Dead Ever After: A True Blood Novel

mutters—but I was pretty much prepared for that. The real eye-catcher was Diantha, who’d never dressed like an average human being because she wasn’t. Diantha’s clothes were bright and random. Green yoga tights, a cerise tutu, an orange leotard, cowboy boots . . . well, it was a bold ensemble.
    At least she smiled a lot; that was something.
    Even aside from Diantha’s exceptional wardrobe choices (and that was a big “even aside”), we simply didn’t look like we belonged together.
    Luckily, our waiter was a high school kid named Joshua Bee, a distant cousin of Calvin Norris’s. Joshua wasn’t a werepanther, but as a connection of the Norris clan, he knew a lot about the world most humans didn’t see. He was polite and quick, and he wasn’t a bit frightened. That was a relief.
    After we’d ordered, Desmond Cataliades was telling us about the progress of post-Katrina reconstruction in New Orleans. “Amelia’s father has played a large part,” he said. “Copley Carmichael’s name is on a lot of rebuilding contracts. Especially in the last few months.”
    “He had some difficulties,” Bob said quietly. “There was an article in the paper. We don’t see Copley a lot, since he and Amelia have issues. But we were kind of worried about him. Since the New Year came in . . . well, everything’s turned around for him.”
    “Yes, we’ll talk about that when we’re in a more private place,” Mr. Cataliades said.
    Amelia looked worried, but she accepted that well.
    I knew she didn’t really want to know that her father was up to no good. She suspected it already, and she was frightened. Amelia and her father had an adversarial relationship on many fronts, but she loved him . . . most of the time.
    Diantha was making cat’s cradles with a piece of string she’d pulled from her pocket, Barry and Mr. Cataliades were having an awkward conversation about the true meaning of the word “barbecue,” and I was trying to think of another conversational topic when an old friend of mine walked into Lucky’s.
    There was a moment’s silence. You couldn’t ignore John Quinn. Sure, Quinn was a weretiger. But even when people didn’t know that (and most didn’t), Quinn stood out. He was a big bald man, with olive skin and purple eyes. He looked spectacular in a purple tank top and khaki shorts. He was a man people noticed, and he was my only lover who looked his true age.
    I jumped up to give him a hug and urged him to sit down. He pulled up a chair between me and Mr. Cataliades.
    “I think I remember who’s met Quinn and who hasn’t,” I addressed the table in general. “Barry, you met Quinn in Rhodes, I think, and Amelia, you and Bob know him from New Orleans. Quinn, you’ve met Desmond Cataliades and his niece, Diantha, I think.”
    Quinn nodded all around. Diantha abandoned her piece of string to look at Quinn full-time. Mr. Cataliades, who also knew Quinn was a large predator, was cordial but very much on the alert. “I went to your house first,” Quinn told me. “I’ve never seen flowers bloom in the middle of the summer like that. And those tomatoes! Damn, those things are huge.” It was like we’d seen each other yesterday, and I felt that warm and comfortable feeling I got around Quinn.
    “My great-grandfather soaked the ground around my house with magic before he left,” I said. “I think it was probably some kind of spell to make the land flourish. Whatever it was, it’s working. How’s Tij doing, Quinn?”
    “Everything’s going great,” he said. He grinned, and it was like seeing a whole different person. “The baby’s growing like crazy. You want to see a picture?”
    “Sure,” I said, and Quinn extracted his wallet and drew out one of those shadowy ultrasounds. There were two markers on the picture, showing where the baby began and ended, Quinn explained.
    I’d seen a lot of Tara’s ultrasounds—this baby seemed pretty big for a couple of months. “So, will Tijgerin have a baby sooner than a regular human?” I asked.
    “Yeah. Weretigers are unique in that. And it’s another reason traditional tiger moms spend their pregnancy and birth times away from people. Including the dad,” Quinn said grimly. “At least she e-mails me every few days.”
    Time to change the subject. “I’m glad to see you, Quinn,” I said, looking pointedly at Mr. Cataliades, who hadn’t yet relaxed. And Diantha’s wide-eyed stare didn’t mean she was thinking of jumping Quinn’s