faster," I said apologetically. "You'll feel better in a minute, right? Do you want me to

leave?"

That made me feel pretty good until he added, "They might come back, and I can't fight yet." His cool voice was

uneven, but I couldn't exactly say I'd heard him panting.

I made a sour face at him, and while he was recovering, I took a few precautions. I sat with my back to him, giving him

some privacy. I know how unpleasant it is to be stared at when you're hurting. I hunkered down on the pavement,

keeping watch on the parking lot. Several cars left, and others came in, but none came down to our end by the woods.

By the movement of the air around me, I knew when the vampire had sat up.

He didn't speak right away. I turned my head to the left to look at him. He was closer than I'd thought. His big dark

eyes looked into mine. His fangs had retracted; I was a little disappointed about that.

"Thank you," he said stiffly.

So he wasn't thrilled about being rescued by a woman. Typical guy.

Since he was being so ungracious, I felt I could do some-thing rude, too, and I listened to him, opening my mind

com-pletely.

And I heard ... nothing.

"Oh," I said, hearing the shock in my own voice, hardly knowing what I was saying. "I can't hear you."

"Thank you!" the vampire said, moving his lips exagger-atedly.

"No, no ... I can hear you speak, but..." and in my ex-citement, I did something I ordinarily would never do, be-cause it

was pushy, and personal, and revealed I was disabled. I turned fully to him and put my hands on both sides of his

white face, and I looked at him intently. I focused with all my energy. Nothing. It was like having to listen to the radio

all the time, to stations you didn't get to select, and then suddenly tuning in to a wavelength you couldn't receive.

It was heaven.

His eyes were getting wider and darker, though he was holding absolutely still.

"Oh, excuse me," I said with a gasp of embarrassment. I snatched my hands away and resumed staring at the parking

lot. I began babbling about Mack and Denise, all the time thinking how marvelous it would be to have a companion I

could not hear unless he chose to speak out loud. How beau-tiful his silence was.

"... so I figured I better come out here to see how you were," I concluded, and had no idea what I'd been saying.

"You came out here to rescue me. It was brave," he said in a voice so seductive it would have shivered DeeAnne right

out of her red nylon panties.

"Now you cut that out," I said tartly, coming right down to earth with a thud.

He looked astonished for a whole second before his face returned to its white smoothness.

"Aren't you afraid to be alone with a hungry vampire?" he asked, something arch and yet dangerous running beneath

the words.

"Nope."

"Are you assuming that since you came to my rescue that you're safe, that I harbor an ounce of sentimental feeling

after all these years? Vampires often turn on those who trust them. We don't have human values, you know."

"A lot of humans turn on those who trust them," I pointed out. I can be practical. "I'm not a total fool." I held out my

arm and turned my neck. While he'd been recovering, I'd been wrapping the Rats' chains around my neck and arms.

He shivered visibly.

"But there's a juicy artery in your groin," he said after a pause to regroup, his voice as slithery as a snake on a slide.

"Don't you talk dirty," I told him. "I won't listen to that."

Once again we looked at each other in silence. I was afraid I'd never see him again; after all, his first visit to Merlotte's

hadn't exactly been a success. So I was trying to absorb every detail I could; I would treasure this encounter and

re-hash it for a long, long time. It was rare, a prize. I wanted to touch his skin again. I couldn't remember how it felt. But

that would be going beyond some boundary of manners, and also maybe start him going on the seductive crap again.

"Would you like to drink the blood they collected?" he asked unexpectedly. "It would be a way for me to show my

gratitude." He gestured at the stoppered vials lying on the blacktop. "My blood is supposed to improve your sex life

and your health."

"I'm healthy as a horse," I told him honestly. "And I have no sex life to speak of. You do what you want with it."

"You could sell it," he suggested, but I thought he was just waiting to see what I'd say about that.

"I wouldn't touch it," I said, insulted.

"You're different," he said. "What are you?" He seemed to be going through a list of possibilities in his head from the

way he was looking at me. To my pleasure, I could not hear a one of them.

