“She’s been dating Sam for a while,” I said. “You know that, right? I went to a family wedding with Sam, and I think Jannalynn had expected to go.”
“So Sam’s not as crazy about Jannalynn as she is about him?”
I held out my hand and wobbled it to and fro. “He likes her a lot. But he’s older and more cautious.” Why were we sitting in my bedroom talking about this? “So, Alcide, do you think you could get dressed and go home now?” I glanced at my watch. Eric had left me a note to say that Mustapha Khan was supposed to be here at ten, just an hour from now. Since he was a lone wolf, he wouldn’t want a meet’n’ greet with Alcide.
“I’d still be glad if you joined me,” he said, and he sounded both sincere and self-mocking.
“It’s always nice to be wanted. And you’re plenty hunky, of course.” I tried not to sound like I’d thrown that in as an afterthought. “But I’m going with Eric, bond or no bond. Plus, you went about trying to court me the completely wrong way, thanks to Jannalynn. Who told you we weren’t bonded, anyway?”
Alcide slid out of bed and held out a hand for his clothes. I got up and handed them to him, keeping my eyes raised to his. He did have on underwear, kind of a monokini. Manakini? As he shrugged into his shirt, he said, “Your buddy Amelia. She and her boyfriend came into Hair of the Dog last night to have a drink. I was pretty sure I’d met her, so I started talking to them. When she heard my name, she already knew that you and I’d been friendly. She got pretty chatty.”
Oversharing was one of Amelia’s flaws. I began to have a darker suspicion. “Did Amelia know you were going to do this?” I asked, waving my hand toward the rumpled bed.
“I followed her and her boyfriend back here,” Alcide said, which was not exactly a denial. “They consulted with your cousin—the stripper. Claude? He thought me waiting for you in here was a really great idea. In fact, I think he would’ve joined us for about fifty cents.” Alcide paused in zipping up his jeans to raise an eyebrow.
I tried not to let my distaste show. “That Claude! What a kidder!” I said with a ferocious smile. I had never felt less amused. “Alcide, I think Jannalynn was having a big joke at my expense. I think Amelia needs to keep my business quiet, and I think Claude just wanted to see what would happen. He’s like that. Besides, you got good-looking Were women hanging all over you, you big ole packmaster, you!” I punched him on a brawny shoulder playfully—more or less—and I saw him flinch just a little. Maybe I
was
stronger with my fairy kin around me.
Alcide said, “I’ll drive back to Shreveport, then. But put me on your dance card, Sookie. I want a chance with you, still.” He gave me a big white smile.
“Haven’t found a shaman for your pack yet?”
He was buckling his belt and his fingers froze. “Do you think that’s why I want you?”
“I think that might have something to do with it,” I said, my voice dry. Having a pack shaman had gone out of style in modern times, but the Long Tooth pack was trying to find one. Alcide had induced me to take one of the drugs that shamans took to enhance their vision, and it had been both deeply creepy and weirdly empowering. I never wanted to do that again. I had liked it too much.
“We do need a shaman,” Alcide admitted. “And you did a great job that night. Obviously you’ve got the aptitude for the job.” Gullibility and poor judgment must be prerequisites. “But you’re wrong if you think that’s the only reason I’d like us to have a relationship.”
“I’m glad to hear that, because otherwise I wouldn’t think much of you,” I said. This exchange completely slammed the door shut on my good nature. “Let me reemphasize that I don’t like the way you went about this, and I’m not nuts about the way you’ve changed since you became packmaster.”
Alcide was genuinely amazed. “I’ve
had
to change,” he said. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You’re way too used to being king of everybody,” I said. “But I’m not here to judge you or tell you that you ought to change because that’s just
my
opinion. God knows, I’ve been through plenty of changes myself, and I’m sure some of them haven’t done my character any good.”
“You don’t even like me.” He sounded almost dismayed, but with an edge of incredulity that enforced my feeling.
“Not so much anymore.”
“Then I’ve made a fool of myself.” Now he was a little angry. Well, join the club.
“An ambush is not the way to my heart. Or any other part of me.”
Alcide left without another word. He hadn’t been listening until I’d said the same thing in several different ways. Maybe that was key? Saying things three times?
