Sookie 06 Definitely Dead (26 page)

Unfortunately, there were six more.

20

IT TOOK JUSTtwo of them to subdue me, and I was kicking and screaming, biting and hitting, with every bit of energy I had. It took four for Quinn, but those four succeeded only because they used a stun gun. Otherwise, I’m sure he could have taken six or eight of them out of action, instead of the three he took care of before they got him.

I knew I would be overcome, and I knew I could save myself some bruises and maybe a broken bone if I just assented to be taken. But I have my pride. More practically, I wanted to be sure that Amelia heard what was happening above her. She’d do something. I wasn’t sure what she’d do, but she’d act.

I was hustled down the stairs, my feet hardly touching them, by two husky men I’d never seen before. These same two men had bound my wrists together with duct tape. I’d done my best to arrange for a little slack, but I was afraid they’d done a fair job of it.

“Mmm, smells like sex,” the shorter one said as he pinched my butt. I ignored his tacky leer and took some satisfaction in eyeing the bruise I’d given him on his cheekbone with my fist. (Which, by the way, was aching and smarting over the knuckles. You can’t hit someone without paying for it yourself.)

They had to carry Quinn, and they weren’t gentle about it. He got banged around against the stairs, and once they dropped him. He was a big guy. Now he was a bleeding big guy, since one of the blows had cut the skin above his left eye. He’d had the duct tape treatment, too, and I wondered how the fur would react to the tape.

We were being held side by side in the courtyard, briefly, and Quinn looked over at me as if he desperately wanted to speak to me. The blood was running down his cheek from the wound over his eyes, and he looked groggy from the stun gun. His hands were changing back to regular hands. I lunged toward him, but the Weres kept us apart.

Two vans drove into the circular drive, two vans that said BIG EASY ELECTRIC on the side. They were white and long and windowless in the back, and the logo on the side had been covered up with mud, which looked highly suspicious. A driver jumped out of the cab of each van, and the first driver threw open the doors to the rear of the first vehicle.

While our captors were hustling Quinn and me over to that van, the rest of the raiding party was being brought down the stairs. The men Quinn had managed to hurt were damaged far worse than Quinn, I’m glad to say. Claws can do an amazing amount of damage, especially wielded with the force a tiger can exert. The guy I’d hit with the lamp was unconscious, and the one who’d reached Quinn first was possibly dead. He was certainly covered with blood and there were things exposed to the light that should have been neatly packed in his belly.

I was smiling with satisfaction when the men holding me shoved me into the back of the van, which I discovered was awash with trash and absolutely filthy. This was a high-class operation. There was a wide-mesh screen between the two front seats and the open rear, and the shelves in the rear had been emptied, I supposed for our occupancy.

I was crammed into the narrow aisle between the shelves, and Quinn was jammed in after me. They had to work hard because he was still so stunned. My two escorts were slamming the rear van doors on the two of us as the hors de combat Weres were loaded into the other van. I was guessing the vans had been parked out on the street briefly so we wouldn’t hear the vehicles pulling into the driveway. When they were ready to load us up, our captors had pulled into the courtyard. Even the people of a brawling city like New Orleans would notice some battered bodies being loaded into vans … in the pouring rain.

I hoped the Weres wouldn’t think of grabbing Amelia and Bob, and I prayed that Amelia would think cleverly and hide herself, rather than do some impulsive and brave witch thing. I know it’s a contradiction, right? Praying for one thing (asking God a favor) while at the same time hoping your enemies would be killed. All I can say is, I have a feeling Christians have been doing that from the get-go-at least bad ones, like me.

“Go, go, go,” bellowed the shorter man, who’d hopped into the front seat. The driver obliged with a completely unnecessary squealing of tires, and we lurched out of the courtyard as if the president had just been shot and we had to get him to Walter Reed.

Quinn came to completely as we turned off Chloe Street to head for our final destination, wherever it might be. His hands were bound behind him, which is painful, and he hadn’t quit bleeding from the head. I’d expected him to remain groggy and shocked. But when his eyes focused on my face, he said, “Babe, they beat you bad.” I must not look too good.

“Yeah, well, you seem to be in the same boat,” I said. I knew the driver and his companion could hear us, and I didn’t give a damn.

With a grim attempt at a smile, he said, “Some defender I turned out to be.”

