Dead as a doornail - By Charlaine Harris Page 0,81

smile, but I didn’t know how justified her flash of optimism might be.

There was only one thing I could do.

The next night I’d be working. It was full dark by now, and he’d be up.

I had to call Eric.

13

“FANGTASIA,”SAID A bored feminine voice. “Where all your bloody dreams come true.”

“Pam, it’s Sookie.”

“Oh, hello,” she said more cheerfully. “I hear you’re in even more trouble. Got your house burned. You won’t live much longer if you keep that up.”

“No, maybe not,” I agreed. “Listen, is Eric there?”

“Yes, he’s in his office.”

“Can you transfer me to him?”

“I don’t know how,” she said disdainfully.

“Could you take the phone to him, please, ma’am?”

“Of course. Something always happens around here after you call. It’s quite the break in routine.” Pam was carrying the phone through the bar; I could tell by the change in the ambient noise. There was music in the background. KDED again: “The Night Has a Thousand Eyes” this time. “What’s happening in Bon Temps, Sookie?” Pam asked, saying in a clear aside to some bar patron, “Step aside, you son of a misbegotten whore!

“They like that kind of talk,” she said to me conversationally. “Now, what’s up?”

“I got shot.”

“Oh, too bad,” she said. “Eric, do you know what Sookie is telling me? Someone shot her.”

“Don’t get so emotional, Pam,” I said. “Someone might think you care.”

She laughed. “Here is the man,” she said.

Sounding just as matter-of-fact as Pam had, Eric said, “It can’t be critical or you wouldn’t be talking to me.”

This was true, though I would have enjoyed a more horrified reaction. But this was no time to think of little issues. I took a deep breath. I knew, sure as shooting, what was coming, but I had to help Tara. “Eric,” I said with a feeling of doom, “I need a favor.”

“Really?” he said. Then, after a notable pause, “Really?”

He began to laugh.

“Gotcha,” he said.

He arrived at the duplex an hour later and paused on the doorsill after I’d responded to his knock. “New building,” he reminded me.

“You are welcome to come in,” I said insincerely, and he stepped in, his white face practically blazing with—triumph? Excitement? Eric’s hair was wet with rain and straggled over his shoulders in rattails. He was wearing a golden brown silk T-shirt and brown pleated trousers with a magnificent belt that was just barbaric: lots of leather, and gold, and dangling tassels. You can take the man out of the Viking era, but you can’t take the Viking out of the man.

“Can I get you a drink?” I said. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any TrueBlood, and I’m not supposed to drive, so I couldn’t go get any.” I knew that was a big breach of hospitality, but there was nothing I could do about it. I hadn’t been about to ask anyone to bring me blood for Eric.

“Not important,” he said smoothly, looking around the small room.

“Please sit down.”

Eric said onto the couch, his right ankle on the knee of his left leg. His big hands were restless. “What’s the favor you need, Sookie?” He was openly gleeful.

I sighed. At least I was pretty sure he’d help, since he could practically taste the leverage he’d have over me.

I perched on the edge of the lumpy armchair. I explained about Tara, about Franklin, about Mickey. Eric got serious in a hurry. “She could leave during the day and she doesn’t,” he pointed out.

“Why should she leave her business and her home? He’s the one should leave,” I argued. (Though I have to confess, I’d wondered to myself why Tara didn’t just take a vacation. Surely Mickey wouldn’t stick around too long if his free ride was gone?) “Tara would be looking over her shoulder for the rest of her life if she tried to shake him loose by running,” I said firmly.

“I’ve learned more about Franklin since I met him in Mississippi,” Eric said. I wondered if Eric had learned this from Bill’s database. “Franklin has an outdated mind-set.”

This was rich, coming from a Viking warrior whose happiest days had been spent pillaging and raping and laying waste.

“Vampires used to pass willing humans around,” Eric explained. “When our existence was secret, it was convenient to have a human lover, to maintain that person . . . that is, not to take too much blood . . . and then, when there was no one left who wanted her—or him,” Eric added hastily, so my feminist side would not be offended, “that person would