Living Dead in Dallas by Charlaine Harris Page A

pants. She approached after we’d checked in, as Bill was putting his credit card back in his wallet (you just try applying for a credit card when you’re a hundred sixty years old; that process had been a bear ) and I sidled a little closer to him as he tipped Barry, hoping she wouldn’t notice me.
    “Bill Compton? The detective from Louisiana?” Her voice was as calm and cool as Bill’s, with considerably less inflection. She had been dead a long time. She was as white as paper and as flat as a board, and her thin ankle-length blue-and-gold dress didn’t do a thing for her except accentuate both whiteness and flatness. Light brown hair (braided and long enough to tap her butt)and glittery green eyes emphasized her otherness.
    “Yes.” Vampires don’t shake hands, but the two made eye contact and gave each other a curt nod.
    “This is the woman?” She had probably gestured toward me with one of those lightning quick movements, because I caught a blur from the corner of my eyes.
    “This is my companion and coworker, Sookie Stackhouse,” Bill said.
    After a moment, she nodded to show she was picking up the hint. “I am Isabel Beaumont,” she said, “and after you take your luggage to your room and take care of your needs, you are to come with me.”
    Bill said, “I have to feed.”
    Isabel swiveled an eye toward me thoughtfully, no doubt wondering why I wasn’t supplying blood for my escort, but it was none of her business. She said, “Just punch the telephone button for room service.”
     
    M EASLY OLD MORTAL me would just have to order from the menu. But as I considered the time frame, I realized I’d feel much better if I waited to eat after this evening’s business was finished.
    After our bags had been put in the bedroom (big enough for the coffin and a bed), the silence in the little living room became uncomfortable. There was a little refrigerator well stocked with PureBlood, but this evening Bill would want the real thing.
    “I have to call, Sookie,” Bill said. We’d gone over this before the trip.
    “Of course.” Without looking at him, I retreated into the bedroom and shut the door. He might have to feed off someone else so I could keep my strength up for coming events, but I didn’t have to watch it or like it. After a few minutes, I heard a knock on the corridor door and I heard Bill admit someone—his Meal onWheels. There was a little murmur of voices and then a low moan.
    Unfortunately for my tension level, I had too much common sense to do something like throw my hairbrush or one of the damn high heels across the room. Maybe retaining some dignity figured in there, too; and a healthy sense of how much temperament Bill would put up with. So I unpacked my suitcase and laid my makeup out in the bathroom, using the facility even though I didn’t feel especially needy. Toilets were optional in the vampire world, I’d learned, and even if a functional facility was available in a house occupied by vampires, occasionally they forgot to stock toilet paper.
    Soon I heard the outer door open and close again, and Bill knocked lightly before coming into the bedroom. He looked rosy and his face was fuller.
    “Are you ready?” he asked. Suddenly, the fact that I was going out on my first real job for the vampires hit me, and I felt scared all over again. If I wasn’t a success, my life would become out-and-out perilous, and Bill might become even deader than he was now. I nodded, my throat dry with fear.
    “Don’t bring your purse.”
    “Why not?” I stared down at it, astonished. Who could object?
    “Things can be hidden in purses.” Things like stakes, I assumed. “Just slip a room key into . . . does that skirt have a pocket?”
    “No.”
    “Well, slip the key into your underthings.”
    I raised my hem so Bill could see exactly what underthings I had to tuck something into. I enjoyed the expression on his face more than I can say.
    “Those are . . . would that be a . . .