Sookie Stackhouse Boxed Set (Books 1-8) - Charlaine Harris [467]
I glanced to my right to see that he was nodding. People died, sometimes suddenly and unexpectedly, and sometimes for very little reason. A vampire knew that better than anyone. “My brother and I grew up with my grandmother,” I said. “She died last year. My brother has my parents’ old house, and I have my grandmother’s.”
“Lucky to have a place to live,” he commented.
In profile, his hooked nose was an elegant miniature. I wondered if he cared that the human race had gotten larger, while he had stayed the same.
“Oh, yes,” I agreed. “I’m major lucky. I’ve got a job, I’ve got my brother, I’ve got a house, I’ve got friends. And I’m healthy.”
He turned to look at me full-face, I think, but I was passing a battered Ford pickup, so I couldn’t return his gaze. “That’s interesting. Forgive me, but I was under the impression from Pam that you have some kind of disability.”
“Oh, well, yeah.”
“And that would be . . . ? You look very, ah, robust.”
“I’m a telepath.”
He mulled that over. “And that would mean?”
“I can read other humans’ minds.”
“But not vampires.”
“No, not vampires.”
“Very good.”
“Yes, I think so.” If I could read vampire minds, I’d have been dead long ago. Vampires value their privacy.
“Did you know Chow?” he asked.
“Yes.” It was my turn to be terse.
“And Long Shadow?”
“Yes.”
“As the newest bartender at Fangtasia, I have a definite interest in their deaths.”
Understandable, but I had no idea how to respond. “Okay,” I said cautiously.
“Were you there when Chow died again?” This was the way some vamps referred to the final death.
“Um . . . yes.”
“And Long Shadow?”
“Well . . . yes.”
“I would be interested in hearing what you had to say.”
“Chow died in what they’re calling the Witch War. Long Shadow was trying to kill me when Eric staked him because he’d been embezzling.”
“You’re sure that’s why Eric staked him? For embezzling?”
“I was there. I oughta know. End of subject.”
“I suppose your life has been complicated,” Charles said after a pause.
“Yes.”
“Where will I be spending the sunlight hours?”
“My boss has a place for you.”
“There is a lot of trouble at this bar?”
“Not until recently.” I hesitated.
“Your regular bouncer can’t handle shifters?”
“Our regular bouncer is the owner, Sam Merlotte. He is a shifter. Right now, he’s a shifter with a broken leg. He got shot. And he’s not the only one.”
This didn’t seem to astonish the vampire. “How many?”
“Three that I know of. A werepanther named Calvin Norris, who wasn’t mortally wounded, and then a shifter girl named Heather Kinman, who’s dead. She was shot at the Sonic. Do you know what Sonic is?” Vampires didn’t always pay attention to fast-food restaurants, because they didn’t eat. (Hey, how many blood banks can you locate off the top of your head?)
Charles nodded, his curly chestnut hair bouncing on his shoulders. “That’s the one where you eat in your car?”
“Yes, right,” I said. “Heather had been in a friend’s car, talking, and she got out to walk back to her car a few slots down. The shot came from across the street. She had a milkshake in her hand.” The melting chocolate ice cream had blended with blood on the pavement. I’d seen it in Andy Bellefleur’s mind. “It was late at night, and all the businesses on the other side of the street had been closed for hours. So the shooter got away.”
“All three shootings were at night?”
“Yes.”
“I wonder if that’s significant.”
“Could be; but maybe it’s just that there’s better concealment at night.”
Charles nodded.
“Since Sam got hurt, there’s been a lot of anxiety among the shifters because it’s hard to believe three shootings could be a coincidence. And regular humans are worried because in their view three people have been shot at random, people with nothing in common and few enemies. Since everyone’s tense, there are more fights in the bar.”
“I’ve never been a bouncer before,” Charles