I'd been standing at the sink with my back to Hunter, but it didn't make any difference in our conversation, which was another strange feeling.
Can you tell when I'm listening to your head? I asked, surprised.
Yeah, it tickles, Hunter told me.
Was that because he was so young? Would it have "tickled" in my head, too, if I'd met another telepath when I was that age? Or was Hunter unique among telepaths?
"Was that lady who came to the door dead?" Hunter said. He'd jumped up and run around the table to stand by my side while I dried the skillet.
"Yes," I said. "She's a vampire."
"Will she bite?"
"She won't bite you or me," I said. "I guess sometimes she bites people if they tell her that's okay." Boy, I was worried about this conversation. It was like talking about religion with a child without knowing the parents' preferences. "I think you said you'd never met a vampire before?"
"No, ma'am," he said. I started to tell Hunter he didn't have to call me "ma'am," but then I stopped. The better manners he had, the easier this world would be for him. "I never met anything like that man in the woods, either."
This time he had my undivided attention, and I tried hard not to let him read my alarm. Just as I was about to ask him careful questions, I heard the screen door to the back porch open, and then foot-steps across the boards. A light knock at the back door told me that Heidi had returned from scouting in the woods, but I looked out the little window in the door to be sure. Yep, it was the vampire.
"I'm through," she said, when I opened the door. "I'll be on my way."
I noticed Hunter didn't run to the door as he had last time. He was behind me, though; I could feel his brain buzzing. He was not exactly scared, but anxious, as most children are about the unknown. But he was definitely pleased that he couldn't hear her. I'd been pleased when I found out vampire brains were silent to me, too.
"Heidi, did you learn anything?" I said hesitantly. Some of this might not be appropriate for Hunter to hear.
"The fae tracks in your woods are fresh and heavy. There are two scents. They crisscross." She inhaled, with apparent delight. "I love the smell of fae in the night. Better than gardenias."
Since I'd already assumed she'd detect the fae Basim had reported smelling, this wasn't a big revelation. But Heidi said there were definitely two fae. That was bad news. It confirmed what Hunter had said, too.
"What else did you find?" I stepped back a little, so she could see Hunter was behind me and tailor her remarks accordingly.
"Neither of them is the fairy I smell here in your house." Not good news. "Of course, I smelled many werewolves. I also smell a vampire - I think Bill Compton, though I've only met him once. There's an old c-o-r-p-s-e. And a brand-new c-o-r-p-s-e buried due east from your house, in a clearing by the stream. The clearing is in a stand of wild plums."
None of this was reassuring. The old c-o-r-p-s-e, well, I'd expected that, and I knew who it was. (I spared a moment to wish Eric hadn't buried Debbie on my property.) And if Bill was the vampire walking through the woods, that was all right ... though it did make me worry that he was just roaming around brooding all night instead of trying to build a new life for himself.
The new corpse was a real problem. Basim hadn't said anything about that. Had someone buried a body on my property in the last two nights, or had Basim simply left it off his list for some reason? I was staring at Heidi while I thought, and she finally raised her eyebrows. "Okay, thanks," I said. "I appreciate your taking the time."
"Take care of the little one," she said, and then she was across the back porch and out the door. I didn't hear her walk around the house to her car, but I didn't expect to. Vampires can be mighty quiet. I did hear her engine start up, and she drove away.
Since I knew my thoughts might worry Hunter, I forced myself to think of other things, which was harder than it sounds. I wouldn't have to do it long; I could tell my little visitor was getting tired. He put up the expected fuss about going to bed, but he didn't protest as much when I told him he could take a long bath first in the fascinating claw-foot tub. While Hunter splashed and played and made noises, I stayed in the bathroom, looking through a magazine. I made sure he actually cleaned himself in between sinking boats and racing ducks.
I decided we'd skip washing his hair. I figured that would be an ordeal, and Remy hadn't given me any instructions one way or another on hair washing. I pulled the plug. Hunter really enjoyed the gurgle of the water as it went down the drain. He rescued the ducks before they could drown, which made him a hero. "I am the king of the ducks, Aunt Sookie," he crowed.
"They need a king," I said. I knew how stupid ducks were. Gran had kept some for a while. I supervised Hunter's towel usage and helped him get his pajamas on. I reminded him to use the toilet again, and then he brushed his teeth, not very thoroughly.
Forty-five minutes later, after a story or two, Hunter was in bed. At his request, I left the light in the hall on, and his door was ajar an inch or two.
I found I was exhausted and in no mood to puzzle over Heidi's revelation. I wasn't used to tending to a child, though Hunter had been easy to care for, especially for a little guy who was staying with a woman he didn't know well. I hoped he'd enjoyed talking to me brain-to-brain. I also hoped Heidi hadn't spooked him too much.
I hadn't let myself focus on her macabre little biography, but now that Hunter was asleep, I found myself thinking about her story. It was an awful pity that she'd had to return to Nevada during her son's lifetime. In fact, she now probably looked the same age as her son, Charlie. What had happened to the boy's father? Why had her maker required her return? When she'd first been turned, vampires hadn't yet shown themselves to America and the rest of the world. Secrecy had been paramount. I had to agree with Heidi. Coming out of the coffin hadn't solved all the vamps' problems, and it had created quite a few new ones.
I would almost rather not have known about the sadness Heidi carried around with her. Naturally, since I was my grandmother's product, such a wish made me feel guilty. Shouldn't we always be ready to listen to the sad stories of others? If they want to tell them, aren't we obliged to listen? Now I felt I had a relationship with Heidi, based on her misery. Is that a real relationship? Was there something sympathetic about me that she liked, something that called this story forth? Or did she routinely tell new acquaintances about her son, Charlie? I could hardly believe that. I figured Hunter's presence had triggered her confidences.