Dead Reckoning: A Sookie Stackhouse Novel

we say we love each other.”
    “We say we do.” I agreed. “And I do love you, but I’m beginning to see that being in love doesn’t mean sharing as much as I thought we would.”
    He had nothing to say to that.
    We passed Vic’s Redneck Roadhouse on the way to the new dance club, and even from the interstate I could see that the parking lot was packed. “Crap,” I said. “There sits all of Merlotte’s business. What do they have that we haven’t got?”
    “Entertainment. The novelty of being the new place. Waitresses in hot pants and halter tops,” Eric began.
    “Oh, stop,” I said, disgusted. “What with the trouble about Sam being a shapeshifter and all the other stuff, I don’t know how much longer Merlotte’s can hold out.”
    There was a surge of pleasure from Eric. “Oh, then you would have no job,” he said, with faux sympathy. “You could work for me at Fangtasia.”
    “No thank you.” I said it immediately. “I would hate to see the fangbangers come in night after night, always wanting what they shouldn’t have. It’s just sad and bad.”
    Eric glanced over at me, not at all happy with my quick response. “That’s how I make my money, Sookie, on the perverse dreams and fantasies of humans. Most of those humans are tourists who visit Fangtasia once or twice and then go back to Minden or Emerson and tell their neighbors about their walk on the wild side. Or they’re people from the Air Force base who like to show how tough they are by drinking at a vampire bar.”
    “I understand that. And I know if fangbangers don’t come to Fangtasia, they’ll go somewhere else they can hang around with vampires. But I don’t think I’d like the ambience on a day-to-day basis.” I was kind of proud of myself for working in “ambience.”
    “What would you do, then? If Merlotte’s closed?”
    That was a good question, and one I was going to have to consider seriously. I said, “I’d try to get another waitressing job, maybe at the Crawdad Diner. The tips wouldn’t be as good as at a bar, but the aggravation would be less. And maybe I’d try to take some online classes and get some kind of degree. That would be nice, to have more education.”
    There was a moment’s silence. “You didn’t mention contacting your great-grandfather,” Eric said. “He could make sure you never wanted for anything.”
    “I’m not sure I could,” I said, surprised. “Contact him, that is. I guess Claude would know how. In fact, I’m sure he would. But Niall made it pretty clear he thought staying in touch wouldn’t be a good idea.” It was my turn to think for a second. “Eric, do you think Claude has an ulterior motive for coming to live with me?”
    “Of course he does; Dermot, too,” Eric said, without missing a beat. “I only wonder that you need to ask.”
    Not for the first time, I felt inadequate for the task of coping with my life. I fought a wave of self-pity, of bitterness, while I forced myself to examine Eric’s words. I’d suspected as much, of course, and that was why I’d asked Sam if people really changed. Claude had always been the master of selfishness, the duke of disinterest. Why would he change? Oh, sure, he missed being around other fairies, especially now that his sisters were dead. But why would he come live with someone who had as little fairy blood as I did (especially when I’d been indirectly responsible for Claudine’s death) unless he had something else on his mind?
    Dermot’s motivation was just as opaque. It would be easy to assume Dermot’s character was like Jason’s because they looked so much alike, but I had learned (from bitter experience) what happened when I made assumptions. Dermot had been under a spell for a long time, a spell that had rendered him crazed, but even through the mental haze of the magic worked on him, Dermot had tried to do the right thing. At least, that was what he’d told me, and I had a little evidence that that was true.
    I was still brooding over my gullibility when we took an exit ramp in the middle of nowhere. You could see the shine of the lights of Vampire’s Kiss, which of course was the point.
    “Aren’t you afraid that people who would have driven on into Shreveport to go to Fangtasia are just going to pull off when they see this club?” I said.
    “Yes.”
    I’d asked a dumb question, so I gave him some slack for being short with me. Eric must have been brooding over his financial downturn ever since