"Well. I'm Sookie Stackhouse, and I'm a waitress," I told him. "What's your name?" I thought I could at least ask that

without being presuming.

"Bill," he said.

Before I could stop myself, I rocked back onto my butt with laughter. "The vampire Bill!" I said. "I thought it might be

Antoine, or Basil, or Langford! Bill!" I hadn't laughed so hard in a long time. "Well, see ya, Bill. I got to get back to

work." I could feel the tense grin snap back into place when I thought of Merlotte's. I put my hand on Bill's shoulder

and pushed up. It was rock hard, and I was on my feet so fast I had to stop myself from stumbling. I examined my

socks to make sure their cuffs were exactly even, and I looked up and down my outfit to check for wear and tear during

the fight with the Rats. I dusted off my bottom since I'd been sitting on the dirty pavement and gave Bill a wave as I

started off across the parking lot.

It had been a stimulating evening, one with a lot of food for thought. I felt almost as cheerful as my smile when I

considered it.

But Jason was going to be mighty angry about the chain.

after work that night, I drove home, which is only about four miles south from the bar. Jason had been gone (and so

had DeeAnne) when I got back to work, and that had been another good thing. I was reviewing the evening as I drove

to my grandmother's house, where I lived. It's right before Tall Pines cemetery, which lies off a narrow two-lane parish

road. My great-great-great grandfather had started the house, and he'd had ideas about privacy, so to reach it you had

to turn off the parish road into the driveway, go through some woods, and then you arrived at the clearing in which

the house stood.

It's sure not any historic landmark, since most of the oldest parts have been ripped down and replaced over the years,

and of course it's got electricity and plumbing and insulation, all that good modern stuff. But it still has a tin roof that

gleams blindingly on sunny days. When the roof needed to be replaced, I wanted to put regular roofing tiles on it, but

my grandmother said no. Though I was paying, it's her house; so naturally, tin it was.

Historical or not, I'd lived in this house since I was about seven, and I'd visited it often before then, so I loved it. It was

just a big old family home, too big for Granny and me, I guess. It had a broad front covered by a screened-in porch,

and it was painted white, Granny being a traditionalist all the way. I went through the big living room, strewn with

battered furniture arranged to suit us, and down the hall to the first bedroom on the left, the biggest.

Adele Hale Stackhouse, my grandmother, was propped up in her high bed, about a million pillows padding her skinny

shoulders. She was wearing a long-sleeved cotton nightgown even in the warmth of this spring night, and her bedside

lamp was still on. There was a book propped in her lap.

"Hey," I said.

"Hi, honey."

My grandmother is very small and very old, but her hair is still thick, and so white it almost has the very faintest of

green tinges. She wears it kind of rolled against her neck during the day, but at night it's loose or braided. I looked at

the cover of her book.

"You reading Danielle Steele again?"

"Oh, that woman can sure tell a story." My grandmother's great pleasures were reading Danielle Steele, watching her

soap operas (which she called her "stories") and attending meetings of the myriad clubs she'd belonged to all her adult

life, it seemed. Her favorites were the Descendants of the Glorious Dead and the Bon Temps Gardening Society.

"Guess what happened tonight?" I asked her.

"What? You got a date?"

"No," I said, working to keep a smile on my face. "A vampire came into the bar."

"Ooh, did he have fangs?"

I'd seen them glisten in the parking lot lights when the Rats were draining him, but there was no need to describe that

to Gran. "Sure, but they were retracted."

"A vampire right here in Bon Temps." Granny was as pleased as punch. "Did he bite anybody in the bar?"

"Oh, no, Gran! He just sat and had a glass of red wine. Well, he ordered it, but he didn't drink it. I think he just wanted

some company."

"Wonder where he stays."

"He wouldn't be too likely to tell anyone that."

"No," Gran said, thinking about it a moment. "I guess not. Did you like him?"

Now that was kind of a hard question. I mulled it over. "I don't know. He was real interesting," I said cautiously.

"I'd surely love to meet him." I wasn't surprised Gran said this because she enjoyed new things almost as much as I

did. She wasn't one of those reactionaries who'd decided vam-pires were damned right off the bat. "But I better go to

sleep now. I was just waiting for you to come home before I turned out my light."

