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because Kevin always did his best to be nice to me, "but I wondered if you'd seen this vamp. Before he
disappeared, I mean."
Kenya was looking up at me, too, her dark eyes examining me with great interest. Kenya was thinking I
always seemed to be on the fringes of bad things that happened in Bon Temps, without being bad myself
(thanks, Kenya). She was hoping for my sake that Jason was alive. Kevin was thinking I'd always been
nice to him and Kenya; and he was thinking he wouldn't touch me with a ten-foot pole. I sighed, I hoped
imperceptibly. They were waiting for an answer. I hesitated, wondering what my best choice was. The
truth is always easiest to remember.
"Sure, I've seen him before. Eric owns the vampire bar in Shreveport," I said. "I saw him when I went
there with Bill."
"You haven't seen him recently?"
"I sure didn't abduct him from Fangtasia," I said, with quite a lot of sarcasm in my voice.
Kenya gave me a sour look, and I didn't blame her. "No one said you did," she told me, in a "Don't give
me any trouble" kind of voice. I shrugged and drifted away.
I had plenty to do, since some people were still eating supper (and some were drinking it), and some
regulars were drifting in after eating at home. Holly was equally busy, and when one of the men who
worked for the phone company spilled his beer on the floor, she had to go get the mop and bucket. She
was running behind on her tables when the door opened. I saw her putting Sid Matt Lancaster's order in
front of him, with her back to the door. So she missed the next entrance, but I didn't. The young man
Sam had hired to bus the tables during our busy hour was occupied with clearing two tables pulled
together that had held a large party of parish workers, and so I was clearing off the Bellefleurs' table.
Andy was chatting with Sam while he waited for Portia, who'd visited the ladies' room. I'd just pocketed
my tip, which was fifteen percent of the bill to the penny. The Bellefleur tipping habits had
improved slightly with the Bellefleur fortunes. I glanced up when the door was held open long enough
for a cold gust of air to chill me.
The woman coming in was tall and so slim and broad-shouldered that I checked her chest, just to be
sure I'd registered her gender correctly. Her hair was short and thick and brown, and she was wearing
absolutely no makeup. There was a man with her, but I didn't see him until she stepped to one side. He
was no slouch in the size department himself, and his tight T-shirt revealed arms more developed than any
I'd ever seen. Hours in the gym; no, years in the gym. His chestnut hair trailed down to his shoulders in
tight curls, and his beard and mustache were perceptibly redder. Neither of the two wore coats, though it
was definitely coat weather. The newcomers walked over to me.
"Where's the owner?" the woman asked.
"Sam. He's behind the bar," I said, looking down as soon as I could and wiping the table all over again.
The man had looked at me curiously; that was normal. As they brushed past me, I saw that he carried
some posters under his arm and a staple gun. He'd stuck his hand through a roll of masking tape, so it
bounced on his left wrist.
I glanced over at Holly. She'd frozen, the cup of coffee in her hand halfway down on its way to Sid Matt
Lancaster's placemat. The old lawyer looked up at her, followed her stare to the couple making their way
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between the tables to the bar. Merlotte's, which had been on the quiet and peaceful side, was suddenly
awash in tension. Holly set down the cup without burning Mr. Lancaster and spun on her heel, going
through the swinging door to the kitchen at warp speed.
I didn't need any more confirmation on the identity of the woman.
The two reached Sam and began a low-voiced conversation with him, with Andy listening in just
because he was in the vicinity. I passed by on my way to take the dirty dishes to the hatch, and I heard
the woman say (in a deep, alto voice) ". . . put up these posters in town, just in case anyone spots him."
This was Hallow, the witch whose pursuit of Eric had caused such an upset. She, or a member of her
coven, was probably the murderer of Adabelle Yancy. This was the woman who might have taken my
brother, Jason. My head began pounding as if there were a little demon inside trying to break out with a
hammer.
No wonder Holly was in such a state and didn't want Hallow to glimpse her. She'd been to Hallow's
little meeting in Shreveport, and her coven had rejected Hallow's invitation.
"Of course," Sam said. "Put up one on this wall." He indicated a blank spot by the door that led back to
the bathrooms and his office.
Holly stuck her head out the kitchen door, glimpsed Hallow, ducked back in. Hallow's eyes flicked over
to the door, but not in time to glimpse Holly, I hoped.
I thought of jumping Hallow, beating on her until she told me what I wanted to know about my brother.
That was what the pounding in my head was urging me to do initiate action, any action. But I had a
streak of common sense, and luckily for me it came to the fore. Hallow was big, and she had a sidekick
who could crush me plus, Kevin and Kenya would make me stop before I could get her to talk.
It was horribly frustrating to have her right in front of me and at the same time be unable to discover
what she knew. I dropped all my shields, and I listened in as hard as I could.
But she suspected something when I touched inside her head.
She looked vaguely puzzled and glanced around. That was enough warning for me. I scrambled back
into my own head as quickly as I could. I continued back behind the bar, passing within a couple of feet
of the witch as she tried to figure out who'd brushed at her brain.
This had never happened to me before. No one,no one , had ever suspected I was listening in. I
squatted behind the bar to get the big container of Morton Salt, straightened, and carefully refilled the
shaker I'd snatched from Kevin and Kenya's table. I concentrated on this as hard as anyone can focus on
performing such a nothing little task, and when I was through, the poster had been mounted with the
staple gun. Hallow was lingering, prolonging her talk with Sam so she could figure out who had touched
the inside of her head, and Mr. Muscles was eyeing me but only like a man looks at a woman as I
returned the shaker to its table. Holly hadn't reappeared.
"Sookie," Sam called.
Oh, for goodness sake. I had to respond. He was my boss.
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