Sookie Stackhouse Boxed Set (Books 1-8) - Charlaine Harris [426]
“Closer,” I breathed to Bubba. “But under cover.”
“Yes’m,” he whispered back. “You gonna keep your eyes closed?”
I nodded, and he led me very carefully across the street and into the shadow of the Dumpster that stood about five yards south of the building. I was glad it was cold, because that kept the garbage smell at an acceptable level. The ghosts of the scents of doughnuts and blossoms lay on top of the funk of spoiled things and old diapers that passersby had tossed into the handy receptacle. It didn’t blend happily with the magic smell.
I adjusted, blocked out the assault on my nose, and began listening. Though I’d gotten better at this, it was still like trying to hear twelve phone conversations at once. Some of them were Weres, too, which complicated matters. I could only get bits and pieces.
... hope that’s not a vaginal infection I feel coming on . . .
She won’t listen to me, she doesn’t think men can do the job.
If I turned her into a toad, who could tell the difference?
. . . wish we’d gotten some diet Coke . . .
I’ll find that damn vamp and kill him . . .
Mother of the Earth, listen to my pleas.
I’m in too deep . . .
I better get a new nail file.
This was not decisive, but no one had been thinking, “Oh, these demonic witches have trapped me, won’t somebody help?” or “I hear the vampires approaching!” or anything dramatic like that. This sounded like a band of people who knew each other, were at least relaxed in each other’s company, and therefore held the same goals. Even the one who was praying was not in any state of urgency or need. I hoped Hallow wouldn’t sense the crush of my mind, but everyone I’d touched had seemed preoccupied.
“Bubba,” I said, just a little louder than a thought, “you go tell Pam there are fifteen people in there, and as far as I can tell, they’re all witches.”
“Yes’m.”
“You remember how to get to Pam?”
“Yes’m.”
“So you can let go my hand, okay?”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Be silent and careful,” I whispered.
And he was gone. I crouched in the shadow that was darker than the night, beside the smells and cold metal, listening to the witches. Three brains were male, the rest female. Hallow was in there, because one of the women was looking at her and thinking of her . . . dreading her, which kind of made me uneasy. I wondered where they’d parked their cars—unless they flew around on broomsticks, ha ha. Then I wondered about something that should already have crossed my mind.
If they were so darn wary and dangerous, where were their sentries?
At that moment, I was seized from behind.
12
“WHO ARE YOU?” ASKED A THIN VOICE.
Since she had one hand clapped over my mouth and the other was holding a knife to my neck, I couldn’t answer. She seemed to grasp that after a second, because she told me, “We’re going in,” and began to push me toward the back of the building.
I couldn’t have that. If she’d been one of the witches in the building, one of the blood-drinking witches, I couldn’t have gotten away with this, but she was a plain old witch, and she hadn’t watched Sam break up as many bar fights as I had. With both hands, I reached up and grabbed her knife wrist, and I twisted it as hard as I could while I hit her hard with my lower body. Over she went, onto the filthy cold pavement, and I landed right on top of her, pounding her hand against the ground until she released the knife. She was sobbing, the will seeping out of her.
“You’re a lousy lookout,” I said to Holly, keeping my voice low.
“Sookie?” Holly’s big eyes peered out from under a knit watch cap. She’d dressed for utility tonight, but she still had on bright pink lipstick.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“They told me they’d get my boy if I didn’t help them.”
I felt sick. “How long have you been helping them? Before I came to your apartment, asking for help? How long?” I shook her as hard as I could.