Dead to the World

suppose.”
    “Who had the power to do that?” Alcide asked, as if the answer would enlighten me.
    “Eric, of course.” Since Eric was sheriff of Area Five. “And then the queen.” That would be Eric’s boss, the queen of Louisiana. Yeah, I know. It’s dumb. But the vampires thought they were a marvel of modern organization.
    “And now Bill’s gone, and Eric’s staying at your house.” Alcide’s voice was coaxing me to reach an obvious conclusion.
    “You think that Eric staged this whole thing? You think he ordered Bill out of the country, had witches invade Shreveport, had them curse him, began running half-naked out in the freezing cold when he supposed I might be near, and then just hoped I’d take him in and that Pam and Chow and my brother would talk to each other to arrange Eric’s staying with me?”
    Alcide looked properly flattened. “You mean you’d thought of this?”
    “Alcide, I’m not educated, but I’m not dumb.” Try getting educated when you can read the minds of all your class-mates, not to mention your teacher. But I read a lot, and I’ve read lots of good stuff. Of course, now I read mostly mysteries and romances. So I’ve learned many curious odds and ends, and I have a great vocabulary. “But the fact is, Eric would hardly go to this much trouble to get me to go to bed with him. Is that what you’re thinking?” Of course, I knew it was. Were or not, I could see that much.
    “Put that way . . .” But Alcide still didn’t look satisfied. Of course, this was the man who had believed Debbie Pelt when she said that I was definitely back with Bill.
    I wondered if I could get some witch to cast a truth spell on Debbie Pelt, whom I despised because she had been cruel to Alcide, insulted me grievously, burned a hole in my favorite wrap and—oh—tried to kill me by proxy. Also, she had stupid hair.
    Alcide wouldn’t know an honest Debbie if she came up and bit him in the ass, though backbiting was a specialty of the real Debbie.
    If Alcide had known Bill and I had parted, would he have come by? Would one thing have led to another?
    Well, sure it would have. And there I’d be, stuck with a guy who’d take the word of Debbie Pelt.
    I glanced over at Alcide and sighed. This man was just about perfect in many respects. I liked the way he looked, I understood the way he thought, and he treated me with great consideration and respect. Sure, he was a werewolf, but I could give up a couple of nights of month. True, according to Alcide it would be difficult for me to carry his baby to term, but it was at least possible. Pregnancy wasn’t part of the picture with a vampire.
    Whoa. Alcide hadn’t offered to father my babies, and he was still seeing Debbie. What had happened to her engagement to the Clausen guy?
    With the less noble side of my character—assuming my character had a noble side—I hoped that someday soon Alcide would see Debbie for the bitch she truly was, and that he’d finally take the knowledge to heart. Whether, consequently, Alcide turned to me or not, he deserved better than Debbie Pelt.
    Adabelle Yancy and her mother lived in a cul-de-sac in an upper-middle-class neighborhood that wasn’t too far from Fangtasia. The house was on a rolling lawn that raised it higher than the street, so the driveway mounted and went to the rear of the property. I thought Alcide might park on the street and we’d go up the brick walkway to the front door, but he seemed to want to get the truck out of sight. I scanned the cul-de-sac, but I didn’t see anyone at all, much less anyone watching the house for visitors.
    Attached to the rear of the house at a right angle, the three-car garage was neat as a pin. You would think cars were never parked there, that the gleaming Subaru had just strayed into the area. We climbed out of the truck.
    “That’s Adabelle’s mother’s car.” Alcide was frowning. “She started a bridal shop. I bet you’ve heard of it—Verena Rose. Verena’s retired from working there full-time. She drops in just often enough to make Adabelle crazy.”
    I’d never been to the shop, but brides of any claim to prominence in the area made a point of shopping there. It must be a real profitable store. The brick home was in excellent shape, and no more than twenty years old. The yard was edged, raked, and landscaped.
    When Alcide knocked at the back door, it flew open. The woman who stood revealed in the opening was as put-together and neat as the house