Charlaine Harris - Sookie Stackhouse 04 - Dead to the World

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Dead to the World

Charlaine Harris

Book 4 in the Southern Vampire series

First edition: May 2004

ISBN 0-441-01167-5

Though they'll probably never read it, this book is dedicated to all the coaches—baseball,

football, volleyball, soccer—who've worked through so many years, often for no monetary reward, to

coax athletic performances out of my children and to instill in them an understanding of The Game. God

bless you all, and thanks from one of the moms who crowds the stands through rain, cold, heat, and

mosquitoes.

However, this mom always wonders who else might be watching the night games.

My thanks to Wiccans who answered my call for knowledge with more information than I could

use—Maria Lima, Sandilee Lloyd, Holly Nelson, Jean Hontz, and M. R. "Murv" Sellars. I owe further

thanks to other experts in different fields: Kevin Ryer, who knows more about feral hogs than most

people do about their own pets; Dr. D. P. Lyle, who is so gracious about answering medical questions;

and, of course, Doris Ann Norris, reference librarian to the stars.

If I have made mistakes in the use of the knowledge these kind people imparted, I'll do my best

to somehow blame it on them.

I found the note taped to my door when I got home from work. I'd had the

lunch-to-early-evening shift at Merlotte's, but since we were at the tail end of December, the day

darkened early. So Bill, my former boyfriend—that's Bill Compton, or Vampire Bill, as most of the

regulars at Merlotte's call him—must have left his message within the previous hour. He can't get up until

dark.

I hadn't seen Bill in over a week, and our parting hadn't been a happy one. But touching the

envelope with my name written on it made me feel miserable. You'd think—though I'm twenty-six—I'd

never had, and lost, a boyfriend before.

You'd be right.

Normal guys don't want to date someone as strange as I am. People have been saying I'm

messed up in the head since I started school.

They're right.

That's not to say I don't get groped at the bar occasionally. Guys get drunk. I look good. They

forget their misgivings about my reputation for strangeness and my ever-present smile.

But only Bill has ever gotten close to me in an intimate way. Parting from him had hurt me bad.

I waited to open the envelope until I was sitting at the old, scarred kitchen table. I still had my

coat on, though I'd shucked my gloves.

Dearest Sookie—I wanted to come over to talk to you when you had somewhat recovered

from the unfortunate events of earlier this month.

"Unfortunate events," my round rear end. The bruises had finally faded, but I had a knee that still

ached in the cold, and I suspected that it always would. Every injury I had incurred had been in the

course of rescuing my cheating boyfriend from his imprisonment by a group of vampires that included his

former flame, Lorena. I had yet to figure out why Bill had been so infatuated with Lorena that he'd

answered her summons to Mississippi.

Probably, you have a lot of questions about what happened.

Damn straight.

If you'll talk to me face-to-face, come to the front door and let me in.

Yikes. I hadn't seen that one coming. I pondered for a minute. Deciding that while I didn't trust

Bill anymore, I didn't believe that he would physically harm me, I went back through the house to the

front door. I opened it and called, "Okay, come on in."

He emerged from the woods surrounding the clearing in which my old house stood. I ached at

the sight of him. Bill was broad-shouldered and lean from his life of farming the land next to mine. He was

hard and tough from his years as a Confederate soldier, before his death in 1867. Bill's nose was straight

off a Greek vase. His hair was dark brown and clipped close to his head, and his eyes were just as dark.

He looked exactly the same as he had while we were dating, and he always would.

He hesitated before he crossed the threshold, but I'd given him permission, and I moved aside so

he could step past me into the living room filled with old, comfortable furniture and neat as a pin.

"Thank you," he said in his cold, smooth voice, a voice that still gave me a twinge of sheer lust.

Many things had gone wrong between us, but they hadn't started in bed. "I wanted to talk to you before I

left."

"Where are you going?" I tried to sound as calm as he.

"To Peru. The queen's orders."

