Southern Vampire

# Chapter 1 I was behind the bar, busy clearing liquor bottles off the folding table, when Halleigh Robinson rushed over. Her usually sweet face was flushed, streaked with tears. I noticed her right away. She was supposed to get married in an hour, yet she was still wearing blue jeans and a T‑shirt. “Sookie!” she said, rounding the bar and grabbing my arm. “You have to help me.” I’d already done her a favor once. I should have been in a nice dress, but instead I was in my work uniform. “Of course,” I said, assuming Halleigh just wanted me to mix her something special. If I’d bothered to listen to her thoughts, I would’ve known better. But I was trying to behave, blocking out everything like crazy. Being telepathic wasn’t easy, especially during a high‑stress event like a double wedding. I wished I were a guest, not a server. Eric had insisted on using his own people, but the guy had gotten into a car crash on the way from Shreveport. So Sam, who’d been laid off, was suddenly hired again. From a bar‑work perspective, I was a little disappointed. But I couldn’t say no to a bride on her wedding day. “What do you need?” I asked. “I need you to be my bridesmaid,” she said. “…What?” “Tiffany passed out right after Mr. Cumberland took our first round of photos. She’s being rushed to the hospital.” This was an hour before the ceremony, during group pictures. The bridesmaids and groomsmen were already dressed up. Halleigh should have been in her wedding gown. Instead, she was in jeans, hair in curlers, no makeup, crying her eyes out. Who could say no to that? “You’re the right size,” she said. “And Tiffany probably needs her appendix out. Will you try on the dress?” I glanced over at my boss, Sam. Sam smiled and nodded. “Go on, Sook. We don’t open till after the wedding anyway.” Just like that, I followed Halleigh across Belle River to the Bellefleur mansion, which had recently been restored to its pre‑war glory. The wooden floors shone, the harp beside the staircase glinted with gold gilding, and the silver‑plated dinnerware in the dining‑room cabinet was polished to a mirror finish. Servants in white uniforms bustled everywhere, the black letter “E” neatly stitched onto their tunics. High‑society events in America had turned into top‑tier catered affairs. When I saw the symbol, a sharp twinge went through my chest — my missing boyfriend had worked in the supernatural branch of that company. Luckily, I didn’t have time to dwell on it; Halleigh was yanking me up the stairs without pause. The first bedroom at the top of the stairs was filled with young women in gold dresses, surrounding Portia Bellefleur, Halleigh’s future sister‑in‑law. Halleigh hurried past the door and into the second room on the left. This one was also full of young women, but they wore deep‑blue chiffon dresses. The room was a mess, with the bridesmaids’ casual clothes piled everywhere. On the west wall was the makeup and hair station, where a calm woman in a pink top held a curling iron. Halleigh made her introductions like she was tossing a paper ball to get attention. “Ladies, this is Sookie Stackhouse. Sookie, this is my sister Fay, cousin Kelly, best friend Sarah, and my other best friend Dana. Here’s the dress — size eight.” I was shocked Halleigh had calmly taken Tiffany’s bridesmaid dress off before sending her to the hospital. Brides could be ruthless. Within minutes, I was undressing. Thankfully, I’d worn nice underwear. There was no time for modesty. Imagine how embarrassing it would’ve been if I’d had on holey granny panties! The dress was already pressed, so I didn’t have to worry about that. Another stroke of luck. There was an extra pair of thin high heels for me, and I stepped into the gown. Truthfully, I sometimes wore a ten — most of the time, actually — so I held my breath while Fay zipped me up. If I breathed just a little less, it fit fine. “Wow,” one of the girls — Dana, maybe — said cheerfully. “Now put on the shoes.” “Oh my gosh,” I gasped when I saw them. The heels were sky‑high, dyed to match the deep‑blue dress. I slid my feet in, and the pain was predictable. Kelly, I thought, tied the straps, and I stood up. Everyone held their breath as I took a step. My stride was barely half my normal length, but half was better than nothing. “I can make it through the wedding,” I said, and everyone clapped. “Come here,” the woman in pink said. I sat in her chair and let her redo my makeup and hair. Meanwhile, with help from the real bridesmaids and her mother, Halleigh got into her wedding dress. The pink‑shirted woman had plenty of hair to do. I’d only trimmed my ends slightly in the past three years, so my hair fell past my shoulder blades. My roommate Amelia had added highlights, and they looked great — my blonde hair was shinier than ever. I stared at