Living Dead in Dallas

get through one gathering. The last thing in the world I wanted to see was my friends and my neighbors “letting their hair down.” I didn’t want to see them let down their hair, or anything else.
    “What’s the matter, Sookie?” Sam asked, so close to me that I jumped.
    I looked at him, wishing that I could ask what he thought. Sam was strong and wiry, and he was clever, too. The bookkeeping, the ordering, the maintenance and planning, he never seemed to be taxed with any of it. Sam was a self-sufficient man, and I liked and trusted him.
    “I’m just in a little quandary,” I said. “What’s up with you, Sam?”
    “I got an interesting phone call last night, Sookie.”
    “Who from?”
    “A squeaky woman in Dallas.”
    “Really?” I found myself smiling, really, not the grin I used to cover my nerves. “Would that be a lady of Mexican descent?”
    “I believe so. She spoke of you.”
    “She’s feisty,” I said.
    “She’s got a lot of friends.”
    “Kind of friends you’d want to have?”
    “I already have some good friends,” Sam said, squeezing my hand briefly. “But it’s always nice to know people who share your interests.”
    “So, are you driving over to Dallas?”
    “I just might. In the meantime, she’s put me in touch with some people in Ruston who also . . .”
    Change their appearance when the moon is full, I finished mentally.
    “How did she trace you? I didn’t give her your name, on purpose, because I didn’t know if you’d want me to.”
    “She traced you,” Sam said. “And she found out who your boss was through local . . . people.”
    “How come you had never hooked up with them on your own?”
    “Until you told me about the maenad,” Sam said, “I never realized that there were so many more things I had to learn.”
    “Sam, you haven’t been hanging around with her?”
    “I’ve spent a few evenings in the woods with her, yes. As Sam, and in my other skin.”
    “But she’s so evil,” I blurted.
    Sam’s back stiffened. “She’s a supernatural creature like me,” he said evenly. “She’s neither evil nor good, she just is.”
    “Oh, bullshit.” I couldn’t believe I was hearing this from Sam. “If she’s feeding you this line, then she wants something from you.” I remembered how beautiful the maenad had been, if you didn’t mind bloodstains. And Sam, as a shapeshifter, wouldn’t. “Oh,” I said, comprehension sweeping me. Not that I could read Sam’s mind clearly, since he was a supernatural creature, but I could get a lock on his emotional state, which was—embarrassed, horny, resentful, and horny.
    “Oh,” I said again, somewhat stiffly. “Excuse me, Sam. I didn’t mean to speak ill of someone you . . . you, ah . . .” I could hardly say, “are screwing,” however apropos it might be. “You’re spending time with,” I finished lamely. “I’m sure she’s lovely once you get to know her. Of course, the fact that she cut my back to bloody ribbons may have something to do with my prejudice against her. I’ll try to be more open-minded.” And I stalked off to take an order, leaving Sam openmouthed behind me.
    I left a message on Bill’s answering machine. I didn’t know what Bill intended to do about Portia, and I guessed there was a possibility someone else would be there when he played his messages, so I said, “Bill, I got invited to that party tomorrow night. Let me know if you think I should go.” I didn’t identify myself, since he’d know my voice. Possibly, Portia had left an identical message, an idea that just made me furious.
    When I drove home that night, I half-hoped Bill would be waiting to ambush me again in an erotic way, but the house and yard were silent. I perked up when I noticed the light on my answering machine was blinking.
    “Sookie,” said Bill’s smooth voice, “stay out of the woods. The maenad was dissatisfied with our tribute. Eric will be in Bon Temps tomorrow night to negotiate with her, and he may call you. The—other people—ofDallas, the ones who helped you, are asking for outrageous recompense from the vampires of Dallas, so I am going over there on Anubis to meet with them, with Stan. You know where I’ll be staying.”
    Yikes. Bill wouldn’t be in Bon Temps to help me, and he was out of my reach. Or was he? It was one in the morning. I called the number I’d put in my address book, for the Silent Shore. Bill had not yet checked in, though his coffin (which the