"Still working on your, ah, database?" I knew almost nothing about computers, but Bill had

studied hard to make himself computer literate.

"Yes. I've got a little more research to do. A very old vampire in Lima has a great fund of

knowledge about those of our race on his continent, and I have an appointment to confer with him. I'll do

some sight-seeing while I'm down there."

I fought the urge to offer Bill a bottle of synthetic blood, which would have been the hospitable

thing to do. "Have a seat," I said curtly, and nodded at the sofa. I sat on the edge of the old recliner

catty-cornered to it. Then a silence fell, a silence that made me even more conscious of how unhappy I

was.

"How's Bubba?" I asked finally.

"He's in New Orleans right now," Bill said. "The queen likes to keep him around from time to

time, and he was so visible here over the last month that it seemed like a good idea to take him

elsewhere. He'll be back soon."

You'd recognize Bubba if you saw him; everyone knows his face. But he hadn't been "brought

over" too successfully. Probably the morgue attendant, who happened to be a vampire, should have

ignored the tiny spark of life. But since he was a great fan, he hadn't been able to resist the attempt, and

now the entire southern vampire community shuffled Bubba around and tried to keep him from public

view.

Another silence fell. I'd planned on taking off my shoes and uniform, putting on a cuddly robe,

and watching television with a Freschetta pizza by my side. It was a humble plan, but it was my own.

Instead, here I was, suffering.

"If you have something to say, you better go on and say it," I told him.

He nodded, almost to himself. "I have to explain," he said. His white hands arranged themselves

in his lap. "Lorena and I—"

I flinched involuntarily. I never wanted to hear that name again. He'd dumped me for Lorena.

"I have to tell you," he said, almost angrily. He'd seen me twitch. "Give me this chance." After a

second, I waved a hand to tell him to continue.

"The reason I went to Jackson when she called me is that I couldn't help myself," he said.

My eyebrows flew up. I'd heard that before. It means, "I have no self-control," or, "It seemed

worth it at the time, and I wasn't thinking north of my belt."

"We were lovers long ago. As Eric says he told you, vampire liaisons don't tend to last long,

though they're very intense while they are ongoing. However, what Eric did not tell you was that Lorena

was the vampire who brought me over."

"To the Dark Side?" I asked, and then I bit my lip. This was no subject for levity.

"Yes," Bill agreed seriously. "And we were together after that, as lovers, which is not always the

case."

"But you had broken up . . ."

"Yes, about eighty years ago, we came to the point where we couldn't tolerate each other any

longer. I hadn't seen Lorena since, though I'd heard of her doings, of course."

"Oh, sure," I said expressionlessly.

"But I had to obey her summons. This is absolutely imperative. When your maker calls, you must

respond." His voice was urgent.

I nodded, trying to look understanding. I guess I didn't do too good a job.

"She ordered me to leave you," he said. His dark eyes were peering into mine. "She said she

would kill you if I didn't."

I was losing my temper. I bit the inside of my cheek, real hard, to make myself focus. "So,

without explanation or discussion with me, you decided what was best for me and for you."

"I had to," he said. "I had to do her bidding. And I knew she was capable of harming you."

"Well, you got that right." In fact, Lorena had done her dead level best to harm me right into the

grave. But I'd gotten her first—okay, by a fluke, but it had worked.

"And now you no longer love me," Bill said, with the slightest of questions in his voice.

I didn't have any clear answer.

"I don't know," I said. "I wouldn't think you'd want to come back to me. After all, I killed your

mom." And there was the slightest of questions in my voice, too, but mostly I was bitter.

"Then we need more time apart. When I return, if you consent, we'll talk again. A kiss

good-bye?"

To my shame, I would love to kiss Bill again. But it was such a bad idea, even wanting it seemed

wrong. We stood, and I gave him a quick brush of lips to the cheek. His white skin shone with a little

glow that distinguished vampires from humans. It had surprised me to learn that not everyone saw them

like I did.

