Sookie Stackhouse 8-copy Boxed Set (222 page)

Jennifer marched off, not wanting to try a comeback. She was determined, and she was vicious, but I thought Sophie-Anne could outmaneuver Jennifer any day. If I were a betting woman, I’d put money on the French nag.

Barry and I gave each other a shrug. Incident over. We joined hands again.

More trouble,
Barry said, sounding resigned.

I focused my brain where his was going. I heard a weretiger heading our way in a big, big hurry.

I dropped Barry’s hand and turned, my arms out already and my whole face smiling. “Quinn!” I said, and after a moment where he looked very uncertain, Quinn swung me up in his arms.

I hugged him as hard as I could, and he returned the hug so emphatically that my ribs creaked. Then he kissed me, and it took all my strength of character to keep the kiss within social boundaries.

When we parted to breathe, I realized Barry was standing awkwardly a few feet away, not sure what to do.

“Quinn, this is Barry Bellboy,” I said, trying not to feel embarrassed. “He’s the only other telepath I know. He works for Stan Davis, the King of Texas.”

Quinn extended a hand to Barry, who I now realized was standing awkwardly for a reason. We’d transmitted a bit too graphically. I felt a tide of red sweep over my cheeks. The best thing to do was pretend I hadn’t noticed, of course, and that’s what I did. But I could feel a little smile twitching the corners of my mouth, and Barry looked more amused than angry.

“Good to meet you, Barry,” Quinn rumbled.

“You’re in charge of the ceremony arrangements?” Barry asked.

“Yep, that’s me.”

“I’ve heard of you,” Barry said. “The great fighter. You’ve got quite a rep among the vamps, man.”

I cocked my head. Something I wasn’t getting here. “Great fighter?” I said.

“I’ll tell you about it later,” Quinn said, and his mouth set in a hard line.

Barry looked from me to Quinn. His own face did some hardening, and I was surprised to see that much toughness in Barry. “He hasn’t told you?” he asked, and then read the answer right from my head. “Hey, man, that’s not right,” he said to Quinn. “She should know.”

Quinn almost snarled. “I’ll tell her about it soon.”

“Soon?” Quinn’s thoughts were full of turmoil and violence. “Like now?”

But at that moment, a woman strode across the lobby toward us. She was one of the most frightening women I’d ever seen, and I’ve seen some scary women. She was probably five foot eight, with inky black curls that hugged her head, and she was holding a helmet under her arm. It matched her armor. The armor itself, black and lusterless, was very much like a rather tailored baseball catcher’s outfit: a chest guard, thigh protectors, and shin guards, with the addition of thick leather braces that strapped around the forearms. She had some heavy boots on, too, and she carried a sword, a gun, and a small crossbow draped about her in appropriate holsters.

I could only gape.

“You are the one they call Quinn?” she asked, coming to a halt a yard away. She had a heavy accent, one I couldn’t trace.

“I am,” Quinn said. I noticed Quinn didn’t seem to be as amazed as I was at the appearance of this lethal being.

“I’m Batanya. You are in charge of special events. Does that include security? I wish to discuss my client’s special needs.”

“I thought security was your job,” Quinn said.

Batanya smiled, and it would really make your blood run cold. “Oh, yes, that’s my job. But guarding him would be easier if—”

“I’m not in charge of security,” he said. “I’m only in charge of the rituals and procedures.”

“All right,” she said, her accent making the casual phrase into something serious. “Then whom do I talk to?”

“A guy named Todd Donati. His office is in the staff area behind the registration desk. One of the clerks can show you.”

“Excuse me,” I said.

“Yes?” She looked down an arrow-straight nose at me. But she didn’t look hostile or snooty, just worried.

“I’m Sookie Stackhouse,” I said. “Who do you work for, Miss Batanya?”

“The King of Kentucky,” she said. “He has brought us here at great expense. So it’s a pity there’s nothing I can do to keep him from being killed, as things stand now.”

“What do you mean?” I was considerably startled and alarmed.

