Dead Until Dark

on in a jiffy and put some bread in the toaster. Assembling the cream and sugar and spoons and mugs took a few more minutes, but then I had to face why Andy was here. His face was drawn; he looked ten years older than I knew him to be. This was no courtesy call.
    “Sookie, were you here last night? You didn’t work?”
    “No, I didn’t. I was here except for a quick trip in to Merlotte’s.”
    “Was Bill here any of that time?”
    “No, he’s in New Orleans. He’s staying in that new hotel in the French Quarter, the one just for vampires.”
    “You’re sure that’s where he is.”
    “Yes.” I could feel my face tighten. The bad thing was coming.
    “I’ve been up all night,” Andy said.
    “Yes.”
    “I’ve just come from another crime scene.”
    “Yes.” I went into his mind. “Amy Burley?” I stared at his eyes, trying to make sure. “Amy who worked at the Good Times Bar?” The name at the top of yesterday’s pile of prospective barmaids, the name I’d left for Sam. I looked down at the dog. He lay on the floor with his muzzle between his paws, looking as sad and stunned as I felt. He whined pathetically.
    Andy’s brown eyes were boring a hole in me. “How’d you know?”
    “Cut the crap, Andy, you know I can read minds. I feel awful. Poor Amy. Was it like the others?”
    “Yes,” he said. “Yes, it was like the others. But the puncture marks were fresher.”
    I thought of the night Bill and I had had to go to Shreveport to answer Eric’s summons. Had Amy given Bill blood that night? I couldn’t even count how many days ago that had been, my schedule had been so thrown off by all the strange and terrible events of the past few weeks.
    I sat down heavily in a wooden kitchen chair, shaking my head absently for a few minutes, amazed at the turn my life had taken.
    Amy Burley’s life had no more turns to take. I shook the odd spell of apathy off, rose and poured the coffee.
    “Bill hasn’t been here since night before last,” I said.
    “And you were here all night?”
    “Yes, I was. My dog can tell you,” and I smiled down at Dean, who whined at being noticed. He came over to lay his fuzzy head on my knees while I drank my coffee. I smoothed his ears.
    “Did you hear from your brother?”
    “No, but I got a funny phone call, from someone who said he was at Merlotte’s.” After the words left my mouth I realized the caller must have been Sam, luring me over to Merlotte’s so he could maneuver himself into accompanying me home. Dean yawned, a big jaw-cracking yawn that let us see every one of his white sharp teeth.
    I wished I’d kept my mouth shut.
    But now I had to explain the whole thing to Andy, who was slumped only half-awake in my kitchen chair, his plaid shirt wrinkled and blotched with coffee stains, his khakis shapeless through long wear. Andy was longing for bed the way a horse longs for his own stall.
    “You need to get some rest,” I said gently. There was something sad about Andy Bellefleur, something daunted.
    “It’s these murders,” he said, his voice unsteady from exhaustion. “These poor women. And they were all the same in so many ways.”
    “Uneducated, blue-collar women who worked in bars? Didn’t mind having a vampire lover from time to time?”
    He nodded, his eyes drooping shut.
    “Women just like me, in other words.”
    His eyes opened then. He was aghast at his error. “Sookie . . .”
    “I understand, Andy,” I said. “In some respects, we are all alike, and if you accept the attack on my grandmother as intended for me, well, I guess then I’m the only survivor.”
    I wondered who the murderer had left to kill. Was I the only one alive who met his criteria? That was the scariest thought I’d had all day.
    Andy was practically nodding over his coffee cup.
    “Why don’t you go lie down in the other bedroom?” I suggested quietly. “You have to have some sleep. You’re not safe to drive, I wouldn’t think.”
    “That’s kind of you,” Andy said, his voice dragging. He sounded a little surprised, like kindness wasn’t something he expected from me. “But I have to get home, set my alarm. I can sleep for maybe three hours.”
    “I promise I’ll wake you up,” I said. I didn’t want Andy sleeping in my house, but I didn’t want him to have a wreck on the way to his house, either. Old Mrs. Bellefleur would never forgive me, and probably Portia wouldn’t, either. “You come lie down in this room.” I led him to my old