Dead as a Doornail

spells I use,” he agreed gloomily. “They drive drunk. And sometimes metal parts give way, no matter what.”
    The idea of conventional Greg Aubert going around Bon Temps putting spells on cars was almost enough to distract me from the ruin of my house . . . but not quite.
    In the clear chilly daylight, I could see the damage in full. Though I kept telling myself it could have been much worse—and that I was very lucky that the kitchen had extended off the back of the house, since it had been built at a later date—it had also been the room that had held big-ticket items. I’d have to replace the stove, the refrigerator, the hot water heater, and the microwave, and the back porch had been home to my washer and drier.
    After the loss of those major appliances, there came the dishes and the pots and the pans and the silverware, some of it very old indeed. One of my greats had come from a family with a little money, and she’d brought a set of fine china and a silver tea service that had been a pain to polish. I’d never have to polish it again, I realized, but there was no joy in the thought. My Nova was old, and I’d needed to replace it for a long time, but I hadn’t planned on that being now.
    Well, I had insurance, and I had money in the bank, thanks to the vampires who’d paid me for keeping Eric when he’d lost his memory.
    “And you had smoke detectors?” Greg was asking.
    “Yes, I did,” I said, remembering the high-pitched pulsing that had started up right after Claudine had woken me.“If the ceiling in the hall is still there, you’ll be able to see one.”
    There were no more back steps to get us up onto the porch, and the porch floorboards looked very unsteady. In fact, the washer had half fallen through and was tilted at an odd angle. It made me sick, seeing my everyday things, things I’d touched and used hundreds of times, exposed to the world and ruined.
    “We’ll go through from the front door,” Greg suggested, and I was glad to agree.
    It was still unlocked, and I felt a flutter of alarm before I realized how ludicrous that was. I stepped in. The first thing I noticed was the smell. Everything reeked of smoke. I opened the windows, and the cool breeze that blew through began to clear the smell out until it was just tolerable.
    This end of the house was better than I’d expected. The furniture would need cleaning, of course. But the floor was solid and undamaged. I didn’t even go up the stairs; I seldom used the rooms up there, so whatever had happened up there could wait.
    My arms were crossed under my breasts. I looked from side to side, moving slowly across the room toward the hall. I felt the floor vibrate as someone else came in. I knew without looking around that Jason was behind me. He and Greg said something to each other, but after a second Jason fell silent, as shocked as I was.
    We passed into the hall. The door to my bedroom and the door to the bedroom across the hall were both open. My bedding was still thrown back. My slippers were beside the night table. All the windows were smudged with smoke and moisture, and the dreadful odor grew even stronger. There was the smoke detector on the hall ceiling. I pointed to it silently. I opened the door to the linen closet and found that everythingin it felt damp. Well, these things could be washed. I went into my room and opened my closet door. My closet shared a wall with the kitchen. At first glance my clothes looked intact, until I noticed that each garment hanging on a wire hanger had a line across the shoulders where the heated hanger had singed the cloth. My shoes had baked. Maybe three pairs were usable.
    I gulped.
    Though I felt shakier by the second, I joined my brother and the insurance agent as they carefully continued down the hall to the kitchen.
    The floor closest to the old part of the house seemed okay. The kitchen had been a large room, since it had also served as the family dining room. The table was partially burned, as were two of the chairs. The linoleum on the floor was all broken up, and some of it was charred. The hot water heater had gone through the floor, and the curtains that had covered the window over the sink were hanging in strips. I remembered Gran making those curtains; she hadn’t enjoyed sewing, but the ones from JCPenney that she’d liked were just too much. So she’d gotten out her mother’s old sewing machine and bought some cheap but pretty flowered material at Hancock’s, and