I bent over to give Gran a kiss, and said, "Night night."

I half-closed her door on my way out and heard the click of the lamp as she turned it off. My cat, Tina, came from

wherever she'd been sleeping to rub against my legs, and I picked her up and cuddled her for a while before putting

her out for the night. I glanced at the clock. It was almost two o'clock, and my bed was calling me.

My room was right across the hall from Gran's. When I first used this room, after my folks had died, Gran had moved

my bedroom furniture from their house so I'd feel more homey. And here it was still, the single bed and vanity in

white-painted wood, the small chest of drawers.

I turned on my own light and shut the door and began taking off my clothes. I had at least five pair of black shorts and

many, many white T-shirts, since those tended to get stained so easily. No telling how many pairs of white socks were

rolled up in my drawer. So I didn't have to do the wash tonight. I was too tired for a shower. I did brush my teeth and

wash the makeup off my face, slap on some moisturizer, and take the band out of my hair.

I crawled into bed in my favorite Mickey Mouse sleep T-shirt, which came almost to my knees. I turned on my side, like

I always do, and I relished the silence of the room. Al-most everyone's brain is turned off in the wee hours of the night,

and the vibrations are gone, the intrusions do not have to be repelled. With such peace, I only had time to think of the

vampire's dark eyes, and then I fell into the deep sleep of exhaustion.

BY LUNCHTIME THE next day I was in my folding alu-minum chaise out in the front yard, getting browner by the

second. I was in my favorite white strapless two-piece, and it was a little roomier than last summer, so I was pleased as

punch.

Then I heard a vehicle coming down the drive, and Jason's black truck with its pink and aqua blazons pulled up to

within a yard of my feet.

Jason climbed down—did I mention the truck sports those high tires?—to stalk toward me. He was wearing his usual

work clothes, a khaki shirt and pants, and he had his sheathed knife clipped to his belt, like most of the county road

workers did. Just by the way he walked, I knew he was in a huff.

I put my dark glasses on.

"Why didn't you tell me you beat up the Rattrays last night?" My brother threw himself into the aluminum yard chair

by my chaise. "Where's Gran?" he asked belatedly.

"Hanging out the laundry," I said. Gran used the dryer in a pinch, but she really liked hanging the wet clothes out in

the sun. Of course the clothesline was in the backyard, where clotheslines should be. "She's fixing country-fried steak

and sweet potatoes and green beans she put up last year, for lunch," I added, knowing that would distract Jason a

little bit. I hoped Gran stayed out back. I didn't want her to hear this conversation. "Keep your voice low," I reminded

him.

"Rene Lenier couldn't wait till I got to work this morning to tell me all about it. He was over to the Rattrays' trailer last

night to buy him some weed, and Denise drove up like she wanted to kill someone. Rene said he liked to have gotten

killed, she was so mad. It took both Rene and Denise to get Mack into the trailer, and then they took him to the

hospital in Monroe." Jason glared at me accusingly.

"Did Rene tell you that Mack came after me with a knife?" I asked, deciding attacking was the best way of handling

this. I could tell Jason's pique was due in large part to the fact that he had heard about this from someone else.

"If Denise told Rene, he didn't mention it to me," Jason said slowly, and I saw his handsome face darken with rage. "He

came after you with a knife?"

"So I had to defend myself," I said, as if it were matter-of-fact. "And he took your chain." This was all true, if a little

skewed.

"I came in to tell you," I continued, "but by the time I got back in the bar, you were gone with DeeAnne, and since I

was fine, it just didn't seem worth tracking you down. I knew you'd feel obliged to go after him if I told you about the

knife," I added diplomatically. There was a lot more truth in that, since Jason dearly loves a fight.

"What the hell were you doing out there anyway?" he asked, but he had relaxed, and I knew he was accepting this.

"Did you know that, in addition to selling drugs, the Rats are vampire drainers?"

Now he was fascinated. "No... so?"

