Dead to the World

couldn’t have told you exactly why; after all, no one had hit me. I should be happy, right? The goals of the evening had been met. Hallow was conquered and in captivity; though Eric hadn’t been restored to himself, he soon would be, because Pam was sure to bring Hallow around to the vampire way of thinking, in a painful and terminal way.
    Undoubtedly, Pam would also discover why Hallow had begun this whole course of action. And Fangtasia would acquire a new bartender, some fangy hunk who would bring in the tourist bucks. She and Eric would open the strip club they’d been considering, or the all-night dry-cleaners, or the bodyguard service.
    My brother would still be missing.
    “Let me go home with you. I don’t know them,” Eric said, his voice low and almost pleading. I hurt inside when Eric said something that was so contrary to his normal personality. Or was I seeing Eric’s true nature? Was his flash and assurance something he’d assumed, like another skin, over the years?
    “Sure, come on,” I said, as desperate as Eric was, but in my own way. I just wanted him to be quiet, and strong.
    I’d settle for quiet.
    He loaned me his physical strength, at least. He picked me up and carried me back to the car. I was surprised to find that my cheeks were wet with tears.
    “You have blood all over you,” he said into my ear.
    “Yes, but don’t get excited about it,” I warned. “It doesn’t do a thing for me. I just want to shower.” I was at the hiccupping-sob stage of crying, almost done.
    “You’ll have to get rid of this coat now,” he said, with some satisfaction.
    “I’ll get it cleaned.” I was too tired to respond to disparaging comments about my coat.
    Getting away from the weight and smell of the magic was almost as good as a big cup of coffee and a hit of oxygen. By the time I got close to Bon Temps, I wasn’t feeling so ragged, and I was calm as I let us in the back door. Eric came in behind me and took a step to my right to go around the kitchen table, as I leaned left to flick on the light switch.
    When I turned on the light, Debbie Pelt was smiling at me.
    She had been sitting in the dark at my kitchen table, and she had a gun in her hand.
    Without saying a word, she fired at me.
    But she’d reckoned without Eric, who was so fast, faster than any human. He took the bullet meant for me, and he took it right in the chest. He went down in front of me.
    She hadn’t had time to search the house, which was lucky. From behind the water heater, I yanked the shotgun I’d taken from Jason’s house. I pumped it—one of the scariest sounds in the world—and I shot Debbie Pelt while she was still staring, shocked, at Eric, who was on his knees and coughing up blood. I racked another shell, but I didn’t need to shoot her again. Her fingers relaxed and her gun fell to the floor.
    I sat on the floor myself, because I couldn’t stay upright anymore.
    Eric was now full length on the floor, gasping and twitching in a pool of blood.
    There wasn’t much left of Debbie’s upper chest and neck.
    My kitchen looked like I’d been dismembering pigs, pigs that’d put up a good fight.
    I started to reach up to scrabble for the telephone at the end of the counter. My hand dropped back to the floor when I wondered whom I was going to call.
    The law? Ha.
    Sam? And mire him down further in my troubles? I didn’t think so.
    Pam? Let her see how close I’d come to letting my charge get killed? Uh-uh.
    Alcide? Sure, he’d love seeing what I’d done with his fiancée, abjure or no abjure.
    Arlene? She had her living to make, and two little kids. She didn’t need to be around something illegal.
    Tara? Too queasy.
    This is when I would have called my brother, if I’d known where he was. When you have to clean the blood out of the kitchen, it’s family you want.
    I’d have to do this by myself.
    Eric came first. I scrambled over to him, reclined by him with one elbow to prop me up.
    “Eric,” I said loudly. His blue eyes opened. They were bright with pain.
    The hole in his chest bubbled blood. I hated to think what the exit wound looked like. Maybe it had been a twenty-two? Maybe the bullet was still inside? I looked at the wall behind where he’d been standing, and I couldn’t see a spray of blood or a bullet hole. Actually, I realized, if the bullet had gone through him, it would have struck me. I looked down at myself, fumbled the coat off. No, no fresh blood.
    As I watched Eric, he began