"But ..."

I might as well not have spoken. With the startling speed he'd shown when the hellhounds were chasing him, my "sponsor" disappeared into the woods.

"Hey, Sis!" Jason bounded out of his truck. "Did you just have a visitor? I passed a car. You got my sweet potatoes ready?"

"Ah, not quite," I said. "That was a drop-in I didn't expect, a guy wanting to sell me life insurance. You come in and sit, and they'll be ready in about forty-five minutes." That was an exaggeration, but I wanted Jason to stay. I was scared to be alone. That was not a familiar feeling, or one I liked.

Jason was willing enough to come in and gossip with me while I stood at the kitchen counter adding ingredients to the sweet potatoes, mashing them, pouring them over the prepared crust, and putting the dish in the oven.

"How come there's water everywhere?" Jason said, getting up from the chair to mop it off with a dry dish towel.

"I dropped a pitcher," I said, and that was the end of Jason's curiosity. We talked about the suggested wedding dates, the du Rone babies, Hoyt and Holly's marriage and Hoyt's idea that they have a double ceremony (I was sure Holly and Michele would nix that), and the big reconciliation between Danny and Kennedy, who had been spotted kissing passionately in public at the Sonic.

As I was pulling the casserole out of the oven and preparing to add the final layer, Jason said, "Hey, I guess you heard that all our old furniture got busted up? That stuff the antiques dealer took? What was her name, Brenda? I hope you got money up front. It wasn't on consignment or nothing, right?"

I'd frozen after lifting out the dish halfway, but I made myself continue with my task. It helped that Dermot came in then, and since he and Jason looked so much alike, Jason got the biggest kick out of telling Dermot how good he was looking, every single time he saw our great-uncle.

"No, I already got cash for that stuff," I said, when the mutual admiration society had had its moment. And I got the distinct impression from Jason's head that he'd already forgotten that he'd asked me.

By the time I'd finished my work and sent Jason on his way with the hot dish, Dermot had volunteered to fix hamburgers for our supper. Cooking was something else that he was interested in now, thanks to the Food Network and Bravo. While Dermot was frying the burgers and getting out anything we might want to put on the buns, I looked around the kitchen very carefully to make sure there weren't any traces of the incident.

Oh, come on, I said to myself. Donald Callaway's murder. "Incident," my round, rosy ass. It turned out to be a good thing I checked, because under the kitchen table I spied a pair of dark glasses that must have fallen out of Callaway's shirt pocket. Dermot didn't comment when I straightened and slid them into a drawer.

"I don't guess you've heard from Claude or Niall," I said.

"No. Maybe Niall has killed Claude, or maybe now that Claude is in Faery, he just doesn't care anymore about those of us left here," Dermot said, sounding simply philosophical.

I really couldn't argue with him that those scenarios were impossible, because I knew enough about fairies and enough about Claude to know that they were actually likely. "Are some of the guys coming to run out in the woods tonight?" I said. "I guess Bellenos and Gift told you about last night."

"Those two won't be here tonight," Dermot said, rather grimly. "I am making them work tonight as punishment. They hate cleaning the bathrooms and kitchen, so that's their duty after the club closes. They may come tomorrow night if they behave themselves. I'm sorry about your car, Niece."

All the fae were calling me Sister now, and Dermot almost always called me Niece. There were a lot worse names they could have chosen, but all this familial terminology felt awfully intimate. "The car's running okay," I said, though I'd have to get the bumper fixed sooner or later. Probably later. The seat belt had to be replaced pronto. And I was a little taken aback that Dermot was punishing the sharp-toothed elf and his running buddy as he would little children, giving them the unpopular cleanup duty. But out loud I said, "At least they were able to get the car out of the ditch. I'm only worried they'll get spotted on someone else's land or that they'll run into Bill."

"He loves you," Dermot said, turning over the hamburgers in the skillet.

"Yeah, I know." I got out two plates and a bowl of mixed fruit. "There's nothing I can do about it but be his friend, though. I used to love him back, and I gotta say there are moments when I feel the old attraction, but I'm not in love with Bill. Not anymore."

