Free Dead But Not Forgotten by Charlaine Harris Page B

to be guarding.
    Quinn lunged across the aisle at superhuman speed, shattering his handcuffs as he slammed the gunman against the inner wall of the plane, gripped him with hands beginning to sprout their own fur, and broke his neck. In a death twitch, the man’s finger pulled the trigger on his gun but the dart punched into the floor and lodged there.
    By the time Quinn twisted around to go after the others, still only beginning to change, Frannie had killed the man with the cruel smile. She lifted her head—half human and half tiger, only able to achieve that partial transformation, like other bitten weres—and her muzzle was soaked with the gunman’s blood.
    The third man—the frightened one—threw his gun on the seat cushion and raised his hands in surrender, backing up the aisle toward the pilot’s cabin.
    â€œI’ll do whatever you want,” he said, voice quavering. “Please, just don’t—”
    Brother and sister roared in unison and a jet of urine streamed down the man’s leg, soaking his pants.
    In the thrall of the full moon, Frannie had no control over her rage. She killed him there, in the aisle, blood soaking into the thin airplane carpeting.
    Quinn halted his transformation and willed himself to revert to human. He felt the full moon’s sway but had spent his life mastering it.
    â€œFrannie,” he said.
    She glanced up from the dead man, chunks of his flesh in her jaws, tiger eyes gleaming in the moonlight.
    â€œStay here,” Quinn said, moving past her, stepping over the dead man. “Do you hear me? Stay here while I go and talk to the pilot.”
    He thought of Teague and Dr. Delisle and of the things they had done to his mother—the things they had threatened to do to his wife and son.
    Just before he banged on the cockpit door, Quinn glanced back at Frannie. He had never wanted this for her, never wished this life upon her, and he knew that it had never been her desire. Yet he could not help feeling a deeper love for her now. They had always been brother and sister, but now they were a different kind of kin, connected not only by their own blood but by the moon, and the blood they had spilled.
    â€œWe’re going back,” Quinn promised.
    His sister, her lovely orange and black fur dappled with blood, purred contentedly and went back to her meal.

THE REAL SANTA CLAUS
    LEIGH PERRY

    My friend Leigh Perry’s favorite character is Diantha, the half-demon niece of the mostly demon lawyer Desmond Cataliades. In
After Dead
, I say that Mr. Cataliades drops in on Sookie just before Christmas every year. In this story, set while Sookie is pregnant with her third child, the lawyer’s pre-Christmas visit reveals that things aren’t merry in Sookie’s household, and Mr. C tasks Diantha with finding out why.
    â€”
    â€œMaybehesanelf,” I said.
    â€œMore slowly, please.”
    â€œTalkingordriving?”
    â€œBoth, I think.”
    â€œSuresuresure. I mean, sure.”
    My uncle, Desmond Cataliades, was in the backseat of his new black Lexus while I drove at a fraction of the speed I should have been going. I like working for Uncle Desmond, but he’s got rules. One of them is for me to try to avoid getting more speeding tickets.
    â€œAnyway, Santa Claus,” I said. “Maybe he’s an elf. I read that story—‘The Night Before Christmas’—and it says he was a right jolly old elf.”
    Uncle Desmond said, “Indeed?” which was what he said when he wasn’t really listening. He’s way polite. He says manners help him control his demon-ness, which is important because he’s mostly demon. I’m only half demon, so I don’t need to be that polite.
    Even though he wasn’t listening, I kept talking because driving that gorgeous hunk of car at the speed limit was putting me to sleep. “The thing is, I’ve seen an elf or two and they didn’t look