myself in the full‑length mirror. It was unbelievable how much I’d changed in twenty minutes. From a barmaid in a ruffled white tuxedo shirt and black pants to a bridesmaid in a deep‑blue dress — plus three inches taller. Hey, I looked good. The color suited me perfectly. It was an A‑line dress, the short sleeves weren’t tight, and the skirt wasn’t ridiculously short. As for my chest… if I wasn’t careful, I might look a little trashy. Dana pulled me out of my self‑admiration. “C’mon, let’s practice.” From then on, I listened and nodded. I checked a small chart. Nodded again. Dana was one of the organizers. If I ever invaded a small village, I’d want this woman on my side. We walked down the stairs extra carefully — long dresses and high heels weren’t a great combination. I was focused and ready for my first trip down the aisle as a bridesmaid. Most girls are bridesmaids several times before twenty‑six, but Tara Thornton, my only close friend who would’ve asked me, had run out of town while I was gone. When we reached the bottom, the other wedding party was lining up. Portia’s group was supposed to go before Halleigh’s. If everything was on schedule, both grooms and their groomsmen were already waiting outside — the ceremony started in five minutes. Portia Bellefleur and her bridesmaids were roughly seven years older than Halleigh’s group. Portia was a detective in Bon Temps and the older sister of Andy Bellefleur, Halleigh’s fiancé. Portia’s wedding dress was over-the-top — covered in pearls, lace, and sequins, so heavy it could probably stand on its own. But it was her wedding day, so she could wear whatever she wanted. Portia’s bridesmaids all wore matching gold dresses. The grooms’ bouquets had the same color scheme: white, deep blue, and yellow. They matched Halleigh’s bridesmaids’ blue dresses beautifully. The wedding planner, a thin, nervous woman with tight black curls, counted the guests out loud. Once she was satisfied everyone she needed was in place, she threw open the double doors leading to the brick courtyard. We could see two groups of people seated with their backs to us in white folding chairs on the lawn, a red carpet running down the middle aisle. They faced a platform where the priest stood under an arch draped in fabric and glittering candelabras. To the priest’s right, Portia’s groom, Glen Vick, stood facing the house, waiting. We waited too. He looked extremely nervous, but he smiled. His groomsmen were already in position beside him. Portia’s gold‑dressed bridesmaids filed into the courtyard, walking one by one down the neatly trimmed garden aisle. The scent of wedding flowers filled the sweet night air. Even in October, roses bloomed along the Belle River. Finally, grand music began, and Portia walked across the courtyard to the carpet. The wedding coordinator struggled to hold up her long train so it wouldn’t drag. The priest nodded, and everyone stood, turning to watch Portia’s processional. She’d been waiting for this moment for years. Once Portia’s group reached the stage safely, it was our turn. Halleigh blew each of us a kiss as we stepped past her into the courtyard — even me, which was sweet. The coordinator sent us out one by one to stand in front of our assigned groomsmen. Mine was a Bellefleur cousin from Monroe, and he looked stunned to see me in Tiffany’s place. I slowed my steps, just as Dana had told me, holding my bouquet at the right angle. I kept my eyes on the other bridesmaids to make sure I stayed in formation. Every face turned toward me. I was so nervous I forgot to block the thoughts. A flood of voices rushed into my head, useless chatter overlapping. *She’s pretty… What happened to Tiffany?… Wow, cute girl… Hurry, I need a drink… What the hell am I doing here?… She drags me into every parish mess… I love wedding cake.* A photographer stepped in front of me and took a picture. I knew her — Maria‑Star Cooper, a beautiful werewolf. She was the assistant to Al Cumberland, a famous photographer from Shreveport. I smiled at Maria‑Star, and she snapped another photo. I kept walking down the carpet, smiling, pushing the mental noise away. After a while, I noticed blank spots in the stream of thoughts — a sure sign vampires were present. Glen had specifically requested an evening wedding so he could invite his vampire clients, who meant more to him than most. Portia had agreed only because she truly loved him; she didn’t like vampires at all. In fact, they creeped her out. I kind of liked vampires, overall. I couldn’t hear their thoughts. Being around them gave me a wonderful, quiet space. Okay, it was a burden in some ways, but at least my brain could rest. I finally reached my spot. Portia and Glen’s party stood in an inverted V, leaving space at the front for the couple. Our group mirrored them. Standing still, I