“Ah,” I said intelligently. “Well, the yard’s strangely full of flowers. And tomatoes.”
“I spit on the supes who’ve let you down,” Tara said, fortunately not suiting action to words. “Listen, Sook, stick with your human buds and leave the others by the side of the road.” She meant it all the way down to her bones.
“Too late for that,” I said. I smiled, but it didn’t feel as though it fit my face right.
“Then come shopping. I need some new bras, since I’m Elsie the Cow these days. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.”
Tara, breastfeeding twins, was notably more bosomy. Maybe more than a bit curvier, too. But I was hardly one to point fingers, and I welcomed the change of focus in our conversation. “How are the kids doing?” I said, smiling more genuinely. “I’m gonna have to babysit them some night so you and JB can go to the movies. How long has it been since you went out together?”
“Since six weeks before I was due,” she said. “Mama du Rone has kept them twice during the day so I could go to the store, but she doesn’t want to keep ’em at night when Papa du Rone is home. If I can pump enough milk to get ahead of the little monsters, JB would take me to the Outback. We could eat steak.” There was an avid look to her mouth. Tara had been craving red meat ever since she’d started nursing. “Besides, since Hooligans closed, JB doesn’t have to work at night anymore.”
JB had been employed at Hooligans as well as at a health club, where he was a trainer. At Hooligans, he’d been doing the (nearly) full monty on ladies’ night to raise extra money for the twins’ birth. I hadn’t spared a moment to think about the fate of the building and business since the owner, my cousin Claude, had vanished from the human world. That was definitely something to worry about when I ran out of other, more important stuff.
“Just let me know next time you’re in a steak mood,” I assured Tara, pleased at the prospect of doing her a good turn. “Where were you thinking of shopping today?” Suddenly, I was anxious to get out of the house.
“Let’s go to Shreveport. I like the maternity and baby shop there, and I want to drop by that consignment shop on Youree, too.”
“Sure. Let me put on some makeup.” In fifteen minutes I was dressed in clean white shorts and a sky blue T-shirt, my hair in a neat ponytail and my skin thoroughly moisturized. I felt more like myself than I had in several days.
Tara and I talked all the way over to Shreveport. Mostly about the babies, of course, because what’s more important than babies? But included in the conversation were Tara’s mother-in-law (a great woman); Tara’s shop (not faring too well this summer); Tara’s assistant, McKenna (whom Tara was trying to fix up with a friend of JB’s); and other items of interest in the Taraverse.
On this very hot summer day in July, it felt comfortingly normal to be having this gossip session while we took a gal-pal road trip.
Though Tara owned and operated an upscale boutique, it didn’t carry specialty clothes like maternity and new-mom wear. She said, “I want me some breastfeeding bras and a breastfeeding nightgown from Moms ’N More, and at the consignment place I want to pick up a couple of pairs of shorts, since I can’t get my fat baby ass into my pre-baby shorts. You need anything, Sookie?”
“I do have to get a dress for Jason and Michele’s wedding,” I said.
“Are you in it? They set a date yet?”
“I’m the only attendant as of now. They narrowed it to a couple of dates, but they’re waiting to pick one after they hear from Michele’s sister. She’s in the army, and she may or may not be able to get leave on those dates.” I laughed. “I’m sure Michele will ask her, too, but I’m a sure thing.”
“What color you need to wear?”
“Any color I like. She says she doesn’t look good in white, and besides, she went that route for her first wedding. Jason’s wearing a tan suit, and Michele’s wearing chocolate brown. It’s a cocktail dress, and she says it looks great on her.”
Tara looked skeptical. “Chocolate brown?” she said. (Tara did not think that was suitable for a wedding.) “You should look today,” she continued more cheerfully. “Of course, you’re welcome to look at my shop, but if you see something today at the consignment shop, that would be perfect. You’re only going to wear it once, right?”
Tara carried pretty clothes, but they were expensive, and her selection was limited by the size of the shop. Her suggestion was really practical.
