When it became apparent that Hell would freeze over before I would talk about Eric in bed, Freyda smiled faintly and continued. "When Appius Livius Ocella came through Oklahoma with his bumboy, I took the opportunity to open a discussion with him. Despite Eric's fine points, I observed that he also likes to give the appearance of being independent."

"He is independent."

"He's been content to be sheriff for a long time. Therefore, he enjoys being a big fish in a small pond. It's an illusion of independence, but one he seems to hold dear. I decided it would be well to have some hold over him to induce him to consider my offer seriously. So I made a bargain with Appius Livius Ocella. He didn't live to enjoy his half."

Ocella's death didn't distress Freyda one little bit. At least we had one thing in common besides an Eric appreciation club.

She had certainly studied Eric. She had him pegged.

I wanted-desperately-to know if she'd already talked to Eric tonight. Eric had told me before that Freyda had been calling him weekly, but he'd given the impression that he'd been aloof in those conversations. Had they actually been negotiating one on one, long distance? Had they been meeting secretly? If I asked Freyda about this, she would know that Eric hadn't confided in me. I would expose the weakness in our relationship, and she would certainly pounce on it and hammer in a wedge to widen it. Damn Eric for being so reluctant to discuss the whole thing with me. Now I was at a real disadvantage.

"Is there anything else you want to tell me? You've accomplished what you came for, I guess. You've seen me and gotten my measure." I regarded her steadily. "I'm not sure what you want from me tonight."

"Pam is fond of you," she said, not answering me directly. "This one, too." She jerked her head at Bubba. "I don't know why, and I want to know."

"She's kind," Bubba said immediately. "She smells good. She has good manners. And she's a good fighter, too."

I smiled at the addled vampire. "Thank you, Bubba. You're a good friend to me."

Freyda eyed the famous face as if she were mining secrets from it. She turned her gaze back to me. "Bill Compton still likes you despite the fact that you've rejected him," Freyda said quietly. "Even Thalia says you're tolerable. Bill and Eric have both been your lovers. There must be something to you besides the fairy blood. Frankly, I can barely detect your fairy heritage."

"Most vamps don't get that until someone points it out to them," I agreed.

She rose, taking me by surprise. I got up, too. The Queen of Oklahoma went to the back door. Just as I was sure this excruciating interview was at an end and she was on her way out, Freyda turned. "Is it true you killed Lorena Ball?" she asked, her voice cool and indifferent.

"Yeah." My eyes didn't leave her. Now we were on very, very delicate ground. "Did you have anything to do with the death of Kym Rowe?"

"I don't even know who that is," Freyda said. "But I'll find out. Did you also kill Bruno, Victor's second?"

I didn't say anything. I returned her look.

She shook her head, as if she could hardly believe it. "And a shapeshifter or two?" she asked.

In Debbie Pelt's case, I'd used a shotgun. Not the same thing as hand-to-hand combat. I lifted one shoulder slightly, which she could take as she chose.

"What about fairies?" she said, smiling slightly, apparently at how ridiculous a question she was asking me.

"Yeah," I said without elaborating. "Right outside this house, as a matter of fact."

Her rich brown eyes narrowed. Clearly, Freyda was having second thoughts about something. I hoped those thoughts weren't about whether to let me live, but I was pretty sure she was considering how much of a threat I represented. If she did me in right now, she would have the luxury of apologizing to Eric after the fact. Warning bells were clanging too loudly for me to ignore.

I'm about to ruin my reputation for good manners, I thought. "Freyda, I rescind your invitation," I said. Then Freyda was gone, the screen door slamming shut behind her. She vanished into the pelting rain and darkness as quickly as she'd arrived. I might have seen a shadow crossing the beam of the security light; that was all.

Freyda might not have intended to harm me when she arrived, but I was pretty sure my wards would clang if she tried to cross them now.

