Strewn among this human assortment, like real jewels in a bin of rhinestones, were the vampires, perhaps fifteen of them. They mostly favored dark clothes, too.
I stood in the middle of the floor, looking around me with interest and amazement and some distaste, and Bill whispered, “You look like a white candle in a coal mine.”
I laughed, and we strolled through the scattered tables to the bar. It was the only bar I’d ever seen that had a case of warmed bottled blood on display. Bill, naturally, ordered one, and I took a deep breath and ordered a gin and tonic. The bartender smiled at me, showing me that his fangs had shot out a little at the pleasure of serving me. I tried to smile back and look modest at the same time. He was an American Indian, with long coal black straight hair and a craggy nose, a straight line of a mouth, and a whippy build.
“How’s it going, Bill?” the bartender asked. “Long time, no see. This your meal for the night?” He nodded toward me as he put our drinks on the bar before us.
“This is my friend Sookie. She has some questions to ask.”
“Anything, beautiful woman,” said the bartender, smiling once again. I liked him better when his mouth was the straight line.
“Have you seen this woman, or this one, in the bar?” I asked, drawing the newspaper photos of Maudette and Dawn from my purse. “Or this man?” With a jolt of misgiving, I pulled out my brother’s picture.
“Yes to the women, no to the man, though he looks delicious,” said the bartender, smiling at me again. “Your brother, perhaps?”
“Yes.”
“What possibilities,” he whispered.
It was lucky I’d had extensive practice in face control. “Do you remember who the women hung around with?”
“That’s something I wouldn’t know,” he replied quickly, his face closing down. “That’s something we don’t notice, here. You won’t, either.”
“Thank you,” I said politely, realizing I’d broken a bar rule. It was dangerous to ask who left with whom, evidently. “I appreciate your taking the time.”
He looked at me consideringly. “That one,” he said, poking a finger at Dawn’s picture, “she wanted to die.”
“How do you know?”
“Everyone who comes here does, to one extent or another,” he said so matter-of-factly I could tell he took that for granted. “That is what we are. Death.”
I shuddered. Bill’s hand on my arm drew me away to a just-vacated booth. Underscoring the Indian’s pronouncement, at regular intervals wall placards proclaimed, “No biting on premises.” “No lingering in the parking lot.” “Conduct your personal business elsewhere.” “Your patronage is appreciated. Proceed at your own risk.”
Bill took the top off the bottle with one finger and took a sip. I tried not to look, failed. Of course he saw my face, and he shook his head.
“This is the reality, Sookie,” he said. “I need it to live.”
There were red stains between his teeth.
“Of course,” I said, trying to match the matter-of-fact tone of the bartender. I took a deep breath. “Do you suppose I want to die, since I came here with you?”
“I think you want to find out why other people are dying,” he said. But I wasn’t sure that was what he really believed.
I didn’t think Bill had yet realized that his personal position was precarious. I sipped my drink, felt the blossoming warmth of the gin spread through me.
A fang-banger approached the booth. I was half-hidden by Bill, but still, they’d all seen me enter with him. She was frizzy-haired and boney, with glasses that she stuffed in a purse as she walked over. She bent across the table to get her mouth about two inches from Bill.
“Hi, dangerous,” she said in what she hoped was a seductive voice. She tapped Bill’s bottled blood with a fingernail painted scarlet. “I have the real stuff.” She stroked her neck to make sure he got the point.
I took a deep breath to control my temper. I had invited Bill to this place; he hadn’t invited me. I could not comment on what he chose to do here, though I had a surprisingly vivid mental image of leaving a slap mark on this hussy’s pale, freckled cheek. I held absolutely still so I wouldn’t give Bill any cues about what I wanted.
“I have a companion,” Bill said gently.
“She doesn’t have any puncture marks on her neck,” the girl observed, acknowledging my presence with a contemptuous look. She might as well have said “Chicken!” and flapped her arms like wings. I wondered if steam was visibly coming out of my ears.