We stopped at Moms ’N More first. The maternity and new-mom shop held little interest for me. I’d been dating vampires for so long that pregnancy was not something I thought about, at least not very often. While Tara talked lactation with the saleswomen, I looked at the diaper bags and the adorable baby items. New mothers were certainly beasts of burden. Hard to believe that once upon a time, babies had been raised without diaper bags, breast pumps, special trash cans for disposable diapers, plastic keys, walkers, premade baby food, plastic pads for changing, special detergent to wash baby clothes . . . and on and on and on. I touched a tiny green-and-white-striped sleeper with a lamb on the chest. Something deep inside me shivered with longing.
I was glad when Tara completed her purchase and we left the store.
The consignment shop was only a mile away. Since “fancy used clothes” didn’t sound very enticing, the owners had gone for Second Time’s the Charm. Tara seemed slightly embarrassed at visiting a used-clothing store, no matter how upscale it looked.
“I have to look nice since I’ve got a clothing store,” she told me. “But I don’t want to spend a lot on bigger pants, since I hope I won’t be wearing a size up for long.” Tara was actually two sizes up, her head told me.
This is one of the things I hate about being telepathic.
“Only makes sense,” I said soothingly. “And maybe I’ll see something for the wedding.” It seemed highly unlikely that the original owner of the dress would turn up at Jason’s wedding, and that was my only qualm about purchasing a garment someone else had worn a time or two.
Tara knew the owner, a bony redhead, whose name appeared to be Allison. After a hug of greeting, Tara hauled out pictures of the twins . . . maybe a hundred pictures. I was completely unsurprised.
I’d seen the real thing, so I wandered away to check out the “better” dresses. I found my size and began to slide the hangers along the rack one by one, taking my time about it. I was more relaxed than I had been in a week.
I was glad Tara had winkled me out of the house. There was something wonderfully normal and reassuring about our shopping expedition. The air-conditioned shop was peaceful, since the music was turned down very, very low. The prices were higher than I’d expected, but when I read the labels, I understood why. Everything here was good quality.
I scooted aside a hanger holding a terrible purple-and-green garment, and I came to a complete stop, enraptured. The next dress was a rich yellow. It was sleeveless, lined, and scoop-necked, with a large, flat bow curving around the middle of the back. It was beautiful.
“I love this dress,” I said out loud, feeling profoundly happy. This was shallow, all right? I knew that. But I’ll take joy where I find it.
“I’m going to try this on,” I called, holding it up. The owner, deep in Tara’s delivery story, didn’t even turn around. She raised her hand and waved it in acknowledgment. “Rosanne will be right with you,” she called.
The dress and I went past the curtain into the changing area. There were four cubicles, and since no one else had entered the store, I wasn’t surprised to find them all empty. I wriggled out of my shorts and my T-shirt in record time. Holding my breath with suspense, I slid the dress off its hanger and over my head. It settled on my hips like it was happy to be there. I reached behind me to zip it up. I got the zipper halfway to its destination, but my arms can only bend so far. I stepped out to see if I could detach Tara from her fascinating conversation. A young woman, presumably Rosanne, was standing right outside, waiting for me to emerge. When I saw her, I felt a faint buzz of familiarity. Rosanne was in her late teens, a sturdy kid with her brown hair braided and rolled in a bun. She was wearing a neat pants outfit in French blue and cream. Surely I’d seen her before?
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t on the floor to help you!” she said. “What can I do for you? You need help with that zipper?” She’d started speaking almost as soon as I’d emerged from the curtain, and it wasn’t until she finished that she took a good look at my face.
“Oh, shit!” Rosanne said, so sharply that the shop owner turned around to look.
I gave the elegant Allison an “everything’s all right here” smile, hoping I wasn’t lying.
“What’s the matter with you?” I whispered to Rosanne. I looked down at myself, searching for something that would explain her alarm. Had I started my period? What? When I didn’t see anything alarming, I looked up at her anxiously, waiting for her to tell me why she was so agitated.
“It’s you,” she breathed. “You’re the one.”
“I’m the one
what?”
“The one who has such big magic. The one who raised that twoey from the dead.”
“Oh.” Revelation. “You’re in the Long Tooth pack, I guess? I thought I’d seen you somewhere before.”
“I was there,” she said, with an unblinking, unnerving intensity. “At Alcide’s farm.”
