Free The Sookie Stackhouse Companion by Charlaine Harris

curls with both hands. She introduced herself. “I’m a friend of the groom’s family. We’re here to keep strangers out of the church. You know there’ve already been a couple of incidents today. All the dogs in the pound were killed to protest this wedding.”
    I was a little unnerved to hear the newcomers growl. Most two-natured didn’t let themselves express their animal sides when they were in public. Then I realized that Deidra’s brother and I were the only humans around. We were in the minority.
    The newly arrived Weres, both the Suburban wolves and the Biker Babes—I didn’t make that up; that’s what their jackets said—reinforced our picket around the church. A couple of trucks drove by, but if the men in them had pictured themselves stopping, they changed their minds when they saw the assortment of people waiting.
    I introduced myself to a Biker Babe named Brenda Sue, who told me she was a trauma nurse at a hospital about fifty miles away. This was her afternoon off. I told her about the four o’clock wedding, and she looked as if she was working something out in her head. “We’ll be here,” she said.
    At the moment, I thought that Trish, when she’d posted that call to arms on the twoey website, had done us a good deed. And maybe Jim Collins had actually given us a present by killing those poor animals. He might as well have shot a flaming arrow into the sky.
    I heard the traditional music a couple more times, and I could hear the voice of an older woman giving some quick instructions. The rehearsal was over much more quickly than I’d anticipated. I didn’t know if that was because Brother Arrowsmith was hurrying it up or if forty-five minutes was normal for the rehearsal for a small family ceremony.
    The wedding party came out of the church. They were obviously shocked to see the increased number of watchmen in the yard. Sam and Bernie grinned, and though the regular humans held back a little, all the two-natured had a great meet-and-greet. After some conversation all the way around, Jared Lisle shook my hand and got in a car with his brother and his sisters. No one wanted to linger in this exposed space. Trish and Togo had volunteered to feed the out-of-town visitors an impromptu lunch out at Trish’s ranch, and they led the little procession south out of town. Sam’s mom and Craig got into their car to go home, leaving Sam and me in front of the church.
    “You and I are going to the police department,” he said briefly, and I scrambled up into the truck. Sam was silent on the short drive—everything in Wright was a short drive—and by the time we parked in front of the small brick structure labeled LOS COLMILLOS POLICE DEPT, I understood that Sam was angry, stressed, and feeling responsible for a certain amount of this persecution.
    “I’m sorry,” he said to me abruptly.
    “What?”
    “I’m sorry I bring you here and this all happens. You have enough on your plate without having this added to it. I know you wish you’d stayed home in Bon Temps.”
    “What I was wishing was that I were more use,” I said, trying to smile. “Maybe you should have brought Jannalynn, was what I was thinking.”
    “She would have broken each of Jim Collins’s fingers and laughed while she did it.”
    Oh. Well, in that case. “But at least she would have accomplished something,” I said ruefully. What had I done that morning? Did not killing the neighbor count as a positive?
    We were out of the truck and walking into the police department as we had this exchange. After we passed through the scarred door, it seemed like a good time to stop talking about finger breaking.
    “Sam,” said the middle-aged man behind the desk. “When did you get back?”
    He had thin lips and a square jaw that came to a point, and a pair of eyebrows that were straight and bushy. He was smiling, but he was not happy. I wasn’t sure what the cause of his unhappiness was. I suspected it was us.
    “Hey, Porter. We