In the Weres’ estimation, I wasn’t very dangerous, so my hands had been bound in front. I squirmed until I was able to put pressure on the cut on Quinn’s forehead. That had to have hurt even more, but he didn’t say a word in protest. The motion of the van, the effects of the beating, and the constant shifting and smell of the trash all around us combined to make the next ten minutes very unpleasant. If I’d been very clever, I could have told which way we were going-but I wasn’t feeling very clever. I marveled that in a city with as many famed restaurants as New Orleans had, this van was awash with Burger King wrappers and Taco Bell cups. If I got a chance to rummage through the debris, I might find something useful.

“When we’re together, we get attacked by Weres,” Quinn said.

“It’s my fault,” I said. “I’m so sorry I dragged you into this.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I’m known for hanging with a desperate crowd.”

We were lying face to face, and Quinn sort of nudged me with his leg. He was trying to tell me something, and I wasn’t getting it.

The two men in the front seat were talking to each other about a cute girl crossing the street at a traffic light. Just listening to the conversation was almost enough to make you swear off men, but at least they weren’t listening to us.

“Remember when we talked about my mental condition?” I said carefully. “Remember what I told you about that?”

It took him a minute because he was hurting, but he got the hint. His face squinched up as if he were about to chop some boards in half, or something else requiring all his concentration, and then his thought shoved into my head.Phone in my pocket , he told me. The problem was, the phone was in his right pocket, and he was lying on that side. There was hardly room for him to turn over.

This called for a lot of maneuvering, and I didn’t want our captors to see it. But I managed, finally, to work my fingers into Quinn’s pocket, and made a mental note to advise him that, under this set of circumstances, his jeans were too tight. (Under other circumstances, no problem with the way they fit.) But extricating that phone, with the van rocking, while our Were assailants checked on us every minute or so, that was difficult.

Queen’s headquarters on speed dial

, he told me when he felt the phone leave his pocket. But that was lost on me. I didn’t know how to access speed dial. It took me a few moments to make Quinn understand that, and I’m still not sure I how I did it, but finally hethought the phone number at me, and I awkwardly punched it in and pressed send. Maybe we hadn’t thought that through all the way, because when a tiny voice said, “Hello?” the Weres heard it.

“You didn’t search him?” the driver asked the passenger incredulously.

“Hell no, I was trying to get him in the back andget myself out of the rain,” the man who had pinched me snarled right back. “Pull over, dammit!”

Has someone had your blood

? Quinn asked me silently, though this time he could have spoken, and after a precious second, my brain kicked in. “Eric,” I said, because the Weres were out their doors and running to open the rear doors of the van.

“Quinn and Sookie have been taken by some Weres,” Quinn said into the phone I was holding to his mouth. “Eric the Northman can track her.”

I hoped Eric was still in New Orleans, and I further hoped whoever answered the phone at the queen’s headquarters was on the ball. But then the two Weres were yanking open the van doors and dragging us out, and one of them socked me while the other hit Quinn in the gut. They yanked the phone from my swollen fingers and tossed it into the thick undergrowth at the side of the road. The driver had pulled over by an empty lot, but up and down the road were widely spaced houses on stilts in a sea of grasses. The sky was too overcast for me to get a fix on our direction, but I was sure now we’d driven south into the marshes. I did manage to read our driver’s watch, and was surprised to find out it was already past three in the afternoon.

“You dumb shit, Clete! Who was he calling?” yelled a voice from the second van, which had pulled over to the side of the road when we did. Our two captors looked at each other with identical expressions of consternation, and I would have been laughing if I hadn’t been hurting so badly. It was as if they’d practiced looking stupid.

This time Quinn was searched very thoroughly, and I was, too, though I had no pockets or anywhere else to conceal anything, unless they wanted to do a body cavity check. I thought Clete-Mr. Pinch-Ass-was going to, just for a second, as his fingers jabbed the spandex into me. Quinn thought so, too. I made an awful noise, a choked gasp of fear, but the sound that came from Quinn’s throat was beyond a snarl. It was a deep, throaty, coughing noise, and it was absolutely menacing.

“Leave the girl alone, Clete, and let’s get back on the road,” the tall driver said, and his voice had that “I’m done with you” edge to it. “I don’t know who this guy is, but I don’t think he changes into a nutria.”

