Living Dead in Dallas

besides Bill.
    Stan said, “She cannot feed off him, though she is hungry. He cannot have sex with her, though he isaddicted. This is their punishment, for months. What would happen to Hugo in human courts?”
    I considered. What had Hugo actually done that was indictable?
    He’d deceived the vampires in that he’d been in the Dallas nest under false pretenses. That is, he actually loved Isabel, but he’d betrayed her compadres. Hmmm. No law about that.
    “He bugged the dining room,” I said. That was illegal. At least, I thought it was.
    “How long in jail would he get for that?” Stan asked.
    Good question. Not much, was my guess. A human jury might feel bugging a vampire hangout was even justified. I sighed, sufficient answer for Stan.
    “What other time would Hugo serve?” he asked.
    “He got me to the Fellowship under false pretenses . . . not illegal. He . . . well, he . . .”
    “Exactly.”
    Hugo’s infatuated gaze never shifted from Isabel.
    Hugo had caused and abetted evil, just as surely as Godfrey had committed evil.
    “How long will you keep them there?” I asked.
    Stan shrugged. “Three or four months. We will feed Hugo, of course. Not Isabel.”
    “And then?”
    “We’ll unchain him first. He will get a day’s head start.”
    Bill’s hand clamped down on my wrist. He didn’t want me to ask any more questions.
    Isabel looked at me and nodded. This seemed fair to her, she was saying. “All right,” I said, holding my palms forward in the “Stop” position. “All right.” And I turned and made my way slowly and carefully down the stairs.
    I had lost some integrity, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what I could do differently. The moreI tried to think about it, the more confused I got. I am not used to thinking through moral issues. Things are bad to do, or they aren’t.
    Well, there was a gray area. That’s where a few things fell, like sleeping with Bill though we weren’t married or telling Arlene her dress looked good, when in fact it made her look like hell. Actually, I couldn’t marry Bill. It wasn’t legal. But then, he hadn’t asked me.
    My thoughts wandered in a dithery circle around the miserable couple in the upstairs bedroom. To my amazement, I felt much sorrier for Isabel than for Hugo. Hugo, after all, was guilty of active evil. Isabel was only guilty of negligence.
    I had a lot of time to maunder on and on through similar dead-end thought patterns, since Bill was having a rip-roaring good time at the party. I’d only been to a mixed vampire and human party once or twice before, and it was a mixture that was still uneasy after two years of legally recognized vampirism. Open drinking—that is, bloodsucking—from humans was absolutely illegal, and I am here to tell you that in Dallas’s vampire headquarters, that law was strictly observed. From time to time, I saw a couple vanish for a while upstairs, but all the humans seemed to come back in good health. I know, because I counted and watched.
    Bill had mainstreamed for so many months that apparently it was a real treat for him to get together with other vampires. So he was deep in conversation with this vamp or that, reminiscing about Chicago in the twenties or investment opportunities in various vampire holdings around the world. I was so shaky physically that I was content to sit on a soft couch and watch, sipping from time to time at my Screwdriver. The bartender was a pleasant young man, and we talked bars for a little while. I should have been enjoying my break from waiting tables at Merlotte’s, but I would gladly have dressed inmy uniform and taken orders. I wasn’t used to big changes in my routine.
    Then a woman maybe a little younger than me plopped down on the couch beside me. Turned out she was dating the vampire who acted as sergeant at arms, Joseph Velasquez, who’d gone to the Fellowship Center with Bill the night before. Her name was Trudi Pfeiffer. Trudi had hair done in deep red spikes, a pierced nose and tongue, and macabre makeup, including black lipstick. She told me proudly its color was called Grave Rot. Her jeans were so low I wondered how she got up and down in them. Maybe she wore them so low-cut to show off her navel ring. Her knit top was cropped very short. The outfit I’d worn the night the maenad had gotten me paled in comparison. So, there was lots of Trudi to see.
    When you talked to her, she wasn’t as bizarre as her appearance led you to