“D’Eriq bumped into me with a jar full of jalapeños, and the juice slopped out,” he said. “I can’t stand the smell of ’em.”

“Whoo,” I said, catching a whiff. “I don’t blame you.”

“Sam’s mama doing okay?”

“Yeah, she’s out of the hospital,” I said.

“Good news.”

As I tied the strings around my waist, I thought Antoine was about to say something else, but if he was, he changed his mind. He crossed the hall to knock on the kitchen door, and D’Eriq opened it from the inside and let him in. People had wandered into the kitchen by mistake too often, and the door was kept locked all the time. There was another door from the kitchen that led directly out back, and the Dumpster was right outside.

I walked past Sam’s office without looking in. He didn’t want to talk to me; okay, I wouldn’t talk to him. I realized I was being childish.

The FBI agents were still in Bon Temps, which shouldn’t have surprised me. Tonight, they came into the bar. Weiss and Lattesta were sitting opposite each another in a booth, a pitcher of beer and a basket of French-fried pickles between them, and they were talking intently. And at a table close to them, looking regal and beautiful and remote, was my great-grandfather Niall Brigant.

This day was going to win a prize for most peculiar. I blew out a puff of air and went to wait on my great-grandfather first. He stood as I approached. His pale straight hair was tied back at the nape of his neck. He was wearing a black suit and a white shirt, as he always did. Tonight, instead of the solid black tie he usually wore, he had on a tie I’d given him for Christmas. It was red, gold, and black striped, and he looked spectacular. Everything about him gleamed and shone. The shirt wasn’t simply white—it was snowy and starched; and his coat wasn’t just black—it was spotlessly inky. His shoes showed not a speck of dust, and the myriad of fine, fine wrinkles in his handsome face only set off its perfection and his brilliant green eyes. His age enhanced rather than diminished his looks. It almost hurt to look at him. Niall put his arms around me and kissed my cheek.

“Blood of my blood,” he said, and I smiled into his chest. He was so dramatic. And he had such a hard time looking human. I’d had one glimpse of him in his true form, and it had been nearly blinding. Since no one else in the bar was gasping at the sight of him, I knew they weren’t seeing him the same way I did.