"Well, one of my customers last night was a vampire, and they were draining him out in Merlotte's parking lot! I

couldn't have that."

"There's a vampire here in Bon Temps?"

"Yep. Even if you don't want a vampire for your best friend, you can't let trash like the Rats drain them. It's not like

siphoning gas out of a car. And they would have left him out in the woods to die." Though the Rats hadn't told me

their intentions, that was my bet. Even if they'd put him under cover so he could survive the day, a drained vampire

took at least twenty years to recover, at least that's what one had said on Oprah. And that's if another vampire took

care of him.

"The vampire was in the bar when I was there?" Jason asked, dazzled.

"Uh-huh. The dark-haired guy sitting with the Rats."

Jason grinned at my epithet for the Rattrays. But he hadn't let go of the night before, yet. "How'd you know he was a

vampire?" he asked, but when he looked at me, I could tell he was wishing he had bitten his tongue.

"I just knew," I said in my flattest voice.

"Right." And we shared a whole unspoken conversation.

"Homulka doesn't have a vampire," Jason said thought-fully. He tilted his face back to catch the sun, and I knew we

were off dangerous ground.

"True," I agreed. Homulka was the town Bon Temps loved to hate. We'd been rivals in football, basketball, and

histor-ical significance for generations.

"Neither does Roedale," Gran said from behind us, and Jason and I both jumped. I give Jason credit, he jumps up and

gives Gran a hug everytime he sees her.

"Gran, you got enough food in the oven for me?"

"You and two others," Gran said. Our grandmother smiled up at Jason. She was not blind to his faults (or mine), but

she loved him. "I just got a phone call from Everlee Mason. She was telling me you hooked up with DeeAnne last

night."

"Boy oh boy, can't do anything in this town without get-ting caught," Jason said, but he wasn't really angry.

'That DeeAnne," Gran said warningly as we all started into the house, "she's been pregnant one time I know of. You

just take care she doesn't have one of yours, you'll be paying the rest of your life. Course, that may be the only way I

get great-grandchildren!"

Gran had the food ready on the table, so after Jason hung up his hat we sat down and said grace. Then Gran and Jason

began gossiping with each other (though they called it "catching up") about people in our little town and parish. My

brother worked for the state, supervising road crews. It seemed to me like Jason's day consisted of driving around in a

state pickup, clocking off work, and then driving around all night in his own pickup. Rene was on one of the work

crews Jason oversaw, and they'd been to high school to-gether. They hung around with Hoyt Fortenberry a lot.

"Sookie, I had to replace the hot water heater in the house," Jason said suddenly. He lives in my parents' old house,

the one we'd been living in when they died in a flash flood. We lived with Gran after that, but when Jason got through

his two years of college and went to work for the state, he moved back into the house, which on paper is half mine.

"You need any money on that?" I asked.

"Naw, I got it."

We both make salaries, but we also have a little income from a fund established when an oil well was sunk on my

parents' property. It played out in a few years, but my parents and then Gran made sure the money was invested. It

saved Jason and me a lot of struggle, that padding. I don't know how Gran could have raised us if it hadn't been for

that money. She was determined not to sell any land, but her own income is not much more than social security. That's

one reason I don't get an apartment. If I get groceries when I'm living with her, that's reasonable, to her; but if I buy

gro-ceries and bring them to her house and leave them on her table and go home to my house, that's charity and that

makes her mad.

"What kind did you get?" I asked, just to show interest.

He was dying to tell me; Jason's an appliance freak, and he wanted to describe his comparison shopping for a new

water heater in detail. I listened with as much attention as I could muster.

And then he interrupted himself. "Hey Sook, you remem-ber Maudette Pickens?"

"Sure," I said, surprised. "We graduated in the same class."

"Somebody killed Maudette in her apartment last night."

Gran and I were riveted. "When?" Grand asked, puzzled that she hadn't heard already.

"They just found her this very morning in her bedroom. Her boss tried to call her to find out why she hadn't shown up

for work yesterday and today and got no answer, so he rode over and got the manager up, and they unlocked the

place. You know she had the apartment across from Dee-Anne's?" Bon Temps had only one bona fide apartment

com-plex, a three-building, two-story U-shaped grouping, so we knew exactly where he meant.