I started shivering and couldn't stop. Though the rain had lowered the temperature a bit, it was still a June night in Louisiana; but I shivered and shook until I had to sit down again. Bubba was as spooked as I was. He sat down at the table, but he fidgeted and kept looking out the windows until I thought I would snap at him. He speed-dialed Pam again and said, "Freyda's gone. Miss Sookie is okay."

Eventually, Bubba gulped down the rest of the synthetic blood. He put his bottle by the sink and washed Freyda's out, as if he could remove her visit that way. Still standing, he turned to me with sad eyes. "Is Eric going to leave here with that woman? Would Mr. Bill have to go with him?" Bill was a great favorite of Bubba's.

I looked up at the deficient vampire. The vacancy of his face detracted a bit from his looks, but he had a genuine sweetness that never failed to touch me. I put my arms around him, and we hugged.

"I don't think Bill is part of the deal," I said. "I'm pretty sure he'll stay right where he is. She just wants Eric."

I'd loved two vampires. Bill had broken my heart. Maybe Eric was on the way to doing that same thing.

"Will Eric go with her to Oklahoma? Who would be sheriff? Whose girlfriend would you be then?"

"I don't know if he'll go or not," I said. "I'm not going to worry about who would take his place. I don't have to be anyone's girlfriend. I do okay by myself."

I only hoped I was telling Bubba the truth.

Chapter 9.

An hour after Bubba left, and just after I'd finally gone to sleep, my phone rang.

"Are you all right?" Eric's voice sounded strange; hoarse, almost.

"Yes," I said. "She was very rational."

"She ... that's what she told me. And Bubba told Pam you were all right."

So he'd talked to Freyda, presumably in person. And he'd taken Bubba's secondhand word that I was fine; so therefore, he hadn't been as quick to call me as he would have been if there'd been doubt in his mind. A lot of information conveyed in two short sentences.

"No," I agreed. "No violence." I'd lain alone in the darkness, my eyes wide open, for a long time. I'd been sure Eric would arrive at any moment, desperate to make sure I hadn't been hurt.

I was controlling myself with my last bit of self-respect.

"She won't win," Eric said. He sounded confident, passionate- everything I might have hoped would be reassuring.

"You're sure?" I asked.

"Yes, my lover. I'm sure."

"But you're not here," I observed, and I hung up very gently.

He didn't call back.

I slept between three and six, I think, and woke up to a summer day that mocked me by being beautiful. The downpour had washed everything, cooled the air, and renewed the green of the grass and the trees. The delicate pink of the old crepe myrtle was unfurling. The cannas would be open soon.

I felt like Hell hungover.

While the coffeepot did its work, I slumped at the kitchen table, my head in my hands. I remembered-too vividly-sliding into a dark depression when I understood that Bill, my first-ever boyfriend and lover, had left me.

This was not quite as bad; that had been the first time, this was the second. I'd had other kinds of losses during the same time period. Loved ones, friends, acquaintances had been mown down by the Grim Reaper. So I was no stranger to loss and to change, and these experiences had taught me something.

But today was bad enough, and I could think of nothing to look forward to.

Somehow I had to pull out of this state of unhappiness. I couldn't struggle through many days like this.

Seeing my little cousin Hunter would make me happy. Smiling in anticipation, I had already put my hand on the phone to call his dad before I realized what a criminal mistake inviting Hunter over would be. The child was a telepath like me, and he would read my misery like a book ... a terrible situation for Hunter.

I tried to think of another good thing to anticipate. Tara would be coming home from the hospital today, and I should cook a meal for her. I tried to summon the energy to plan that, but I came up with nothing. Okay, save that for later. I cast around for other pleasant ideas, but nothing took a grip on my black mood to loosen its hold on me.

When I'd exhausted my fund of self-pity by brooding on my untenable situation with Eric, I thought I should focus on the death that had precipitated the current crisis, at least in part. I checked the news on the computer, but no arrest had been made in Kym Rowe's murder. Detective Ambroselli said, "The police are not close to an arrest, but we're pursuing several leads. Meanwhile, if anyone saw anything in the Clearwater Cove area that night, please call our hotline." So, it would be interesting to hear if Bill and Heidi had found out anything, and it would be interesting-maybe-to ask the writer, Harp Powell, why he was going around with the Rowes. I'd had the feeling he was a cut or two above what he seemed to be doing-making a quick buck off the murder of a young, self-destructive stripper.