The bodyguard looked like she was willing to give me an earful, but we were interrupted.

“Batanya!” A young vampire was hurrying across the lobby, his crew cut and all-black Goth ensemble looking all the more frivolous when he stood by the formidable woman. “The master says he needs you by his side.”

“I am coming,” Batanya said. “I know my place. But I had to protest the way the hotel is making my job much harder than it needs to be.”

“Complain on your own dime,” the youngster said curtly.

Batanya gave him a look I wouldn’t have wanted to have earned. Then she bowed to us, each in turn. “Miss Stackhouse,” she said, extending her hand for me to shake. I hadn’t realized hands could be characterized as muscular. “Mr. Quinn.” Quinn got the shake, too, while Barry got a nod, since he hadn’t introduced himself. “I will call this Todd Donati. Sorry I filled your ears, when this is not your responsibility.”

“Wow,” I said, watching Batanya stride away. She was wearing pants like liquid leather, and you could see each buttock flex and relax with her movement. It was like an anatomy lesson. She had muscles in her butt.

“What galaxy did she come from?” Barry asked, sounding dazed.

Quinn said, “Not galaxy. Dimension. She’s a Britlingen.”

We waited for more enlightenment.

“She’s a bodyguard, a super-bodyguard,” he explained. “Britlingens are the best. You have to be really rich to hire a witch who can bring one over, and the witch has to negotiate the terms with their guild. When the job’s over, the witch has to send them back. You can’t leave them here. Their laws are different. Way different.”

“You’re telling me the King of Kentucky paid gobs of money to bring that woman to this . . . this dimension?” I’d heard plenty of unbelievable things in the past two years, but this topped them all.

“It’s a very extreme action. I wonder what he’s so afraid of. Kentucky isn’t exactly rolling in money.”

“Maybe he bet on the right horse,” I said, since I had my own royalty to worry about. “And I need to talk to you.”

“Babe, I gotta get back to work,” Quinn said apologetically. He shot an unfriendly look at Barry. “I know we need to talk. But I’ve got to line up the jurors for the trial, and I’ve got to set up a wedding ceremony. Negotiations between the King of Indiana and the King of Mississippi have been concluded, and they want to tie the knot while everyone’s here.”

“Russell’s getting married?” I smiled. I wondered if he’d be the bride or the groom, or a little bit of both.

“Yeah, but don’t tell anyone yet. They’re announcing it tonight.”

“So when are we gonna talk?”

“I’ll come to your room when the vamps are in bed for the day. Where are you?”

“I have a roommate.” I gave him the room number anyway.

“If she’s there, we’ll find somewhere else to go,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Listen, don’t worry; everything’s okay.”

I wondered what I should be worrying about. I wondered where another dimension was, and how hard it would be to bring over bodyguards from it. I wondered why anyone would go to the expense. Not that Batanya hadn’t seemed pretty damn effective; but the extreme effort Kentucky had gone to, that sure seemed to argue extreme fear. Who was after him?

My waist buzzed at me, and I realized I was being summoned back up to the queen’s suite. Barry’s pager went off, too. We looked at each other.

Back to work,
he said, as we went toward the elevator.
I’m sorry if I caused trouble between you and Quinn.

He glanced at me. He had the grace to look ashamed.
I guess I don’t. I had a picture built up of how you and me would be, and Quinn kind of intruded on my fantasy life.

I nodded vigorously.

I smiled at him.
Everyone’s got to have a fantasy,
I told him.
My fantasy is finding out where Kentucky got that money, and who he hired to bring that woman here. Was she not the scariest thing you’ve ever seen?

No,
Barry answered, to my surprise.
The scariest thing I’ve ever seen . . . well, it wasn’t Batanya.
And then he locked the communicating door between our brains and threw away the key. Sigebert was opening the door into the queen’s suite, and we were back at work.

After Barry and his party left, I kind of waved my hand in the air to let the queen know I had something to say if she wanted to listen. She and Andre had been discussing Stan’s motivation in paying the significant visit, and they paused in identical attitudes. It was just weird. Their heads were cocked at the same angle, and with their extreme pallor and stillness, it was like being regarded by works of art carved in marble: Nymph and Satyr at Rest, or something like that.