"Are you seeing the Were?" he asked, when he was nearly out the door. He sounded as though

the words had been pulled out of him by their roots.

"Which one?" I asked, resisting the temptation to bat my eyelashes. He deserved no answer, and

he knew it. "How long will you be gone?" I asked more briskly, and he looked at me with some

speculation.

"It's not a sure thing. Maybe two weeks," he answered.

"We might talk then," I said, turning my face away. "Let me return your key." I fished my keys

out of my purse.

"No, please, keep it on your key ring," he said. "You might need it while I am gone. Go in the

house as you will. My mail's getting held at the post office until I give them notice, and I think all my other

loose ends are taken care of."

So I was his last loose end. I damned up the trickle of anger that was all too ready to bubble out

these days.

"I hope you have a safe trip," I said coldly, and shut the door behind him. I headed back to my

bedroom. I had a robe to put on and some television to watch. By golly, I was sticking to my plan.

But while I was putting my pizza in the oven, I had to blot my cheeks a few times.

The New Year's Eve party at Merlotte's Bar and Grill was finally, finally, over. Though the bar

owner, Sam Merlotte, had asked all his staff to work that night, Holly, Arlene, and I were the only ones

who'd responded. Charlsie Tooten had said she was too old to put up with the mess we had to endure

on New Year's Eve, Danielle had long-standing plans to attend a fancy party with her steady boyfriend,

and a new woman couldn't start for two days. I guess Arlene and Holly and I needed the money more

than we needed a good time.

And I hadn't had any invitations to do anything else. At least when I'm working at Merlotte's, I'm

a part of the scenery. That's a kind of acceptance.

I was sweeping up the shredded paper, and I reminded myself again not to comment to Sam on

what a poor idea the bags of confetti had been. We'd all made ourselves pretty clear about that, and

even good-natured Sam was showing signs of wear and tear. It didn't seem fair to leave it all for Terry

Bellefleur to clean, though sweeping and mopping the floors was his job.

Sam was counting the till money and bagging it up so he could go by the night deposit at the

bank. He was looking tired but pleased.

He flicked open his cell phone. "Kenya? You ready to take me to the bank? Okay, see you in a

minute at the back door." Kenya, a police officer, often escorted Sam to the night deposit, especially

after a big take like tonight's.

I was pleased with my money take, too. I had earned a lot in tips. I thought I might have gotten

three hundred dollars or more—and I needed every penny. I would have enjoyed the prospect of totting

up the money when I got home, if I'd been sure I had enough brains left to do it. The noise and chaos of

the party, the constant runs to and from the bar and the serving hatch, the tremendous mess we'd had to

clean up, the steady cacophony of all those brains . . . it had combined to exhaust me. Toward the end

I'd been too tired to keep my poor mind protected, and lots of thoughts had leaked through.

It's not easy being telepathic. Most often, it's not fun.

This evening had been worse than most. Not only had the bar patrons, almost all known to me

for many years, been in uninhibited moods, but there'd been some news that lots of people were just

dying to tell me.

"I hear yore boyfriend done gone to South America," a car salesman, Chuck Beecham, had said,

malice gleaming in his eyes. "You gonna get mighty lonely out to your place without him."

"You offering to take his place, Chuck?" the man beside him at the bar had asked, and they both

had a we're-men-together guffaw.

"Naw, Terrell," said the salesman. "I don't care for vampire leavings."

"You be polite, or you go out the door," I said steadily. I felt warmth at my back, and I knew my

boss, Sam Merlotte, was looking at them over my shoulder.

"Trouble?" he asked.

"They were just about to apologize," I said, looking Chuck and Terrell in the eyes. They looked

down at their beers.

"Sorry, Sookie," Chuck mumbled, and Terrell bobbed his head in agreement. I nodded and

turned to take care of another order. But they'd succeeded in hurting me.

Which was their goal.

