Definitely Dead

Chapter 9

The Hair of the Dog was off Kings Highway, not too far from Centenary College. It was an old brick storefront. The large windows facing the street were covered with opaque cream curtains, I noticed, as we turned in to the left side of the building to lurch through an alley that led to a parking area at the back. We parked in the small, weedy lot. Though it was poorly lit, I could see that the ground was littered with empty cans, broken glass, used condoms, and worse. There were several motorcycles, a few of the less expensive compact cars, and a Suburban or two. The back door had a sign on it that read NO ENTRANCE—STAFF ONLY.

Though my feet were definitely beginning to protest the unaccustomed high heels, we had to pick our way through the alley to the front entrance. The cold creeping down my spine intensified as we grew close to the door. Then it was like I'd hit a wall, the spell gripped me that suddenly. I stopped dead. I struggled to go forward, but I couldn't move. I could smell the magic. The Hair of the Dog had been warded. Someone had paid a very good witch a handsome amount of money to surround the door with a go-away spell.

I fought not to give in to a compulsion to turn and walk in another direction, any other direction.

Quinn took a few steps forward, and turned to regard me with some surprise, until he realized what was happening. "I forgot," he said, that same surprise sounding in his voice. "I actually forgot you're human."

"That sounds like a compliment," I said, with some effort. Even in the cool night, my forehead beaded with sweat. My right foot edged forward an inch.

"Here," he said, and scooped me up, until he was holding me just like Rhett carried Scarlett O'Hara. As his aura wrapped around me, the unpleasant go-away compulsion eased. I drew a deep breath of relief. The magic could no longer recognize me as human, at least not decisively. Though the bar still seemed unattractive and mildly repellent, I could enter without wanting to be sick.

Maybe it was the lingering effects of the spell, but after we'd entered it, the bar still seemed unattractive and mildly repellent. I wouldn't say all conversation ceased when we walked in, but there was a definite lull in the noise that filled the bar. A jukebox was playing "Bad Moon Rising," which was like the Were national anthem, and the motley collection of Weres and shifters seemed to reorient themselves.

"Humans are not allowed in this place!" A very young woman leaped across the bar in one muscular surge and strode forward. She was wearing fishnet stockings and high-heeled boots, a red leather bustier—well, a bustier that wished it was made of red leather, it was probably more like Naugahyde—and a black band of cloth that I supposed she called a skirt. It was like she'd pulled a tube top on, and then worked it down. It was so tight I thought it might roll up all at once, like a window shade.

She didn't like my smile, correctly reading it as a comment on her ensemble.

"Get your human ass out of here," she said, and growled. Unfortunately, it didn't sound too threatening, since she hadn't had any practice at putting the menace into it, and I could feel my smile widen. The dress-challenged teen had the poor impulse control of the very new Were, and she pulled her hand back to punch me.

Then Quinn snarled.

The sound came from deep in his belly, and it was thunderous, the deep sound of it penetrating every corner of the bar. The bartender, a biker type with beard and hair of considerable length and tattoos that covered his bare arms, reached down below the bar. I knew he was pulling out a shotgun.

Not for the first time, I wondered if I shouldn't start going armed everywhere I went. In my law-abiding life, I had never seen the need until the past few months. The jukebox cut off just then, and the silence of the bar was just as deafening as the noise had been.

"Please don't get the gun out," I said, smiling brightly at the bartender. I could feel it stretching my lips, that too-bright grin that made me look a little nuts. "We come in peace," I added, on a crazy impulse, showing them my empty palms.

A shifter who'd been standing at the bar laughed, a sharp bark of startled amusement. The tension began to ratchet down a notch. The young woman's hand dropped to her side, and she took a step back. Her gaze flickered from Quinn to me and back again. Both the bartender's hands were in sight now.

"Hello, Sookie," said a familiar voice. Amanda, the red-haired Were who'd been chauffeuring Dr. Ludwig the day before, was sitting at a table in a dark corner. (Actually, the room seemed to be full of dark corners.)

