Read Online The Sookie Stackhouse Companion by Charlaine Harris - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Charlaine Harris
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politely. She patted him on the shoulder. “Jared Lisle,” he said to me.
“Sookie Stackhouse. I came with Sam.”
And then we watched.
A pair of girls arrived and scooted up the sidewalk and into the church, casting a glance at Jared as they hurried. He smiled and raised his hand in greeting.
“They’re singing,” he explained. “I’m kind of surprised they showed up.” Sam and Deidra’s oldest brother were Craig’s groomsmen, so the wedding party was complete.
Through the open church windows, I listened to “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” as the organist ran through some opening music. I could faintly hear Brother Arrowsmith giving instructions to the wedding party.
A car or two drove by, with nothing more than a curious glance from the drivers. I fidgeted, unable to find a casual way to be just hanging around the side of the church. I felt both conspicuous and awkward.
Jared didn’t have that problem. Since he was in the army, he was used to spending time being on alert. He didn’t talk to me or Trish for a long time, but I figured that was okay because he had something more important to think about.
As for me, I was wondering what on earth I would do if there was some kind of attack. Read their thoughts really, really quickly? That wouldn’t be much help. I missed my shotgun more than ever. Could I shoot another human being if he attacked the church or tried to disrupt Sam’s brother’s wedding?
Yes, I thought I could. Hell, yes. My back stiffened.
It’s both interesting and unpleasant to get a big revelation about your own character, especially at a moment when you can’t do a damn thing about it. I couldn’t abandon my post, run to the nearest gun store to make a purchase, don some black leather and high-heeled boots, and reinvent myself as a kick-ass heroine. A gun would make me feel tough, but it wouldn’t make me be tough. The desire to shoot someone wouldn’t make me an accurate shot with a handgun. Though if I had my shotgun, it would be hard to miss.
I had a hundred scattered ideas in the space of a few seconds. And those few seconds multiplied as the assorted band I’d joined kept watch over nothing. Only Jared and Trish showed no signs of impatience or restlessness, but they did relax enough to exchange a few comments. I gathered that Trish had taught Jared in high school—English and composition. She was enjoying her early retirement. She’d been doing a lot of volunteer work and selling her handmade jewelry. Jared told her about his posting in Afghanistan. He was ready to go.
Then we heard the sounds of several engines approaching the turnoff to the church from the main drag. We all stiffened, and our eyes went to the stop sign at the end of the street.
Three motorcycles turned onto the street, motors rumbling. And there was a Suburban right behind them, full of people.
We formed a line across the sidewalk without saying a word.
The engines were turned off, and there was silence. The only sound in the neighborhood was the wind through the branches of the live oak in the front yard and the organ music wafting from the church windows.
I tried to develop a plan, and finally I decided the only way I could stop someone from entering the church was by tackling him. The three people astride cycles swung off and removed their helmets. They were all women. Ha! That was unexpected. And I realized after just a moment that they were all shifters, something Togo and Trish had picked up on in a fraction of a second.
“What are you doing here, sisters?” Togo said, his wonderful accent and deep voice fascinating.
The people in the Suburban began to climb out. Two of them were male; two were women. They were also two-natured.
“Hey, buddy,” called the man who’d been driving. “We heard about the problem here, from the Web. We’ve come to be of service.”
There was a long moment of thoughtful silence. Then Trish stepped forward. She was holding back her wind-tossed gray
“Sookie Stackhouse. I came with Sam.”
And then we watched.
A pair of girls arrived and scooted up the sidewalk and into the church, casting a glance at Jared as they hurried. He smiled and raised his hand in greeting.
“They’re singing,” he explained. “I’m kind of surprised they showed up.” Sam and Deidra’s oldest brother were Craig’s groomsmen, so the wedding party was complete.
Through the open church windows, I listened to “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” as the organist ran through some opening music. I could faintly hear Brother Arrowsmith giving instructions to the wedding party.
A car or two drove by, with nothing more than a curious glance from the drivers. I fidgeted, unable to find a casual way to be just hanging around the side of the church. I felt both conspicuous and awkward.
Jared didn’t have that problem. Since he was in the army, he was used to spending time being on alert. He didn’t talk to me or Trish for a long time, but I figured that was okay because he had something more important to think about.
As for me, I was wondering what on earth I would do if there was some kind of attack. Read their thoughts really, really quickly? That wouldn’t be much help. I missed my shotgun more than ever. Could I shoot another human being if he attacked the church or tried to disrupt Sam’s brother’s wedding?
Yes, I thought I could. Hell, yes. My back stiffened.
It’s both interesting and unpleasant to get a big revelation about your own character, especially at a moment when you can’t do a damn thing about it. I couldn’t abandon my post, run to the nearest gun store to make a purchase, don some black leather and high-heeled boots, and reinvent myself as a kick-ass heroine. A gun would make me feel tough, but it wouldn’t make me be tough. The desire to shoot someone wouldn’t make me an accurate shot with a handgun. Though if I had my shotgun, it would be hard to miss.
I had a hundred scattered ideas in the space of a few seconds. And those few seconds multiplied as the assorted band I’d joined kept watch over nothing. Only Jared and Trish showed no signs of impatience or restlessness, but they did relax enough to exchange a few comments. I gathered that Trish had taught Jared in high school—English and composition. She was enjoying her early retirement. She’d been doing a lot of volunteer work and selling her handmade jewelry. Jared told her about his posting in Afghanistan. He was ready to go.
Then we heard the sounds of several engines approaching the turnoff to the church from the main drag. We all stiffened, and our eyes went to the stop sign at the end of the street.
Three motorcycles turned onto the street, motors rumbling. And there was a Suburban right behind them, full of people.
We formed a line across the sidewalk without saying a word.
The engines were turned off, and there was silence. The only sound in the neighborhood was the wind through the branches of the live oak in the front yard and the organ music wafting from the church windows.
I tried to develop a plan, and finally I decided the only way I could stop someone from entering the church was by tackling him. The three people astride cycles swung off and removed their helmets. They were all women. Ha! That was unexpected. And I realized after just a moment that they were all shifters, something Togo and Trish had picked up on in a fraction of a second.
“What are you doing here, sisters?” Togo said, his wonderful accent and deep voice fascinating.
The people in the Suburban began to climb out. Two of them were male; two were women. They were also two-natured.
“Hey, buddy,” called the man who’d been driving. “We heard about the problem here, from the Web. We’ve come to be of service.”
There was a long moment of thoughtful silence. Then Trish stepped forward. She was holding back her wind-tossed gray
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