It felt good to have a couple of projects in mind, and I clutched them to me as I went through my morning ritual. The lockers for the employee area were supposed to come today on the truck. That would be fun. If you had a very limited idea of fun.

I goaded and prodded myself into preparation and went in the back door of Merlotte's full of grim determination. As I tied on my apron, I felt my mouth curve up in my worst smile, the one that sent out "I'm crazy" signals all over the place. It had been a long time since I'd worn that particular smile.

I made a round of my tables and realized Sam wasn't behind the bar, again. Another man who wasn't there when I needed him. Maybe he and Jannalynn the Terrible had gone to Arkansas to get a marriage license. I stopped dead in my tracks, the smile turning into a scowl. Pivoting on my heel, I shot out the back door of Merlotte's. Sam's truck wasn't at his trailer. In the middle of the employee parking lot I clapped my cell phone to my ear after punching my speed dial.

After two rings, Sam answered.

"Where are you?" I snarled. If I was here being unhappy, Sam should be here, too. Weren't we sort-of partners?

"I took another day off," he said, now clued in about my mood. He was only pretending to be casual.

"Seriously, Sam, where are you?"

"Yeah, you sound pretty damn serious," he said, now borderline angry himself.

"Did you get married?" The thought of Sam being on his honeymoon with Jannalynn-having fun while Eric made me miserable-was simply intolerable. I've had moments when I recognized that my reactions to current events were out of the stratosphere (most often when I was in the grip of my monthly woes), and usually that realization was enough for me to rein in the inappropriateness.

But not today.

"Sookie, why would you think that?" Sam sounded genuinely bewildered.

"She told Alcide she was going to ask you. She told him she wanted me to help her surprise you ... but I wouldn't do it."

Sam was silent for a moment, perhaps struggling through all those pronouns.

"I'm standing outside her house," he said finally. "Jannalynn volunteered us to help Brenda get Splendide back in order after the break-in. I did think I'd get back to Bon Temps sooner than I am. But I'm not married. And I don't have any plans to get that way."

I started crying. I put my hand over the phone so he couldn't hear me.

"Sookie, what's really wrong?" Sam's voice said.

"I can't tell you standing out here in the parking lot, and anyway, it makes me sound like the most pitiful person." I couldn't manage to get myself under control. When I thought of Freyda's cool surface, I was disgusted with my own irrational display. "I'm sorry, Sam. Sorry I called you. I'll see you when you get home. Forget this whole conversation, okay?"

"Sookie? Listen, just shut up for a minute."

I did.

"Look, my friend, we're gonna be all right," he said. "We'll talk, and everything will look better."

"Maybe not," I said. But even to my own ears, I sounded reasonable and much more like my better self.

"Then we'll deal with that," he said.

"Okay."

"Sookie, is there any reason you can think of that someone might want to tear apart the pieces of furniture you sold to Brenda? I mean, her partner, Donald, said he'd found a secret drawer, but all that was in it was an old pattern and he'd handed that to you. Did you know anything about that furniture that might give any kind of hint why anyone would break it up?"

"No," I lied. "It was just an old Butterick pattern, I think. I bet Jason or I stuck it in there when we were little 'cause we thought that would be funny. I don't even remember Gran showing it to us. You'll have to tell me all about the break-in when you come back. Drive careful."

We hung up. I shook myself, feeling my personality settling back into place on my shoulders. It was like an emotional tornado had subsided into a dust devil. I wiped my face with my apron before marching back into the bar, my cell phone in my pocket like a talisman. Everyone was eyeing me sideways. I must have startled the customers with my abrupt exit. I did a little courtesy tour around to all my tables, just to let people know I had returned to my right mind. I worked through the rest of my shift without descending to the previous level of Hell I'd inhabited.

