Club Dead - By Charlaine Harris Page 0,53

precedes walking into danger. This was the last night that Alcide could go to Club Dead: Terence had warned him away, very definitely. After this, I would be on my own, if I were even allowed into the club when Alcide did not escort me.

As I dressed, I found myself wishing I were going to an ordinary vampire bar, the kind where regular humans came to gape at the undead. Fangtasia, Eric’s bar in Shreveport, was such a place. People would actually come through on tours, make an evening of wearing all black, maybe pouring on a little fake blood or inserting some cheesy fake fangs. They’d stare at the vampires carefully planted throughout the bar, and they’d thrill at their own daring. Every now and then, one of these tourists would step across the line that kept them safe. Maybe he’d make a pass at one of the vamps, or maybe he’d disrespect Chow, the bartender. Then, perhaps, that tourist would find out what he’d been messing with.

At a bar like Club Dead, all the cards were out on the table. Humans were the adornments, the frills. The supernaturals were the necessity.

I’d been excited this time the night before. Now I just felt a detached sort of determination, like I was on a powerful drug that divorced me from all my more ordinary emotions. I pulled on my hose and some pretty black garters that Arlene had given me for my birthday. I smiled as I thought of my red-haired friend and her incredible optimism about men, even after four marriages. Arlene would tell me to enjoy the minute, the second, with every bit of zest I could summon up. She would tell me I never knew what man I might meet, maybe tonight would be the magic night. Maybe wearing garters would change the course of my life, Arlene would tell me.

I can’t say I exactly summoned up a smile, but I felt a little less grim as I pulled my dress over my head. It was the color of champagne. There wasn’t much of it. I had on black heels and jet earrings, and I was trying to decide if my old coat would look too horrible, or if I should just freeze my butt off out of vanity. Looking at the very worn blue cloth coat, I sighed. I carried it into the living room over my arm. Alcide was ready, and he was standing in the middle of the room waiting for me. Just as I registered the fact that he was looking distinctly nervous, Alcide pulled one of the wrapped boxes out of the pile he’d collected during his morning shopping. He got that self-conscious look on his face, the one he’d been wearing when I’d returned to the apartment.

“I think I owe you this,” he said. And handed me the large box.

“Oh, Alcide! You got me a present?” I know, I know, I was standing there holding the box. But you have to understand, this is not something that happens to me very often.

“Open it,” he said gruffly.

I tossed the coat onto the nearest chair and I unwrapped the gift awkwardly—I wasn’t used to my fake nails. After a little maneuvering, I opened the white cardboard box to find that Alcide had replaced my evening wrap. I pulled out the long rectangle slowly, savoring every moment. It was beautiful; a black velvet wrap with beading on the ends. I couldn’t help but realize that it cost five times what I’d spent on the one that had been damaged.

I was speechless. That hardly ever happens to me. But I don’t get too many presents, and I don’t take them lightly. I wrapped the velvet around me, luxuriating in the feel of it. I rubbed my cheek against it.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice wobbling.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “God, don’t cry, Sookie. I meant you to be happy.”

“I’m real happy,” I said. “I’m not going to cry.” I choked back the tears, and went to look at myself in the mirror in my bathroom. “Oh, it’s beautiful,” I said, my heart in my voice.

“Good, glad you like it,” Alcide said brusquely. “I thought it was the least I could do.” He arranged the wrap so that the material covered the red, scabbed marks on my left shoulder.

“You didn’t owe me a thing,” I said. “It’s me that owes you.” I could tell that my being serious worried Alcide just as much as my crying. “Come