Definitely Dead (Sookie Stackhouse, #6)

by Charlaine Harris

“I’ll tell them,” he said. “But I’ve got to say, Sookie, I’m disappointed.” “Well, I guess it’s been a bad night for me all around,” I said. “Losing your good opinion, and all.” He left without another word, which was exactly what I’d wanted.

The average woman would not be pondering how fast her date could kill her, but I’ll never be an average woman. I’d realized that by the time I became old enough to understand that not every child could understand what her family members were thinking about her. Not every little girl knew when her teachers liked her, or felt contempt for her, or compared her to her brother (Jason had an easy charm even then). Not every little girl had a funny uncle who tried to get her alone at every family gathering.

I listened intently after that. The woods were still silent. No matter how I listened with every sense at my disposal, that faint signal did not impinge on my brain again. It was gone.

“I need a date outfit to wear to a play in Shreveport,” I said, “and I have to go to the grocery and get back at home to cook Jason’s lunch. So, you got anything to show me?” Tara’s smile turned predatory. “Oh,” she said, “just a few things.”

I looked at Sam, and he looked back at me sadly. “It’s hard, isn’t it, cher?” he said. “What are you going to do?” “Whatever I have to. But I have to do it now,” I said. He nodded. “Go on down to the school,” he said, and I left.

I got up slowly, feeling about twice my actual age, and went into the kitchen to get something out of the freezer for my supper. I wasn’t hungry, but I’d eat unwisely later if I didn’t fix something now, I told myself sternly. But I never cooked a meal for myself that night. Instead, I leaned against the refrigerator door and cried.

“Something’s wrong,” I said. Without replying, Quinn began scanning the area. He unbuttoned his suit coat with his left hand so he could move without hindrance. His fingers curled into fists. Since he was a man with a powerful protective urge, he stepped ahead of me, in front of me. So of course, we were attacked from behind.

A patrolman—not Boling—took us back to Quinn’s car, and we were silent during the drive. Quinn’s car was sitting in solitary splendor in the parking lot across from the Strand, which was closed and dark. He pulled out his keys and hit the keypad to open the doors, and we got in slowly and wearily. “Where are we going?” I asked. “The Hair of the Dog,” he said.

“Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” She had explained that that meant that you don’t worry about tomorrow, or about things you can’t change. I

“My niece died an untimely death,” Cataliades said, in his deliberate way. “She will not go unavenged.” “Of course not,” Bill said, in his cool voice. While Diantha reached in to pop the trunk, Bill moved to the back of the car to toss his backpack into its depths. I locked my front door behind me and hurried down the steps to put my bag in with his. I caught a glimpse of his face before he registered my approach, and that glimpse shook me. Bill looked desperate.

How had the young wolves known where to find me? Shreveport isn’t that big, but you couldn’t guard every road into town on the off chance I’d show up. On the other hand, if a Were had spotted Quinn and me going into the theater, they’d have known I’d be there for a couple of hours, and that was time enough to arrange something.

I felt old all of a sudden. I’d just been showing off, and I’d reduced a confident, happy young witch to an anxious woman in the space of an hour. But as I got out a pad and pencil—right where they should be, in the drawer closest to the telephone—to figure out my plan of action, I consoled myself with the thought that Amelia had needed the mental slap in the face pretty badly. If it hadn’t come from me, it might have come from someone who actually meant her harm.

After I’d wedged a chair under the door I’d broken, and after I’d set the alarm system with the numbers Amelia had taught me, I got into the shower. The water stung my many scrapes and cuts, and the deep bite in my arm began bleeding again. Well, shit. My cousin the vampire hadn’t needed any first aid supplies, of course. I finally found some circular cotton pads she’d probably used for removing makeup, and I rummaged through one of the bags of clothes until I found a ludicrously cheerful leopard-patterned scarf. Awkwardly, I bound the pads to the bite and got the scarf tight enough. At least the vile sheets were the least of my worries. I climbed painfully into my nightgown and lay on the bed, praying for oblivion.

was sure hard for poor Jake Purifoy. I began to forgive him the horror of the evening before, seeing his suffering. My cousin Hadley gathered him up and carried him up the stairs, pausing every now and then to look around her. I followed her up one more time, the queen right behind me. We watched Hadley pull off Jake’s ripped clothes, wrap a towel around his neck until the bleeding stopped, and stow him in the closet, carefully covering him and closing the door so the morning sun wouldn’t burn the new vampire, who would have to lie in the dark for three days. Hadley crammed the bloody towel into her hamper. Then she stuffed another towel into the open space at the bottom of the door, to make sure Jake was safe.

I want to be sure, if I have sex with you, that it’s because you want to be around for a while and because you like me for who I am, not what I am.” Maybe a million women had made approximately the same speech. I meant it as sincerely as any one of those million. And Quinn gave a perfect answer. “Who would want just one night with you?” he said, and then he left.

“At least I know who sent the bitten Weres, and who had us kidnapped,” I said, refusing to be sidetracked. Crouched together in the downpour like a couple of cave people, Quinn listened while I talked. Then we discussed probabilities. Then we made a plan.

asked. “Oh, boy,” I said. “You look better than a Happy Meal to a three-year-old.”

I hoped Gordon lived a long time and enjoyed good health while he lived. If he grew ill, or if he died, Sandra wouldn’t feel bound by this agreement, I felt pretty darn sure. But as I walked out of the little house in the swamp, I thought I had a reasonable chance of not seeing the Pelts again in my life, and that was absolutely okay with me.

Quinn was drying himself off, and he turned around to show me his muscular derriere. “Fur-free,” he said. “Can I share the bed?” “Yes,” I said, and crawled in. He got in the other side, and he was asleep in thirty seconds. After a minute or two, I slid over in the bed and put my head on his chest. I listened to his heartbeat.