I watched his truck on its way back out to the road to be sure he was really gone. I looked at my watch again. Not yet nine thirty. I changed the sheets on my bed with lightning speed, stuffing the removed bedding into the washing machine and starting it. (I could not imagine Eric’s reaction if he climbed into bed with me and found it smelling like Alcide Herveaux.) I opted to use my remaining minutes before Mustapha Khan arrived to do some much-needed grooming rather than wake up Amelia or Claude and lay into them. As I brushed my hair and pulled it into a ponytail, I heard a motorcycle on the driveway.
Mustapha Khan, punctual lone werewolf. He had a small passenger clinging to him. I watched out the front window as he swung off the Harley and sauntered to the front door to knock. His companion stayed on the motorcycle.
I opened the door and looked up. Khan was about six feet tall with his head shaved close, leaving a mosslike burr. He was wearing dark glasses, trying for a “Blade” look, I figured. He was the golden brown of a chocolate chip cookie. When he took off the glasses, I saw that his eyes would be the actual dark chips. And that was the only thing remotely sweet about him. I took a deep breath, inhaled the smell of something wild. I heard my fairy kin come down the stairs behind me.
“Mr. Khan?” I said politely. “Please come in. I’m Sookie Stackhouse, and these two guys are Dermot and Claude.” From Claude’s avid expression, I was not the only one who’d thought of chocolate chip cookies. Dermot only looked wary.
Mustapha Khan glanced at them and dismissed them, which showed he wasn’t as bright as he might be. Or maybe he just didn’t think they were pertinent to his errand.
“I’m here to get Eric’s car,” he said.
“Could you come in for a minute? I made coffee.”
“Oh, good,” Dermot muttered, and headed for the kitchen. I heard him talking to someone and deduced that Amelia and/or Bob were staggering around. Good. I wanted a word with my buddy Amelia.
“I don’t drink coffee,” Mustapha said. “I don’t take stimulants of any kind.”
“Then would you like a glass of water?”
“No, I’d like to head back to Shreveport. I got a long list of things to do for Mr. High and Mighty Dead Guy.”
“How come you took the job if you think so little of Eric?”
“He ain’t bad, for a vamp,” Mustapha said grudgingly. “Bubba’s okay, too. The rest of ’em?” He spat. Subtle, but I got his drift.
“Who’s your buddy?” I asked, tilting my head at the Harley.
“You want to know a lot,” he said.
“Uh-huh.” I stared right back at him, not backing down.
“Come here a minute, Warren,” Mustapha called, and the small man hopped off the Harley and came over.
Warren proved to be about five foot seven, pale and freckled, and missing a few teeth. But when he took off his goggles, his eyes were clear and steady, and I didn’t see any fang marks on his neck.
“Ma’am,” he said politely.
I reintroduced myself. Interesting that Mustapha had a real friend, a friend he didn’t want anyone (well, me) to know about. While Warren and I were exchanging comments on the weather, the muscular Were was having a hard time reining in his impatience. Claude drifted away, uninterested in Warren and losing hope of interesting Mustapha.
“Warren, how long have you been in Shreveport?”
“Oh my gosh, I been there all my life,” Warren said. “’Cept when I was in the army. Course, I was in the army fifteen years.”
Easy to find out about Warren, but Eric had wanted me to check out Mustapha. So far the Blade wannabe wasn’t cooperating. Standing in the doorway was not a good way to have a relaxing conversation. Oh, well. “So you and Mustapha have known each other for a while?”
“Few months,” Warren said, glancing at the taller man.
“Twenty Questions over?” Mustapha said.
I touched his arm, which was like touching an oak branch. “KeShawn Johnson,” I said thoughtfully, after a little rummage in his head. “Why’d you change your name?”
He stiffened, and his mouth was grim. “I have reinvented myself,” he said. “I am not the slave to a bad habit who was named KeShawn. I am Mustapha Khan, and I am my own man. I own myself.”
“Okeydokey,” I said, doing my best to sound agreeable. “Nice to meet you, Mustapha. You and Warren have a safe trip back to Shreveport.”
I’d learned as much as I was going to today. If Mustapha Khan was going to be around Eric for a while, I’d gradually catch enough glimpses into his head to piece him together. Oddly enough, I felt better about Mustapha after I’d met Warren. I was sure Warren had had some very hard times and maybe done some very hard things, but I also thought at his core he was a reliable man. I suspected the same might be true of Mustapha.