With Amanda was a husky man in his late thirties. Both were supplied with drinks and a bowl of snack mix. They had company at the table, a couple sitting with their backs to me. When they turned, I recognized Alcide and Maria-Star. They turned cautiously, as if any sudden movement might trigger violence. Maria-Star's brain was a motley jumble of anxiety, pride, and tension. Alcide's was just conflicted. He didn't know how to feel.

That made two of us.

"Hey, Amanda," I said, my voice as cheerful as my smile. It wouldn't do to let the silence pile up.

"I'm honored to have the legendary Quinn in my bar," Amanda said, and I realized that, whatever other jobs she might have, she owned the Hair of the Dog. "Are you two out for an evening on the town, or is there some special reason for your visit?"

Since I had no idea why we were there, I had to defer to Quinn for an answer, which didn't make me look too good, in my opinion.

"There's a very good reason, though I've long wanted to visit your bar," Quinn said in a courtly, formal style that had come out of nowhere.

Amanda inclined her head, which seemed to be a signal for Quinn to continue.

"This evening, my date and I were attacked in a public place, with civilians all around us."

No one seemed awfully upset or astonished by this. In fact, Miss Fashion-Challenged shrugged her bare skinny shoulders.

"We were attacked by Weres," Quinn said.

Now we got the big reaction. Heads and hands jerked and then became still. Alcide half rose to his feet and then sat down again.

"Weres of the Long Tooth pack?" Amanda asked. Her voice was incredulous.

Quinn shrugged. "The attack was a killing one, so I didn't stop to ask questions. Both were very young bitten Weres, and from their behavior, they were on drugs."

More shocked reaction. We were creating quite the sensation.

"Are you hurt?" Alcide asked me, as if Quinn weren't standing right there.

I tilted my head back so my neck would be visible. I wasn't smiling anymore. By now the bruises left by the boy's hands would be darkening nicely. And I'd been thinking hard. "As a friend of the pack, I didn't expect anything to happen to me here in Shreveport," I said.

I figured my status as friend of the pack hadn't changed with the new regime, or at least I hoped it hadn't. Anyway, it was my trump card, and I played it.

"Colonel Flood did say Sookie was a friend of the pack," Amanda said unexpectedly. The Weres all looked at each other, and the moment seemed to hang in the balance.

"What happened to the cubs?" asked the biker behind the bar.

"They lived," Quinn said, giving them the important news first. There was a general feeling that the whole bar gave a sigh; whether of relief or regret, I couldn't tell you.

"The police have them," Quinn continued. "Since the cubs attacked us in front of humans, there was no way around police involvement." We'd talked about Cal Myers on our way to the bar. Quinn had caught only a glimpse of the Were cop, but of course he'd known him for what he was. I wondered if my companion would now raise the issue of Cal Myers's presence at the station, but Quinn said nothing. And truthfully, why comment on something the Weres were sure to already know? The Were pack would stand together against outsiders, no matter how divided they were among themselves.

Police involvement in Were affairs was undesirable, obviously. Though Cal Myers's presence on the force would help, every scrutiny raised the possibility that humans would learn of the existence of creatures that preferred anonymity. I didn't know how they'd flown (or crawled, or loped) under the radar this long. I had a conviction that the cost in human lives had been considerable.

Alcide said, "You should take Sookie home. She's tired."

Quinn put his arm around me and pulled me to his side. "When we've received your assurance that the pack will get to the bottom of this unprovoked attack, we'll leave."

Neat speech. Quinn seemed to be a master of expressing himself diplomatically and firmly. He was a little overwhelming, truthfully. The power flowed from him in a steady stream, and his physical presence was undeniable.

"We'll convey all this to the packmaster," Amanda was saying. "He'll investigate, I'm sure. Someone must have hired these pups."

"Someone converted them to start with," Quinn said. "Unless your pack has degraded to biting street punks and sending them out to scavenge?"

