Deadlocked: A Sookie Stackhouse Novel

was in such a daze I knew he’d forget the minute he hung up. That was okay.
    Grinning like a baboon, I told Kennedy the good news. I called Jason, because I wanted to share the happiness.
    “That’s good,” he said absently. “I’m real glad for ’em. Listen, Sook, we may be closing in on a wedding date. There any day you just couldn’t be there?”
    “Probably not. If you pick a weekday, I might have to change my work schedule, but I can usually swing that.” Especially now that I owned a piece of the bar, though I’d kept that to myself. As far asI knew, Jannalynn was the only person Sam had told, and even that had surprised me a little.
    “Great! We’re going to pin it down tonight. We’re thinking in a couple of weeks.”
    “Wow, that’s quick. Sure, just let me know.”
    There were so many happy events going on. After Bellenos’s unexpected visit, it was impossible to forget that I had worries … but it was fairly easy to put them on the back burner and revel in the good things.
    The hot afternoon drew to an end. In the summer, fewer people came in to drink after work. They headed home to mow their yards, hop in the aboveground pool, and take their kids to sports events.
    One of our alcoholics, Jane Bodehouse, showed up around five o’clock. When she’d gotten cut from flying glass during the firebombing a few weeks before, Jane had gotten sewed up and had returned to the bar within twenty-four hours. For a few days, she got to enjoy painkillers and alcohol. I’d wondered if Jane’s son might be angry that his mom had gotten hurt at Merlotte’s, but as far as I could tell, the poor guy had only a mild regret that she’d survived. After the bombing, Jane had abandoned her barstool in favor of the table by the window where she’d been sitting when the bottle came through the window. It was like she’d enjoyed the excitement and was ready for another Molotov cocktail. When I went over to give her a bowl of snack mix or replenish her drink, she always had a plaintive murmur about the heat or the boredom.
    Since the bar was still almost empty, I sat down to have a conversation with Jane when I served her the first drink of the day. Maybe. Kennedy joined us after she’d made sure the two guys at the bar had full glasses. To make them even happier, she turned the TV to ESPN.
    Any conversation with Jane was rambling and tended to bounceback and forth between decades with no warning. When Kennedy mentioned her own pageant days, Jane said, “I was Miss Red River Valley and Miss Razorback and Miss Renard Parish when I was in my teens.”
    So we had a pleasant reminiscence about those days, and it was good to see Jane perk up and share some common ground with Kennedy. On the other hand, Kennedy was a little freaked out at the idea someone who’d started out like her had ended up a barfly. She was thinking some anxious thoughts.
    After a few minutes, Kennedy had to get back behind the bar, and I rose to greet my replacement, Holly. I’d opened my mouth to tell Jane good-bye when she said, “Do you think it’ll happen again?”
    She was looking out the smoky glass of the big front window.
    I started to ask her what she meant, but then from her addled brain, I got it. “I hope not, Jane,” I said. “I hope no one ever decides to attack the bar again.”
    “I did pretty good that day,” she told me. “I moved real fast, and Sam got me going down that hall at a pretty good clip. Those EMTs were real nice to me.” She was smiling.
    “Yes, Jane, you did real good. We all thought so,” I told her. I patted her shoulder and walked away.
    The firebombing of Merlotte’s, which was a terrible night in my memory, had turned into a pleasurable reminiscence for Jane. I shook my head as I collected my purse and left the bar. My gran had always told me it was an ill wind that blew nobody good. Once again, she was proved right.
    Even the break-in at Splendide had served a purpose. Now I knew for sure that someone, almost certainly one of the fae, knew my grandmother had had possession of the cluviel dor.

Chapter 8
    An hour later, having come home to a blessedly cool and empty house, I was sitting at my kitchen table with my best stationery and a black pen. I was trying to decide how to begin the letter, the one I’d promised Bellenos I’d attempt to send to Faery. I had doubts about how well this was going to go.
    The last time I’d fed something into the portal, it had been eaten. Granted, it