Dead as a Doornail

her with presents, though the nature of the presents had said, “I’m a mistress,” rather than “I’m an honored girlfriend.” But how had it come to pass that she was in Mickey’s company—Mickey, whose name made even Eric hesitate?
    I felt like I’d been reading a book only to discover that someone had ripped a few pages from the middle.
    “Tara,” I said quietly. She looked up at me, her big brown eyes dull and dead: past fear, past shame.
    To the outer eye she looked almost normal. She was well groomed and made up, and her clothing was fashionable and attractive. But inside, Tara was in torment. What was wrong with my friend? Why hadn’t I noticed before that something was eating her up from the inside out?
    I wondered what to do next. Tara and I were just staring at each other, and though she knew what I was seeing inside her, she wasn’t responding. “Wake up,” I said, not even knowing where the words were coming from. “Wake up, Tara!”
    A white hand grabbed my arm and removed my hand from Tara’s shoulder forcibly. “I’m not paying you to touch my date,” Mickey said. He had the coldest eyes I’d ever seen—mud colored, reptilian. “I’m paying you to bring our drinks.”
    “Tara is my friend,” I said. He was still squeezing my arm, and if a vampire squeezes you, you know about it. “You’re doing something to her. Or you’re letting someone else hurt her.”
    “It’s none of your concern.”
    “It is my concern,” I said. I knew my eyes were tearing up from the pain, and I had a moment of sheer cowardice. Looking into his face, I knew he could kill me and be out of the bar before anyone there could stop him. He could take Tara with him, like a pet dog or his livestock. Before the fear could get a grip, I said, “Let go of me.” I made each word clear and distinct, even though I knew he could hear a pin drop in a storm.
    “You’re shaking like a sick dog,” he said scornfully.
    “Let go of me,” I repeated.
    “Or you’ll do—what?”
    “You can’t stay awake forever. If it’s not me, it’ll be someone else.”
    Mickey seemed to be reconsidering. I don’t think it was my threat, though I meant it from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair.
    He looked down at Tara, and she spoke, as though he’d pulled a string. “Sookie, don’t make such a big deal out of nothing. Mickey is my man now. Don’t embarrass me in front of him.”
    My hand dropped back to her shoulder and I risked taking my eyes off Mickey to look down at her. She definitely wanted me to back off; she was completely sincere about that. But her thinking about her motivation was curiously murky.
    “Okay, Tara. Do you need another drink?” I asked slowly. I was feeling my way through her head, and I was meeting a wall of ice, slippery and nearly opaque.
    “No, thank you,” Tara said politely. “Mickey and I need to be going now.”
    That surprised Mickey, I could tell. I felt a little better; Tara was in charge of herself, at least to some extent.
    “I’ll return your suit. I took it by the cleaner’s, already,” I said.
    “No hurry.”
    “All right. I’ll see you later.” Mickey had a firm grip on my friend’s arm as the two made their way through the crowd.
    I got the empty glasses off the table, swabbed it down, and turned back to the bar. Charles Twining and Sam were on alert. They’d been observing the whole small incident. I shrugged, and they relaxed.
    When we closed the bar that night, the new bouncer was waiting at the back door for me when I pulled on my coat and got my keys out of my purse.
    I unlocked my car doors and he climbed in.
    “Thanks for agreeing to have me in your home,” he said.
    I made myself say the polite thing back. No point in being rude.
    “Do you think Eric will mind my being here?” Charles asked as we drove down the narrow parish road.
    “It’s not his say-so,” I said curtly. It irked me that he automatically wondered about Eric.
    “He doesn’t come to see you often?” enquired Charles with unusual persistence.
    I didn’t answer until we’d parked behind my house. “Listen,” I said, “I don’t know what you heard, but he’s not . . . we’re not . . . like that.” Charles looked at my face and wisely said nothing as I unlocked my back door.
    “Feel free to explore,” I said after I’d invited him over the threshold. Vampires like to know entrances and exits. “Then I’ll show you your sleeping place.” While the