To my surprise Bill, my ex-boyfriend, was sitting with another vampire, named Clancy. Clancy wasn’t my favorite guy regardless of his nonliving status. They both had bottles of TrueBlood on the table in front of them. I didn’t think Clancy had ever dropped in to Merlotte’s for a casual drink before, and certainly never with Bill.

“Hey, guys, need a refill?” I asked, smiling for all I was worth. I’m a little nervous around Bill.

“Please,” Bill said politely, and Clancy shoved his empty bottle toward me.

I stepped behind the bar to get two more TrueBloods out of the refrigerator, and I uncapped them and popped them in the microwave. (Fifteen seconds works best.) I shook the bottles gently and put the warm drinks on the tray with some fresh napkins. Bill’s cold hand touched mine as I placed his drink in front of him.

He said, “If you need any help at your place, please call me.”

I knew he meant it kindly, but it sort of emphasized my current manless status. Bill’s house was right across the cemetery from mine, and the way he roamed around at night, I figured he was well aware I wasn’t entertaining company.

“Thanks, Bill,” I said, making myself smile at him. Clancy just sneered.

Tray and Amelia came in, and after depositing Amelia at a table, Tray went up to the bar, greeting everyone in the place along the way. Sam came out of his office to join the burly man, who was at least five inches taller than my boss and almost twice as big around. They grinned at each other. Bill and Clancy went on alert.

The televisions mounted at intervals around the room cut away from the sports event they’d been showing. A series of beeps alerted the bar patrons to the fact that something was happening on-screen. The bar gradually hushed to a few scattered conversations. “Special Report” flashed on the screen, superimposed on a newscaster with clipped, gelled hair and a sternly serious face. In solemn tones he said, “I’m Matthew Harrow. Tonight we bring you a special report. Like newsrooms all across the country, here in Shreveport we have a visitor in the studio.”

The camera moved away to broaden the picture, and a pretty woman came into view. Her face was slightly familiar. She gave the camera a practiced little wave. She was wearing a sort of muumuu, an odd choice for a television appearance.

“This is Patricia Crimmins, who moved to Shreveport a few weeks ago. Patty—may I call you Patty?”