being a bad Christian, or at least a bad American. But I knew that unless I was forced to do so, I wasn’t going to leave Bon Temps with Agent Weiss or Special Agent Lattesta. Being married to a vampire was way better.
Chapter 8
I was mad at almost everybody when I drove home that night. Every now and then, I had spells like that; maybe everyone does. It’s hormonal or cyclical in some other way. Or maybe it’s just the chance alignment of the stars.
I was angry with Jason because I’d been angry with him for months. I was angry with Sam in a kind of hurt way. I was pissed at the FBI agents because they were here to put pressure on me—though in truth they hadn’t done that yet. I was outraged at Eric’s stunt with the knife and his high-handed banishment of Quinn, though I had to admit Eric had spoken the truth when he said I’d given Quinn the heave-ho first. That didn’t mean I never wanted to see him again. (Or did it?) It sure didn’t mean that Eric could dictate to me who I saw and who I didn’t.
And maybe I was angry with myself, because when I’d had the chance to confront Eric about all kinds of stuff, I’d gone all goopy and listened to his reminiscences. Like the flashbacks on Lost, Eric’s Viking memories had broken into the flow of the current story.
To make me even angrier, there was a car I didn’t recognize parked at the front door, where only visitors parked. I went to the back door and up the porch steps, frowning and feeling totally contrary. I didn’t want company. All I wanted to do was put on my pajamas, wash my face, and get into bed with a book.
Octavia was sitting at the kitchen table with a man I’d never met. He was one of the blackest men I’d ever seen, and his face was tattooed with circles around the eyes. Despite his fearsome decorations, he looked calm and agreeable. He rose to his feet when I came in.
“Sookie,” Octavia said in a trembling voice, “this is my friend Louis.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said, and extended my hand for him to shake. He gave mine a carefully gentle grip, and I sat down so he would. Then I noticed the suitcases sitting in the hall. “Octavia?” I said, pointing at them.
“Well, Sookie, even us old ladies have some romance in our lives,” Octavia said, smiling. “Louis and I were close friends before Katrina. He lived about ten minutes’ drive away from me in New Orleans. After it happened, I looked for him. I gave up, finally.”
“I spent a lot of time trying to find Octavia,” Louis said, his eyes on her face. “I finally tracked down her niece two days ago, and her niece had the phone number here. I couldn’t believe I’d finally found her.”
“Did your house survive the . . . ?” Incident, catastrophe, disaster, apocalypse; pick your word, they all would serve.
“Yes, praise the gods, it did. And I have electricity. There’s a lot to do, but I have light and heat. I can cook again. My refrigerator’s humming and my street’s almost clean. I put my own roof back on. Now Octavia can come home with me to a place fit for her.”
“Sookie,” she said very gently, “you’ve been so kind, letting me stay with you. But I want to be with Louis, and I need to be back in New Orleans. There’ll be something I can do to help rebuild the city. It’s home to me.”
Octavia obviously felt she was delivering a heavy blow. I tried to look chagrined. “You have to do what’s best for you, Octavia. I’ve loved having you in my house.” I was so grateful Octavia wasn’t telepathic. “Is Amelia here?”
“Yes, she’s upstairs getting something for me. Bless her heart, she got me a good-bye present somehow.”
“Awww,” I said, trying not to overdo it. I got a sharp look from Louis, but Octavia beamed at me. I’d never seen Octavia beam before, and I liked the look on her.
“I’m just glad I was able to be a help to you,” she said, nodding wisely.
It was a little trouble to maintain my slightly-sad-but-brave smile, but I managed. Thank goodness Amelia clattered down the stairs at that moment with a wrapped package in her hands, a thin, flimsy red scarf tied around it and secured with a big bow. Without