Dead Until Dark

and I settled into an uneasy routine.
    If I worked nights, I would go over to Bill’s house when I finished, and usually I spent the rest of the night there. If I worked days, Bill would come to my house after sunset, and we would watch TV, or go to the movies, or play Scrabble. I had to have every third night off, or Bill had to refrain from biting those nights; otherwise I began to feel weak and draggy. And there was the danger, if Bill fed on me too much . . . I kept chugging vitamins and iron until Bill complained about the flavor. Then I cut back on the iron.
    When I slept at night, Bill would go do other stuff. Sometimes he read, sometimes he wandered the night; sometimes he’d go out and do my yard work under the illumination of the security lights.
    If he ever took blood from anyone else, he kept it secret, and he did it far from Bon Temps, which was what I had asked.
    I say this routine was uneasy because it seemed to me that we were waiting. The burning of the Monroe nest had enraged Bill and (I think) frightened him. To be so powerful when awake and so helpless when asleep had to be galling.
    Both of us were wondering if public feeling against vampires would abate now that the worst troublemakers in the area were dead.
    Though Bill didn’t say anything directly, I knew from the course our conversation took from time to time that he was worried about my safety with the murderer of Dawn, Maudette, and my grandmother still at large.
    If the men of Bon Temps and the surrounding towns thought burning out the Monroe vampires would set their minds at ease about the murders, they were wrong. Autopsy reports from the three victims finally proved they had their full complement of blood when they were killed. Furthermore, the bite marks on Maudette and Dawn had not only looked old, they were proved to be old. The cause of their deaths was strangulation. Maudette and Dawn had had sex before they’d died. And afterward.
    Arlene and Charlsie and I were cautious about things like going out into the parking lot by ourselves, making sure our homes were still locked tight before we entered them, trying to notice what cars were around us as we drove. But it’s hard to keep careful that way, a real strain on the nerves, and I am sure we all lapsed back into our sloppy ways. Maybe it was more excusable for Arlene and Charlsie, since they lived with other people, unlike the first two victims; Arlene with her kids (and Rene Lenier, off and on), and Charlsie with her husband, Ralph.
    I was the only one who lived alone.
    Jason came into the bar almost every night, and he made a point of talking to me every time. I realized he was trying to heal whatever breach lay between us, and I responded as much as I could. But Jason was drinking more, too, and his bed had as many occupants as a public toilet, though he seemed to have real feelings for Liz Barrett. We worked cautiously together on settling the business of Gran’s estate and Uncle Bartlett’s, though he had more to do with that than I. Uncle Bartlett had left Jason everything but my legacy.
    Jason told me one night when he’d had an extra beer that he’d been back to the police station twice more, and it was driving him crazy. He’d talked to Sid Matt Lancaster, finally, and Sid Matt had advised Jason not to go to the police station anymore unless Sid Matt went with him.
    “How come they keep hauling you in?” I asked Jason. “There must be something you haven’t told me. Andy Bellefleur hasn’t kept after anybody else, and I know Dawn and Maudette both weren’t too picky about who came home with them.”
    Jason looked mortified. I’d never seen my beautiful older brother look as embarrassed.
    “Movies,” he mumbled.
    I bent closer to be sure I’d heard him right. “Movies?” I said, incredulously.
    “Shhh,” he hissed, looking guilty as hell. “We made movies.”
    I guess I was just as embarrassed as Jason. Sisters and brothers don’t need to know everything about each other. “And you gave them a copy,” I said tentatively, trying to figure out just how dumb Jason had been.
    He looked off in another direction, his hazy blue eyes romantically shiny with tears.
    “Moron,” I said. “Even allowing for the fact that you couldn’t know how this was gonna come to public light, what’s gonna happen when you decide to get married? What if one of your ex-flames mails a copy of your little tango to your bride-to-be?”
    “Thanks for kicking me when