Bill just waited. He’s not one to waste words. He lets me finish what I’m saying. We stopped walking for a second, edged over to the wall.
“I felt like he was there to kidnap me,” I said. “I know that sounds nuts. Who would know who I am, here in Dallas? Who would know to be meeting the plane? But that’s definitely the impression I got.” Bill took my warm hands in his cool ones.
I looked up into Bill’s eyes. I’m not that short, and he’s not that tall, but I still have to look up at him. And it’s a little pride issue with me, that I can meet his eyes and not get glamoured. Sometimes I wish Bill
could
give me a different set of memories—for example, I wouldn’t mind forgetting about the maenad—but he can’t.
Bill was thinking over what I’d said, filing it away for future reference. “So the flight itself was boring?” he asked.
“Actually, it was pretty exciting,” I admitted. “After I made sure the Anubis people had stowed you on their plane, and I was boarded on mine, the woman showed us what to do when we crashed. I was sitting on the row with the emergency exit. She said to switch if we didn’t think we could handle that. But I think I could, don’t you? Handle an emergency? She brought me a drink and a magazine.” I seldom got waited on myself, being a barmaid by profession, you might say, so I really enjoyed being served.
“I’m sure you can handle just about anything, Sookie. Were you frightened when the plane took off?”
“No. I was just a little worried about this evening. Aside from that, it went fine.”
“Sorry I couldn’t be with you,” he murmured, his cool and liquid voice flowing around me. He pressed me against his chest.
“That’s okay,” I said into his shirt, mostly meaning it. “First time flying, you know, it’s kind of nerve-wracking. But it went all right. Until we landed.”
I might grouse and I might moan, but I was truly glad Bill had risen in time to steer me through the airport. I was feeling more and more like the poor country cousin.
We didn’t talk any more about the priest, but I knew Bill hadn’t forgotten. He walked me through collecting our luggage and finding transportation. He would’ve parked me somewhere and arranged it all, except, as he reminded me frequently, I’d have to do this on my own sometime, if our business demanded we land somewhere in full daylight.
Despite the fact that the airport seemed incredibly crowded, full of people who all appeared heavily burdened and unhappy, I managed to follow the signs with a little nudge from Bill, after reinforcing my mental shields. It was bad enough, getting washed with the weary misery of the travelers, without listening to their specific laments. I directed the porter with our luggage (which Bill could easily have carried under one arm) to the taxi stand, and Bill and I were on our way to the hotel within forty minutes of Bill’s emergence. The Anubis people had sworn up and down that his coffin would be delivered within three hours.
We’d see. If they didn’t make it, we got a free flight.
I’d forgotten the sprawl of Dallas, in the seven years since I’d graduated from high school. The lights of the city were amazing, and the busyness. I stared out of the windows at everything we passed, and Bill smiled at me with an irritating indulgence.
“You look very pretty, Sookie. Your clothes are just right.”
“Thanks,” I said, relieved and pleased. Bill had insisted that I needed to look “professional,” and after I’d said, “Professional what?” he’d given me one of those looks. So I was wearing a gray suit over a white shell, with pearl earrings and a black purse and heels. I’d even smoothed my hair back into a twisted shape at the back of my head with one of those Hairagamis I’d ordered from TV. My friend Arlene had helped me. To my mind, I looked like a professional, all right—a professional funeral home attendant—but Bill seemed to approve. And I’d charged the whole outfit to him at Tara’s Togs, since it was a legitimate business expense. So I couldn’t complain about the cost.
I’d have been more comfortable in my barmaid’s outfit. Give me shorts and a T-shirt over a dress and hose any day. And I could’ve been wearing my Adidas with my barmaid uniform, not these damn heels. I sighed.
The taxi pulled up to the hotel, and the driver got out to extract our luggage. There was enough of it for three days. If the vampires of Dallas had followed my directions, I could wind this up and we could go back to Bon Temps tomorrow night, to live there unmolested and uninvolved in vampire politics—at least until the next time Bill got a phone call. But it was better to bring extra clothes than to count on that.
