Dead in the Family

This day was just full of surprises, and it wasn’t even ten o’clock.

I put down the shotgun and opened the door. “Claude,” I said. “Come in. You want a drink? I’ve got Coke and coffee and orange juice.”

I noticed that Claude had the strap of a big tote bag slung over his shoulder. From its solid appearance, the bag was jammed with clothes. I didn’t remember inviting him to a slumber party.

He came in, looking serious and somehow unhappy. Claude had been in the house before, but not often, and he looked around at my kitchen. The kitchen happened to be new because the old kitchen had burned down, so I had shiny appliances and everything still looked squared away and level.

“Sookie, I can’t stay in our house by myself any longer. Can I bunk with you for a while, Cousin?”

I tried to pick my jaw up off the floor before he noticed how shocked I was—first, that Claude had confessed he needed help; second, that he confessed it to me; and third, that Claude would stay in the same house with me when he normally thought of me as about on the same level as a beetle. I’m a human and I’m a woman, so I’ve got two strikes against me as far as Claude’s concerned. Plus, of course, there was the whole issue of Claudine dying in my defense.

“Claude,” I said, trying to sound only sympathetic, “have a seat. What’s wrong?” I glanced at the shotgun, unaccountably glad it was within reach.

Claude gave it only a casual glance. After a moment, he put down his bag and simply stood there, as if he couldn’t figure out what to do next.

It seemed surreal to be in my kitchen alone with my fairy cousin. Though he had apparently made the choice to continue living among humans, he was far from warm and fuzzy about them. Claude, albeit physically beautiful, was an indiscriminate jerk, as far as I’d observed. But he’d gotten his ears surgically altered to look human, so he wouldn’t have to expend his energy perpetuating a human appearance. And as far as I knew, Claude’s sexual co

“You’re still living in the house you shared with your sisters?” It was a prosaic three-bedroom ranch in Monroe.

“Yes.”

Okay. I was looking for a little expansion on the theme here. “The bars aren’t keeping you occupied?” Between owning and operating two strip clubs—Hooligans and a new place he’d just taken over—and performing at Hooligans at least once a week, I’d imagined Claude to be both busy and well-to-do. Since he was handsome to the nth degree, he made a lot of money in tips, and the occasional modeling job boosted his income. Claude could make even the most staid grandmother drool. Being in the same room with someone so gorgeous gave women a contact high. until he opened his mouth. Plus, he no longer had to share the club income with his sister.

“I’m busy. And I don’t lack for money. But without the company of my own kind. I feel I’m starving.”

“Are you serious?” I said without thinking, and then I could have kicked myself. But Claude needing me (or anyone, for that matter) seemed so unlikely. His request to stay with me was wholly unexpected and unwelcome.

But my gran chided me mentally. I was looking at a member of my family, one of the few still living and/or accessible to me. My relationship with my great-grandfather Niall had ended when he’d retreated into Faery and pulled the door shut behind him. Though Jason and I had mended our fences, my brother very much led his own life. My mom, my dad, and my grandmother were dead, my aunt Linda and my cousin Hadley were dead, and I rarely saw Hadley’s little son.

I had depressed the hell out of myself in the space of a minute.

“Do I have enough fairy in me to be any help to you?” That was all I could think of to say.

“Yes,” he said very simply. “I already feel better.” This seemed a weird echo of my conversation with Bill. Claude halfway smiled. If Claude looked incredible when he was unhappy, he looked divine when he smiled. “Since you’ve been in the company of fairies, it’s accentuated your streak of fairy essence. By the way, I have a letter for you.”

“Who from?”

“Niall.”

“How’s that possible? I understood the fae world was shut off now.”

“He has his ways,” Claude said evasively. “He’s the only prince now, and very powerful.”

He has his ways. “Humph,” I said. “Okay, let’s see it.”

Claude pulled an envelope out of his overnight bag. It was buff-colored and sealed with a blue blob of wax. In the wax was imprinted a bird, its wings spread in flight.

“So there’s a fairy mailbox,” I said. “And you can send and receive letters?”

“This letter, anyway.”

Fae were very good at evasion. I huffed out a breath of exasperation.

I got a knife and slid it under the seal. The paper I extracted from the envelope had a very curious texture.

“Dearest great-granddaughter,” it began. “There are things I didn’t get to say to you and many things I didn’t get to do for you before my plans collapsed in the war.”

Okay.

“This letter is written on the skin of one of the water sprites who drowned your parents.”

“Ick!” I cried, and dropped the letter on the kitchen table.

Claude was by my side in a flash. “What’s wrong?” he asked, looking around the kitchen as if he expected to see a troll pop up.

“This is skin! Skin!”

“What else would Niall write on?” He looked genuinely taken aback.

“Ewww!” Even to myself, I sounded a little too girly-girly. But honestly. skin?

“It’s clean,” Claude said, clearly hoping that would solve my problem. “It’s been processed.”

I gritted my teeth and reached down for my great-grandfather’s letter. I took a deep, steadying breath. Actually, the. material hardly smelled at all. Smothering a desire to put on oven mitts, I made myself focus on reading.

“Before I left your world, I made sure one of my human agents talked to several people who can help you evade the scrutiny of the human government. When I sold the pharmaceutical company we owned, I used much of my profit to ensure your freedom.”

I blinked, because my eyes were tearing up a little. He might not be a typical great-grandfather, but by golly, he’d done something wonderful for me.

“He’s bribed some government officials to call off the FBI? Is that what he’s done?”

“I have no idea,” Claude said, shrugging. “He wrote me, too, to let me know that I had an extra three hundred thousand dollars in my bank account. Also, Claudine hadn’t made a will, since she didn’t. ”

Expect to die. She had expected to raise a child with a fairy lover I’d never met. Claude shook himself and said in a cracked voice, “Niall produced a human body and a will, so I don’t have to wait years to prove her death. She left me almost everything. She said this to our father, Dillon, when she appeared to him as part of her death ritual.”

Fairies told their relatives they had passed, after they’d translated to spirit form. I wondered why Claudine had appeared to Dillon instead of to her brother, and I asked Claude, phrasing it as tactfully as I could.

“The next oldest receives the vision,” Claude said stiffly. “Our sister, Claudette, appeared to me, since I was older than her by a minute. Claudine made her death ritual to our father, since she was older than I.”

“So she told your dad she wanted you to have her share of the clubs?” It was pretty lucky for Claude that Claudine had let someone else know about her wishes. I wondered what happened if the oldest fae in the line was the one who was doing the dying. I’d save that question for later.

“Yes. Her share of the house. Her car. Though I already had one.” For some reason, Claude was looking self-conscious. And guilty. Why on earth would he look guilty?

“How do you ride in it?” I asked, sidetracked. “Since fairies have such issues with iron?”

“I wear the invisible gloves over exposed skin,” he said. “I put them on after every shower. And I’ve built up a little more tolerance with every decade of living in the human world.”