dead until dark | Page 6

those who trust them. We don't have
human values, you know."
"A lot of humans turn on those who trust them," I pointed out. I can be practical. "I'm not a total fool." I
held out my arm and turned my neck. While he'd been recovering, I'd been wrapping the Rats' chains
around my neck and arms.
He shivered visibly.
"But there's a juicy artery in your groin," he said after a pause to regroup, his voice as slithery as a snake
on a slide.
"Don't you talk dirty," I told him. "I won't listen to that."
Once again we looked at each other in silence. I was afraid I'd never see him again; after all, his first visit

to Merlotte's hadn't exactly been a success. So I was trying to absorb every detail I could; I would
treasure this encounter and re­hash it for a long, long time. It was rare, a prize. I wanted to touch his skin
again. I couldn't remember how it felt. But that would be going beyond some boundary of manners, and
also maybe start him going on the seductive crap again.
"Would you like to drink the blood they collected?" he asked unexpectedly. "It would be a way for me
to show my gratitude." He gestured at the stoppered vials lying on theblacktop. "My blood is supposed
to improve your sex life and your health."
"I'm healthy as a horse," I told him honestly. "And I have no sex life to speak of. You do what you want
with it."
"You could sell it," he suggested, but I thought he was just waiting to see what I'd say about that.
"I wouldn't touch it," I said, insulted.
"You're different," he said. "What are you?" He seemed to be going through a list of possibilities in his
head from the way he was looking at me. To my pleasure, I could not hear a one of them.
"Well. I'm Sookie Stackhouse, and I'm a waitress," I told him. "What's your name?" I thought I could at
least ask that without being presuming.
"Bill," he said.
Before I could stop myself, I rocked back onto my butt with laughter. "The vampire Bill!" I said. "I
thought it might be Antoine, or Basil, or Langford! Bill!" I hadn't laughed so hard in a long time. "Well,
see ya, Bill. I got to get back to work." I could feel the tense grin snap back into place when I thought of
Merlotte's. I put my hand on Bill's shoulder and pushed up. It was rock hard, and I was on my feet so
fast I had to stop myself from stumbling. I examined my socks to make sure their cuffs were exactly even,
and I looked up and down my outfit to check for wear and tear during the fight with the Rats. I dusted off
my bottom since I'd been sitting on the dirty pavement and gave Bill a wave as I started off across the
parking lot.
It had been a stimulating evening, one with a lot of food for thought. I felt almost as cheerful as my smile
when I considered it.
But Jason was going to be mighty angry about the chain.
after work thatnight, I drove home, which is only about four miles south from the bar. Jason had been
gone (and so had DeeAnne) when I got back to work, and that had been another good thing. I was
reviewing the evening as I drove to my grandmother's house, where I lived. It's right before Tall Pines
cemetery, which lies off a narrow two-lane parish road. My great-great-great grandfather had started the
house, and he'd had ideas about privacy, so to reach it you had to turn off the parish road into the
driveway, go through some woods, and then you arrived at the clearing in which the house stood.
It's sure not any historic landmark, since most of the oldest parts have been ripped down and replaced
over the years, and of course it's got electricity and plumbing and insulation, all that good modern stuff.
But it still has a tin roof that gleams blindingly on sunny days. When the roof needed to be replaced, I
wanted to put regular roofing tiles on it, but my grandmother said no. Though I was paying, it's her house;
so naturally, tin it was.

Historical or not, I'd lived in this house since I was about seven, and I'd visited it often before then, so I
loved it. It was just a big old family home, too big for Granny and me, I guess. It had a broad front
covered by a screened-in porch, and it was painted white, Granny being a traditionalist all the way. I
went through the big living room, strewn with battered furniture arranged to suit us, and down the hall to
the first bedroom on the left, the biggest.
Adele Hale Stackhouse, my grandmother, was propped up in her high bed, about a