Living Dead in Dallas by Charlaine Harris

listening to their specific laments. I directed the porter with our luggage (which Bill could easily have carried under one arm) to the taxi stand, and Bill and I were on our way to the hotel within forty minutes of Bill’s emergence. The Anubis people had sworn up and down that his coffin would be delivered within three hours.
    We’d see. If they didn’t make it, we got a free flight.
    I’d forgotten the sprawl of Dallas, in the seven years since I’d graduated from high school. The lights of the city were amazing, and the busyness. I stared out of the windows at everything we passed, and Bill smiled at me with an irritating indulgence.
    “You look very pretty, Sookie. Your clothes are just right.”
    “Thanks,” I said, relieved and pleased. Bill had insisted that I needed to look “professional,” and after I’d said, “Professional what?” he’d given me one of thoselooks. So I was wearing a gray suit over a white shell, with pearl earrings and a black purse and heels. I’d even smoothed my hair back into a twisted shape at the back of my head with one of those Hairagamis I’d ordered from TV. My friend Arlene had helped me. To my mind, I looked like a professional, all right—a professional funeral home attendant—but Bill seemed to approve. And I’d charged the whole outfit to him at Tara’s Togs, since it was a legitimate business expense. So I couldn’t complain about the cost.
    I’d have been more comfortable in my barmaid’s outfit. Give me shorts and a T-shirt over a dress and hose any day. And I could’ve been wearing my Adidas with my barmaid uniform, not these damn heels. I sighed.
    The taxi pulled up to the hotel, and the driver got out to extract our luggage. There was enough of it for three days. If the vampires of Dallas had followed my directions, I could wind this up and we could go back to Bon Temps tomorrow night, to live there unmolested and uninvolved in vampire politics—at least until the next time Bill got a phone call. But it was better to bring extra clothes than to count on that.
    I scooted across the seat to emerge after Bill, who was paying the driver. A uniformed bellboy from the hotel was loading the luggage onto a rolling cart. He turned his thin face to Bill and said, “Welcome to Silent Shore Hotel, sir! My name is Barry, and I’ll . . .” Then Bill stepped forward, the light from the lobby door spilling onto his face. “I’ll be your porter,” Barry finished weakly.
    “Thank you,” I said, to give the boy, who couldn’t be more than eighteen, a second to compose himself. His hands were a little trembly. I cast a mental net out to check the source of his distress.
    To my startled delight, I realized (after a quick rummage in Barry’s head) that he was a telepath, like me!But he was at the level of organization and development I’d been when I was, maybe, twelve years old. He was a mess, that boy. He couldn’t control himself at all, and his shields were a shambles. He was heavy into denial. I didn’t know whether to grab him and hug him, or smack him upside the head. Then I realized his secret was not mine to give away. I glanced off in another direction, and shifted from one foot to another, as if I were bored.
    “I’ll just follow you with your luggage,” Barry mumbled, and Bill smiled at him gently. Barry smiled tentatively back, and then got busy bringing in the cart. It had to be Bill’s appearance that unnerved Barry, since he couldn’t read Bill’s mind, the great attraction of the undead for people like me. Barry was going to have to learn how to relax around vampires, since he’d agreed to work at a hotel that catered to them.
    Some people think all vampires look terrifying. To me, it depends on the vampire. I remember thinking, when I first met Bill, that he looked incredibly different; but I hadn’t been frightened.
    The one that was waiting for us in the lobby of Silent Shores, now, she was scary. I bet she made ole Barry wet his