Definitely Dead

CLOSE TO CLOSING TIME THE NEXT NIGHT WHEN another odd thing happened. Just as Sam gave us the signal to start telling our customers this would be their last drink, someone I thought I’d never see again came into Merlotte’s.
    He moved quietly for such a large man. He stood just inside the door, looking around for a free table, and I noticed him because of the quick gleam of the dim bar light on his shaven head. He was very tall, and very wide, with a proud nose and big white teeth. He had full lips and an olive complexion, and he was wearing a sort of bronze sports jacket over a black shirt and slacks. Though he would have looked more natural in motorcycle boots, he was wearing polished loafers.
    “Quinn,” Sam said quietly. His hands became still, though he’d been in the middle of mixing a Tom Collins. “What is he doing here?”
    “I didn’t know you knew him,” I said, feeling my face flush as I realized I’d been thinking about the bald man only the day before. He’d been the one who’d cleaned the blood from my leg with his tongue—an interesting experience.
    “Everyone in my world knows Quinn,” Sam said, his face neutral. “But I’m surprised you’ve met him, since you’re not a shifter.” Unlike Quinn, Sam’s not a big man; but he’s very strong, as shifters tend to be, and his curly red-gold hair haloes his head in an angelic way.
    “I met Quinn at the contest for packmaster,” I said. “He was the, ah, emcee.” Naturally, Sam and I had talked about the change of leadership in the Shreveport pack. Shreveport isn’t too far from Bon Temps, and what the Weres do is pretty important if you’re any kind of a shifter.
    A true shape-shifter, like Sam, can change into anything, though each shape-shifter has a favorite animal. And to confuse the issue, all those who can change from human form to animal form call themselves shape-shifters, though very few possess Sam’s versatility. Shifters who can change to only one animal are were-animals: weretigers (like Quinn), werebears, werewolves. The wolves are the only ones who call themselves simply Weres, and they consider themselves superior in toughness and culture to any of the other shape-shifters.
    Weres are also the most numerous subset of shifters, though compared to the total vampire population, there are mighty few of them. There are several reasons for this. The Were birthrate is low, infant mortality is higher than in the general population of humans, and only the first child born of a pure Were couple becomes a full Were. That happens during puberty—as if puberty weren’t bad enough already.
    Shape-shifters are very secretive. It’s a hard habit to break, even around a sympathetic and strange human like me. The shifters have not come into the public view yet, and I’m learning about their world in little increments.
    Even Sam has many secrets that I don’t know, and I count him as a friend. Sam turns into a collie, and he often visits me in that form. (Sometimes he sleeps on the rug by my bed.)
    I’d only seen Quinn in his human form.
    I hadn’t mentioned Quinn when I told Sam about the fight between Jackson Herveaux and Patrick Furnan for the Shreveport pack leadership. Sam was frowning at me now, displeased that I’d kept it from him, but I hadn’t done it purposely. I glanced back at Quinn. He’d lifted his nose a little. He was sampling the air, following a scent. Who was he trailing?
    When Quinn went unerringly to a table in my section, despite the many empty ones in the closer section that Arlene was working, I knew he was trailing me.
    Okay, mixed feelings on that.
    I glanced sideways at Sam to get his reaction. I had trusted him for five years now, and he had never failed me.
    Now Sam nodded at me. He didn’t look happy, though. “Go see what he wants,” he said, his voice so low it was almost a growl.
    I got more and more nervous the closer I came to the new customer. I could feel my cheeks redden. Why was I getting so flustered?
    “Hello, Mr. Quinn,” I said. It would be stupid to pretend I didn’t recognize him. “What can I get you? I’m afraid we’re about to close, but I have time to serve you a beer or a drink.”
    He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if he were inhaling me. “I’d recognize you in a pitch-black room,” he said, and he smiled at me. It was a broad and beautiful smile.
    I looked off in another direction, pinching back the involuntary grin that rose to my lips. I was