A Touch of Dead

of vampires with all kinds of accents as they tried to enter America under the wire. Most of them came in through Louisiana, since it was notably friendly to the Cold Ones, as Fangbanger Xtreme called them.
    It was more fun thinking about vampires than hearing the thoughts of my fellow citizens. Naturally, as I went from table to table, I was doing my job with a big smile, because I like good tips, but I wasn’t able to put my heart into it tonight. It had been a warm day for January, way into the fifties, and people’s thoughts had turned to spring.
    I try not to listen in, but I’m like a radio that picks up a lot of signals. Some days, I can control my reception a lot better than other days. Today, I kept picking up snippets. Hoyt Fortenberry, my brother’s best friend, was thinking about his mom’s plan for Hoyt to put in about ten new rosebushes in her already extensive garden. Gloomy but obedient, he was trying to figure out how much time the task would take. Arlene, my longtime friend and another waitress, was wondering if she could get her latest boyfriend to pop the question,
but that was pretty much a perennial thought for Arlene. Like the roses, it bloomed every season.
    As I mopped up spills and hustled to get chicken strip baskets on the tables (the supper crowd was heavy that night), my own thoughts were centered on how to get a formal gown to wear to the party. Though I did have one ancient prom dress, handmade by my aunt Linda, it was hopelessly outdated. I’m twenty-six, but I didn’t have any bridesmaid dresses that might serve. None of my few friends had gotten married except Arlene, who’d been wed so many times that she never even thought of bridesmaids. The few nice clothes I’d bought for vampire events always seemed to get ruined . . . some in very unpleasant ways.
    Usually, I shopped at my friend Tara’s store, but she wasn’t open after six. So after I got off work, I drove to Monroe to Pecanland Mall. At Dillard’s, I got lucky. To tell the truth, I was so pleased with the dress I might have gotten it even if it hadn’t been on sale, but it had been marked down to twenty-five dollars from a hundred and fifty, surely a shopping triumph. It was rose pink, with a sequin top and a chiffon bottom, and it was strapless and simple. I’d wear my hair down, and
my gran’s pearl earrings, and some silver heels that were also on major sale.
    That important item taken care of, I wrote a polite acceptance note and popped it in the mail. I was good to go.
    Three nights later, I was knocking on the back door of Fangtasia, my garment bag held high.
    “You’re looking a bit informal,” Pam said as she let me in.
    “Didn’t want to wrinkle the dress.” I came in, making sure the bag didn’t trail, and hightailed it for the bathroom.
    There wasn’t a lock on the bathroom door. Pam stood outside so I wouldn’t be interrupted, and Eric’s second-in-command smiled when I came out, a bundle of my more mundane clothes rolled under my arm.
    “You look good, Sookie,” Pam said. Pam herself had elected to wear a tuxedo made out of silver lamé. She was a sight. My hair has some curl to it, but Pam’s is a paler blond and very straight. We both have blue eyes, but hers are a lighter shade and rounder, and she doesn’t blink much. “Eric will be very pleased.”
    I flushed. Eric and I have a History. But since he had amnesia when we created that history, he doesn’t
remember it. Pam does. “Like I care what he thinks,” I said.
    Pam smiled at me sideways. “Right,” she said. “You are totally indifferent. So is he.”
    I tried to look like I was accepting her words on their surface level and not seeing through to the sarcasm. To my surprise, Pam gave me a light kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for coming,” she said. “You may perk him up. He’s been very hard to work for these past few days.”
    “Why?” I asked, though I wasn’t real sure I wanted to know.
    “Have you ever seen It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown ?”
    I stopped in my tracks. “Sure,” I said. “Have you ?”
    “Oh, yes,” Pam said calmly. “Many times.” She gave me a minute to absorb that. “Eric is like that on Dracula Night. He thinks, every year, that this time Dracula will pick his party to attend. Eric fusses and plans; he frets and stews. He sent the invitations back to the printer twice so they were late going out. Now that the night is actually here, he’s worked himself into a