The Sookie Stackhouse Companion Read online

  Though I knew Sam had a real girlfriend and I was only standing in for the weekend, I had a giddy little tingle of warmth at the welcome I’d received from his family and friends. I had to stop in amazement when we went in the front door. The little house was a beehive of activity inside as well as out.

  There were some bouquets of carnations on the occasional tables in the living room. One had balloons attached, which made the atmosphere weirdly cheerful. While we’d been gone, not only had the florist van stopped by, but someone had delivered a platter of cold cuts and cheese, and bread. Sliced tomatoes and everything else that might conceivably go on a sandwich were set out beside the platter, along with some “wedding” paper plates. Sam and I helped ourselves, as everyone else had done. Mindy’s children were running around in high excitement.

  The house felt very small, very full of life, and all the brains were buzzing with excitement and happiness.

  While Sam and I ate in the living room, sitting side by side on the couch, Mason brought me a glass of sweet tea, carrying it very carefully. “Here, Aunt Sookie,” he said proudly, and though I opened my mouth to correct the title, I just said, “Thank you, darlin’.” Mason grinned, looked instantly bashful, and dashed away.

  Sam put his arm around me and kissed me on the cheek.

  I took a sip of the tea because I didn’t know what else to do. I thought Sam was getting a little too into his role-playing.

  “After all, you are my girlfriend this weekend,” he said close to my ear, and I stifled a laugh because it tickled.

  “Uh-huh,” I said, infusing the words with a little hint of warning.

  He didn’t remove his arm until he needed it to pick up his sandwich, and I shook my head at him . . . but I was smiling. I couldn’t help it. I was so uplifted at the community rallying around the Merlottes and the Lisles. I hadn’t felt this hopeful in . . . forever.

  That lasted about five more minutes. The brains outside grew jangled with agitation. It began about the same time that I noticed an increased number of vehicles passing in front of the house. Given the general turmoil, I didn’t think much of it. However, I glimpsed movement out the front window, and I half stood to look through Bernie’s sheers. There were four cars parked across the street and at least twenty newcomers standing around, blocking the cars of the volunteers, and the family cars, too.

  Sister was yelling, poking her finger at the chest of a man three times as big around as she was. He was yelling back. And finally, he shoved her and she went sprawling.

  Sam had jumped to his feet to look out the window. When he saw his friend fall, he yelled and shot out of the house, Doke and Craig following him. Bernie zipped through the living room soon after, pelting out the front door like the strong woman she was.

  There was lots of shouting, lots of commotion, and I wondered if I should join them, if I could be of any help. Then I thought twice. There was something contrived about the whole incident. Why would a confrontation be staged in front of the house?

  So something could happen at the back.

  Mindy and her children were standing in the hall, and I understood that Mindy didn’t want the kids to see any violence through the front or back windows. I nodded at her, held my finger over my lips, and eased into the kitchen. The small wooden bat the men had been using to lob balls to Mason the day before was by the back door, and I picked it up and hefted it. I was glad it was wood and not plastic. I looked out the window cautiously. Yes, someone was creeping through the backyard. A teenage boy, lean and lanky and angry. He had something in his hand.

  My heart was pounding a mile a minute, and I had to make myself calm down so I could read his thoughts. He had some kind of a bomb, and he was planning on opening the back door and tossing it in and running like hell. I had no idea what kind of device it was. It might be a stink bomb or a smoke bomb . . . or a firebomb.

  I felt a movement behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder to see Mindy creeping into the room. She’d made the kids lie down on the hall floor, and had come in to provide backup. I felt an unexpected surge of emotion. My resolve got a shot of adrenaline.

  So here’s where I may have overreacted.

  When the teenager opened the back door, so very cautiously, and stuck his hand in, I shoved the door all the way open, took a half step, and swung the bat as hard as I could.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I broke his arm. And here’s the thing: Though what he was holding turned out to be a stink bomb, not something that would actually physically harm Sam’s family, I never did feel bad about it afterward. In fact, in a savage kind of way I was glad I’d broken a bone.