"You love the blond one?" Dermot had been sure about Bill, but he didn't sound so sure about Eric.

"Yes." But I no longer felt the surge of love and lust and excitement I'd had before the past few weeks. I hoped I might feel all that again, but I was so emotionally battered that I'd gone a little numb. It was a curious feeling-as if my hand were asleep, but I expected it would be all pins and needles at any second. "I love him," I said, but even to my own ears I didn't sound happy about it.

Chapter 11

You may wonder why I was willing to eat in the kitchen where I'd just witnessed a violent death. The fact is, Donald Callaway's demise was not the worst thing that had happened in my kitchen-not by a long shot. Maybe that was another thing I was getting numb to.

Just before our food was ready, when Dermot's back was turned, I slid open the drawer and extricated the dead man's sunglasses, sliding them into my apron pocket. I admit, I can't say my legs were too steady when I excused myself to go to the bathroom. When I was safely shut inside, I put my hands over my face and sat on the edge of the tub to take a few deep breaths. I got up, dropping Donald Callaway's dark glasses onto the bath mat. I stomped on them three times, quickly. Without stopping to think, I held the bath mat over the waste can in a funnel shape and shook it gently until all the pieces were safely at the bottom of the plastic bag acting as a liner.

After supper, I planned to take the bag out to the big garbage can that we had to wheel out to the road every Friday.

When I heard Dermot calling me, I washed my hands and my face and left the bathroom, making myself stand straight. As I passed through my bedroom, I slipped the cluviel dor into my pocket, where the sunglasses had been. I couldn't leave it alone in my room. Not anymore.

The hamburgers were good, and I managed to eat mine and some fruit salad, too. Dermot and I were quiet together, which suited me fine. As we did the dishes, Dermot told me shyly that he had a date and would be going out after he showered.

"Oh my gosh!" I grinned at him. "Who's the lucky girl?"

"Linda Tonnesen."

"The doctor!"

"Yes," he said a little doubtfully. "I think that's what she said she did. Treats human ailments?"

"Oh, that's a big deal, really, Dermot," I said. "Doctors get a lot of respect in our society. I guess as far as she knows, you're human?"

He flushed. "Yes, she thinks I'm a very attractive human. I met her at the bar three nights ago."

It would be pretty stupid for me to comment further. He was handsome, sweet natured, and strong. What more could a woman want?

Besides, considering the confused state of my own love life, I could hardly pass out dating tips.

I told Dermot I'd finish the dishes so he could go get ready for his date, and by the time I was ensconced on the living room couch with a book, he came downstairs in navy slacks and a pale blue striped shirt with a button-down collar. He looked amazing, and I told him so. He grinned at me.

"I hope she'll think so," he said. "I love the way she smells."

That was a very fairy compliment. Linda Tonnesen was a smart woman with a great sense of humor, but she was not what humans thought of as conventionally pretty. Her smell had scored her big points with Dermot. I'd have to remember that.

By the time Dermot left, dark had fallen. I got the bag containing Jannalynn's jacket and went out the back door, on my way to Bill's house. I felt a little better after I'd dropped the other little bag, the one containing the smashed dark glasses, into the garbage bin. I turned on my flashlight and strode to the woods. There was a little path; Bill came over often, probably far more often than I knew.

Just before I reached the cleared ground of the old cemetery, I heard a sound to my left. I stopped in my tracks. "Bill?" I said.

"Sookie," he answered, and then he was right in front of me. He had his own little plastic sack looped over his left hand. We were all carrying bags around tonight.

"I brought Jannalynn's jacket," I said. "For you and Heidi."

"You stole her jacket?" He sounded amused.

"If that were the worst thing I'd done today, I'd be a happy woman."

Bill let that pass, though I could almost feel him peering at me. Vampire eyesight is excellent, of course. He took my arm and we walked a few feet to get into the cemetery grounds. Even though there weren't many lights there, there were a few, and I could see (faintly) that Bill was excited about something.