I scooted across the seat to emerge after Bill, who was paying the driver. A uniformed bellboy from the hotel was loading the luggage onto a rolling cart. He turned his thin face to Bill and said, “Welcome to Silent Shore Hotel, sir! My name is Barry, and I’ll . . .” Then Bill stepped forward, the light from the lobby door spilling onto his face. “I’ll be your porter,” Barry finished weakly.
“Thank you,” I said, to give the boy, who couldn’t be more than eighteen, a second to compose himself. His hands were a little trembly. I cast a mental net out to check the source of his distress.
To my startled delight, I realized (after a quick rummage in Barry’s head) that he was a telepath, like me! But he was at the level of organization and development I’d been when I was, maybe, twelve years old. He was a mess, that boy. He couldn’t control himself at all, and his shields were a shambles. He was heavy into denial. I didn’t know whether to grab him and hug him, or smack him upside the head. Then I realized his secret was not mine to give away. I glanced off in another direction, and shifted from one foot to another, as if I were bored.
“I’ll just follow you with your luggage,” Barry mumbled, and Bill smiled at him gently. Barry smiled tentatively back, and then got busy bringing in the cart. It had to be Bill’s appearance that unnerved Barry, since he couldn’t read Bill’s mind, the great attraction of the undead for people like me. Barry was going to have to learn how to relax around vampires, since he’d agreed to work at a hotel that catered to them.
Some people think all vampires look terrifying. To me, it depends on the vampire. I remember thinking, when I first met Bill, that he looked incredibly different; but I hadn’t been frightened.
The one that was waiting for us in the lobby of Silent Shores, now,
she
was scary. I bet she made ole Barry wet his pants. She approached after we’d checked in, as Bill was putting his credit card back in his wallet (you just try applying for a credit card when you’re a hundred sixty years old; that process had been a
bear
) and I sidled a little closer to him as he tipped Barry, hoping she wouldn’t notice me.
“Bill Compton? The detective from Louisiana?” Her voice was as calm and cool as Bill’s, with considerably less inflection. She had been dead a long time. She was as white as paper and as flat as a board, and her thin ankle-length blue-and-gold dress didn’t do a thing for her except accentuate both whiteness and flatness. Light brown hair (braided and long enough to tap her butt) and glittery green eyes emphasized her otherness.
“Yes.” Vampires don’t shake hands, but the two made eye contact and gave each other a curt nod.
“This is the woman?” She had probably gestured toward me with one of those lightning quick movements, because I caught a blur from the corner of my eyes.
“This is my companion and coworker, Sookie Stackhouse,” Bill said.
After a moment, she nodded to show she was picking up the hint. “I am Isabel Beaumont,” she said, “and after you take your luggage to your room and take care of your needs, you are to come with me.”
Bill said, “I have to feed.”
Isabel swiveled an eye toward me thoughtfully, no doubt wondering why I wasn’t supplying blood for my escort, but it was none of her business. She said, “Just punch the telephone button for room service.”
M
EASLY OLD MORTAL me would just have to order from the menu. But as I considered the time frame, I realized I’d feel much better if I waited to eat after this evening’s business was finished.
After our bags had been put in the bedroom (big enough for the coffin and a bed), the silence in the little living room became uncomfortable. There was a little refrigerator well stocked with PureBlood, but this evening Bill would want the real thing.
“I have to call, Sookie,” Bill said. We’d gone over this before the trip.
“Of course.” Without looking at him, I retreated into the bedroom and shut the door. He might have to feed off someone else so I could keep my strength up for coming events, but I didn’t have to watch it or like it. After a few minutes, I heard a knock on the corridor door and I heard Bill admit someone—his Meal on Wheels. There was a little murmur of voices and then a low moan.
Unfortunately for my tension level, I had too much common sense to do something like throw my hairbrush or one of the damn high heels across the room. Maybe retaining some dignity figured in there, too; and a healthy sense of how much temperament Bill would put up with. So I unpacked my suitcase and laid my makeup out in the bathroom, using the facility even though I didn’t feel especially needy. Toilets were optional in the vampire world, I’d learned, and even if a functional facility was available in a house occupied by vampires, occasionally they forgot to stock toilet paper.
Soon I heard the outer door open and close again, and Bill knocked lightly before coming into the bedroom. He looked rosy and his face was fuller.
