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“In Merlotte’s.” I was astonished at the effect my last-minute question had had on Eric. “What’s the deal?”

“What was he doing?”

“Drinking Red Stuff and sitting at a table with my friend Tara. You know, you saw her? At Club Dead, in Jackson?”

“When I saw her she was under the protection of Franklin Mott.”

“Well, they were dating. I can’t understand why he’d let her go out with Mickey. I hoped maybe Mickey was just there as her bodyguard or something.” I retrieved my coat from the booth. “So, what’s the bottom line on this guy?” I asked.

“Stay away from him. Don’t talk to him, don’t cross him, and don’t try to help your friend Tara. When he was here, Mickey talked mostly to Charles. Charles tells me he is a rogue. He’s capable of . . . things that are barbarous. Don’t go around Tara.”

I opened my hands, asking Eric to explain.

“He’ll do things the rest of us won’t,” Eric said.

I stared up at Eric, shocked and deeply worried. “I can’t just ignore her situation. I don’t have so many friends that I can afford to let one go down the drain.”

“If she’s involved with Mickey, she’s just meat on the hoof,” Eric said with a brutal simplicity. He took my coat from me and held it while I slid into it. His hands massaged my shoulders after I’d buttoned it.

“It fits well,” he said. It didn’t take a mind reader to guess that he didn’t want to say any more about Mickey.

“You got my thank-you note?”

“Of course. Very, ah, seemly.”

I nodded, hoping to indicate this was the end of the subject. But, of course, it wasn’t.

“I still wonder why your old coat had bloodstains on it,” Eric murmured, and my eyes flashed up to his. I cursed my carelessness once again. When he’d come back to thank me for keeping him, he’d roamed the house while I was busy until he’d come across the coat. “What did we do, Sookie? And to whom?”

“It was chicken blood. I killed a chicken and cooked it,” I lied. I’d seen my grandmother do that when I was little, many a time, but I’d never done it myself.

“Sookie, Sookie. My bullshit meter is reading that as a ‘false,’ ” Eric said, shaking his head in a chiding way.

I was so startled I laughed. It was a good note on which to leave. I could see Charles Twining standing by the front door, thoroughly modern padded jacket at the ready. “Good-bye, Eric, and thanks for the bartender,” I said, as if Eric had loaned me some AA batteries or a cup of rice. He bent and brushed my cheek with his cool lips.

“Drive safely,” he said. “And stay away from Mickey. I need to find out why he’s in my territory. Call me if you have any problems with Charles.” (If the batteries are defective, or if the rice is full of worms.) Beyond him I could see the same woman was still sitting at the bar, the one who’d remarked that I was no maiden. She was obviously wondering what I had done to secure the attention of a vampire as ancient and attractive as Eric.

I often wondered the same thing.

4

THE DRIVE BACK TO BON TEMPS WAS PLEASANT. Vampires don’t smell like humans or act like humans, but they’re sure relaxing to my brain. Being with a vampire is almost as tension-free as being alone, except, of course, for the blood-sucking possibilities.

Charles Twining asked a few questions about the work for which he’d been hired and about the bar. My driving seemed to make him a little uneasy—though possibly his unease was due to simply being in a car. Some of the pre-Industrial Revolution vamps loathe modern transportation. His eye patch was on his left eye, on my side, which gave me the curious feeling I was invisible.

I’d run him by the vampire hostel where he’d been living so he could gather a few things. He had a sports bag with him, one large enough to hold maybe three days’ worth of clothes. He’d just moved into Shreveport, he told me, and hadn’t had time to decide where he would settle.

After we’d been on our way for about forty minutes, the vampire said, “And you, Miss Sookie? Do you live with your father and mother?”

“No, they’ve been gone since I was seven,” I said. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a hand