Dead in the Family

in my blue nightgown and threw on a robe. I stepped into my slippers, and after Hunter exited my bathroom, I entered it.
    A couple of minutes later we were in my kitchen with the lights on. I went directly to the coffeepot, and I found a note propped on it. I recognized the handwriting immediately, and the endorphins flooded my system. Instead of being incredulous that I was up and moving so ungodly early, I felt happy that I was sharing this time with my little cousin. The note, which had been written on one of the pads I keep around for grocery lists, said, “My lover, I came in too close to dawn to wake you, though I was tempted. Your house is full of strange men. A fairy upstairs and a little child downstairs—but as long as there’s not one in my lady’s chamber, I can stand it. I need to talk to you when I rise.” It was signed, in a large scrawl, “ERIC.”
    I put the note aside, trying not to worry about Eric’s urgent need to talk to me. I started the coffee to perking, and then I pulled out the griddle and plugged it in. “I hope you like pancakes,” I told Hunter, and his face lit up. He put his orange juice cup down on the table with a happy bang, and juice slopped over the edge. Just as I was about to give him a long look, he jumped up and fetched a paper towel. He took care of the spill with more vigor than attention to detail, but I appreciated the gesture.
    “I love pancakes,” he said. “You can make ’em? They don’t come out of the freezer?”
    I hid a smile. “Nope. I can make ’em.” It took about five minutes to mix up a batch, and by then the griddle was hot. I put on some bacon first, and Hunter’s expression was ecstatic. “I don’t like it floppy,” he said, and I promised him it would be crisp. That was the way I liked it, too.
    “That smells wonderful, Cousin,” said Claude. He was standing in the doorway, his arms spread wide, looking as good as anyone can look that early in the morning. He was wearing a maroon University of Louisiana at Monroe T-shirt and some black workout shorts.
    “Who are you?” Hunter asked.
    “I’m Sookie’s cousin Claude.”
    He has long hair like a lady, too, Hunter said.
    He’s a man, though, just like the other man. “Claude, this is another cousin of mine, Hunter,” I said. “Remember, I told you he was coming to visit?”
    “His mother was—” Claude began, and I shook my head at him.
    Claude might have been about to say any number of things. He might have said, “the bisexual” or “the one the albino, Waldo, killed in the cemetery in New Orleans.” These would both have been true, and Hunter needed to hear neither of them.
    “So we’re all cousins,” I said. “Were you hinting around that you wanted to eat some breakfast with us, Claude?”
    “Yes, I was,” he said gracefully, pouring himself some coffee from the pot without asking me. “If there’s enough for me, too. This young man looks like he could eat a lot of pancakes.”
    Hunter was delighted with this idea, and he and Claude began topping each other on the number of pancakes they could consume. I was surprised that Claude was so at ease with Hunter, though the fact that he was charming the child effortlessly was no surprise to me. Claude was a professional at charming.
    “Do you live here in Bon Temps, Hunter?” Claude was asking.
    “No,” said Hunter, laughing at the absurdity of such an idea. “I live with my daddy.”
    Okay, that was enough sharing. I didn’t want anyone supernatural knowing about Hunter, understanding what made him special.
    “Claude, would you get out the syrup and the molasses?” I said. “It’s in the pantry over there.”
    Claude located the pantry and brought out the Log Cabin and the Brer Rabbit. He even opened both bottles so Hunter could smell them and pick which one he wanted on his pancakes. I got the pancakes on the griddle and made some more coffee, pulling some plates out of the cabinets and showing Hunter where the forks and knives were so he could set the table.
    We were a strange little family grouping: two telepaths and a fairy. During our breakfast conversation, I had to keep each male from knowing what the other was, and that was a real challenge. Hunter told me silently that Claude must be a vampire, because he couldn’t hear Claude’s thoughts, and I had to tell Hunter that there were some other people we couldn’t hear, too. I pointed out that Claude couldn’t be a vampire because it was daytime,