“Are you ready?” he asked. Suddenly, the fact that I was going out on my first real job for the vampires hit me, and I felt scared all over again. If I wasn’t a success, my life would become out-and-out perilous, and Bill might become even deader than he was now. I nodded, my throat dry with fear.
“Don’t bring your purse.”
“Why not?” I stared down at it, astonished. Who could object?
“Things can be hidden in purses.” Things like stakes, I assumed. “Just slip a room key into . . . does that skirt have a pocket?”
“No.”
“Well, slip the key into your underthings.”
I raised my hem so Bill could see exactly what underthings I had to tuck something into. I enjoyed the expression on his face more than I can say.
“Those are . . . would that be a . . . thong?” Bill seemed a little preoccupied all of a sudden.
“It would. I didn’t see the need to be professional down to the skin.”
“And what skin it is,” Bill murmured. “So tan, so . . . smooth.”
“Yep, I figured I didn’t need to wear any hose.” I tucked the plastic rectangle—the “key”—under one of the side straps.
“Oh, I don’t think it’ll stay there,” he said, his eyes large and luminous. “We might get separated, so you definitely need to take it with you. Try another spot.”
I moved it somewhere else.
“Oh, Sookie. You’ll never get at it in a hurry there. We have . . . ah, we have to go.” Bill seemed to shake himself out of his trance.
“All right, if you insist,” I said, smoothing the skirt of the suit over my “underthings.”
He gave me a dark look, patted his pockets like men do, just to make sure they got everything. It was an oddly human gesture, and it touched me in a way I couldn’t even describe to myself. We gave each other a sharp nod and walked down the corridor to the elevator. Isabel Beaumont would be waiting, and I had a distinct feeling she wasn’t used to that.
The ancient vampire, who looked no more than thirty-five, was standing exactly where we’d left her. Here at the Silent Shore Hotel, Isabel felt free to be her vampire self, which included immobile downtime. People fidget. They are compelled to look engaged in an activity, or purposeful. Vampires can just occupy space without feeling obliged to justify it. As we came out of the elevator, Isabel looked exactly like a statue. You could have hung your hat on her, though you’d have been sorry.
Some early warning system kicked in when we were within six feet of the vamp. Isabel’s eyes flicked in our direction and her right hand moved, as though someone had thrown her “on” switch. “Come with me,” she said, and glided out the main door. Barry could hardly open it for her fast enough. I noticed he had enough training to cast his eyes down as she passed. Everything you’ve heard about meeting vampires’ eyes is true.
Predictably, Isabel’s car was a black Lexus loaded with options. Vampires won’t go around in any Geo. Isabel waited until I’d buckled my seat belt (she and Bill didn’t bother to use them) before pulling away from the curb, which surprised me. Then we were driving through Dallas, down a main thoroughfare. Isabel seemed to be the strong silent type, but after we’d been in the car for maybe five minutes, she seemed to shake herself, as if she had been reminded she had orders.
We began a curve to the left. I could see some sort of grassy area, and a vague shape that would be some kind of historical marker, maybe. Isabel pointed to her right with a long bony finger. “The Texas School Book Depository,” she said, and I understood she felt obliged to inform me. That meant she had been ordered to do so, which was very interesting. I followed her finger eagerly, taking in as much of the brick building as I could see. I was surprised it didn’t look more notable.
“That’s the grassy knoll?” I breathed, excited and impressed. It was like I’d happened upon the
Hindenburg
or some other fabled artifact.
Isabel nodded, a barely perceptible movement that I only caught because her braid jerked. “There is a museum in the old depository,” she said.
Now, that was something I’d like to see in the daytime. If we were here long enough, I’d walk or maybe find out how to catch a cab while Bill was in his coffin.
Bill smiled over his shoulder at me. He could pick up on my slightest mood, which was wonderful about eighty percent of the time.
We drove for at least twenty more minutes, leaving business areas and entering residential. At first the structures were modest and boxy; but gradually, though the lots didn’t seem that much larger, the houses began to grow as if they’d taken steroids. Our final destination was a huge house shoehorned onto a small lot. With its little ruffle of land around the cube of the house, it looked ridiculous, even in the dark.