“That was kind of awful, huh?” I said. And it was the last thing I wanted to talk about. Back to the matter at hand. I smiled at Rosanne the werewolf. “Hey, can you zip me up?” I turned my back to her, not without trepidation. In the full-length mirror, I saw her looking at me. It didn’t take a telepath to interpret that expression. She was afraid to touch me.
The remnants of my good mood crashed and burned.
When I’d been a child, some people had regarded me with a blend of unease and disgust. Telepathic children can say the worst things at the worst times, and no one likes them for it or forgets that they blurted out something private and secret. Telepathy in a child is nothing short of terrible. Even I, the actual telepath, had felt that way. Some people had been absolutely frightened by my ability, which I hadn’t had the skill to conceal. After I’d gained some control over what I said when I “overheard” something startling or awful from the thoughts of a neighbor, I’d seldom seen that expression. I’d forgotten how painful it could be.
“You’re scared of me,” I said, stating the obvious because I simply couldn’t think of what else to do. “But you have nothing to fear from me. You’re the one with claws and fangs.”
“Hush, Allison’ll hear you,” she whispered.
“You’re still in the closet?”
“Here at work I am,” she said, her voice deeper and rougher. At least she didn’t look frightened any longer, which had been my goal. “You know how hard it is for two-natured girls, when they start changing? Harder than it is for the boys. One in twenty of us ends up a permanent psycho bitch. But if you can get through your teens, you’re pretty nearly home free, and I’m almost there. Allison is nice, and this is a low-stress place. I’ve worked here every summer. I want to keep this job.” She looked at me pleadingly.
“Then zip me up, okay? I have no intention of talking about you. I just need a frickin’ dress,” I told her, really exasperated. I wasn’t unsympathetic, but I truly felt I had enough problems at the moment.
She hesitantly reached up with her left hand to grip the top of the dress, held the zipper with her right, and in a second I was enclosed properly. The bow covered the zipper and was held in place by snaps. Since summer is prime tanning time, I was a lovely brown, and the deep yellow looked . . . wonderful. The dress wasn’t cut too low at the top, and it was just high enough at the hem. A little dab of my previous good mood returned.
While I hadn’t enjoyed Rosanne’s assumption that I’d “out” her simply for my own pleasure, I could understand her worries. Sort of. I’d met two or three women who hadn’t made it through their supe adolescence with their personality intact; this condition was something to fear, all right. With an effort, I shoved the whole exchange away. When I could focus on my image in the mirror, I felt a flutter of sheer gratification. “Wow, it’s so pretty,” I said. I smiled at her reflection, inviting her to lighten up with me.
But Rosanne was silent, her face still unhappy. She was not going along with my “we’re all happy girls” program. “You did do that, right?” she said. “Bring the shifter back from the dead.”
I could see I wasn’t going to get to enjoy the thrill of shopping victory. “It was a one-time-only event,” I said, my smile vanishing. “I can’t do it again. I don’t even want to do it again.” I realized I might not have used the cluviel dor if I’d had time to think about it. I might have doubted it would work, and that doubt would have weakened my will. My witch friend Amelia had told me once that magic was all about will.
I’d had plenty of will when I’d felt Sam’s heart quit beating.
“Is Alcide doing all right?” I asked, making another effort to shift the topic.
“The packmaster is well,” she said formally. Though she was a Were, I could see into her mind clearly enough to tell that though she’d overcome her initial fear, she had deep reservations about me. I wondered if the whole pack now shared that distrust. Did Alcide believe I was some kind of super witch?
Nothing could be further from the truth. I’d never been super anything.
“Glad to hear he’s okay. I’ll take the dress,” I said.
At least
, I figured,
I can salvage something from this encounter.
When I went to the checkout counter, I saw that while Rosanne and I had had our uncomfortable heart-to-heart, Tara had found a couple of pairs of shorts and a pair of jeans, very good labels. She seemed pleased, and Allison did, too—because she wouldn’t have to look at any more baby pictures.
As I left the shop, the dress in a bag over my arm, I looked back to see the young Were watching me through the front window, a mixture of respect and fear on her face.
I’d been so absorbed in my own reaction to what I’d done to Sam—for Sam—that I’d never worried about how other witnesses might react.
“So what was with you and that girl?” Tara said abruptly.