Free Sookie 04 Dead to the World by Charlaine Harris

sleeping it off. I guess number three was really a variation on number one.
    If Pam and Chow knew where Jason was but hadn’t phoned before they died for the day, I was real mad. My gut instinct was to go get the hatchet and start chopping some stakes.
    Then I remembered what I was trying so hard to forget: how it had felt when the stake pushed into Lorena’s body, the expression on her face when she’d realized her long, long life was over. I shoved that thought away as hard as I could. You didn’t kill someone (even an evil vampire) without it affecting you sooner or later: at least not unless you were a complete sociopath, which I wasn’t.
    Lorena would have killed me without blinking. In fact, she would have positively enjoyed it. But then, she was a vampire, and Bill never tired of telling me that vampires were different; that though they retained their human appearance (more or less), their internal functions and their personalities underwent a radical change. I believed him and took his warnings to heart, for the most part. It was just that they looked so human; it was so very easy to attribute normal human reactions and feelings to them.
    The frustrating thing was, Chow and Pam wouldn’t be up until dark, and I didn’t know who-or what-I’d raise if I called Fangtasia during the day. I didn’t think the two lived at the club. I’d gotten the impression that Pam and Chow shared a house . . . or a mausoleum . . . somewhere in Shreveport.
    I was fairly sure that human employees came into the club during the day to clean, but of course a human wouldn’t (couldn’t) tell me anything about vampire affairs. Humans who worked for vampires learned pretty quick to keep their mouths shut, as I could attest.
    On the other hand, if I went to the club I’d have a chance to talk tosomeoneface-to-face. I’d have a chance to read a human mind. I couldn’t read vampire minds, which had led to my initial attraction to Bill. Imagine the relief of silence after a lifetime of elevator music. (Now, why couldn’t I hear vampire thoughts? Here’s my big theory about that. I’m about as scientific as a Saltine, but I have read about neurons, which fire in your brain, right? When you’re thinking? Since it’s magic that animates vampires, not normal life force, their brains don’t fire. So, nothing for me to pick up-except about once every three months, I’d get a flash from a vampire. And I took great care to conceal that, because that was a sure way to court instant death.)
    Oddly enough, the only vampire I’d ever “heard” twice was-you guessed it-Eric.
    I’d been enjoying Eric’s recent company so much for the same reason I’d enjoyed Bill’s, quite apart from the romantic component I’d had with Bill. Even Arlene had a tendency to stop listening to me when I was talking, if she thought of something more interesting, like her children’s grades or cute things they’d said. But with Eric, he could be thinking about his car needing new windshield wipers while I was pouring my heart out, and I was none the wiser.
    The hour I’d asked Catfish to give me was almost up, and all my constructive thought had dwindled into the same murky maundering I’d gone through several times. Blah blah blah. This is what happens when you talk to yourself a lot.
    Okay, action time.
    The phone rang right at the hour, and Catfish admitted he had no news. No one had heard from Jason or seen him; but on the other hand, Dago hadn’t seen anything suspicious at Jason’s place except the truck’s open door.
    I was still reluctant to call the sheriff, but I didn’t see that I had much choice. At this point, it would seem peculiar to skip calling him.
    I expected a lot of hubbub and alarm, but what I got was even worse: I got benevolent indifference. Sheriff Bud Dearborn actually laughed.
    “You callin’ me because your tomcat of a brother is missing a day of work? Sookie Stackhouse, I’m surprised at you.” Bud Dearborn had a