Dead to the World

cup without burning Mr. Lancaster and spun on her heel, going through the swinging door to the kitchen at warp speed.
    I didn’t need any more confirmation on the identity of the woman.
    The two reached Sam and began a low-voiced conversation with him, with Andy listening in just because he was in the vicinity. I passed by on my way to take the dirty dishes to the hatch, and I heard the woman say (in a deep, alto voice) “. . . put up these posters in town, just in case anyone spots him.”
    This was Hallow, the witch whose pursuit of Eric had caused such an upset. She, or a member of her coven, was probably the murderer of Adabelle Yancy. This was the woman who might have taken my brother, Jason. My head began pounding as if there were a little demon inside trying to break out with a hammer.
    No wonder Holly was in such a state and didn’t want Hallow to glimpse her. She’d been to Hallow’s little meeting in Shreveport, and her coven had rejected Hallow’s invitation.
    “Of course,” Sam said. “Put up one on this wall.” He indicated a blank spot by the door that led back to the bathrooms and his office.
    Holly stuck her head out the kitchen door, glimpsed Hallow, ducked back in. Hallow’s eyes flicked over to the door, but not in time to glimpse Holly, I hoped.
    I thought of jumping Hallow, beating on her until she told me what I wanted to know about my brother. That was what the pounding in my head was urging me to do—initiate action, any action. But I had a streak of common sense, and luckily for me it came to the fore. Hallow was big, and she had a sidekick who could crush me—plus, Kevin and Kenya would make me stop before I could get her to talk.
    It was horribly frustrating to have her right in front of me and at the same time be unable to discover what she knew. I dropped all my shields, and I listened in as hard as I could.
    But she suspected something when I touched inside her head.
    She looked vaguely puzzled and glanced around. That was enough warning for me. I scrambled back into my own head as quickly as I could. I continued back behind the bar, passing within a couple of feet of the witch as she tried to figure out who’d brushed at her brain.
    This had never happened to me before. No one, no one , had ever suspected I was listening in. I squatted behind the bar to get the big container of Morton Salt, straightened, and carefully refilled the shaker I’d snatched from Kevin and Kenya’s table. I concentrated on this as hard as anyone can focus on performing such a nothing little task, and when I was through, the poster had been mounted with the staple gun. Hallow was lingering, prolonging her talk with Sam so she could figure out who had touched the inside of her head, and Mr. Muscles was eyeing me—but only like a man looks at a woman—as I returned the shaker to its table. Holly hadn’t reappeared.
    “Sookie,” Sam called.
    Oh, for goodness sake. I had to respond. He was my boss.
    I went over to the three of them, dread in my heart and a smile on my face.
    “Hey,” I said, by way of greeting, giving the tall witch and her stalwart sidekick a neutral smile. I raised my eyebrows at Sam to ask him what he’d wanted.
    “Marnie Stonebrook, Mark Stonebrook,” he said.
    I nodded to each of them. Hallow, indeed, I thought, half-amused. “Hallow” was just a tad more spiritual than “Marnie.”
    “They’re looking for this guy,” Sam said, indicating the poster. “You know him?”
    Of course Sam knew that I knew Eric. I was glad I’d had years of concealing my feelings and thoughts from the eyes of others. I looked the poster over deliberately.
    “Sure, I’ve seen him,” I said. “When I went to that bar in Shreveport? He’s kind of unforgettable, isn’t he?” I gave Hallow—Marnie—a smile. We were just gals together, Marnie and Sookie, sharing a gal moment.
    “Handsome guy,” she agreed in her throaty voice. “He’s missing now, and we’re offering a reward for anyone who can give us information.”
    “I see that from the poster,” I said, letting a tiny hint of irritation show in my voice. “Is there any particular reason you think he might be around here? I can’t imagine what a Shreveport vampire would be doing in Bon Temps.” I looked at her questioningly. Surely I wasn’t out of line in asking that?
    “Good question, Sookie,” Sam said. “Not that I mind having the poster up, but how come you two are searching this area for the guy? Why would