Dead as a Doornail

vampire-blood enhancement. I hadn’t dressed up, since I didn’t want Eric to think I was dressing up for him, but I hadn’t wanted to look like a slob, either. So I was wearing low-riding blue jeans and a fuzzy white long-sleeved sweater with a boat-neck. It stopped just at my waist, so some tummy showed when I walked. That tummy wasn’t fish-belly white, either, thanks to the tanning bed at the video rental place.
    “Please, dear lady, call me Charles,” the bartender said, pressing his hand to his heart.
    I laughed out loud, despite my weariness. The gesture’s theatricality wasn’t diminished by the fact that Charles’s heart wasn’t beating.
    “Of course,” I said agreeably. “If you’ll call me Sookie.”
    He rolled his eyes up as if the excitement was too much for him, and I laughed again. Pam tapped me on the shoulder.
    “If you can tear yourself away from your new buddy, Eric’s free.”
    I nodded to Charles and eased off the stool to follow Pam. To my surprise, she didn’t lead me back to Eric’s office, but to one of the booths. Evidently, tonight Eric was on bar duty. All the Shreveport-area vampires had to agree to show themselves at Fangtasia for a certain number of hours each week so the tourists would keep coming; a vampire bar without any actual vampires is a money-losing establishment. Eric set a good example for his underlings by sitting out in the bar at regular intervals.
    Usually the sheriff of Area Five sat in the center of the room, but tonight he was in the corner booth. He watched me approach. I knew he was taking in my jeans, which were on the tight side, and my tummy, which was on the flat side, and my soft fuzzy white sweater, which was filled with natural bounty. I should have worn my frumpiest clothes. (Believe me, I have plenty in my closet.) I shouldn’t have carried the cranberry coat, which Eric had given me. I should have done anything but look good for Eric—and I had to admit to myself that that had been my goal. I’d blindsided myself.
    Eric slid out of the booth and rose to his considerable height—around six foot four. His mane of blond hair rippled down his back, and his blue eyes sparkled from his white, white face. Eric has bold features, high cheekbones,and a square jaw. He looks like a lawless Viking, the kind that could pillage a village in no time at all; and that’s exactly what he had been.
    Vampires don’t shake hands except under extraordinary circumstances, so I didn’t expect any salutation from Eric. But he bent to give me a kiss on the cheek, and he gave it lingeringly, as if he wanted me to know he’d like to seduce me.
    He didn’t realize he’d already kissed just about every inch of Sookie Stackhouse. We’d been as up close and personal as a man and a woman could be.
    Eric just couldn’t remember anything about it. I wanted it to stay that way. Well, not exactly wanted ; but I knew it was better all the way around if Eric didn’t recall our little fling.
    “What pretty nail polish,” Eric said, smiling. He had a slight accent. English was not his second language, of course; it was maybe his twenty-fifth.
    I tried not to smile back, but I was pleased at his compliment. Trust Eric to pick out the one thing that was new and different about me. I’d never had long nails until recently, and they were painted a wonderful deep red—cranberry, in fact, to match the coat.
    “Thank you,” I murmured. “How you been doing?”
    “Just fine.” He raised a blond eyebrow. Vampires didn’t have variable health. He waved a hand at the empty side of the booth, and I slid into it.
    “Had any trouble picking up the reins?” I asked, to clarify.
    A few weeks previously, a witch had given Eric amnesia, and it had taken several days to restore his sense of identity. During that time, Pam had parked him with me to keep him concealed from the witch who’d cursed him. Lust had taken its course. Many times.
    “Like riding a bicycle,” Eric said, and I told myself to focus. (Though I wondered when bicycles had been invented, and if Eric had had anything to do with it.) “I did receive acall from Long Shadow’s sire, an American Indian whose name seems to be Hot Rain. I’m sure you remember Long Shadow.”
    “I was just thinking of him,” I said.
    Long Shadow had been the first bartender of Fangtasia. He’d been embezzling from Eric, who had coerced me into interrogating the barmaids and other human employees until I discovered the