  This was the new me. Though I could regret I’d changed, it was a done deal. I couldn’t regenerate the tenderhearted me. I didn’t know how much of this alteration in my character was due to the blood bond I shared with a big, unscrupulous Viking and how much of it was due to the torture I’d undergone . . . but I wasn’t exactly the same nice person, as this boy had just found out.

  He screamed in pain, and people came running from all over, both his buddies and the Merlotte family and their friends, and then the police, both in and out of uniform, and it was all chaos for a good forty minutes.

  Since Mindy had been standing there while the boy came in the back door—and when he was blubbering in pain, he himself admitted it—I was in the clear.

  In fact, his hastily summoned parents were absolutely horrified, didn’t try to dodge the facts or excuse his actions. They were stand-up people, which was a huge relief, because the boy was Nathan Arrowsmith, the only child of the Reverend and Mrs. Bart Arrowsmith. Talk about your touchy situation.

  What did Sam’s family do? Sam’s family had a prayer meeting.

  My gran had been a religious woman, and I liked to think of myself as a striving Christian. (Lately, I’d been more striving than Christian.) But we’d never had a family prayer circle. So I felt a little self-conscious about standing in the living room holding hands with Doke and Sam while all of us bowed our heads and prayed out loud, one by one.

  Bernie identified herself to God, which I thought was kind of unnecessary, and then asked God to make her enemies see the light of tolerance. Mindy asked that God grant his blessing to the wedding and keep it peaceful. Craig very manfully asked God to forgive Nathan Arrowsmith and those who had conspired with him. Mason asked God to give him back his baseball bat. (I winced at that one.) Doke asked God to cure the hatred growing in the people of Wright. I asked God to restore peace in our hearts, which was something we all needed. Sam put in a request for the safety of everyone involved in the wedding. Bonnie got too self-conscious to say anything and started crying—pretty understandable in a three-year-old.

  I felt a little better afterward, and I think the family did, too. It was definitely time to get ready to go over to the church again, and for the second time that day I retreated to the guest/sewing room to get dressed. I put on the sleeveless blue dress I’d borrowed from Tara. I wore Gran’s pearl necklace and earrings and the black heels. I pulled my hair off my face with a pearl comb—also Gran’s—and left it loose. All I’d had to buy was a lipstick.

  Sam wore a suit, lightweight blue seersucker. When I emerged, we looked at each other speechlessly.

  “We clean up pretty good,” I said, smiling at him.

  He nodded. And I could tell he was thinking that Jannalynn would have worn something really extreme, and his family wouldn’t have liked it. I felt a twinge of irritation with Sam. Why was he dating her, again? I was beginning to feel sorry for the girl. All weekend, Sam had been glad he hadn’t brought her to meet his family. What kind of relationship was that? Not one founded on mutual respect.

  When we came out to go to the church, Jim Collins was standing in his yard holding a sign that read NO ANIMAL MARRIAGES IN HUMAN CHURCHES. Offensive, yes. Illegal, no.

  I hadn’t forgotten from which direction Nathan Arrowsmith had come with his stink bomb.

  I stopped on my way to Sam’s
truck. I took a step off the driveway. I caught Jim Collins’s eyes. He wanted to look away, but he didn’t. He thought his pride required that he meet my gaze. He was full of hate and anger. He missed Don, thought Don was right to shoot Bernie since in Jim’s view she’d been a faithless liar. He knew Bernie hadn’t cheated on her husband, but concealing what she really was counted in his book. The constant pain that nagged at Jim Collins’s joints made his mind restless and angry. Advanced arthritis.

  I said, “You’re alone, and lonely, and miserable, and you’ll stay that way until you get rid of all that hate.” And I turned, walked away, and met Sam at the truck.

  Sam said, “Feel better, Sookie?”

  I said, “That wasn’t a good thing to do. I know. I’m sorry.” A little.

  “Too bad you couldn’t break his arm,” Sam said, and he was smiling. A little.

  As we opened the truck doors, we both glanced down the street toward Main, alerted by the buzz of voices. The street that had been so oddly empty that morning was now lined with people.

