Read Online Dead as a Doornail by Charlaine Harris - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Charlaine Harris
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I’d resumed wearing my lined slicker. As Jason and I hurried to the sliding glass doors, I was patting myself on the back for wearing boots. Weather-wise, the evening was proving as nasty as the morning had been.
The hospital was roiling with shifters. I could feel their anger as soon as I was inside. Two of the werepanthers from Hotshot were in the lobby; I figured they were acting as guards. Jason went to them and took their hands firmly. Maybe he exchanged some kind of secret shake or something;I don’t know. At least they didn’t rub against one another’s legs. They didn’t seem quite as happy to see Jason as he was to see them, and I noticed that Jason stepped back from them with a little frown between his eyes. The two looked at me intently. The man was of medium height and stocky, and he had thick brownish-blond hair. His eyes were full of curiosity.
“Sook, this is Dixon Mayhew,” Jason said. “And this is Dixie Mayhew, his twin sister.” Dixie wore her hair, the same color as her brother’s, almost as short as Dixon’s, but she had dark, almost black, eyes. The twins were certainly not identical.
“Has it been quiet here?” I asked carefully.
“No problems so far,” Dixie said, keeping her voice low. Dixon’s gaze was fixed on Jason. “How’s your boss?”
“He’s in a cast, but he’ll heal.”
“Calvin was shot bad.” Dixie eyed me for a minute. “He’s up in 214.”
Having been given the seal of approval, Jason and I went to the stairs. The twins watched us all the way. We passed the hospital auxiliary “pink lady” on duty at the visitors’ desk. I felt kind of worried about her: white-haired, heavy glasses, sweet face with a full complement of wrinkles. I hoped nothing would happen during her watch to upset her worldview.
It was easy to pick which room was Calvin’s. A slab of muscle was leaning against the wall outside, a barrel-shaped man I’d never seen. He was a werewolf. Werewolves make good bodyguards, according to the common wisdom of the two-natured, because they are ruthless and tenacious. From what I’ve seen, that’s just the bad-boy image Weres have. But it’s true that as a rule, they’re the roughest element of the two-natured community. You won’t find too many Were doctors, for example, but you will find a lot of Weres in construction work. Jobs relating to motorcycles are heavilydominated by Weres, too. Some of those gangs do more than drink beer on the full-moon nights.
Seeing a Were disturbed me. I was surprised the panthers of Hotshot had brought in an outsider. Jason murmured, “That’s Dawson. He owns the small engine repair shop between Hotshot and Grainger.”
Dawson was on the alert as we came down the hall.
“Jason Stackhouse,” he said, identifying my brother after a minute. Dawson was wearing a denim shirt and jeans, but his biceps were about to burst through the material. His black leather boots were battle scarred.
“We’ve come to see how Calvin is doing,” Jason said. “This here’s my sister, Sookie.”
“Ma’am,” Dawson rumbled. He eyeballed me slowly, and there wasn’t anything lascivious about it. I was glad I’d left my purse in the locked truck. He would’ve gone through it, I was sure. “You want to take off that coat and turn around for me?”
I didn’t take offense; Dawson was doing his job. I didn’t want Calvin to get hurt again, either. I took off my slicker, handed it to Jason, and rotated. A nurse who’d been entering something in a chart watched this procedure with open curiosity. I held Jason’s jacket as he took his turn. Satisfied, Dawson knocked on the door. Though I didn’t hear a response, he must have, because he opened the door and said, “The Stackhouses.”
Just a whisper of a voice came from the room. Dawson nodded.
“Miss Stackhouse, you can go in,” he said. Jason started to follow me, but Dawson put a massive arm in front of him. “Only your sister,” he said.
Jason and I
The hospital was roiling with shifters. I could feel their anger as soon as I was inside. Two of the werepanthers from Hotshot were in the lobby; I figured they were acting as guards. Jason went to them and took their hands firmly. Maybe he exchanged some kind of secret shake or something;I don’t know. At least they didn’t rub against one another’s legs. They didn’t seem quite as happy to see Jason as he was to see them, and I noticed that Jason stepped back from them with a little frown between his eyes. The two looked at me intently. The man was of medium height and stocky, and he had thick brownish-blond hair. His eyes were full of curiosity.
“Sook, this is Dixon Mayhew,” Jason said. “And this is Dixie Mayhew, his twin sister.” Dixie wore her hair, the same color as her brother’s, almost as short as Dixon’s, but she had dark, almost black, eyes. The twins were certainly not identical.
“Has it been quiet here?” I asked carefully.
“No problems so far,” Dixie said, keeping her voice low. Dixon’s gaze was fixed on Jason. “How’s your boss?”
“He’s in a cast, but he’ll heal.”
“Calvin was shot bad.” Dixie eyed me for a minute. “He’s up in 214.”
Having been given the seal of approval, Jason and I went to the stairs. The twins watched us all the way. We passed the hospital auxiliary “pink lady” on duty at the visitors’ desk. I felt kind of worried about her: white-haired, heavy glasses, sweet face with a full complement of wrinkles. I hoped nothing would happen during her watch to upset her worldview.
It was easy to pick which room was Calvin’s. A slab of muscle was leaning against the wall outside, a barrel-shaped man I’d never seen. He was a werewolf. Werewolves make good bodyguards, according to the common wisdom of the two-natured, because they are ruthless and tenacious. From what I’ve seen, that’s just the bad-boy image Weres have. But it’s true that as a rule, they’re the roughest element of the two-natured community. You won’t find too many Were doctors, for example, but you will find a lot of Weres in construction work. Jobs relating to motorcycles are heavilydominated by Weres, too. Some of those gangs do more than drink beer on the full-moon nights.
Seeing a Were disturbed me. I was surprised the panthers of Hotshot had brought in an outsider. Jason murmured, “That’s Dawson. He owns the small engine repair shop between Hotshot and Grainger.”
Dawson was on the alert as we came down the hall.
“Jason Stackhouse,” he said, identifying my brother after a minute. Dawson was wearing a denim shirt and jeans, but his biceps were about to burst through the material. His black leather boots were battle scarred.
“We’ve come to see how Calvin is doing,” Jason said. “This here’s my sister, Sookie.”
“Ma’am,” Dawson rumbled. He eyeballed me slowly, and there wasn’t anything lascivious about it. I was glad I’d left my purse in the locked truck. He would’ve gone through it, I was sure. “You want to take off that coat and turn around for me?”
I didn’t take offense; Dawson was doing his job. I didn’t want Calvin to get hurt again, either. I took off my slicker, handed it to Jason, and rotated. A nurse who’d been entering something in a chart watched this procedure with open curiosity. I held Jason’s jacket as he took his turn. Satisfied, Dawson knocked on the door. Though I didn’t hear a response, he must have, because he opened the door and said, “The Stackhouses.”
Just a whisper of a voice came from the room. Dawson nodded.
“Miss Stackhouse, you can go in,” he said. Jason started to follow me, but Dawson put a massive arm in front of him. “Only your sister,” he said.
Jason and I
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