Club Dead

when you felt bad or sick and there was no one there.
    You might feel a little sorry for yourself, too, if you weren’t careful.
    To my surprise, the first vampire to arrive after dark was Pam. Tonight she was wearing a trailing black gown, so she was scheduled to work at Fangtasia. Ordinarily, Pam shunned black; she was a pastels kind of female. She yanked at the chiffon sleeves impatiently.
    “Eric says you may need a female to help you,” she said impatiently. “Though why I am supposed to be your lady’s maid, I don’t know. Do you really need help, or is he just trying to curry favor with you? I like you well enough, but after all, I am vampire, and you are human.”
    That Pam, what a sweetie.
    “You could sit and visit with me for a minute,” I suggested, at a loss as to how to proceed. Actually, it would be nice to have help getting into and out of the bathtub, but I knew Pam would be offended to be asked to perform such a personal task. After all, she was vampire, I was human....
    Pam settled into the armchair facing the couch. “Eric says you can fire a shotgun,” she said, more conversationally. “Would you teach me?”
    “I’d be real glad to, when I’m better.”
    “Did you really stake Lorena?”
    The shotgun lessons were more important than the death of Lorena, it seemed.
    “Yes. She would’ve killed me.”
    “How’d you do it?”
    “I had the stake that had been used on me.”
    Then Pam had to hear about that, and ask me how it felt, since I was the only person she knew who’d survived being staked, and then she asked me exactly how I’d killed Lorena, and there we were, back at my least favorite topic.
    “I don’t want to talk about it,” I admitted.
    “Why not?” Pam was curious. “You say she was trying to kill you.”
    “She was.”
    “And after she had done that, she would have tortured Bill more, until he broke, and you would have been dead, and it all would have been for nothing.”
    Pam had a point, a good one, and I tried to think about it as a practical step to have taken, rather than a desperate reflex.
    “Bill and Eric will be here soon,” Pam said, looking at her watch.
    “I wish you had told me that earlier,” I said, struggling to my feet.
    “Got to brush your teeth and hair?” Pam was cheerfully sarcastic. “That’s why Eric thought you might need my help.”
    “I think I can manage my own grooming, if you wouldn’t mind heating up some blood in the microwave—of course, for yourself as well. I’m sorry, I wasn’t being polite.”
    Pam gave me a skeptical look, but trotted off to the kitchen without further comment. I listened for a minute to make sure she knew how to operate a microwave, and I heard reassuringly unhesitating beeps as she punched in the numbers and hit Start.
    Slowly and painfully, I washed off in the sink, brushed my hair and teeth, and put on some silky pink pajamas and a matching robe and slippers. I wished I had the energy to dress, but I just couldn’t face underwear and socks and shoes.
    There was no point putting on makeup over the bruises. There was no way I could cover them. In fact, I wondered why I’d gotten up from the couch to put myself through this much pain. I looked in the mirror and told myself I was an idiot to make any preparation for their arrival. I was just plain primping. Given my overall misery (mental and physical), my behavior was ridiculous. I was sorry I had felt the impulse, and even sorrier Pam had witnessed it.
    But the first male caller I had was Bubba.
    He was all decked out. The vampires of Jackson had enjoyed Bubba’s company, it was apparent. Bubba was wearing a red jumpsuit with rhinestones on it (I wasn’t too surprised one of the boy toys at the mansion had had one) complete with wide belt and half boots. Bubba looked good.
    He didn’t seem pleased, though. He seemed apologetic. “Miss Sookie, I’m sorry I lost you last night,” he said right away. He brushed past Pam, who looked surprised. “I see something awful happened to you last night, and I wasn’t there to stop it like Eric told me to be. I was having a good time in Jackson, those guys there really know how to throw themselves a party.”
    I had an idea, a blindingly simple idea. If I’d been in a comic strip, it would have shown itself as a lightning bolt over my head. “You’ve been watching me every night,” I said, as gently as I could, trying hard to keep all excitement out of my voice. “Right?”
    “Yes’m,