  “What the hell?” Sam said. The whole Merlotte party, including the children, froze in place by their vehicles. While we’d been dressing for the most important day in Craig’s and Deidra’s lives, people with other plans had been gathering.

  There were signs, signs bearing hateful messages. HUMAN BEINGS WALK ON TWO FEET, read the mildest one I saw. The others ranged from biblical quotations to obscenities about Craig and Deidra’s wedding night. My hand flew up to cover my mouth as I read some of them, as if I could suppress my horror. Mindy covered her children’s eyes. Even though I didn’t think they could read the signs—and “abomination” is a pretty long word, even for older kids—I understood exactly how she felt.

  “Oh my God,” Bernie said. “Has the world gone mad? My husband shoots me, and everyone hates me?”

  “Maybe we should go back in the house,” Doke said. He’d picked up Mason, and Mindy had lifted Bonnie into her arms.

  “I’ll never go back in the house,” Bernie growled. “You got the kids, you do what you think you have to. I’ll never let them win.”

  Sam stood by his mother, his arm around her shoulders. “We go forward, then,” he said quietly.

  “All right,” I said, bracing myself. “All right, here we go. Craig?”

  “Yeah,” said Craig. “I’m going to the church. I hope the Lisles can get there. I’m not making Deidra wait for me on our wedding day.”

  The excitement in all those brains, the churning emotions and thoughts, battered at me, and I staggered. Sam jumped over to grasp my arm. “Sookie?” he said. “This doesn’t have to be your fight.”

  I thought of the dead animals at the shelter. “This is my fight.” I took a deep breath. “How did all these people get here?”

  “The Internet,” said Sister. She and Rafe were looking around them, alert to approaching danger. “Everyone just showed up, said they’d heard about it on the Internet. That Twitter thing maybe.”

  A television news van pulled up at the end of the street.

  “That’s probably good, I think,” Sam said. “Witnesses.”

  But I thought people would act out worse, so their protest would make the evening news. “We better get going,” I said. “Before the assholes build up their courage.”

  “Do you figure the majority of the crowd is pro or anti?” There were signs for both camps. More for the anti, but haters are always the most vocal.

  I scanned the signs. “The signs are mostly anti,” I said. “The anti folks are better organized, which isn’t a big surprise. People of goodwill don’t have to carry signs.”

  We got welcome reinforcements from an unexpected direction. Togo, Trish, and the Biker Babes, along with the Suburban people, came through the backyards to arrive at our sides.

  “Road was blocked farther on,” Trish explained. “Pile on in your cars. We have a plan.”

  Bernie said, “Trish, maybe . . .”

  “You-all get in, but drive slow,” Trish said. “We’re going to walk alongside the cars. Don’t want any of them getting close to the kids.”

  “Doke?” Mindy said. “Are we doing the right thing?”

  “I don’t know.” Doke sounded almost desperate. “But let’s go. If we all stay together, it’s better than being divided.” The two parents crowded into the backseat of Bernie’s car, their kids between them, buckled into the parents’ seat belts. Craig got into the driver’s seat, and Bernie ducked in the passenger side. Sam and I hugged, and then we got into his truck. We pulled away from the curb slowly and carefully, and Togo got on my side of the truck. He smiled in at me. Trish was on Sam’s side. The bikers and the other shifters who’d come from out of town surrounded Bernie’s car, which would be behind us.

  We started down the street, and the yelling began. The people who were trying to keep the peace pushed to get in front of the protesters, linking arms to provide us clear passage to the corner. The news crew had scrambled out and gotten their equipment set up, and the reporter, a handsome young man in a beautiful suit, was talking earnestly into the camera. Then he stepped out of camera view so the lens could pick up the scene of our approaching vehicles.

  Sam was punching in a number on his cell. He held it to his ear. “Porter,” he said, “if you’re in front of the church, we’re headed your way, and in case you have your head up your ass, we’re in a lot of trouble.”

  He listened for a moment. “Okay, we’ll be there. If we get through.”

