Definitely Dead

and drinking. To open the dancing, our host and hostess will waltz.”
    Despite his glitzy surface, I thought Peter might be more comfortable doing a square dance, but with a wife like Sophie-Anne, it was waltz or nothing. He advanced on his wife, his arms at the ready to receive her, and in his carrying vampire voice he said, “Darling, show them the bracelets.”
    Sophie-Anne swept the crowd with a smile and raised her own arms to make the sleeves slide back, and a matching bracelet on each wrist shone at the guests, the two huge diamonds winking and blinking in the chandelier lights.
    For a moment Peter Threadgill was absolutely still, as if someone had zapped him with a freeze gun. He altered his stance as he moved forward, after that, and took one of her hands in both of his. He stared down at one bracelet, then released her hand to take the other. That bracelet, too, passed his silent test.
    “Wonderful,” he said, and if it was through his fangs you’d only think they’d extended because he was horny for his beautiful wife. “You’re wearing both of them.”
    “Of course,” Sophie-Anne said. “My darling.” Her smile was just as sincere as his.
    And away they danced, though something about the way he swung her let me know the king was letting his temper get the better of him. He’d had a big plan, and now I’d spoiled it . . . but thankfully, he didn’t know my part. He just knew that somehow Sophie-Anne had managed to retrieve her bracelet and save her face, and he had nothing to justify whatever he’d plotted to do. He would have to back down. After this, he’d probably think of another way to subvert his queen, but at least I’d be out of the fray.
    Quinn and I retreated to the refreshments table, located to the south side of the large room, beside one of the thick pillars. Servers were there with carving knives to shave off ham or roast beef. There were yeasty rolls to pile the meat on. It smelled wonderful, but I was too nervous to think of eating. Quinn got me a cup of ginger ale from the bar. I stared at the dancing couple and waited for the ceiling to fall in.
    “Don’t they look lovely together?” a well-dressed gray-haired woman said. I realized she was the one who’d come in after me.
    “Yes, they do,” I agreed.
    “I’m Genevieve Thrash,” she said. “This is my husband, David.”
    “Pleased to meet you,” I said. “I’m Sookie Stackhouse, and this is my friend, John Quinn.” Quinn looked surprised. I wondered if that was actually his first name.
    The two men, tiger and Were, shook hands while Genevieve and I watched the couple dance a bit longer.
    “Your dress is so pretty,” Genevieve said, giving every indication she was speaking sincerely. “It takes a young body to show off a gown like that.”
    “I appreciate your saying so,” I said. “I’m showing a bit more of that body than I’m comfortable with, so you’ve made me feel better.”
    “I know your date appreciates it,” she said. “And so does that young man over there.” She nodded her head subtly, and I glanced in the direction she was indicating. Bill. He looked very good in his tuxedo, but even being in the same room made something within me twist with pain.
    “I believe your husband is the lieutenant governor?” I said.
    “You’re absolutely correct.”
    “And how do you like being Mrs. Lieutenant?” I asked.
    She told some amusing stories about people she’d met while she followed David’s political career. “And what does your young man do?” she asked, with that eager interest that must have helped her husband up that ladder.
    “He’s an events coodinator,” I said, after a moment’s hesitation.
    “How interesting,” Genevieve said. “And yourself, you have a job?”
    “Oh, yes ma’am,” I said. “I’m a barmaid.”
    That was a bit startling to the politician’s wife, but she grinned at me. “You’re the first I’ve ever met,” she said cheerfully.
    “You’re the first Mrs. Lieutenant Governor I’ve ever met,” I said. Damn, now that I’d met her and liked her, I felt responsible for her. Quinn and David were just chatting away, and I think fishing was their topic.
    “Mrs. Thrash,” I said, “I know you’re a Were and that means you’re tough as tough can be, but I’m going to give you a piece of advice.”
    She looked at me quizzically.
    “This advice is pure gold,” I said.
    Her eyebrows flew up. “Okay,” she said, slowly. “I’m