Deadlocked: A Sookie Stackhouse Novel

his grim resolution that he would survive no matter what. And he was consumed with worry for someone else. A name crossed his mind.
    “Where’s Warren, Mustapha?” I asked. I leaned forward, trying to get a clearer read. I even reached toward him, but he flinched back.
    Mustapha shook his head angrily. “Don’t even try, Sookie Stackhouse. That’s one of the things I can’t talk about. I didn’t have to come here at all. But I think you’re getting a raw deal, and you’re caught up in the middle of stuff you don’t know about.”
    Like that was a new situation for me.
    Dermot was looking back and forth between us. He couldn’t decide how to act or what I wanted him to do.
    Join the club, Dermot.
    “You tell me what’s going on, and then I’d know what to be careful of,” I suggested.
    “This was a mistake,” he said, looking down and shaking his head. “I’m going to find somewhere to hide while I look for Warren.”
    I thought of calling Eric, leaving a message telling him his day man was here. I’d keep Mustapha a prisoner until Eric could come fetch him. Or I could phone the police and tell them a material witness to a murder was sitting in my kitchen.
    These plans passed through my head with great rapidity, and I considered each of them for a second. Then I thought, Who am I kidding? I’m not going to do any of those things. “You should go to Alcide,” I said. “He’ll keep you safe if you pledge to the pack.”
    “But I’d have to face …”
    “Jannalynn. I know. But that’ll be later. Alcide’ll keep you safe for now. I can call him.” I held up my little phone.
    “You got his cell number?”
    “I do.”
    “You call him, Sookie. You tell him I’m trying to meet with him. You give him my cell number, and you tell him to call me when he’s by himself. And that’s a big thing. He has to be by himself.”
    “Why can’t you call him?”
    “It’d be better if it came from you,” he said, and that was all I could get him to say. “You got my cell number, right?”
    “Sure.”
    “I’m leaving now.”
    “Tell me who killed that girl!” If I could have yanked the answer out of him with tweezers, I would have.
    “You’d just be in more danger than you are now,” he said, and then he was out of the room and onto his bike, and then he was gone.
    This had all occurred with such speed that I felt as though the room were shivering after he left. Dermot and I stared at each other.
    “I have no idea why he was here instead of in Shreveport where he belongs. I could have held him,” Dermot said. “I was just waiting for a signal from you, Great-Niece.”
    “I appreciate that, Great-Uncle. I guess I felt like that just wasn’t the right thing to do,” I muttered.
    We sat there in silence for a moment. But I had to explain to Dermot about the night before.
    “You want to know why Mustapha showed up here?” I asked, and he nodded, looking much more cheerful now that he was going to get some background. I launched into my narrative.
    “No one knew her, and she hadn’t come with anyone?” He looked thoughtful.
    “That’s what they all said.”
    “Then someone sent her, someone who knew there would be a party at Eric’s. Someone ensured she could walk in and not be challenged because there were strangers at the house. How did she get past the guard at the gate?”
    These were all pertinent questions, and I added another one. “How could anyone know in advance that Eric wouldn’t be able to resist taking blood from her?” I sounded forlorn, and I could only hope I didn’t come across as self-pitying. Unhappiness will do that to you.
    “Obviously she was selected because she had two-natured blood of some variety, and then she enhanced that with the smell of fairy. We know too well it’s enticing to the deaders. Since Mustapha’s phone call made you late and, therefore, Eric was more willing to yield to temptation,” Dermot said, “Mustapha must have had some hand in what happened.”
    “Yeah. I figured that out.” I wasn’t happy about this conclusion, but it fit the evidence.
    “He may not have known what would happen as a result, but he must have gotten instructions from someone to make you late.”
    “But who? He’s a lone wolf. He doesn’t answer to Alcide.”
    “ Someone has power over him,” Dermot said reasonably. “Only someone with power over him could make a man like Mustapha betrayEric’s trust. He’s looking for his friend Warren. Would