Living Dead in Dallas

room my grandmother had slept in for so many years. Now the walls were painted pale yellow, the woodwork was off-white, the curtains were off-white with bright flowers scattered over them. The bed had a matching cover.
    I went into the bathroom for a moment to brush my teeth and take care of necessities, and came out still in Eric’s shirt.
    “Take it off,” Bill said.
    “Look, Bill, normally I’d be hot to trot, but tonight—”
    “I just hate to see you in his shirt.”
    Well, well, well. I could get used to this. On the other hand, if he carried it to extremes, it could be a nuisance.
    “Oh, all right,” I said, making a sigh he could hear from yards away. “I guess I’ll just have to take this ole shirt off.” I unbuttoned it slowly, knowing Bill’s eyes were watching my hands move down the buttons, pulling the shirt apart a little more each time. Finally, I doffed it and stood there in Pam’s white underwear.
    “Oh,” Bill breathed, and that was tribute enough for me. Maenads be damned, just seeing Bill’s face made me feel like a goddess.
    Maybe I’d go to Foxy Femme Lingerie in Ruston my next day off. Or maybe Bill’s newly acquired clothing store carried lingerie?
     
    E XPLAINING TO SAM that I needed to go to Dallas wasn’t easy. Sam had been wonderful to me when I’d lost my grandmother, and I counted him as a good friend, a great boss, and (every now and then) a sexualfantasy. I just told Sam that I was taking a little vacation; God knows, I’d never asked for one before. But he pretty much had figured out what the deal was. Sam didn’t like it. His brilliant blue eyes looked hot and his face stony, and even his red-blond hair seemed to sizzle. Though he practically muzzled himself to keep from saying so, Sam obviously thought Bill should not have agreed to my going. But Sam didn’t know all the circumstances of my dealings with the vampires, just as only Bill, of the vampires I knew, realized that Sam was a shapeshifter. And I tried not to remind Bill. I didn’t want Bill thinking about Sam any more than he already did. Bill might decide Sam was an enemy, and I definitely didn’t want Bill to do that. Bill is a really bad enemy to have.
    I am good at keeping secrets and keeping my face blank, after years of reading unwanted items out of peoples’ minds. But I have to confess that compartmentalizing Bill and Sam took a lot of energy.
    Sam had leaned back in his chair after he’d agreed to give me the time off, his wiry build hidden by a big kingfisher-blue Merlotte’s Bar tee shirt. His jeans were old but clean, and his boots were heavy-soled and ancient. I was sitting on the edge of the visitor’s chair in front of Sam’s desk, the office door shut behind me. I knew no one could be standing outside the door listening; after all, the bar was as noisy as usual, with the jukebox wailing a zydeco tune and the bellowing of people who’d had a few drinks. But still, when you talked about something like the maenad, you wanted to lower your voice, and I leaned across the desk.
    Sam automatically mimicked my posture, and I put my hand on his arm and said in a whisper, “Sam, there’s a maenad out by the Shreveport road.” Sam’s face went blank for a long second before he whooped with laughter.
    Sam didn’t get over his convulsions for at least threeminutes, during which time I got pretty mad. “I’m sorry,” he kept saying, and off he’d go again. You know how irritating that can be when you’re the one who triggered it? He came around the desk, still trying to smother his chuckles. I stood because he was standing, but I was fuming. He grasped my shoulders. “I’m sorry, Sookie,” he repeated. “I’ve never seen one, but I’ve heard they’re nasty. Why does this concern you? The maenad, that is.”
    “Because she’s not happy, as you would know if you could see the scars on my back,” I snapped, and his face changed then, by golly.
    “You were hurt? How did this happen?”
    So I told him, trying to leave some of the drama out of it, and toning down the healing process employed by the vampires of Shreveport. He still wanted to see the scars. I turned around, and he pulled up my tee shirt, not past bra strap level. He didn’t make a sound, but I felt a touch on my back, and after a second I realized Sam had kissed my skin. I shivered. He pulled the tee shirt over my scars and turned me around.
    “I’m very sorry,” he said, with complete sincerity. He