Okay, hostile atmosphere now. I looked up at my large companion and discovered that Quinn was nearasthis to losing his temper.

"Thank you all," I said to Amanda, my bright smile again yanking at the corners of my mouth. "Alcide, Maria-Star, good to see you. We're going to go now. Long drive back to Bon Temps." I gave Biker Bartender and Fishnet Girl a little wave. He nodded, and she scowled. Probably she wouldn't be interested in becoming my best friend. I wriggled out from under Quinn's arm and linked his hand with mine.

"Come on, Quinn. Let's hit the road."

For a bad little moment, his eyes didn't recognize me. Then they cleared, and he relaxed. "Sure, babe." He said good-bye to the Weres, and we turned our backs on them to walk out. Even though the little crowd included Alcide, whom I trusted in most ways, it was an uncomfortable moment for me.

I could feel no fear, no anxiety, coming from Quinn. Either he had great focus and control, or he really wasn't scared of a bar full of werewolves, which was admirable and all, but kind of… unrealistic.

The correct answer turned out to be "great focus and control." I found out when we got to the dim parking lot. Moving quicker than I could track, I was against the car and his mouth was on mine. After a startled second, I was right in the moment. Shared danger does that, and it was the second time—on our first date—that we'd been in peril. Was that a bad omen? I dismissed that rational thought when Quinn's lips and teeth traveled down to find that vulnerable and sensitive place where the neck curves into the shoulder. I made an incoherent noise, because along with the arousal I always felt when kissed there, I felt undeniable pain from the bruises that circled my neck. It was an uncomfortable combination.

"Sorry, sorry," he muttered into my skin, his lips never stopping their assault. I knew if I lowered my hand, I'd be able to touch him intimately. I'm not saying I wasn't tempted. But I was learning a little caution as I went along… probably not enough, I reflected with the sliver of my mind that wasn't getting more and more involved with the heat that surged up from my lowest nerve bundle to meet the heat generated by Quinn's lips. Oh, geez. Oh, oh, oh.

I moved against him. It was a reflex, okay? But a mistake, because his hand slipped under my breast and his thumb began stroking. I shuddered and jerked. He was doing a little gasping, too. It was like jumping onto the running board of a car that was already speeding down the dark road.

"Okay." I breathed, pulled away a little. "Okay, let's stop this now."

"Ummm," he said in my ear, his tongue flicking. I jerked.

"I'm not doing this," I said, trying to sound definite. Then my resolve gathered. "Quinn! I'm not having sex with you in this nasty parking lot!"

"Not even a little bit of sex?"

"No. Definitely not!"

"Your mouth" (here he kissed it) "is saying one thing, but your body" (he kissed my shoulder) "is saying another."

"Listen to the mouth, buster."

"Buster?"

"Okay. Quinn."

He sighed, straightened. "All right," he said. He smiled ruefully. "Sorry. I didn't plan on jumping you like that."

"Going into a place where you're not exactly welcome, and getting out unhurt, that's some excitement," I said.

He expelled a deep breath. "Right," he said.

"I like you a lot," I said. I could read his mind fairly clearly, just at this instant. He liked me, too; right at the moment, he liked me a whole bunch. He wanted to like me right up against the wall.

I battened my hatches. "But I've had a couple of experiences that have been warnings for me to slow down. I haven't been going slow with you tonight. Even with the, ah, special circumstances." I was suddenly ready to sit down in the car. My back was aching and I felt a slight cramp. I worried for a second, then thought of my monthly cycle. That was certainly enough to wear me out, coming on top of an exciting, and bruising, evening.

Quinn was looking down at me. He was wondering about me. I couldn't tell what his exact concern was, but suddenly he asked, "Which of us was the target of that attack outside the theater?"

Okay, his mind was definitely off sex now. Good. "You think it was just one of us?"

That gave him pause. "I had assumed so," he said.

"We also have to wonder who put them up to it. I guess they were paid, in some form—either drugs or money, or both. You think they'll talk?"

"I don't think they'll survive the night in jail."