Living Dead in Dallas

with a tuft of something on its end.
    “Great,” I whispered to myself. “Just great.” The woman was as scary as the razorback. I was sure she wasn’t a vampire, because I could feel the activity in her mind; but she was sure some supernatural being, so she didn’t send a clear signal. I could snatch the tenor of her thoughts anyway. She was amused.
    That couldn’t be good.
    I hoped the razorback was feeling friendly. They were very rarely seen around Bon Temps, though every now and then a hunter would spot one; even more rarely bring one down. That was a picture-in-the-paper occasion. This hog smelled, an awful and distinctive odor.
    I wasn’t sure which to address. After all, the razorback might not be a true animal at all, but a shapeshifter. That was one thing I’d learned in the past few months. If vampires, so long thought of as thrilling fiction, actually did exist, so did other things that we’d regarded as equally exciting fiction.
    I was really nervous, so I smiled.
    She had long snarled hair, an indeterminate dark in the uncertain light, and she was wearing almost nothing. She had a kind of shift on, but it was short and ragged and stained. She was barefoot. She smiled back at me. Rather than scream, I grinned even more brightly.
    “I have no intention of eating you,” she said.
    “Glad to hear it. What about your friend?”
    “Oh, the hog.” As if she’d just noticed it, the womanreached over and scratched the razorback’s neck, like I would a friendly dog’s. The ferocious tusks bobbed up and down. “She’ll do what I tell her,” the woman said casually. I didn’t need a translator to understand the threat. I tried to look equally casual as I glanced around the open space where I stood, hoping to locate a tree that I could climb if I had to. But all the trunks close enough for me to reach in time were bare of branches; they were the loblolly pines grown by the millions in our neck of the woods, for their lumber. The branches start about fifteen feet up.
    I realized what I should’ve thought of sooner; Bill’s car stopping there was no accident, and maybe even the fight we’d had was no coincidence.
    “You wanted to talk to me about something?” I asked her, and in turning to her I found she’d come several feet closer. I could see her face a little better now, and I was in no wise reassured. There was a stain around her mouth, and when it opened as she spoke, I could see the teeth had dark margins; Miss Mysterious had been eating a raw mammal. “I see you’ve already had supper,” I said nervously, and then could’ve slapped myself.
    “Mmmm,” she said. “You are Bill’s pet?”
    “Yes,” I said. I objected to the terminology, but I wasn’t in much position to take a stand. “He would be really awfully upset if anything happened to me.”
    “As if a vampire’s anger is anything to me,” she said offhandedly.
    “Excuse me, ma’am, but what are you? If you don’t mind me asking.”
    She smiled again, and I shuddered. “Not at all. I’m a maenad.”
    That was something Greek. I didn’t know exactly what, but it was wild, female, and lived in nature, if my impressions were correct.
    “That’s very interesting,” I said, grinning for all I wasworth. “And you are out here tonight because . . . ?”
    “I need a message taken to Eric Northman,” she said, moving closer. This time I could see her do it. The hog snuffled along at her side as if she were tied to the woman. The smell was indescribable. I could see the little brushy tail of the razorback—it was switching back and forth in a brisk, impatient sort of way.
    “What’s the message?” I glanced up at her—and whirled to run as quickly as I could. If I hadn’t ingested some vampire blood at the beginning of the summer, I couldn’t have turned in time, and I would’ve taken the blow on my face and chest instead of my back. It felt exactly as though someone very strong had swung a heavy rake and the points had caught in my skin, gone deeper, and torn their way across my back.
    I couldn’t keep to my feet, but pitched forward and landed on my stomach. I heard her laughing behind me, and the hog snuffling, and then I registered the fact that she had gone. I lay there crying for a minute or two. I was trying not to shriek, and I found myself panting like a woman in labor, attempting to master the pain. My back hurt like hell.
    I was mad, too, with the little energy I could spare. I was just a