Read Online From Dead to Worse by Charlaine Harris - Free Book Online Page B

Eric said, “We’ll talk about that later. You haven’t seen him again, have you?”
    “No,” I said. “Should I expect to?”
    Eric shook his head. There was an uncomfortable pause. From the way he was gripping the wheel, I could tell that Eric was building up to saying something he didn’t want to say.
    “I’m glad for your sake that it appears Andre didn’t survive the bombing,” he said.
    The queen’s dearest child, Andre, had died in the bombing in Rhodes. But it hadn’t been the bomb that had killed him. Quinn and I knew what had done the deed: a big splinter of wood that Quinn had driven into Andre’s heart while the vampire lay disabled. Quinn had killed Andre for my sake, because he knew Andre had plans for me that made me sick with fear.
    “I’m sure the queen will miss him,” I said carefully.
    Eric shot me a sharp glance. “The queen is distraught,” he said. “And her healing will take months more. What I was beginning to say...” His voice trailed off.
    This wasn’t like Eric. “What?” I demanded.
    “You saved my life,” he said. I’d turned to look at him, but he was looking straight ahead at the road. “You saved my life, and Pam’s, too.”
    I shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, well.” Miss Articulate. The silence lengthened until I felt I had to say something else. “We do have the blood tie thing going.”
    Eric didn’t respond for a stretch of time. “That’s not why you came to wake me, first of all, the day the hotel blew up,” he said. “But we won’t talk further about this now. You have a big evening ahead.”
    Yes, boss, I said snippily, but only to myself.
    We were in a part of Shreveport I didn’t know too well. It was definitely out of the main shopping area, with which I was fairly familiar. We were in a neighborhood where the houses were large and the lawns were groomed. The businesses were small and pricey ... what retailers called “boutiques.” We pulled into a group of such shops. It was arranged in an L, and the restaurant was at the rear of the L. It was called Les Deux Poissons. There were maybe eight cars parked there, and each one of them represented my yearly income. I looked down at my clothes, feeling suddenly uneasy.
    “Don’t worry, you’re beautiful,” Eric said quietly. He leaned over to unbuckle my seat belt (to my astonishment), and as he straightened he kissed me again, this time on the mouth. His bright blue eyes blazed out of his white face. He looked as if a whole story was on the tip of his tongue. But then he swallowed it back and unfolded himself from the car to walk around to my side to open the door for me. Maybe I wasn’t the only one this blood bond worked on, huh?
    From his tension I realized that some major event was coming at me fast, and I began to be afraid. Eric took my hand as we walked across to the restaurant, and he ran his thumb absently across my palm. I was surprised to find out there was a direct line from my palm to my, my, hootchie.
    We stepped into the foyer, where there was a little fountain and a screen that blocked the view of the diners. The woman standing at the podium was beautiful and black, her hair shaved very close to her skull. She wore a draped dress of orange and brown and the highest heels I had ever seen. She might as well have been wearing toe shoes. I looked at her closely, and I sampled the signature of her brain, and I found she was human. She smiled brilliantly at Eric and had the sense to give me a share of that smile.
    “A party of two?” she said.
    “We’re meeting someone,” Eric said.
    “Oh, the gentleman . . .”
    “Yes.”
    “Right this way, please.” Her smile replaced by a look almost of envy, she turned and walked gracefully into the depths of the restaurant. Eric gestured for me to follow her. The interior was fairly dark, and candles flickered on the tables, which were covered with snowy white cloths and elaborately folded napkins.
    My eyes were on the hostess’s