Bill came in the seventh night I'd been alone. He appeared at his table quite suddenly. He wasn't by himself. There was a boy with him, a boy who looked maybe fifteen. He was a vampire, too.
"Sookie, this is Harlen Ives from Minneapolis," Bill said, as if this were an ordinary introduction.
"Harlen," I said, and nodded. "Pleased to meet you."
"Sookie." He bobbed his head at me, too.
"Harlen is in transit from Minnesota to New Orleans," Bill said, sounding positively chatty.
"I'm going on vacation," Harlen said. "I've been wanting to visit New Orleans for years. It's just a mecca for us, you know."
"Oh ... right," I said, trying to sound matter of fact.
"There's this number you can call," Harlen informed me. "You can stay with an actual resident, or you can rent a..."
"Coffin?" I asked brightly.
"Well, yes."
"How nice for you," I said, smiling for all I was worth. "What can I get you? I believe Sam has restocked the blood, Bill, if you'd like some? It's flavored A neg, or we've got the O positive."
"Oh, A negative, I think," Bill said, after he and Harlen had a silent communication.
"Coming right up!" I stomped back to the cooler behind the bar and pulled out two A neg's, popped the tops, and carted them back on a tray. I smiled the whole time, just like I used to.
"Are you all right, Sookie?" Bill asked in a more natural voice after I'd plonked their drinks down in front of them.
"Of course, Bill," I said cheerily. I wanted to break the bottle over Bill's head. Harlen, indeed. Overnight stay. Right.
"Harlen would like to drive over to visit Malcolm, later," Bill said, when I came to take the empties and ask if they wanted a refill.
"I'm sure Malcolm would love to meet Harlen," I said, trying not to sound as bitchy as I felt.
"Oh, meeting Bill has just been super," Harlen said, smiling at me, showing fangs. Harlen knew how to do bitch, all right. "But Malcolm is absolutely a legend."
"Watch out," I said to Bill. I wanted to tell him how much peril the three nesting vampires had put themselves into, but I didn't think it'd come to a head just yet. And I didn't want to spell it out because Harlen was sitting there, batting his baby blues at me and looking like a teen sex symbol. "Nobody's too happy with those three, right now," I added, after a moment. It was not an effectual warning.
Bill just looked at me, puzzled, and I spun on my heel and walked away.
I came to regret that moment, regret it bitterly.
A FTER BILL AND Harlen had left, the bar buzzed even harder with the kind of talk I'd heard from Rene and Mike Spencer. It seemed to me like someone had been lighting fire, keeping the anger level stoked up. But for the life of me I couldn't discover who it was, though I did some random listening, both mental and physical. Jason came into the bar, and we said hello, but not much more. He hadn't forgiven me for my reaction to Uncle Bartlett's death.
He'd get over it. At least he wasn't thinking about burning anything, except maybe creating some heat in Liz Barrett's bed. Liz, even younger than me, had curly short brown hair and big brown eyes and an unexpectedly no-nonsense air about her that made me think Jason might have met his match. After I'd said good-bye to them after their pitcher of beer was empty, I realized that the anger level in the bar had escalated, that the men were really serious about doing something.
I began to be more than anxious.
As the evening wore on, the activity in the bar grew more and more frenetic. Less women, more men. More table-hopping. More drinking. Men were standing, instead of sitting. It was hard to pin down, since there wasn't any big meeting, really. It was by word-of-mouth, whispered from ear to ear. No one jumped on the bar and screamed, "Whatta ya say, boys? Are we gonna put up with those monsters in our midst? To the castle!" or anything like that. It was just that, after a time, they all began drifting out, standing in huddled groups out in the parking lot. I looked out one of the windows at them, shaking my head. This wasn't good.
Sam was uneasy, too.
"What do you think?" I asked him, and I realized this was the first time I'd spoken to him all evening, other than "Pass the pitcher," or "Give me another margarita."
"I think we've got a mob," he said. "But they'll hardly go over to Monroe now. The vampires'll be up and about until dawn."
"Where is their house, Sam?"
"I understand it's on the outskirts of Monroe on the west side - in other words, closest to us," he told me. "I don't know for sure."
I drove home after closing, half hoping I'd see Bill lurking in my driveway so I could tell him what was afoot.
But I didn't see him, and I wouldn't go to his house. After a long hesitation, I dialed his number, but got only his answering machine. I left a message. I had no idea what the three nesting vampires' phone was listed under, if they had a phone at all.
As I pulled off my shoes and removed my jewelry - all silver, take that, Bill! - I remember worrying, but I wasn't worrying enough. I went to bed and quickly to sleep in the bedroom that was now mine. The moonlight streamed in the open shades, making strange shadows on the floor. But I only stared at them for a few minutes. Bill didn't wake me that night, returning my call.
* * *
B UT THE PHONE did ring, early in the morning, after daylight.
"What?" I asked, dazed, the receiver pressed to my ear. I peered at the clock. It was seven-thirty.
"They burned the vampires' house," Jason said. "I hope yours wasn't in it."
"What?" I asked again, but my voice was panicked now.
"They burned the vampires' house outside of Monroe. After sunrise. It's on Callista Street, west of Archer."
I remembered Bill saying he might take Harlen over there. Had he stayed?
"No." I said it definitely.
"Yes."
"I have to go," I said, hanging up the phone.
I T SMOLDED IN the bright sunlight. Wisps of smoke trailed up into the blue sky. Charred wood looked like alligator skin. Fire trucks and law enforcement cars were parked helter-skelter on the lawn of the two-story house. A group of the curious stood behind yellow tape.
The remains of four coffins sat side by side on the scorched grass. There was a body bag, too. I began to walk toward them, but for the longest time they seemed to be no closer; it was like one of those dreams where you can never reach your goal.
Someone grabbed my arm and tried to stop me. I can't remember what I said, but I remember a horrified face. I trudged on through the debris, inhaling the smell of burned things, wet charred things, a smell that wouldn't leave me the rest of my life.