I was willing to wait and see.
Bubba liked him, but that wasn’t necessarily such a recommendation. After all, Bubba drank cat blood.
I turned away from the door, bracing myself to face my next set of problems. In the kitchen, I found Claude and Dermot cooking. Dermot had found a cylinder of Pillsbury biscuits in the refrigerator, and he’d mastered opening the can and putting them on a baking sheet. The oven had even preheated. Claude was cooking eggs, which was kind of amazing. Amelia was getting out plates and Bob was setting the table.
I hated to interrupt such a domestic scene.
“Amelia,” I said. She’d been suspiciously focused on the plates. She looked up as sharply as if she’d heard me pump my shotgun. I met her eyes. Guilty, guilty, guilty. “Claude,” I said even more sharply, and he glanced at me over his shoulder and smiled. No guilt there. Dermot and Bob simply looked resigned.
“Amelia, you told my business to a werewolf,” I said. “Not just any werewolf, but the packmaster of Shreveport. And I’m sure you did that on purpose.”
Amelia flushed red. “Sookie, I thought with the bond broken, maybe you’d want someone else to know about that, and you’d talked about Alcide, so when I met him, I thought . . .”
“You went there on purpose to make sure he knew,” I said relentlessly. “Otherwise, why pick that bar out of all other bars?” Bob looked as though he were about to speak, and I raised my index finger and pointed it at him. He subsided. “You told me you were going to the movies in Clarice. Not to a werewolf bar in the opposite direction.” Having finished with Amelia, I turned to the other culprit.
“Claude,” I said again, and his back stiffened, though he kept on cooking eggs. “You let someone into the house, my house, without me here, and you gave him permission to get in my bed. That’s inexcusable. Why would you do such a thing to me?”
Claude carefully moved the frying pan off the burner, turning it off as he did so. “He seemed like a nice guy,” Claude said, “and I thought you might like to make love with something with a pulse for once.”
I actually felt something snap inside me. “Okay,” I said in a very level voice. “Listen up. I’m going to my room. You all eat the food you’ve cooked, then you pack up and leave. All of you.” Amelia started crying, but I wasn’t going to soften my stance. I was royally pissed off. I looked at the clock on the wall. “In forty-five minutes, I want this house empty.”
I went in my room, shutting the door with exquisite quietness. I lay on my bed with a book and tried to read. After a few minutes there was a knock at the door. I ignored it. I had to be resolute. People staying in my home had done things they knew damn good and well they ought not to do, and they needed to know I wouldn’t tolerate such interference, no matter how well intended (Amelia) or simply mischievous (Claude). I buried my face in my hands. It was hard to keep up this level of indignation, especially since I wasn’t used to it—but I knew it would be very bad to give in to my craven impulse to throw open the door and allow them all to stay.
When I tried to imagine myself doing that, it felt so wrong and bad that I knew I genuinely wanted them out of the house.
I’d been so happy to see Amelia. I’d been so pleased that she was willing to rush up from New Orleans to do magical repairs on my protection. And I’d been so startled she’d actually found a way to break the bond that I’d let myself be rushed into actually doing it. I should have called Eric first, warned him. No excuse for doing it so brutally, except I’d been sure he’d talk me out of it. That was just as poorly done as letting myself be persuaded to take the shaman’s drugs at Alcide’s pack meeting.
Those two decisions were my fault. They were mistakes I had made.
But this impulse of Amelia’s to try to manipulate my love life had been a bad one. I was an adult woman, and I had earned the right to make my own decisions about who I wanted to be with. I had wanted to remain Amelia’s friend forever, but not if she was going to manipulate events in an attempt to try to turn my life into one she liked better.
And Claude had been playing a Claude sort of joke, a sly and naughty trick. I didn’t like that, either. No, he needed to go.
When the forty-five minutes were up and I emerged from my room, I was a bit surprised to find that they’d actually done what I’d told them to. My houseguests were gone . . . except for Dermot.
My great-uncle was sitting on the back steps, his bulging sports bag beside him. He didn’t try to draw attention to himself in any way, and I guess he’d have sat there until I opened the back door to leave for work if I hadn’t happened to go out on the back porch to move the sheets from the washer to the dryer.