Dead and Gone

looking inside their heads. Or, I thought, all of the above .

Chapter 15
    I had vampire protection, of a sort, waiting for me after work. Bubba was standing by my car when I left Merlotte’s. He grinned when he saw me, and I was glad to give him a hug. Most people wouldn’t have been pleased to see a mentally defective vampire with a penchant for cat blood, but I’d become fond of Bubba.
    “When did you get back in town?” I asked. Bubba had gotten caught in New Orleans during Katrina, and he’d required a long recovery. The vampires were willing to accommodate him, because he had been one of the most famous people in the world until he’d been brought over in a morgue in Memphis.
    “’Bout a week ago. Good to see you, Miss Sookie.” Bubba’s fangs slid out to show me how glad. Just as quickly, they snicked back into concealment. Bubba still had talent. “I’ve been traveling. I’ve been staying with friends. But I was in Fangtasia tonight visiting Mr. Eric, and he asked if I’d like the job of keeping watch over you. I told him, ‘Miss Sookie and me, we’re real good friends, and that would suit me just fine.’ Have you gotten another cat?”
    “No, Bubba, I haven’t.” Thank God.
    “Well, I got me some blood in a cooler in the back of my car.” He nodded toward a huge old white Cadillac that had been restored with time and trouble and lots of cash.
    “Oh, the car’s beautiful,” I said. I almost added, “Did you own it while you were alive?” But Bubba didn’t like references to his former state of existence; they made him upset and confused. (If you put it very carefully, from time to time he’d sing for you. I’d heard him do “Blue Christmas.” Unforgettable.)
    “Russell give that to me,” he said.
    “Oh, Russell Edgington? The King of Mississippi?”
    “Yeah, wasn’t that nice? He said since he was king of my home state, he felt like giving me something special.”
    “How’s he doing?” Russell and his new husband, Bart, had both survived the Rhodes hotel bombing.
    “He’s feeling real good now. He and Mr. Bart are both healed up.”
    “I’m so glad to hear it. So, are you supposed to follow me home?”
    “Yes’m, that’s the plan. If you’ll leave your back door unlocked, close to morning I’ll get into that hidey-hole in your guest bedroom; that’s what Mr. Eric said.”
    Then it was doubly good that Octavia had moved out. I didn’t know how she would have reacted if I’d told her that the Man from Memphis needed to sleep in her closet all day long.
    When I got home, Bubba pulled in right behind me in his amazing car. I saw that Dawson’s truck was there, too. I wasn’t surprised. Dawson worked as a bodyguard from time to time, and he was in the area. Since Alcide had decided he wanted to help, Tray Dawson was an obvious choice, regardless of his relationship with Amelia.
    Tray himself was sitting at my kitchen table when Bubba and I came in. For the first time since I’d known him, the big man looked seriously startled. But he was smart enough not to blurt anything out.
    “Tray, this is my friend Bubba,” I said. “Where’s Amelia?”
    “She’s upstairs. I got some business to talk with you.”
    “I figured. Bubba’s here for the same reason. Bubba, this is Tray Dawson.”
    “Hey, Tray!” Bubba shook hands, laughing because he’d made a rhyme. He hadn’t translated real well. The spark of life had been so faint by the time a morgue attendant of the fanged persuasion had gotten hold of him, and the drugs in his system so pervasive, that Bubba had been lucky to survive the bringing over as well as he had, which wasn’t too well.
    “Hey,” Tray said cautiously. “How are you doing . . . Bubba?”
    I was relieved Tray’d picked up on the name.
    “I’m real good, thank you. Got me some blood in the cooler out there, and Miss Sookie keeps some TrueBlood in the refrigerator, or at least she used to.”
    “Yes, I have some,” I said. “You want to sit down, Bubba?”
    “No, ma’am. I think I’ll just grab me a bottle and settle down out in the woods. Bill still live across the cemetery?”
    “Yes, he does.”
    “Always good to have friends close.”
    I wasn’t sure I could call Bill my friend; our history was too complicated for that. But I was absolutely sure that he’d help me if I was in danger. “Yes,” I said, “that’s always good.”
    Bubba rummaged around in the refrigerator and came out with a couple of bottles. He