Dead in the Family

maker. This is no lie.”
    Bobby had to have heard that news item before. I know there’s some kind of website or message board for vampires’ human assistants. I’m sure they swap all kinds of handy hints about dealing with their employers. Whatever the reason, Bobby didn’t argue or accuse me of trying to deceive him, which was a nice change.
    “Okay,” he said, “I’m ready for ’em. Was . . . What kind of person is Eric’s maker?”
    “He’s not much like a person at all anymore,” I said. “And he’s got a thirteen-year-old boyfriend who used to be Russian royalty.”
    After a long silence, Bobby said, “Thanks. It’s good to be prepared.”
    That was the nicest thing he’d ever said to me.
    “You’re welcome. Good night, Bobby,” I said, and we hung up. We’d managed to have an entire civil conversation. Vampires, bringing America together!
    I changed into a nightshirt and crawled into bed. I had to try to get some sleep, but it took its own sweet time coming. I kept seeing the light from the lantern dance across the clearing in the woods as the dirt mounded up around the edges of Basim’s grave. And I saw the dead Were’s face. But eventually, finally, the edges of that face blurred and darkness slid over me.
    I slept late and heavily the next day. The minute I woke, I knew someone was in the kitchen cooking. I let my extra sense check it out, and I found that Claude was frying bacon and eggs. There was coffee in the pot, and I didn’t need telepathy to know that. I could smell it. The perfume of morning.
    After a trip to the bathroom, I stumbled into the hall and made my way into the kitchen. Claude was sitting at the table eating, and I could see there was enough coffee in the pot for me.
    “There’s food,” he said, pointing to the stove.
    I got a plate and a mug, and settled in for a good start to my day. I glanced over at the clock. It was Sunday, and Merlotte’s wouldn’t be open until the afternoon. Sam was trying Sundays again in a limited way, though the whole staff half hoped it wouldn’t be profitable. As Claude and I ate in a companionable silence, I realized I felt wonderfully peaceful because Eric was in his day sleep. That meant I didn’t have to feel him walking around with me. His problematic sire and his new “brother” were out of it, too. I sighed with relief.
    “I saw Dermot last night,” Claude said.
    Crap! Well, so much for peace. “Where?” I asked.
    “He was at the club. Staring at me with longing,” Claude said.
    “Dermot’s gay?”
    “No, I don’t think so. It wasn’t my dick he was thinking of. He wanted to be around another fairy.”
    “I sure hoped he was gone. Niall told Jason and me that Dermot helped kill my parents. I wish he’d gone into the fae land when it was closing up.”
    “He would have been killed on sight.” Claude took the time to sip some coffee before he added, “No one in the fae world understands Dermot’s actions. He should have sided with Niall from the beginning, because he’s kin and because he’s half-human and Niall wanted to spare humans. But his own self-loathing—or at least that’s all I can imagine—led him to take the side of the fairies who really couldn’t stand him, and that side lost.” Claude looked happy. “So Dermot has cut off his own nose to spite his face. I love that saying. Sometimes humans put things very well.”
    “Do you think he still means to hurt my brother and me?”
    “I don’t think he ever intended to hurt you,” Claude said, after thinking it over. “I think Dermot is crazy, though he used to be an agreeable guy a few score years ago. I don’t know if it’s his human side that’s gone batshit, or his fae side that’s soaked up too many toxins from the human world. I can’t even explain his part in killing your parents. The Dermot I used to know would never have done such a thing.”
    I considered pointing out that truly crazy people can hurt others around them without meaning to, or without even realizing they’re doing it. But I didn’t. Dermot was my great-uncle, and according to everyone who’d met him, he was nearly a dead ringer for my brother. I admitted to myself I was curious about him. And I wondered about what Niall had said about Dermot having been the one who’d opened the truck doors so my parents could be pulled out and drowned by Neave and Lochlan. Dermot’s behavior, the bit that I’d observed, didn’t gibe with the horror of that