“You know what Britlingens are?” I asked, stumbling over the unfamiliar word.

The queen nodded. Andre just waited.

“I saw one,” I said, and the queen’s head jerked.

“Who has gone to the expense to hire a Britlingen?” Andre asked.

I told them the whole story.

The queen looked—well, it was hard to say how she looked. Maybe a little worried, maybe intrigued, since I’d garnered so much news in the lobby.

“I never knew how useful I’d find it, having a human servant,” she said to Andre. “Other humans will say anything around her, and even the Britlingen spoke freely.”

Andre was perhaps a tad jealous if the look on his face was any indication.

“On the other hand, I can’t do a damn thing about any of this,” I said. “I can just tell you what I heard, and it’s hardly classified information.”

“Where did Kentucky get the money?” Andre said.

The queen shook her head, as if to say she hadn’t a clue and really didn’t care that much. “Did you see Jennifer Cater?” she asked me.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What did she say?” asked Andre.

“She said she’d drink my blood, and she’d see you staked and exposed on the hotel roof.”

There was a moment of utter silence.

Then Sophie-Anne said, “Stupid Jennifer. What’s that phrase Chester used to use? She’s getting too big for her britches. What to do . . . ? I wonder if she would accept a messenger from me?”

She and Andre looked at each other steadily, and I decided they were doing a little telepathic communication of their own.

“I suppose she’s taken the suite Arkansas had reserved,” the queen said to Andre, and he picked up the in-house phone and called the front desk. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard the king or queen of a state referred to as the state itself, but it seemed a really impersonal way to refer to your former husband, no matter how violently the marriage had ended.

“Yes,” he said after he’d hung up.

“Maybe we should pay her a visit,” the queen said. She and Andre indulged in some of that silent to and fro that was their way of conversing. Probably like watching Barry and me, I figured. “She’ll admit us, I’m sure. There’ll be something she wants to say to me in person.” The queen picked up the phone, but not as if that was something she did every day. She dialed the room number with her own fingers, too.

“Jennifer,” she said charmingly. She listened to a torrent of words that I could hear only a bit. Jennifer didn’t sound any happier than she’d been in the lobby.

“Jennifer, we need to talk.” The queen sounded much more charming and a lot tougher. There was silence on the other end of the line. “The doors are not closed to discussion or negotiation, Jennifer,” Sophie-Anne said. “At least, my doors aren’t. What about yours?” I think Jennifer spoke again. “All right, that’s wonderful, Jennifer. We’ll be down in a minute or two.” The queen hung up and stood silent for a long moment.

It seemed to me like going to visit Jennifer Cater, when she was bringing a lawsuit against Sophie-Anne for murdering Peter Threadgill, was a real bad idea. But Andre nodded approvingly at Sophie-Anne.

After Sophie-Anne’s conversation with her archenemy, I thought we’d head to the Arkansas group’s room any second. But maybe the queen wasn’t as confident as she’d sounded. Instead of starting out briskly for the showdown with Jennifer Cater, Sophie-Anne dawdled. She gave herself a little extra grooming, changed her shoes, searched around for her room key, and so on. Then she got a phone call about what room service charges the humans in her group could put on the room bill. So it was more than fifteen minutes before we managed to leave the room. Sigebert was coming out of the staircase door, and he fell into place with Andre at the waiting elevator.

Jennifer Cater and her party were on floor seven. There was no one standing at Jennifer Cater’s door: I guessed she didn’t rate her own bodyguard. Andre did the knocking honors, and Sophie-Anne straightened expectantly. Sigebert hung back, giving me an unexpected smile. I tried not to flinch.

The door swung open. The interior of the suite was dark.

The smell that wafted from the door was unmistakable.

“Well,” said the Queen of Louisiana briskly. “Jennifer’s dead.”

“
G
O SEE,” THE QUEEN TOLD ME.