All Together Dead

he’s worried about something else. You’re exaggerating my importance in Eric’s scheme of things. If he has any kind of undying love for me, then he’s sure not telling me about it. And I never see him. And he knows about Quinn.”
    “He made Bill confess to you, didn’t he?”
    “Well, Eric was there,” I said uncertainly.
    “Do you think Bill would ever have told you if Eric hadn’t commanded him to?”
    I’d done my best to forget that night altogether. In the back of my mind, I’d known the strange timing of Bill’s revelation was significant, but I just hadn’t wanted to think about it.
    “Why do you think Eric would give a flying fuck what Bill had been ordered to do, much less reveal it to a human woman, if he didn’t have inappropriate feelings for you?”
    I’d never put it to myself quite like that. I’d been so ripped up by Bill’s confession—the queen had planted him to seduce me (if necessary) to gain my trust—that I hadn’t thought of why Eric had forced Bill into the position of telling me about the plot.
    “Pam, I don’t know. Listen, I’m working here, and you need to order something to drink. I gotta take care of my other tables.”
    “O-negative, then. TrueBlood.”
    I hurried to get the drink out of the cooler, and I warmed it up in the microwave, shaking it gently to make sure the temperature was even. It coated the sides of the bottle in an unpleasant way, but it certainly looked and tasted like real blood. I’d poured a few drops into a glass one time at Bill’s so I could have the experience. As far as I could tell, drinking synthetic blood was exactly like drinking real blood. Bill had always enjoyed it, though he’d remarked more than once that flavor wasn’t the thing; it was the sensation of biting into flesh, feeling the heartbeat of the human, that made being a vampire fun. Glugging out of a bottle just didn’t do the trick. I took the bottle and a wineglass to Pam’s table and deposited both before her, along with a napkin, of course.
    “Sookie?” I looked up to see that Amelia had come in.
    My roomie had come into the bar often enough, but I was surprised to see her tonight. “What’s up?” I asked.
    “Um…hi,” Amelia said to Pam. I took in Amelia’s pressed khakis, her neat white golf shirt, her equally white tennis shoes. I glanced at Pam, whose pale eyes were wider than I’d ever seen them.
    “This is my roommate, Amelia Broadway,” I told Pam. “Amelia, this is Pam the vampire.”
    “I am pleased to meet you,” Pam said.
    “Hey, neat outfit,” Amelia said.
    Pam looked pleased. “You look very nice, too,” she said.
    “You a local vamp?” Amelia asked. Amelia was nothing if not blunt. And chatty.
    Pam said, “I’m Eric’s second-in-command. You do know who Eric Northman is?”
    “Sure,” Amelia said. “He’s the blond hunk of burning love who lives in Shreveport, right?”
    Pam smiled. Her fangs popped out a little. I looked from Amelia to the vampire. Geez Louise.
    “Perhaps you would like to see the bar some night?” Pam said.
    “Oh, sure,” Amelia said, but not as if she were particularly excited. Playing hard to get. For about ten minutes, if I knew Amelia.
    I left to answer a customer beckoning from another table. Out of the corner of my eye, Amelia sat down with Pam, and they talked for a few minutes before Amelia got up and stood by the bar, waiting for me to return.
    “And what brings you here tonight?” I asked maybe a little too abruptly.
    Amelia raised her eyebrows, but I didn’t apologize.
    “I just wanted to tell you, you got a phone call at the house.”
    “Who from?”
    “From Quinn.”
    I felt a smile spread across my face, a real one. “What did he say?”
    “He said he’d see you in Rhodes. He misses you already.”
    “Thanks, Amelia. But you could’ve just called here to tell me, or told me when I got home.”
    “Oh, I got a little bored.”
    I’d known she would be, sooner or later. Amelia needed a job, a full-time job. She missed her city and her friends, of course. Even though she’d left New Orleans before Katrina, she’d suffered a little every day since the storm’s aftermath had devastated the city. Amelia missed the witchcraft, too. I’d hoped she’d pal around with Holly, another barmaid and a dedicated Wiccan. But after I’d introduced the two and they’d had some conversations, Amelia had told me glumly that she and Holly were very different sorts of witches. Amelia