"Niall," I said. "I'm so happy to see you." I always felt pleased and flattered when he visited. Being Niall's great-granddaughter was like being kin to a rock star; he lived a life I couldn't imagine, went places I would never go, and had power I couldn't fathom. But every now and then he spent time with me, and that time was always like Christmas.
He said very quietly, "These people opposite me, they do nothing but talk of you."
"Do you know what the FBI is?" Niall's fund of knowledge was incredible, since he was so old he'd stopped counting at a thousand and sometimes missed accurate dates by more than a century, but I didn't know how specific his information about the modern day might be.
"Yes," he said. "FBI. A government agency that collects data about law breakers and terrorists inside the United States."
I nodded.
"But you're such a good person. You're not a killer or terrorist," Niall said, though he didn't sound as if he believed my innocence would protect me.
"Thank you," I said. "But I don't think they want to arrest me. I suspect they want to find out how I get results with my little mental condition, and if they decide I'm not nuts, they probably want me to work for them. That's why they came to Bon Temps ... but they got sidetracked." And that brought me to the painful subject. "Do you know what happened to Crystal?"
But some other customers called me then, and it was a while before I got back to Niall, who was waiting patiently. He somehow made the scarred chair look like a throne. He picked the conversation up right where we'd left off.
"Yes, I know what happened to her." His face didn't seem to change, but I felt the chill rolling off of him. If I'd had anything to do with Crystal's death, I would have felt very afraid.
"How come you care?" I asked. He'd never paid any attention to Jason; in fact, Niall seemed to dislike my brother.
Niall said, "I'm always interested in finding out why someone connected to me has died." Niall had sounded totally impersonal when he spoke of Crystal's death, but if he was interested, maybe he would help. You'd think he'd want to clear Jason, since Jason was his great-grandson just as surely as I was his great-granddaughter, but Niall had never shown any sign of wanting to meet Jason, much less get to know him.
Antoine rang the bell in the kitchen to tell me one of my orders was up, and I scurried off to serve Sid Matt Lancaster and Bud Dearborn their cheesy chili bacon fries. The recently widowed Sid Matt was so old I guess he figured his arteries couldn't harden much more than they already had, and Bud had never been one for health food.
When I could return to Niall, I said, "Do you have any idea who did it? The werepanthers are searching, too." I put down an extra napkin on the table in front of him so I'd look busy.
Niall didn't disdain the panthers. In fact, though fairies seemed to consider themselves apart and superior to all other species of supernaturals, Niall (at least) had respect for all shapechangers, unlike the vampires, who regarded them as second-rate citizens. "I'll look a little. I've been preoccupied, and that is why I haven't visited. There is trouble." I saw that Niall's expression was even more serious than usual.
Oh, shit. More trouble.
"But you need not concern yourself," he added regally. "I will take care of it."
Did I mention Niall is a little proud? But I couldn't help but feel concerned. In a minute I'd have to go get someone else another drink, and I wanted to be sure I understood him. Niall didn't come around often, and when he did, he seldom dallied. I might not get another chance to talk to him. "What's up, Niall?" I asked directly.
"I want you to take special care of yourself. If you see any fairies other than myself or Claude and Claudine, call me at once."
"Why would I worry about other fairies?" The other shoe dropped. "Why would other fairies want to hurt me?"
"Because you are my great-granddaughter." He stood, and I knew I'd get no more explanation than that.
Niall hugged me again, kissed me again (fairies are very touchy-feely), and left the bar, his cane in his hand. I'd never seen him use it as an aid to walking, but he always had it with him. As I stared after him, I wondered if it had a knife concealed inside. Or maybe it might be an extra-long magic wand. Or both. I wished he could've stuck around for a while, or at least issued a more specific danger bulletin.
"Ms. Stackhouse," said a polite male voice, "could you bring us another pitcher of beer and another basket of pickles?"
I turned to Special Agent Lattesta. "Sure, be glad to," I said, smiling automatically.
"That was a very handsome man," Sara Weiss said. Sara was feeling the effects of the two glasses of beer she'd already had. "He sure looked different. Is he from Europe?"
"He does look foreign," I agreed, and took the empty pitcher and fetched them a full one, smiling all the while. Then Catfish, my brother's boss, knocked over a rum and Coke with his elbow, and I had to call D'Eriq to come with a washcloth for the table and a mop for the floor.
After that, two idiots who'd been in my high school class got into a fight about whose hunting dog was better. Sam had to break that up. They were actually quicker to come to their senses now that they knew what Sam was, which was an unexpected bonus.
A lot of the discussion in the bar that evening dealt with Crystal's death, naturally. The fact that she'd been a werepanther had seeped into the town's consciousness. About half of the bar patrons believed she'd been killed by someone who hated the newly revealed underworld. The other half wasn't so sure that she'd been killed because she was a werepanther. That half thought her promiscuity was enough motivation. Most of them assumed Jason was guilty. Some of them felt sympathy for him. Some of them had known Crystal or her reputation, and they felt Jason's actions were justifiable. Almost all of these people thought of Crystal only in terms of Jason's guilt or innocence. I found it real sad that most people would only remember her for the manner of her death.
I should go see Jason or call him, but I couldn't find it in my heart. Jason's actions over the past few months had killed something in me. Though Jason was my brother, and I loved him, and he was showing signs of finally growing up, I no longer felt that I had to support him through all the trials his life had brought him. That made me a bad Christian, I realized. Though I knew I wasn't a deep theological thinker, I sometimes wondered if crisis moments in my life hadn't come down to two choices: be a bad Christian or die.
I'd chosen life every time.