I wondered if Quinn would threaten them with his identity-most Weres seemed to know him, or know of him-but since he didn’t volunteer his name, I didn’t speak.

Clete shoved me back into the van with a lot of muttering along the lines of “Who died and made you God? You ain’t the boss of me,” and so on. The taller man clearlywas the boss of Clete, which was a good thing. I wanted someone with brains and a shred of decency between me and Clete’s probing fingers.

They had a very hard time getting Quinn into the van again. He didn’t want to go, and finally two men from the other van came over, very reluctantly, to help Clete and the driver. They bound Quinn’s legs with one of those plastic things, the kind where you run the pointed tip through a hole and then twist it. We’d used something similar to close the bag when we’d baked a turkey last Thanksgiving. The tie they used on Quinn was black and plastic and it actually locked with what looked like a handcuff key.

They didn’t bind my legs.

I appreciated Quinn’s getting angry at their treatment of me, angry enough to struggle to be free, but the end result was that my legs were free and his weren’t-because I still didn’t present a threat to them, at least in their minds.

They were probably right. I couldn’t think of anything to do to prevent them from taking us wherever we were going. I didn’t have a weapon, and though I worried at the duct tape binding my hands, my teeth didn’t seem to be strong enough to make a weak spot. I rested for a minute, shutting my eyes wearily. The last blow had opened a cut on my cheek. A big tongue rasped over my bleeding face. Then again.

“Don’t cry,” said a strange, guttural voice, and I opened my eyes to check that it was, indeed, coming from Quinn.

Quinn had so much power that he could stop the change once it had begun. I suspected he could trigger it, too, though I’d noticed that fighting could bring it on in any shape-shifter. He’d had the claws during the fight in Hadley’s apartment, and they’d almost tipped the balance in our favor. Since he’d gotten so enraged at Clete during the episode by the side of the road, Quinn’s nose had flattened and broadened. I had a close-up view of the teeth in his mouth, teeth that had altered into tiny daggers.

“Why didn’t you change fully?” I asked, in a tiny whisper.

Because there wouldn’t be enough room for you in this space, babe. After I change, I’m seven feet long and I weigh about four hundred fifty pounds.

That will make any girl gulp. I could only be grateful he’d thought that far ahead. I looked at him some more.

Not grossed out?

Clete and the driver were exchanging recriminations about the phone incident. “Why, grandpa, what big teeth you have,” I whispered. The upper and lower canines were so long and sharp they were really scary. (I called themcanines; to cats, that might be an insult.)

Sharp … they were sharp. I worked my hands up close to his mouth, and begged him with my eyes to understand. As much as I could tell from his altered face, Quinn was worried. Just as our situation aroused his defensive instincts, the idea I was trying to sell to him excited other instincts.I will make your hands bleed , he warned me, with a great effort. He was partially animal now, and the animal thought processes didn’t necessarily travel the same paths as the human.

I bit my own bottom lip to keep from gasping as Quinn’s teeth bit into the duct tape. He had to exert a lot of pressure to get the three-inch canines to pierce the duct tape, and that meant that those shorter, sharp incisors bit into my skin, too, no matter how much care he took. Tears began rolling down my face in an unending stream, and I felt him falter. I shook my bound hands to urge him on, and reluctantly he bent back to his task.

“Hey, George, he’s biting her,” Clete said from the passenger’s seat. “I can see his jaw moving.”

But we were so close together and the light was so poor that he couldn’t see that Quinn was biting the binding on my hands. That was good. I was trying hard to find good things to cling to, because this was looking like a bleak, bleak world just at this moment, lying in the van traveling through the rain on an unknown road somewhere in southern Louisiana.

I was angry and bleeding and sore and lying on my already injured left arm. What I wanted, what would be ideal, would be to find myself clean and bandaged in a nice bed with white sheets. Okay, clean and bandaged and in a clean nightgown. And then Quinn would be in the bed, completely in his human form, and he would be clean and bandaged, too. And he’d have had some rest, and he’d be wearing nothing at all. But the pain of my cut and bleeding arms was becoming too demanding to ignore any longer, and I couldn’t concentrate enough to cling to my lovely daydream. Just when I was on the verge of whimpering-or maybe just out-and-out screaming-I felt my wrists separate.