I had an ache around my heart.

I was sure the general populace of Bon Temps, Louisiana, didn't know about our estrangement.

Bill sure wasn't in the habit of blabbing his personal business around, and neither was I. Arlene and Tara

knew a little about it, of course, since you have to tell your best friends when you've broken up with your

guy, even if you have to leave out all the interesting details. (Like the fact that you'd killed the woman he

left you for. Which I couldn't help. Really.) So anyone who told me Bill had gone out of the country,

assuming I didn't know it yet, was just being malicious.

Until Bill's recent visit to my house, I'd last seen him when I'd given him the disks and computer

he'd hidden with me. I'd driven up at dusk, so the machine wouldn't be sitting on his front porch for long.

I'd put all his stuff up against the door in a big waterproofed box. He'd come out just as I was driving

away, but I hadn't stopped.

An evil woman would have given the disks to Bill's boss, Eric. A lesser woman would have kept

those disks and that computer, having rescinded Bill's (and Eric's) invitations to enter the house. I had

told myself proudly that I was not an evil, or a lesser, woman.

Also, thinking practically, Bill could just have hired some human to break into my house and take

them. I didn't think he would. But he needed them bad, or he'd be in trouble with his boss's boss. I've got

a temper, maybe even a bad temper, once it gets provoked. But I'm not vindictive.

Arlene has often told me I am too nice for my own good, though I assure her I am not. (Tara

never says that; maybe she knows me better?) I realized glumly that, sometime during this hectic evening,

Arlene would hear about Bill's departure. Sure enough, within twenty minutes of Chuck and Terrell's

gibing, she made her way through the crowd to pat me on the back. "You didn't need that cold bastard

anyway," she said. "What did he ever do for you?"

I nodded weakly at her to show how much I appreciated her support. But then a table called for

two whiskey sours, two beers, and a gin and tonic, and I had to hustle, which was actually a welcome

distraction. When I dropped off their drinks, I asked myself the same question. What had Bill done for

me?

I delivered pitchers of beer to two tables before I could add it all up.

He'd introduced me to sex, which I really enjoyed. Introduced me to a lot of other vampires,

which I didn't. Saved my life, though when you thought about it, it wouldn't have been in danger if I hadn't

been dating him in the first place. But I'd saved his back once or twice, so that debt was canceled. He'd

called me "sweetheart," and at the time he'd meant it.

"Nothing," I muttered, as I mopped up a spilled pina colada and handed one of our last clean bar

towels to the woman who'd knocked it over, since a lot of it was still in her skirt. "He didn't do a thing for

me." She smiled and nodded, obviously thinking I was commiserating with her. The place was too noisy

to hear anything anyway, which was lucky for me.

But I'd be glad when Bill got back. After all, he was my nearest neighbor. The community's older

cemetery separated our properties, which lay along a parish road south of Bon Temps. I was out there all

by myself, without Bill.

"Peru, I hear," my brother Jason, said. He had his arm around his girl of the evening, a short, thin,

dark twenty-one-year-old from somewhere way out in the sticks. (I'd carded her.) I gave her a close

look. Jason didn't know it, but she was a shape-shifter of some kind. They're easy to spot. She was an

attractive girl, but she changed into something with feathers or fur when the moon was full. I noticed Sam

give her a hard glare when Jason's back was turned, to remind her to behave herself in his territory. She

returned the glare, with interest. I had the feeling she didn't become a kitten, or a squirrel.

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[versionhistory]DeadtotheWorldCharlaineHarrisBook4intheSouthernVampireseriesFirstedition:May2004ISBN0-441-01167-5Thoughthey'llprobablyneverreadit,thisbookisdedicatedtoallthecoaches—baseball,football,volleyball,soccer—who'veworkedthroughsomanyyears,oftenfornomonetaryreward,tocoaxathleticperformanceso...

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Charlaine Harris - Sookie Stackhouse 04 - Dead to the World

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