Dead in the Family

and vampires couldn’t come out in the daytime.
    “There’s a vampire in the closet,” Hunter told Claude. “He can’t come out in the daytime.”
    “Which closet would that be?” Claude asked Hunter.
    “The one in my room. You want to come see?”
    “Hunter,” I said, “the last thing any vampire wants is to be disturbed in the daytime. I’d leave him alone.”
    “Your Eric?” Claude asked. He was excited by the idea of Eric being in the house. Damn.
    “Yes,” I said. “You know better than to go in there, right? I mean, I don’t have to get tough with you, right?”
    He smiled at me. “You, tough with me?” he said, mockingly. “Ha. I’m fae. I am stronger than any human.”
    I started to say, “So how come I survived the war between the fae and so many fairies didn’t?” Thank God I didn’t. The minute after, I knew how good it was that I’d choked on those words, because I could see by Claude’s face that he remembered who’d died all too well. I missed Claudine, too, and I told him so.
    “You’re sad,” Hunter said accurately. And he was picking up on all this, which shouldn’t be thought of in his hearing.
    “Yes, we’re remembering his sister,” I said. “She died and we miss her.”
    “Like my mom,” he said. “What’s a fay?”
    “Yes, like your mom.” Sort of. Only in the sense that they were both dead. “And a fae is a special person, but we’re not going to talk about that right now.”
    It didn’t take a telepath to pick up on Claude’s interest and curiosity, and when he sauntered back down the hall to use the bathroom, I followed him. Sure enough, Claude’s steps slowed and stopped at the open door to the bedroom Hunter had used.
    “Keep right on walking,” I said.
    “I can’t take a peek? He’ll never know. I’ve heard how handsome he is. Just a peek?”
    “No,” I said, knowing I’d better stay in sight of that door until Claude was out of the house. Just a peek, my round rosy ass.
    “What about your ass, Aunt Sookie?”
    “Oops! Sorry, Hunter. I said a bad word.” Didn’t want Claude to know I’d only thought it. I heard him laughing as he shut the bathroom door.
    Claude stayed in the bathroom so long that I had to let Hunter brush his teeth in mine. After I heard the squeak of the stairs and the sound of the television overhead, I was able to relax. I helped Hunter get dressed, and then I got dressed myself and put on some makeup under Hunter’s unwavering attention to the process. Evidently, Kristen had never let Hunter watch what he considered to be a fascinating procedure.
    “You should come to live with us, Aunt Sookie,” he said.
    Thanks, Hunter, but I like to live here. I have a job.
    You can get another one.
    “It wouldn’t be the same. This is my house, and I love it here. I don’t want to leave.”
    There was a knock on the front door. Could Remy be arriving this early to collect Hunter?
    But it was another surprise altogether, an unpleasant one. Special Agent Tom Lattesta stood on the front porch.
    Hunter, naturally, had run to the door as fast as he could. Don’t all kids? He hadn’t thought it was his dad, because he didn’t know exactly when Remy was supposed to show up. He just liked to find out who was visiting.
    “Hunter,” I said, picking him up, “this is an FBI agent. His name is Tom Lattesta. Can you remember that?”
    Hunter looked doubtful. He tried a couple of times to say the unfamiliar name and finally got it right.
    “Good job, Hunter!” Lattesta said. He was trying to be friendly, but he wasn’t good with kids and he sounded fake. “Ms. Stackhouse, can I come in for a minute?” I looked behind him. No one else. I thought they always traveled in pairs.
    “I guess so,” I said, without enthusiasm. I didn’t explain who Hunter was, because it was none of Lattesta’s business, though I could tell he was curious. He’d also noticed there was another car parked outside.
    “Claude,” I called up the stairs. “The FBI is here.” It’s good to inform unexpected company that someone else is in the house with you.
    The television fell silent, and Claude came gliding down the stairs. Now he was wearing a golden brown silk T-shirt and khakis, and he looked like a poster for a wet dream. Even Lattesta’s heterosexual orientation wasn’t proof against a surge of startled admiration. “Agent Lattesta, my cousin Claude Crane,” I said, trying not to smile.
    Hunter and Claude and I sat on the