"She got killed there?" I felt ill. I remembered Maudette clearly. Maudette had had a heavy jaw and a square bottom,

pretty black hair and husky shoulders. Maudette had been a plodder, never bright or ambitious. I thought I recalled her

working at the Grabbit Kwik, a gas station/convenience store.

"Yeah, she'd been working there for at least a year, I guess," Jason confirmed.

"How was it done?" My grandmother had that squnched, give-it-to-me-quick look with which nice people ask for bad

news.

"She had some vampire bites on her—uh—inner thighs," my brother said, looking down at his plate. "But that wasn't

what killed her. She was strangled. DeeAnne told me Mau-dette liked to go to that vampire bar in Shreveport when she

had a couple of days off, so maybe that's where she got the bites. Might not have been Sookie's vampire."

"Maudette was a fang-banger?" I felt queasy, imagining slow, chunky Maudette draped in the exotic black dresses

fang-bangers affected.

"What's that?" asked Gran. She must have missed Sally-Jessy the day the phenomenon was explored.

"Men and women that hang around with vampires and enjoy being bitten. Vampire groupies. They don't last too long,

I think, because they want to be bitten too much, and sooner or later they get that one bite too many."

"But a bite didn't kill Maudette." Gran wanted to be sure she had it straight.

"Nope, strangling." Jason had begun finishing his lunch.

"Don't you always get gas at the Grabbit?" I asked.

"Sure. So do a lot of people."

"And didn't you hang around with Maudette some?" Gran asked.

"Well, in a way of speaking," Jason said cautiously.

I took that to mean he'd bedded Maudette when he couldn't find anyone else.

"I hope the sheriff doesn't want to talk to you," Gran said, shaking her head as if indicating "no" would make it less

likely.

"What?" Jason was turning red, looking defensive.

"You see Maudette in the store all the time when you get your gas, you so-to-speak date her, then she winds up dead

in an apartment you're familiar with," I summarized. It wasn't much, but it was something, and there were so few

mysterious homicides in Bon Temps that I thought every stone would be turned in its investigation.

"I ain't the only one who fills the bill. Plenty of other guys get their gas there, and all of them know Maudette."

"Yeah, but in what sense?" Gran asked bluntly. "She wasn't a prostitute, was she? So she will have talked about who

she saw."

"She just liked to have a good time, she wasn't a pro." It was good of Jason to defend Maudette, considering what I

knew of his selfish character. I began to think a little better of my big brother. "She was kinda lonely, I guess," he

added.

Jason looked at both of us, then, and saw we were sur-prised and touched.

"Speaking of prostitutes," he said hastily, "there's one in Monroe specializes in vampires. She keeps a guy standing

by with a stake in case one gets carried away. She drinks synthetic blood to keep her blood supply up."

That was a pretty definite change of subject, so Gran and I tried to think of a question we could ask without being

indecent.

"Wonder how much she charges?" I ventured, and when Jason told us the figure he'd heard, we both gasped.

Once we got off the topic of Maudette's murder, lunch went about as usual, with Jason looking at his watch and

exclaiming that he had to leave just when it was time to do the dishes.

But Gran's mind was still running on vampires, I found out. She came into my room later, when I was putting on my

makeup to go to work.

"How old you reckon the vampire is, the one you met?"

"I have no idea, Gran." I was putting on my mascara, looking wide-eyed and trying to hold still so I wouldn't poke

myself in the eye, so my voice came out funny, as if I was trying out for a horror movie.

"Do you suppose ... he might remember the War?"

I didn't need to ask which war. After all, Gran was a charter member of the Descendants of the Glorious Dead.

"Could be," I said, turning my face from side to side to make sure my blush was even.

"You think he might come to talk to us about it? We could have a special meeting."

"At night," I reminded her.

"Oh. Yes, it'd have to be." The Descendants usually met at noon at the library and brought a bag lunch.