exhaled in relief. I wasn’t a real bridesmaid, but my job was done. All I had to do was stand quietly and pay attention — which I thought I could manage. The music swelled a second time, and the priest signaled again. Everyone stood and turned toward the second bride. Halleigh walked toward us slowly. She was absolutely glowing. Compared to Portia, her dress was much simpler, making her look young and sweet. She was at least five years younger than Andy, maybe more. Halleigh’s father, tanned and healthy like her mother, stepped forward and took her arm once she reached him. Portia had walked alone — her father had died young — and that was how Halleigh wanted it. After drinking in Halleigh’s smile, I looked out at the crowd, which had turned to follow the bride. So many familiar faces: teachers from Halleigh’s elementary school, Andy’s colleagues from the sheriff’s department, friends of the elderly, frail Caroline Bellefleur, Portia’s lawyer and courthouse coworkers, Glen Vick’s clients, and a few accountants. Nearly every chair was filled. A few Black and brown faces were scattered among the guests, but most were middle‑class white people. The palest faces, of course, belonged to vampires. One I knew very well: Bill Compton, my neighbor and ex‑lover. He sat toward the back, looking handsome in a tuxedo. Bill always looked comfortable in whatever he wore. Beside him sat his human girlfriend, Selah Pumphrey, a real estate agent from Clarice. She wore a burgundy dress that complemented her black hair. There were maybe five other vampires I didn’t recognize. I assumed they were Glen’s clients. Unknown to Glen, several attendees weren’t fully human — or were more than human. My boss, Sam, was a rare shifter, able to turn into any animal. The photographer and his assistant were both werewolves. To normal guests, Al looked like a short, efficient Black man in a nice suit holding a large camera. But he turned into a wolf on full moons, just like Maria‑Star. A few other werewolves were in attendance, though I only knew one: Amanda, a redheaded woman nearing forty who owned a bar in Shreveport called Hair of the Dog. Maybe Glen’s company handled her books. As I scanned the crowd for familiar faces, the brides and grooms took their places. I wasn’t emotionally invested, so my mind wandered to Bishop Kempton Littrell, who preached at the small Bon Temps church every other week. Lights illuminating the garden reflected off his glasses, casting a pale glow on his face. He looked more like a vampire than a priest. The wedding was halfway over. Luckily, I was used to standing for long shifts at the bar, even in heels. I rarely wore them anymore, let alone three‑inch ones. At five‑foot‑nine, the height felt unnatural. I tried to keep my mind from wandering, to keep my thoughts quiet. Glen was placing the ring on Portia’s finger now. Portia looked down at their joined hands, and she looked truly beautiful. She’d never been one of my favorite people, and I wasn’t hers, but I still wished her happiness. Glen was thin, with short dark hair and gold‑rimmed glasses. If you called a casting agency and asked for “accountant hottie,” they’d send you Glen. I could read directly in his mind that he loved Portia, and she loved him back. I shifted my weight to my right leg. Reverend Littrell began the ceremony for Halleigh and Andy. I kept smiling — easy, I did it all the time at the bar — and watched Halleigh become Mrs. Andrew Bellefleur. I was lucky. Episcopal weddings were usually long, but both couples had chosen short ceremonies. When it was finally over, I walked back down the aisle, genuinely happy and a little proud. I’d helped Halleigh when she needed it most. And now I couldn’t wait to take off these heels. That was when I noticed Bill. Sitting in his chair, he placed a hand over his heart and saluted me. A completely unexpected romantic gesture. For a second, I looked at him softly, almost smiling — even with Selah right beside him. In the next breath, I reminded myself Bill was a useless jerk and pushed the feeling away. Sam stood near the last row, wearing the same ruffled white tuxedo shirt I had, with black slacks. He always looked relaxed and at ease, even with his messy, slightly reddish blond hair. I gave Sam a genuine smile, and he smiled back, giving me a thumbs‑up. Shifters’ thoughts were hard to read, but his actions spoke loud enough. His light blue eyes never left me. He’d been my boss for five years, and we’d always gotten along great. Once he’d been hurt that I dated a vampire, but that was in the past. I needed to get back to work, immediately. I caught up to Dana. “When can I change?” I asked. “Oh, we still have pictures,” Dana said cheerfully. Her husband came over to hug her, a baby in her arms. “I don’t need to be in them, right?” I said. “You