Antoine eyed me doubtfully. “Sure, Sookie. You in any trouble I should know about?”

Hip-deep in alligators. “No, no. I’m just trying to avoid a problem,” I said, because I didn’t want Antoine to worry and I especially didn’t want him to share that worry with Sam. Sam was sure to be worried enough.

Of course, Sam had heard several versions of the events at Arlene’s trailer, and I had to give him a quick summary as I got ready to work. He was deeply upset about the intentions of Donny and Whit, and when I told him Donny was dead, he said, “Whit should have got killed, too.”

I wasn’t sure I was hearing him right. But when I looked into Sam’s face, I could see he was really angry, really vengeful. “Sam, I think enough people have died,” I said. “I haven’t exactly forgiven them, and maybe that’s not even something I can do, but I don’t think they were the ones who killed Crystal.”

Sam turned away with a snort and put a bottle of rum away with such force that I thought it might shatter.

Despite a measure of alarm, as it turned out I treasured that evening . . . because nothing happened.

No one suddenly announced that he was a gargoyle and wanted a place at the American table.

No one stomped out in a hissy. No one tried to kill me or warn me or lie to me; no one paid me any special attention at all. I was back to being part of the ambience at Merlotte’s, a situation that used to make me bored. I remembered the evenings before I’d met Bill Compton, when I’d known there were vampires but hadn’t actually met one or seen one in the flesh. I remembered how I’d longed to meet an actual vampire. I’d believed their press, which alleged that they were victims of a virus that left them allergic to various things (sunlight, garlic, food) and only able to survive by ingesting blood.

That part, at least, had been quite true.