I thought about it. It would be plain rude to suggest to the vampire that he ought to speak to Gran's club because I'd

saved his blood from Drainers, but maybe he would offer if I gave a little hint? I didn't like to, but I'd do it for Gran. "I'll

ask him the next time he comes in," I promised.

"At least he could come talk to me and maybe I could tape his recollections?" Gran said. I could hear her mind clicking

as she thought of what a coup that would be for her. "It would be so interesting to the other club members," she said

piously.

I stifled an impulse to laugh. "I'll suggest it to him," I said. "We'll see."

When I left, Gran was clearly counting her chickens.

I hadn't thought of Rene Lenier going to Sam with the story of the parking lot fight. Rene'd been a busy bee, though.

When I got to work that afternoon, I assumed the agitation I felt in the air was due to Maudette's murder. I found out

different.

Sam hustled me into the storeroom the minute I came in. He was hopping with anger. He reamed me up one side and

down the other.

Sam had never been mad with me before, and soon I was on the edge of tears.

"And if you think a customer isn't safe, you tell me, and I'll deal with it, not you," he was saying for the sixth time,

when I finally realized that Sam had been scared for me.

I caught that rolling off him before I clamped down firmly on "hearing" Sam. Listening in to your boss led to disaster.

It had never occurred to me to ask Sam—or anyone else— for help.

"And if you think someone is being harmed in our parking lot, your next move is to call the police, not step out there

yourself like a vigilante," Sam huffed. His fair complection, always ruddy, was redder than ever, and his wiry golden

hair looked as if he hadn't combed it.

"Okay," I said, trying to keep my voice even and my eyes wide open so the tears wouldn't roll out. "Are you gonna fire

me?"

"No! No!" he exclaimed, apparently even angrier. "I don't want to lose you!" He gripped my shoulders and gave me a

little shake. Then he stood looking at me with wide, crackling blue eyes, and I felt a surge of heat rushing out from him.

Touching accelerates my disability, makes it imperative that I hear the person touching. I stared right into his eyes for

a long moment, then I remembered myself, and I jumped back as his hands dropped away.

I whirled and left the storeroom, spooked.

I'd learned a couple of disconcerting things. Sam desired me; and I couldn't hear his thoughts as clearly as I could

other people's. I'd had waves of impressions of how he was feeling, but not thoughts. More like wearing a mood ring

than getting a fax.

So, what did I do about either piece of information?

Absolutely nothing.

I'd never looked on Sam as a beddable man before—or at least not beddable by me—for a lot of reasons. But the

sim-plest one was that I never looked at anyone that way, not because I don't have hormones—boy, do I have

hormones— but they are constantly tamped down because sex, for me, is a disaster. Can you imagine knowing

everything your sex partner is thinking? Right. Along the order of "Gosh, look at that mole ... her butt is a little big ...

wish she'd move to the right a little ... why doesn't she take the hint and ... ?" You get the idea. It's chilling to the

emotions, believe me.

And during sex, there is simply no way to keep a mental guard up.

Another reason is that I like Sam for a boss, and I like my job, which gets me out and keeps me active and earning so I

won't turn into the recluse my grandmother fears I'll be-come. Working in an office is hard for me, and college was

simply impossible because of the grim concentration neces-sary. It just drained me.

So, right now, I wanted to mull over the rush of desire I'd felt from him. It wasn't like he'd made me a verbal propo-sition

or thrown me down on the storeroom floor. I'd felt his feelings, and I could ignore them if I chose. I appreciated the

delicacy of this, and wondered if Sam had touched me on purpose, if he actually knew what I was.

I took care not be alone with him, but I have to admit I was pretty shaken that night.

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CharlaineHarrisDeaduntilDarkScannedbyGinevraSeptember29th2002Ifyoupurchasedthisbookwithoutacover,youshouldbeawarethatthisbookisstolenproperty.Itwasreportedas"unsoldanddestroyed"tothepublisher,andneithertheauthornorthepublisherhasreceivedanypaymentforthis"strippedbook."Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,char...

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Charlaine Harris - Sookie Stackhouse 01 - Dead Until Dark

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