Dead as a doornail - By Charlaine Harris Page 0,37

. I don’t believe it was Jason who shot me.”

A knot of tension within me relaxed when Sam said that. I hadn’t realized I’d been worried about what he thought, but I had.

My heart softened a little. “Oh, all right,” I said with poor grace. “He can come stay with me.” I stomped off grumpily, still not certain why I’d agreed.

Sam beckoned Charles over, conferred with him briefly. Later in the evening Charles borrowed my keys to stow his bag in the car. After a few minutes, he was back at the bar and signaled he’d returned my keys to my purse. I nodded, maybe a little curtly. I wasn’t happy, but if I had to be saddled with a houseguest, at least he was a polite houseguest.

Mickey and Tara came into Merlotte’s that night. As before, the dark intensity of the vampire made everyone in the bar a little excited, a little louder. Tara’s eyes followed me with a kind of sad passivity. I was hoping to catch her alone, but I didn’t see her leave the table for any reason. I found that was another cause for alarm. When she’d come into the bar with Franklin Mott, she’d always taken a minute to give me a hug, chat with me about family and work.

I caught a glimpse of Claudine the fairy across the room, and though I planned to work my way over to have a word with her, I was too preoccupied with Tara’s situation. As usual, Claudine was surrounded by admirers.

Finally, I got so anxious that I took the vampire by the fangs and went over to Tara’s table. The snakelike Mickey was staring at our flamboyant bartender, and he scarcely flicked a gaze at me as I approached. Tara looked both hopeful and frightened, and I stood by her and laid my hand on her shoulder to get a clearer picture of her head. Tara has done so well for herself I seldom worry over her one weakness: She picks the wrong men. I was remembering when she dated “Eggs” Benedict, who’d apparently died in a fire the previous fall. Eggs had been a heavy drinker and a weak personality. Franklin Mott had at least treated Tara with respect and had showered her with presents, though the nature of the presents had said, “I’m a mistress,” rather than “I’m an honored girlfriend.” But how had it come to pass that she was in Mickey’s company—Mickey, whose name made even Eric hesitate?

I felt like I’d been reading a book only to discover that someone had ripped a few pages from the middle.

“Tara,” I said quietly. She looked up at me, her big brown eyes dull and dead: past fear, past shame.

To the outer eye she looked almost normal. She was well groomed and made up, and her clothing was fashionable and attractive. But inside, Tara was in torment. What was wrong with my friend? Why hadn’t I noticed before that something was eating her up from the inside out?

I wondered what to do next. Tara and I were just staring at each other, and though she knew what I was seeing inside her, she wasn’t responding. “Wake up,” I said, not even knowing where the words were coming from. “Wake up, Tara!”

A white hand grabbed my arm and removed my hand from Tara’s shoulder forcibly. “I’m not paying you to touch my date,” Mickey said. He had the coldest eyes I’d ever seen—mud colored, reptilian. “I’m paying you to bring our drinks.”

“Tara is my friend,” I said. He was still squeezing my arm, and if a vampire squeezes you, you know about it. “You’re doing something to her. Or you’re letting someone else hurt her.”

“It’s none of your concern.”

“It is my concern,” I said. I knew my eyes were tearing up from the pain, and I had a moment of sheer cowardice. Looking into his face, I knew he could kill me and be out of the bar before anyone there could stop him. He could take Tara with him, like a pet dog or his livestock. Before the fear could get a grip, I said, “Let go of me.” I made each word clear and distinct, even though I knew he could hear a pin drop in a storm.

“You’re shaking like a sick dog,” he said scornfully.

“Let go of me,” I repeated.

“Or you’ll do—what?”

“You can’t stay awake forever. If it’s not me, it’ll be someone else.”

Mickey seemed to be reconsidering. I don’t think it was