Dead Reckoning: A Sookie Stackhouse Novel

had read Amelia’s mind. Was he a telepath, too? Wasn’t that quite a coincidence? I had a feeling there was a lot to know about this, and though he’d only warned me about Sandra Pelt and using the cluviel dor, I got the distinct impression he was paving the way for a Big Bad Talk. I read over the message two more times hoping to extract some solid piece of information about the cluviel dor from it, but I had to conclude I got zilch.
    I opened Amelia’s e-mail, not without a deep feeling of misgiving and a residue of indignation. Her brain was open for the picking, apparently. Amelia had a lot of information in her head about me and my doings. Though this wasn’t exactly her fault, I resolved not to tell her any more secrets.
Sookie,

I’m sorry for everything. You know I don’t think before I act, and I didn’t this time. I just wanted you to be as happy as I am with Bob, I guess, and I didn’t think about how you’d feel. I was trying to manage your life. Again, sorry.
After we got back home, I did some more research and found the cluviel dor. I guess one of your fairy kin must have been talking about this? There hadn’t been one on the earth for hundreds of years. They’re fairy love tokens, and they take a year to make, at least. The cluviel dor gives the beloved one wish. That’s why it’s so romantic, I guess. The wish has to be personal. It can’t be for world peace, or an end to hunger, or something global like that. But on an individual level, apparently this magic is so potent it can really change a life in a drastic way. If someone gives a loved one a cluviel dor, it’s really a serious gesture. It’s not like flowers or candy. It’s more on the level of a diamond necklace or a yacht, if the jewelry or the boat had magical powers. I don’t know why you need to know about fairy love tokens, but if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen something amazing. I don’t think the fae can even make them anymore.
I hope some day you can forgive me, and maybe then I’ll hear the story.

Amelia
    I ran a finger over the smoothness of this very dangerous object I had, and I shivered.
    Warning, warning, and some more warning.
    I sat at the desk for a few more minutes, lost in thought. The more I knew about fairy nature, the less I trusted fairies. Period. Including Claude and Dermot. (And especially Niall, my great-grandfather; it seemed I was always on the verge of remembering something about him, something really tricky.) I shook my head impatiently. Not the time to worry about that.
    Though I’d put off admitting it as long as I could, I had to face unpleasant facts. Mr. Cataliades, through his friendship with my birth grandfather, had had more to do with my life than I’d ever guessed, and he was only revealing that to me now for reasons I couldn’t fathom. When I’d met the demon lawyer, he hadn’t quivered an eyelash in recognition.
    It was all tied together somehow, and it all added up to a deep misgiving about my fairy kin. I believed that Claude, Dermot, Fintan, and Niall loved me as much as they could (for Claude, this would be quite a small amount, because he loved himself most of all). But I didn’t feel that it was a wholesome love. Though that adjective made me wince and think of Wonder Bread, it was the only one that fit.
    As a sort of corollary to my increased understanding of fairy nature, I no longer doubted Gran’s word. Instead, I believed that Fintan had loved my grandmother Adele more than she’d ever realized, and in fact he’d adored her beyond the bounds of human imagination. He’d been with her much more often than she knew, sometimes taking on the guise of her husband to be in her presence. He’d taken family photos with her; he’d watched her go about her daily business; he’d probably (wince!) had sex with her while disguised as Mitchell. Where had my real grandfather been while all of this was going on? Had he still been present in his body, but unconscious? I hoped not, but I’d never know. I wasn’t sure I truly wanted to.
    Because of Fintan’s devotion, he’d given my grandmother a cluviel dor. Perhaps it could have saved her life, but I didn’t believe she’d ever thought of using it. Perhaps her faith had precluded sincere belief in the power of a magical object.
    Gran had stowed her letter of confession and the cluviel dor in the concealed drawer years ago to keep them safe from the prying eyes of the two grandchildren she was raising. I was sure that