Living Dead in Dallas

vampire you didn’t know.” What I didn’t know, and hardly liked to ask Stan, was whether vampires ever had sex with each other. Sex and food were so tied together in the vampire life system that I couldn’t imagine a vampire having sex with someone nonhuman, that is, someone he couldn’t get blood from. Did vampires ever take blood from each other in noncrisis situations? I knew if a vampire’s life was at stake (har de har) another vampire would donate blood to revive the damaged one, but I had never heard of another situation involving blood exchange. I hardlyliked to ask Stan. Maybe I’d broach the subject with Bill, when we got out of this house.
    “What you uncovered in her mind was that Farrell was at the bar, and that he went into the toilet room with another vampire, a young male with long blond hair and many tattoos,” Stan summarized. “The bouncer went into the toilet while the two were in there.”
    “Correct.”
    There was a sizeable pause while Stan made up his mind about what to do next. I waited, delighted not to hear one word of his inner debate. No flashes, no glimpses.
    At least such momentary glimpses into a vampire mind were extremely rare. And I’d never had one from Bill; I hadn’t known it was possible for some time after I’d been introduced to the vampiric world. So his company remained pure pleasure to me. It was possible, for the first time in my life, to have a normal relationship with a male. Of course, he wasn’t a live male, but you couldn’t have everything.
    As if he knew I’d been thinking of him, I felt Bill’s hand on my shoulder. I put my own over it, wishing I could get up and give him a full-length hug. Not a good idea in front of Stan. Might make him hungry.
    “We don’t know the vampire who went in with Farrell,” Stan said, which seemed a little bit of an answer after all that thinking. Maybe he’d imagined giving me a longer explanation, but decided I wasn’t smart enough to understand the answer. I would rather be underestimated than overrated any day. Besides, what real difference did it make? But I filed my question away under facts I needed to know.
    “So, who’s the bouncer at the Bat’s Wing?”
    “A man called Re-Bar,” Stan said. There was a trace of distaste in the way he said it. “He is a fangbanger.”
    So Re-Bar had his dream job. Working with vampires,working for vampires, and being around them every night. For someone who had gotten fascinated by the undead, Re-Bar had hit a lucky streak. “What could he do if a vampire got rowdy?” I asked, out of sheer curiosity.
    “He was only there for the human drunks. We found that a vampire bouncer tended to overuse his strength.”
    I didn’t want to think about that too much. “Is Re-Bar here?”
    “It will take a short time,” Stan said, without consulting anyone in his entourage. He almost certainly had some kind of mind contact with them. I’d never seen that before, and I was sure Eric couldn’t approach Bill mentally. It must be Stan’s special gift.
    While we waited, Bill sat down in the chair next to me. He reached over and took my hand. I found it very comforting, and loved Bill for it. I kept my mind relaxed, trying to maintain energy for the questioning ahead. But I was beginning to frame some worries, very serious worries, about the situation of the vampires of Dallas. And I was concerned about the glimpse I’d had of the bar patrons, especially the man I’d thought I recognized.
    “Oh, no,” I said sharply, suddenly recalling where I’d seen him.
    The vampires shot to full alert. “What, Sookie?” Bill asked.
    Stan looked like he’d been carved from ice. His eyes actually glowed green, I wasn’t just imagining it.
    I stumbled all over my words in my haste to explain what I was thinking. “The priest,” I told Bill. “The man that ran away at the airport, the one who tried to grab me. He was at the bar.” The different clothes and setting had fooled me when I was deep into Bethany’s memory, but now I was sure.
    “I see,” Bill said slowly. Bill seems to have almosttotal recall, and I could rely on him to have the man’s face imprinted in his memory.
    “I didn’t think he was really a priest then, and now I know he was at the bar the night Farrell vanished,” I said. “Dressed in regular clothes. Not, ah, the white collar and black shirt.”
    There was a pregnant pause.
    Stan said, delicately, “But this man, this pretend priest, at the bar,