Easy to find out about Warren, but Eric had wanted me to check out Mustapha. So far the Blade wannabe wasn’t cooperating. Standing in the doorway was not a good way to have a relaxing conversation. Oh, well. “So you and Mustapha have known each other for a while?”

“Few months,” Warren said, glancing at the taller man.

“Twenty Questions over?” Mustapha said.

I touched his arm, which was like touching an oak branch. “KeShawn Johnson,” I said thoughtfully, after a little rummage in his head. “Why’d you change your name?”

He stiffened, and his mouth was grim. “I have reinvented myself,” he said. “I am not the slave to a bad habit who was named KeShawn. I am Mustapha Khan, and I am my own man. I own myself.”

“Okeydokey,” I said, doing my best to sound agreeable. “Nice to meet you, Mustapha. You and Warren have a safe trip back to Shreveport.”

I’d learned as much as I was going to today. If Mustapha Khan was going to be around Eric for a while, I’d gradually catch enough glimpses into his head to piece him together. Oddly enough, I felt better about Mustapha after I’d met Warren. I was sure Warren had had some very hard times and maybe done some very hard things, but I also thought at his core he was a reliable man. I suspected the same might be true of Mustapha.

I was willing to wait and see.

Bubba liked him, but that wasn’t necessarily such a recommendation. After all, Bubba drank cat blood.

I turned away from the door, bracing myself to face my next set of problems. In the kitchen, I found Claude and Dermot cooking. Dermot had found a cylinder of Pillsbury biscuits in the refrigerator, and he’d mastered opening the can and putting them on a baking sheet. The oven had even preheated. Claude was cooking eggs, which was kind of amazing. Amelia was getting out plates and Bob was setting the table.

I hated to interrupt such a domestic scene.

“Amelia,” I said. She’d been suspiciously focused on the plates. She looked up as sharply as if she’d heard me pump my shotgun. I met her eyes. Guilty, guilty, guilty. “Claude,” I said even more sharply, and he glanced at me over his shoulder and smiled. No guilt there. Dermot and Bob simply looked resigned.

“Amelia, you told my business to a werewolf,” I said. “Not just any werewolf, but the packmaster of Shreveport. And I’m sure you did that on purpose.”

Amelia flushed red. “Sookie, I thought with the bond broken, maybe you’d want someone else to know about that, and you’d talked about Alcide, so when I met him, I thought . . .”