Dead Reckoning: A Sookie Stackhouse Novel

the interstate, and no one could prove we’d done it.
    Victor had put out the word that he was offering a high bounty for anyone who could give him some information on his minions’ whereabouts, but no one had come forward. Only Pam, Eric, and I knew what had happened. Victor could hardly accuse us outright, since that would be admitting that he’d sent them to kill us. Kind of a Mexican standoff.
    Next time, Victor might send someone more cautious and careful. Bruno and Corinna had been overconfident.
    “It’s not smart to go to this club, but we don’t have a choice,” Eric said. “Victor has ordered me to make an appearance with my wife. He’ll think I’m afraid of him if I don’t bring you.”
    I thought this through while I was searching my closet, trying to think of anything I owned that would look good at a trendy dance club. Eric was lying on my bed, his hands behind his head. “There’s something in my car, I forgot,” he said suddenly, and was a blur going out the door. He was back in seconds, carrying a garment on a hanger enveloped in a clear plastic bag.
    “What?” I said. “It’s not my birthday.”
    “Can’t a vampire give his lover a present?”
    I had to smile back at him. “Well, yes he can,” I said. I love presents. The toaster had been reparation. This was a surprise. I carefully removed the plastic bag. The garment on the hanger was a dress. Probably.
    “This is—is this the whole thing?” I asked, holding it up. There was a black U-shaped neckband—a large U, both front and back—and the rest was bronze and shiny and pleated, like many broad bronze ribbons sewn together. Well, not so many. The saleswoman had left the price tag on. I tried not to look, failed, and felt my mouth fall open after I’d absorbed it. I could buy six or maybe ten pieces at Wal-Mart, or three at Dillard’s, for the price of this dress.
    “You will look wonderful,” Eric said. He grinned fangily. “Everyone will envy me.”
    Who wouldn’t feel good, hearing that?
    I emerged from the bathroom to find that my new buddy Immanuel was back. He’d set up a hair and makeup station on my dressing table. It felt very odd to see yet another man in my bedroom. Immanuel seemed to be in a much happier mood tonight. Even his odd haircut looked perkier. While Eric watched as closely as if he suspected Immanuel of being an assassin, the skinny hairdresser poofed me and curled me and made me up. Since Tara and I had been little girls, I hadn’t had such a fun time in front of a mirror. When Immanuel was through, I looked . . . glossy and confident.
    “Thank you,” I said, wondering where the real Sookie had gone.
    “You’re welcome,” Immanuel said seriously. “You’ve got great skin. I like working on you.”
    No one had ever said that to me, and all I could come up with in response was, “Please leave a card.” He fished one out and propped it against a china lady my grandmother had loved. The juxtaposition left me feeling a little sad. I’d come down a long road since her death.
    “How’s your sister?” I asked, since I was thinking of sad things.
    “She had a good day today,” Immanuel said. “Thanks for asking.” Though he didn’t look at Eric while he said this, I saw Eric glance away, his jaw tight. Irritated.
    Immanuel departed after packing up all his paraphernalia, and I found a strapless bra and a thong—which I hated, but who wants a pantyline under a dress like that?—and began to assemble myself. Luckily, I had good black heels. I knew strappy sandals would suit the dress better, but the heels would have to do.
    Eric had really paid attention as I got dressed. “So smooth,” he said, running his hand up my leg.
    “Hey, you keep doing that, we won’t get to the club, and all this preparation will have gone to waste.” Call me pathetic, but I actually did want someone else besides Eric to see the total effect of the new dress and the new hair and the good makeup.
    “Not entirely to waste,” he said, but he changed into his own party clothes. I braided his hair so it would look neat and tied the end with a black ribbon. Eric looked like a buccaneer out on the town.
    We should have been happy, excited about our date, looking forward to dancing together at the club. I couldn’t know what Eric was thinking as we walked out to his car, but I knew he wasn’t happy with what we were doing and where we were going.
    That made two of us.
    I decided to ease into a