  He tossed the phone onto the seat. “He says it’s worse the closer you get to the church. He’s not sure he could get through to help us. He’s having trouble just keeping the crowd out of the church. The Lisles have made it, because they came early so Deidra could dress in the bride’s room.”

  “That’s something,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. I was scared to death. I was looking out the front windshield, and I saw people’s mouths moving, their faces distorted; I heard human beings hating, hating. They didn’t know Sam or Bernie. They didn’t care that the engaged couple couldn’t turn into anything at all. They were waving signs. They were screaming at us. Again Togo smiled through the window at me, but I couldn’t smile back.

  “Courage,” Sam said to me.

  “I’m trying,” I told him, and then the rock hit the windshield. I shrieked, which was stupid, but I was so startled and it was so sudden. “Sorry, sorry!” I gasped. There was a crack in the glass.

  “Shit,” Sam said, and I knew he was as tense as I was.

  The next rock hit Togo in the shoulder. Though he didn’t bleed, he did react, and I knew it must have hurt. Togo, so big and aggressive, probably seemed a better target than Trish, who was gray-haired and a woman.

  “I wish I had my shotgun,” I said out loud, though I’d thought it twenty times.

  “If you had it, you’d shoot someone, so maybe it’s better you don’t,” Sam said, which amazed me.

  “You don’t feel like shooting some of these yahoos?”

  “I don’t feel like going to jail,” Sam said grimly. He was staring ahead, concentrating on keeping the truck moving at a slow and steady pace. “I’m only hoping none of them throw themselves in front of the truck.” Suddenly, a tall figure appeared directly in our way. He turned his back to us and began walking ahead at the right pace to be point man for our little procession. Quinn. Bald head gleaming, he led us forward, looking from side to side, evaluating the crowd.

  Sam’s phone rang, and I picked it up. “Sookie here,” I said.

  “There are more of your people here,” Brother Arrowsmith said. “I’m sending them to meet you.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and flipped the phone shut. I relayed the message to Sam.

  “So he finally grew a pair,” Sam said. “And just in time.”

  We’d gotten to the corner by then, and we had to turn right on Main and go north a couple of blocks to turn onto St. Francis. While we waited for traffic to pass—amazingly, some people were actuall
y trying to go about their everyday routine—I saw someone running toward us out of the corner of my eye. I twisted to see Togo looking out at the traffic, and he met my eyes briefly before he was broadsided by a short, heavy man swinging his sign at Togo’s head. Togo bled and staggered and went down on one knee.

  “Quinn!” I yelled, and Quinn turned to see what was happening. He bounded over the hood of the truck with a leap that was truly astounding, and he plucked Togo’s attacker off the ground and held him there.

  The crowd was shocked, and some of them stared, stunned by Quinn’s speed and strength. Then they became enraged because this difference was exactly what they feared. I glimpsed more swift movement, Sam yelled, and I saw a tall woman, brown hair flying behind her like a banner, loping across Main at an inhuman rate. She looked normal in her jeans and sneakers, but she was definitely more than human. She went right to the knot of Togo, Quinn, and the protester. She seized the man from Quinn’s grip and carried him over to the side of the street. With elaborate care, she placed him on his feet, and then she did an amazing thing. She patted him on the head with one long brown hand.

  There was a scattering of laughter from the crowd. The man literally had his mouth hanging open.

  She turned to Quinn and Togo, who’d lurched to his feet, and she grinned.

  Togo’s shoulders relaxed as he realized the crisis had passed—for the moment. But Quinn seemed frozen, and then . . . so did she.

  He bowed his head slightly to her. I couldn’t hear what he said, but she bobbed her head at him in return, and she said one word. And though I couldn’t really hear her, somehow I knew what it was: “tigress.”

  Whoa. I wished like hell I had time to think about that, but the road cleared in both directions and it was time to turn. I rolled down the window to let the people on foot know what we were planning, and then we moved out, the shifters running easily beside our little motorcade. We drove only a short distance before the left turn. Just two more blocks west to the church.