Dead Ever After: A True Blood Novel by Charlaine Harris Read Free Book Online Page B

over. I know I’ve failed you some . . . disappointed you some . . . in the past couple of years. But I swear I’ll help you, no matter what.”
    I was taken aback by her vehemence. I looked sharply at my friend. There were tears in her eyes, even while she pulled out into traffic and turned the car back toward Bon Temps.
    “Tara? What’re you talking about?”
    “I did fail you,” she said, her face grim. “In so many ways. And I failed myself. I made some really dumb decisions. I was trying so hard to escape the way I was brought up. For a couple of years, I would have done anything to make sure I never had to live like I had at my folks’ house again. So I looked for protection, and you know how that turned out. When that was over, I hated vampires so much I couldn’t listen to your problems. I’ve grown up now, though.” She gave a sharp and decisive nod, as though in her opinion she’d taken the final step in spiritual growth.
    This was the last thing in the world I’d expected: a declaration of reconciliation by my oldest friend. I started to deny every negative thing she’d said about herself. But she’d been so honest that I had to be honest in return—at least, in a tactful kind of way. “Tara, we’ve always been friends. We’ll always be friends,” I said. “If you’ve made mistakes, I have, too. We just got to do the best we can. We’re coming out the other side of a lot of trouble, both of us.” Maybe.
    She pulled a Kleenex out of her purse and blotted her face with one hand. “I know we’ll be okay,” she said. “I know it.”
    I wasn’t convinced of that, at least about my own future, but I wasn’t going to ruin Tara’s moment. “Sure we will,” I said. I patted her hand on the steering wheel.
    For a few miles we drove in silence. I looked out the window at the fields and ditches, choked with growth, the heat hovering over them like a giant blanket. If weeds could flourish with such vigor, maybe I could, too.

Chapter 3
    Our shopping trip jolted me out of my rut of worry. When Tara went home, I sat down to make some resolutions.
    I promised myself I would go in to work the next day, whether or not I heard from Sam. I had a part interest in the bar, and I didn’t have to get Sam’s permission to show up. I gave myself a rousing speech before I realized I was being ridiculous. Sam wasn’t denying me entrance to the bar. Sam hadn’t told me he didn’t want to see me. I had stayed at home of my own volition. Sam’s noncommunication might mean many things. I needed to get off my butt and find out.
    I heated up a DiGiorno’s that night, since no one would deliver out on Hummingbird Road. Actually, the Prescotts, my neighbors closer to town, got their pizza delivered, but no one wanted to venture onto the long, narrow driveway to my house after dark. I’d learned lately (from the thoughts of patrons at Merlotte’s) that the woods around my house and along Hummingbird Road had a reputation of being haunted by creatures frightening beyond belief.
    Actually, that was absolutely true—but the creatures that had sparked the rumor were now departed to a country I couldn’t visit. However, there was a dead man strolling through my yard as I tried to fold the cardboard disk that had been under the pizza. Those things are hell to get into kitchen garbage bags, aren’t they? I’d finally managed it by the time he reached the back door and knocked.
    “Hey, Bill,” I called. “Come on in.”
    In a second he was standing in the doorway, inhaling deeply to better catch the scent he was scouting for. It was strange to see Bill breathe. “Much better,” he said, in a voice that was almost disappointed. “Though I think your dinner had a little garlic on it.”
    “But no fairy smell?”
    “Very little.”
    The smell of a fairy is to vampires what catnip is to cats. When Dermot and Claude had been in residence, their scent had pervaded the house, lingering even when they were not