already took some before… whoever passed out.” “Tiffany. Yeah, but we need more.” I doubted the family really wanted me in the photos, but without me, the group would be lopsided. I found Al. “Yep,” he said, snapping a photo of the newlyweds smiling at each other. “More pictures. You’ve got to keep the dress on.” “Great,” I muttered. My feet hurt. “Look, Sookie, I’ll take your group first. Andy! Halleigh! Mrs. Bellefleur! C’mere, we’ll shoot you now.” Portia Bellefleur looked shocked her group wasn’t first, and she was nearly annoyed, already having plenty of people to greet. Maria‑Star captured every tender moment: a distant relative wheeling old Caroline over to Portia, who bent to kiss her grandmother. Portia and Andy had lived with Caroline after their parents died. Caroline’s poor health had delayed the wedding twice. It was supposed to be last spring, but it had been too difficult while she was sick. First a heart attack, then a hip injury. I had to admit, for someone who’d survived two serious illnesses, Caroline looked… well, like someone who’d survived serious illnesses, frail and worn. She was dressed up in a cream silk suit, even wearing light makeup, her snow‑white hair piled high. She’d been a beauty in her day, the head of the household, and an amazing cook. Caroline was seventy that night. Her grandchildren were marrying, and she was being rewarded richly. Belle River looked spectacular, thanks in part to the vampires, who stared at her with unreadable expressions. After Bill Compton discovered he was descended from the Bellefleur family, he’d anonymously given Caroline a huge sum of money. She spent every penny happily, never knowing it came from a vampire. She thought she’d inherited from a distant relative. I found it ironic; if the Bellefleurs knew the truth, they’d resent him instead of thanking him. But I was glad Bill had found a way to attend the wedding, since he’d once been part of the family. I took a deep breath, pushed Bill’s intense stare out of my mind, and smiled for the camera. I stood in my assigned spot to balance the group, avoiding the wide, staring eyes of the Bellefleur cousin. As soon as I could, I ran upstairs to change back into my uniform. The room upstairs was empty. Finally, a moment alone to relax. I took off the dress and hung it up, then plopped on a stool to unlace the shoes. They’d tortured my feet. A noise at the door made me look up. I jumped. Bill stood silently in the room, hands in his pockets, glowing softly. His fangs were visible. “I’m changing,” I snapped. No point acting modest. He’d seen every inch of me. “You didn’t tell them,” he said. “Tell who what?” I knew he meant he was Andy’s ancestor. “Of course not. You told me not to.” “I thought you might be angry enough to tell.” “I wouldn’t blame me if I did.” He looked away. “Your face has healed well.” He was referring to the explosion that had left him and many other vampires exposed to sunlight. “I slept for six days,” he said. “When I woke up, I was almost better. I have no excuse for your earlier sarcasm… As for Sophie‑Anne ordering me to get close to you? I had no choice. At first, I didn’t want to pretend a serious relationship with a human woman. I thought it beneath me. I only went to the bar to identify you at the last minute, and that night didn’t go as I planned. I went out with the blood dealers, and things happened. When you came to save me, I thought it was fate. I did what my Queen ordered, but in doing so, I walked into a trap I couldn’t escape. I still can’t.” A trap? I found it ironic. But he was too serious, too calm, to be faking. I pulled out my best defense: a bad attitude, shielding my fragile heart. “You have a girlfriend,” I said. “Go back to Selah.” I looked down to make sure the second shoe was untied. Once free, I lifted my head. Bill was staring at me with his dark black eyes. “I would give anything to have you take me back,” he said. I froze, my hand halfway down my left stocking. Okay, that shocked me. First, he’d used the Biblical “lie with.” Second, I was stunned he considered me a memorable lover. Maybe he only remembered virgins. “I’m not here to play games, sir. Sam’s waiting for me downstairs. I have to get back to the bar,” I said sharply. “You should go do whatever you do.” I stood, turned my back to him, quickly changed into my clothes and shoes, checked myself in the mirror — lipstick still intact — and headed for the door. He was gone. I walked down the grand staircase and out into the garden. Relief washed over me to return to my familiar spot behind the bar. My feet still hurt, and the old wound labeled Bill Compton throbbed. Sam gave me a small smile as I hurried over. Caroline wouldn’t let us put out a tip jar, but regulars had left a few bills in an empty highball glass. I decided to leave it. “You