Dead to the World

"Maria-Star Cooper. You didn't send any to me," I pointed out tartly.

"No, but I left you something more meaningful under the saltshaker," he said, with much the same edge. "You'll have to pay taxes on it. If I know you, you'll give your brother some of it. I hear you got him back."

"I did," I said briefly. I knew I was getting closer to bursting out with something, and I knew he should leave soon. I'd given Jason such good advice about being quiet, but it was hard to follow it myself. "And your point is?"

"It won't last for long."

I don't think Eric realized how much money fifty thousand dollars was, by my standards. "What's your point? I can tell you have one, but I don't have an idea what it might be."

"Was there a reason I found brain tissue on my coat sleeve?"

I felt all the blood drain from my face, the way it does when you're on the edge of passing out. The next thing I knew, I was on the couch and Eric was beside me.

"I think there are some things you're not telling me, Sookie, my dear," he said. His voice was gentler, though.

The temptation was almost overwhelming.

But I thought of the power Eric would have over me, even more power than he had now; he would know I had slept with him, and he would know that I had killed a woman and he was the only one who'd witnessed it. He would know that not only did he owe me his life (most likely), I certainly owed him mine.

"I liked you a lot better when you didn't remember who you were," I said, and with that truth forefront in my mind, I knew I had to keep quiet.

"Harsh words," he said, and I almost believed he was really hurt.

Luckily for me, someone else came to my door. The knock was loud and peremptory, and I felt a jolt of alarm.

The caller was Amanda, the insulting redheaded female Were from Shreveport. "I'm on official business today," she said, "so I'll be polite."

That would be a nice change.

She nodded to Eric and said, "Glad to have you back in your right mind, vampire," in a completely unconcerned tone. I could see that the Weres and vampires of Shreveport had reverted to their old relationship.

"And good to see you, too, Amanda." I said.

"Sure," she said, but hardly as if she cared. "Miss Stackhouse, we're making inquiries for the shifters of Jackson."

Oh, no. "Really? Won't you please sit down? Eric was just leaving."

"No, I'd love to stay and hear Amanda's questions," Eric said, beaming.

Amanda looked at me, eyebrows raised.

There wasn't a hell of a lot I could do about it.

"Oh, by all means, stay," I said. "Please sit down, both of you. I'm sorry, but I don't have a lot of time before I'm due at work."

"Then I'll get right to the point," Amanda said. "Two nights ago, the woman that Alcide abjured—the shifter from Jackson, the one with the weird haircut?"

I nodded, to show I was on the same page. Eric looked pleasantly blank. He wouldn't in a minute.

"Debbie," the Were recalled. "Debbie Pelt."

Eric's eyes widened. Now, that name he did know. He began to smile.

"Alcide abjured her?" he said.

"You were sitting right there," snapped Amanda. "Oh, wait, I forgot. That was while you were under a curse."

She enjoyed the hell out of saying that.

"Anyway, Debbie didn't make it back to Jackson. Her family is worried about her, especially since they heard that Alcide abjured her, and they're afraid something might have happened to her."

"Why do you think she would have said anything to me?"

Amanda made a face. "Well, actually, I think she would rather have eaten glass than talked to you again. But we're obliged to check with everyone who was there."

So this was just routine. I wasn't being singled out. I could feel myself relax. Unfortunately, so could Eric. I'd had his blood; he could tell things about me. He got up and wandered back to the kitchen. I wondered what he was doing.

"I haven't seen her since that night," I said, which was true, since I didn't specify what time. "I have no idea where she is now." That was even truer.

Amanda told me, "No one admits to having seen Debbie after she left the area of the battle. She drove off in her own car."

Eric strolled back into the living room. I glanced at him, worried about what he was up to.

"Has her car been seen?" Eric asked.

He didn't know he'd been the one who'd hidden it.

"No, neither hide nor hair," Amanda said, which was a strange image to use for a car. "I'm sure she just ran off somewhere to get over her rage and humiliation. Being abjured; that's pretty awful. It's been years since I've heard the words said."

"Her family doesn't think that's the case? That's she's gone somewhere to, ah, think things over?"

"They're afraid she's done something to herself." Amanda snorted. We exchanged glances, showing we agreed perfectly about the likelihood of Debbie committing suicide. "She wouldn't do anything that convenient," Amanda said, since she had the nerve to say it out loud and I didn't.

"How's Alcide taking this?" I asked anxiously.

"He can hardly join in the search," she pointed out, "since he's the one who abjured her. He acts like he doesn't care, but I notice the colonel calls him to let him know what's happening. Which, so far, is nothing." Amanda heaved herself to her feet, and I got up to walk her to the door. "This sure has been a bad season for people going missing," she said. "But I hear through the grapevine that you got your brother back, and Eric's returned to his normal self, looks like." She cast him a glance to make sure he knew how little she liked that normal self. "Now Debbie has gone missing, but maybe she'll turn up, too. Sorry I had to bother you."

"That's all right. Good luck," I said, which was meaningless under the circumstances. The door closed behind her, and I wished desperately that I could just walk out and get in my car and drive to work.

I made myself turn around. Eric was standing.

"You're going?" I said, unable to keep from sounding startled and relieved.

"Yes, you said you had to get to work," he said blandly.

"I do."

"I suggest you wear that jacket, the one that's too light for the weather," he said. "Since your coat is still in bad shape."

I'd run it through the washer on cold water wash, but I guess I hadn't checked it well enough to be sure everything had come off. That's where he'd been, searching for my coat. He'd found it on its hanger on the back porch, and examined it.

"In fact," Eric said, as he went to the front door, "I'd throw it away entirely. Maybe burn it."

He left, closing the door behind him very quietly.

I knew, as sure as I knew my name, that tomorrow he would send me another coat, in a big fancy box, with a big bow on it. It would be the right size, it would be a top brand, and it would be warm.

It was cranberry red, with a removable liner, a detachable hood, and tortoiseshell buttons.