Dead to the World

tentatively. “You didn’t want me to meet him, I think.” He came over to the fire and seemed to be enjoying the warmth as I had been doing.
    “It’s not that I’m embarrassed to have you here,” I said. “It’s that I have a feeling you’re in a heap of trouble, and I don’t want my brother drawn in.”
    “He is your only brother?”
    “Yes. And my parents are gone, my grandmother, too. He’s all I have, except for a cousin who’s been on drugs for years. She’s lost, I guess.”
    “Don’t be so sad,” he said, as if he couldn’t help himself.
    “I’m fine.” I made my voice brisk and matter-of-fact.
    “You’ve had my blood,” he said.
    Ah-oh. I stood absolutely still.
    “I wouldn’t be able to tell how you feel if you hadn’t had my blood,” he said. “Are we—have we been—lovers?”
    That was certainly a nice way to put it. Eric was usually pretty Anglo-Saxon about sex.
    “No,” I said promptly, and I was telling the truth, though only by a narrow margin. We’d been interrupted in time, thank God. I’m not married. I have weak moments. He is gorgeous. What can I say?
    But he was looking at me with intense eyes, and I felt color flooding my face.
    “This is not your brother’s bathrobe.”
    Oh, boy. I stared into the fire as if it were going to spell out an answer for me.
    “Whose, then?”
    “Bill’s,” I said. That was easy.
    “He is your lover?”
    I nodded. “Was,” I said honestly.
    “He is my friend?”
    I thought that over. “Well, not exactly. He lives in the area you’re the sheriff of? Area Five?” I resumed brushing my hair and discovered it was dry. It crackled with electricity and followed the brush. I smiled at the effect in my reflection in the mirror over the mantel. I could see Eric in the reflection, too. I have no idea why the story went around that vampires can’t be seen in mirrors. There was certainly plenty of Eric to see, because he was so tall and he hadn’t wrapped the robe very tightly. . . . I closed my eyes.
    “Do you need something?” Eric asked anxiously.
    More self-control.
    “I’m just fine,” I said, trying not to grind my teeth. “Your friends will be here soon. Your jeans are in the dryer, and I’m hoping Jason will be back any minute with some clothes.”
    “My friends?”
    “Well, the vampires who work for you. I guess Pam counts as a friend. I don’t know about Chow.”
    “Sookie, where do I work? Who is Pam?”
    This was really an uphill conversation. I tried to explain to Eric about his position, his ownership of Fangtasia, his other business interests, but truthfully, I wasn’t knowledgeable enough to brief him completely.
    “You don’t know much about what I do,” he observed accurately.
    “Well, I only go to Fangtasia when Bill takes me, and he takes me when you make me do something.” I hit myself in the forehead with my brush. Stupid, stupid!
    “How could I make you do anything? May I borrow the brush?” Eric asked. I stole a glance at him. He was looking all broody and thoughtful.
    “Sure,” I said, deciding to ignore his first question. I handed over the brush. He began to use it on his own hair, making all the muscles in his chest dance around. Oh, boy. Maybe I should get back in the shower and turn the water on cold? I stomped into the bedroom and got an elastic band and pulled my hair back in the tightest ponytail I could manage, up at the crown of my head. I used my second-best brush to get it very smooth, and checked to make sure I’d gotten it centered by turning my head from side to side.
    “You are tense,” Eric said from the doorway, and I yipped.
    “Sorry, sorry!” he said hastily.
    I glared at him, full of suspicion, but he seemed sincerely contrite. When he was himself, Eric would have laughed. But darn if I didn’t miss Real Eric. You knew where you were with him.
    I heard a knock on the front door.
    “You stay in here,” I said. He seemed pretty worried, and he sat on the chair in the corner of the room, like a good little fella. I was glad I’d picked up my discarded clothes the night before, so my room didn’t seem so personal. I went through the living room to the front door, hoping for no more surprises.
    “Who is it?” I asked, putting my ear to the door.
    “We are here,” said Pam.
    I began to turn the knob, stopped, then remembered they couldn’t come in anyway, and opened the door.
    Pam has pale straight hair and is as white as a magnolia petal. Other than