Kennedy was singing behind the bar, still happy since Danny had revealed his big secret job hunt to her. I didn't feel like talking about vampire stuff at all, so I just rolled with her good mood.

By the time the delivery truck pulled up to the back door, I was borderline normal myself. The lockers fit right in the space I'd cleared for them, I'd already bought padlocks for everyone on the staff, and since Sam wasn't there, I got the pleasure of allotting everyone a locker and explaining that though Sam and I wouldn't go in the lockers unless there was a crisis, we would be keeping a key to each one. Since the ladies had trusted Sam all these years with their purses, they shouldn't have any problem trusting him with a change of clothes or a hairbrush. Everyone was pleased and even a little excited, because a change in the workplace can mean a lot.

Sam's truck was parked in front of his trailer when my shift was over, so I felt free to take off. Sam and I needed to talk, but not this evening.

I stopped by the grocery store on the way home to buy the ingredients for Tara's homecoming meal. I'd left a message on JB's cell phone to tell him I was bringing something over, and just as insurance I'd left a message on their landline, too.

I started cooking in my cool and empty house. I was doing my level best not to think about anything but food preparation. I'd decided to keep it simple and basic. I made a hamburger-and-sausage meatloaf, a pasta salad, and a carrot casserole for Tara and JB. The blackberries at the store had been too tempting to resist, and I made a blackberry cobbler. As long as I was cooking, I made duplicates of everything for Dermot and me. Two birds with one stone, I thought proudly.

At the little house on Magnolia Street, a smiling JB met me at the door to help me carry in the food. While I went into the kitchen to turn on the stove to warm the meatloaf and casserole a little, the proud father returned to the small, small nursery. I tiptoed in to find Tara and JB staring down at the two cribs holding these amazing tiny beings. I joined them in the admiration gallery.

Before I could even ask, Tara said, "Sara Sookie du Rone and Robert Thornton du Rone."

And I felt the bottom fall out of my heart. "You named her Sookie?"

"It's her middle name. There's only one Sookie, that's you. We'll call her Sara. But we wanted her to have your name as part of her identity."

I simply refused to cry anymore, but I admit I had to blot my eyes. JB patted my shoulder and went to get the ringing phone before it disturbed the sleepers. Tara and I hugged. The babies continued to snooze, so we sneaked out and eased into the living room. We could hardly find a seat because of the flower arrangements and baby gifts cluttering the room-in fact, the whole house. Tara was very, very happy. So was JB. It permeated their home. I hoped it was catching.

"Look what your cousin gave us a couple of weeks ago," Tara said. She lifted a brightly colored box that contained (the print said) a baby gym. The concept confused me, but Tara said it was an arched toy you laid the baby under, and the baby could bat at the bright things with little hands. She showed me the picture.

"Awww," I said. "Claude gave you that?" I simply couldn't imagine Claude selecting a gift, wrapping it, and bringing it by this house. He genuinely liked babies-though not to eat, as Bellenos might suggest. Bellenos surely wouldn't really think of ... I just couldn't go there.

She nodded. "I guess I just send the thank-you note to your address?"

Or pop it through a hole in the air in the woods. "Sure, that'll be fine."

"Sookie, is everything okay with you?" Tara said suddenly. "You don't seem quite yourself."

The last thing in the world I'd do is intrude on her happiness with my problems. And I could tell from her brain that she really didn't want to hear bad news; but she'd asked anyway, and that counted for a lot. "I'm good," I said. "I couldn't sleep last night, is all."

"Oh, did that big Viking keep you awake?" Tara gave me an elaborately sly look, and we both laughed, though it was hard for me to make it sound genuine.

Their supper should be warm by now, and they needed some privacy. They'd been lucky to bring twins home from the hospital this early. I was sure Tara ought to rest. So I said my good-byes, told Tara I'd stop by in a couple of days to pick up my dishes, and hugged JB on my way out, resolutely blocking out the memory of how he'd looked in his G-string.