looked beautiful in that dress,” Sam said, mixing rum and Coke. I handed a beer to an older man, smiling, and he tipped generously. I glanced down and realized a button had popped off in my rush downstairs. My neckline was lower. I felt embarrassed, but it wasn’t slutty — just a little “hey, I have boobs.” So I left it. “Thanks,” I said, hoping Sam hadn’t noticed. “Hope I held up okay.” “Of course you did,” Sam said, acting like nothing was wrong. That’s why he was the best boss. “Good evening,” a nasal voice purred. I looked up from pouring a drink to see Tanya Grissom sitting at the bar. Her usual companion, Calvin, was nowhere to be seen. “Hey, Tanya,” Sam said. “How’ve you been? Haven’t seen you in a while.” “Yeah, I went to Mississippi to take care of some messy business,” Tanya said. “But I’m back for a while, so I wanted to ask if you needed part‑time help, Sam.” I stayed quiet, pretending to be busy. An older woman ordered tonic water with lime, and I handed it over quickly before returning to Sam’s next customer. I could hear Sam’s thoughts: he was happy to see Tanya. Men were idiots, right? To be fair, I knew things about her that Sam didn’t. Selah Pumphrey sat nearby. Bill’s girlfriend ordered only rum and Coke. “Sure,” I said, keeping my voice casual as I mixed the drink. “I heard his thoughts,” Selah said quietly. “Heard who’s?” I asked, splitting my attention between Tanya and Sam — listening with my ears and my mind. “Bill’s. Before he spoke to you.” I didn’t reply. “I followed him upstairs.” “And he knew you were there,” I said absently, handing her the drink. She stared at me, wide‑eyed — wary, angry? She was definitely pushy. If looks could kill, I’d be dead. Tanya turned halfway like she might leave, but kept talking to my boss. “Good news,” Sam smiled. “Tanya’s free for a while.” I resisted telling him she’d made it perfectly clear she was available. “Oh, that’s nice,” I said. I liked plenty of people. So why did the two women I wanted to avoid most have to show up tonight? At least my feet could rest now that I was out of those tiny shoes. I smiled, mixed drinks, cleared bottles, and unloaded supplies from Sam’s truck. I opened beers, poured liquor, wiped up spills — I felt like a perpetual motion machine. A group of vampires came to the bar. I opened a bottle of Royal Mix, a blend of synthetic blood and real European royal blood, chilled, as a special treat for Glen’s clients, arranged personally by him. The only vampire drink more expensive was near‑pure royal blood with a small amount of preservative. Sam lined up glasses, and I filled them carefully, not spilling a drop. Sam served each vampire. They, including Bill, left large tips, smiling and toasting the newlyweds. Their fangs appeared after the first sip, a sign of enjoyment. Some human guests were uncomfortable with that display of gratitude, but Glen smiled and nodded. He knew vampires well enough not to shake their hands. I also noticed the new Mrs. Vick — Portia — didn’t chat much with the undead patrons, though she forced a smile as she walked past them. One vampire ordered regular True Blood. I handed it over. “Thank you,” he said, tipping me again. His wallet was open, and I saw a Nevada driver’s license. He’d come a long way. I’d never seen him before. When he noticed I’d looked, he pressed his palms together and bowed slightly. I’d read Thai mystery novels, so I recognized the wai, a polite Buddhist greeting — or maybe just Thai. Either way, it was respectful. After a small hesitation, I set down my rag and returned the gesture. He looked pleased. “My English name is Jonathan,” he said. “Americans can’t pronounce my real name.” A touch arrogant, but I couldn’t blame him. “I’m Sookie Stackhouse,” I said. Jonathan was short, around five‑foot‑eight, with typical copper‑toned skin from his country and thick black hair. He was genuinely handsome: a small, broad nose, full lips, dark brown eyes under sharp black eyebrows. His skin was perfect, not a pore in sight. He had the vampire glow. “Is that your husband?” he asked, nodding toward Sam with his blood glass. “No, sir. He’s my boss.” Just then, Terry Bellefleur, Portia and Andy’s second cousin, stumbled over for another beer. I liked Terry, but he drank heavily, on his way to becoming a full‑blown alcoholic, in my opinion. A Vietnam vet was about to stand up and rant about government war policy. I stepped past him to a family member, a distant cousin from Baton Rouge, and made sure he’d watch Terry so he wouldn’t drive drunk. Jonathan the vampire kept watching me while I did this. I couldn’t tell why, but his manner and posture didn’t seem threatening or predatory, and he hadn’t bared his fangs. Ignoring him and working seemed safe. If Jonathan wanted to talk to me for a reason, I’d find out eventually. Later was better.