He opened my bag, put it to his face, and inhaled. "No, that's not a scent I picked up at the gate in the backyard. Of course, considering all the scents around there and the length of time before we were able to investigate, that can't be a definite no." He handed it back.

I felt almost disappointed. Jannalynn made me so antsy that I would have liked to find her guilty of something, but I chided myself for being uncharitable. I should be glad Sam was dating an innocent woman. And I was. Right?

"You look unhappy," Bill said. We were walking back to his house, and I'd tucked the plastic bag under my arm. I'd been thinking of how I'd return Jannalynn's jacket to Sam's office. I'd have to do it soon.

"I am unhappy," I said. Then, because I didn't want to explain my every inner qualm, I told Bill, "I listened to the news on the radio while I was cutting up sweet potatoes. That girl Kym, the police are trying to blame her murder on a vampire because she died in Eric's front yard. Someone vandalized Fangtasia, threw white paint all over the exterior. Are Felipe and his crew still here? Why don't they go home?"

Bill put his arm around me. "Calm down," he said, his voice hard.

I was so surprised that I actually held my breath for a moment.

"Breathe," he commanded. "Slowly. Thoughtfully."

"What are you, Zen Master Fang?"

"Sookie." When he used that voice, he meant business. So I took a deep breath, let it out. Again. Again.

"Okay, I'm better," I said.

"Listen," Bill said, and I raised my eyes to his. He was looking excited again. He shook his own bag. "We've had all eyes open to try to track down Colton ... or find his body. Very early this past morning, Palomino called from her job at the Trifecta. She's seen Colton. Felipe does have him. We've got a plan to get him out. Cobbled together, but I think it might work. If we can accomplish that, maybe we'll also discover where they're keeping Warren. If we find Warren and broadcast his whereabouts, Mustapha will come forward to tell what he knows. When Mustapha tells us who suborned him by holding Warren hostage, then we'll know who killed Kym. When we tell the police, the heat will be off Eric. Then we can solve the problem of that asshole Appius's posthumous betrothal of Eric to Freyda. Felipe and his 'posse' will go back to Nevada. Eric will have his sheriff's job, or a new title, but Felipe will not fire him or kill him."

"That's a hell of lot of dominoes, Bill. Colton to Warren to Mustapha to Kym's murderer to the police to Appius to Freyda to Eric. Anyway, isn't it too late? We're doomed. Colton's probably already told him everything."

"He can't have. Colton was grieving so hard over Audrina that I wiped his memory of her death. So he doesn't remember all of what happened that night, by any means."

"You didn't tell Eric that, did you?"

Bill shrugged. "I didn't need his permission. It doesn't matter now, anyway. Felipe won't have Colton after tonight." He brandished the bag he'd brought.

"Why?"

"Because you and I are going to kidnap him back."

"And do what with him?" Colton was a pretty nice guy, and he hadn't had what anyone would think was an easy life. I didn't want to rescue him from Felipe only to find that Bill planned to remove Colton as a witness in a very final way.

"I have it all planned. But we have to act quickly. I've texted Harp to tell him we have to reschedule. I think this is more important than asking him questions about Kym's parents."

I had to agree.

"Say we get Colton out," I said, as we hustled toward Bill's car. "What about Immanuel? Can they track him in Los Angeles?" Immanuel the hairdresser, also human, had been there that night, since Victor's cruelty had led to his sister's death.

"He got work on the set of a television show. Ironically, it's about vampires and most of the shooting takes place at night. Two members of the crew are actually vampires. I put Immanuel under the care of one of them. He'll be guarded."

"How'd you arrange that?"

"Coincidence. It happens," Bill said. "And you're the other human, but you can't be glamoured. So if we can just get Colton away and find Warren ..."

"Since Warren never came into Fangtasia the night we killed Victor," I said, "I don't believe his abduction has anything to do with Victor's death. I think Warren was snatched just to force Mustapha to let Kym Rowe in the back door of Eric's house." I had enough lightbulbs popping over my head to illuminate an operating room. "What do you think?"