Free Deadlocked by Charlaine Harris Page B

lurch,” I said, and there might have been a bit of a question in my voice.
    “He can manage without you tonight. Please, go home.” Bill’s cool hand took mine, and he applied very gentle pressure.
    “You’d better tell me what’s happening.”
    “Felipe has brought some of his vampires with him. They swept through a bar or two to pick up some humans to drink with—and from. Their behavior is … well, you remember how much Diane, Liam, and Malcolm disgusted you?”
    The three vampires, now finally dead, had not had any qualms about having sex with humans in front of me, and it hadn’t ended there.
    “Yes, I remember.”
    “Felipe’s ordinarily more discreet than that, but he’s in a party mood tonight.”
    I swallowed. “I told Eric I’d come,” I said. “Felipe might take it bad if I’m not here, since I’m Eric’s human wife.” Eric had coerced me into the title because it gave me a certain amount of protection.
    “Eric will survive your absence,” Bill said. If he’d extended that sentence, I was pretty sure the ending would have been, “But you may not survive your presence.” He continued, “I’m stuck out here on guard duty. I’m not allowed inside. I can’t protect you.”
    Leaving the cluviel dor at home had been a mistake.
    “Bill, I do pretty good taking care of myself,” I said. “You wish me well, you hear?”
    “Sookie …”
    “I have to go in.”
    “Then I do wish you well.” His voice was wooden, but his eyes were not.
    I had a choice. I could be formal and go to the front door; a path of stepping stones branched off from the driveway and meandered up the yard to the massive front door. This path was prettily bordered by crepe myrtles, now in full bloom. My other option was to continue up the driveway, swing right into the garage, and enter through the kitchen. That was the one I chose. After all, I was more at home here than any of the Nevada visitors. I strode briskly up the driveway, my heels making a tittup sound in the quiet night.
    The kitchen door was unlocked, which was also unusual. I looked around the large and useless kitchen. Someone should be guarding this door, surely, with guests in the house.
    I finally realized Mustapha Khan was standing at the French windows at the back of the kitchen, past the breakfast table where no one ever ate breakfast. He was looking out into the night.
    “Mustapha?” I said.
    The daytime man swung around. His very posture was tense. He jerked his chin at me by way of greeting. Despite the hour, Mustapha was wearing his dark glasses.
    I looked around for his shadow, but there was no Warren in sight.
    For the first time, I wished I knew what Mustapha was thinking—but his thoughts were as opaque as those of any Were I’d ever encountered.
    My skin crawled, but I didn’t know why.
    “How’s it going out there?” I asked, keeping my voice quiet.
    After a pause he answered me, his own voice just as hushed. “Maybe I shoulda gotten a job with some freakin’ goblins. Or joined the pack and let Alcide boss me around. That would have been better than this. If I was you, I’d get my ass back in the car and go home. If Eric wasn’t paying me so good, that’s what I’d do.”
    This was beginning to sound more and more like the beginning of a fairy tale:
FIRST MAN: Don’t cross the bridge; it’s perilous.
HEROINE: But I must cross the bridge.
SECOND MAN: Upon your life, don’t cross the bridge!
HEROINE: But I have to cross the bridge.
    In a fairy tale, there’d be a third encounter; there are always three. And maybe I would have another one, yet. But I’d gotten the idea.
    Anxiety trickled down my spine like sweat. I sure didn’t want to cross that bridge. Maybe I should just ease on down the road?
    But Pam entered the kitchen, and my opportunity was gone. “Thank God you’re here,” she said, her faint British accent more apparent than usual. “I was afraid you weren’t going to come. Felipe has noticed you haven’t