Then I was out the door and looking to my right. Jim Collins was standing there at a gap in the overgrown hedge, his balding head shining under the sun, the baseball in his age-spotted hands. I knew what he was going to do before he did it; I knew it as his intent formed. Collins was in his sixties, but hale and fit, and the ball went right toward Sam with impressive force. My hand shot out to intercept it. It stung like hell, but I would not have winced for all the cotton in the Delta. I caught Collins’s gaze and held it. I didn’t let myself speak. I was afraid of what I’d say.

There was a long moment of silence. Mindy’s husband, Doke, took two steps forward. He told Collins, “Don’t think about acting out in front of my son.” Doke was so angry he had to exercise all his restraint.

At that moment, I wished I were a witch so I could throw Bernie’s neighbor’s malevolence back at him. But I didn’t have any superpowers or any supernatural powers, or any kind of power at all. All that I had that was mine was my unpredictable ability to read minds and my unexpected strength and quickness, which came from taking the occasional sip of Eric. My arm dropped to my side, the ball clenched in my fist, and Sam came over to put his hand on my shoulder. We watched Jim Collins, still expressionless, turn to go back into his house.

“Was he trying to hit me?” Sam asked quietly.

I was too angry to speak. I turned my head to look into Sam’s eyes. I nodded.

“Thanks, Sookie,” he said. “That would have been bad. Maybe I could have caught it in time. Maybe not.” Sam was very, very quick, like all twoeys—but he’d been caught off guard.

“I only moved quicker because I knew about it ahead of time,” I said, leaving Eric and his blood out of the conversation. “That creep wants to provoke you. I hope none of the rest of your neighbors are like him.”

“They never used to be,” he said, his voice bleak. “Now it’s hard to tell.”

“To hell with them,” I said. “You-all are good people, Sam. There’s nothing wrong with you and your mother, except maybe your mom didn’t pick her second husband too well.”

I could hear the other men going into the house, Mason’s piping voice exclaiming over my good catch.

“Mom understands that now,” Sam said. “I think it never occurred to her that Don would be so angry about her other nature, because she was so sure he loved her.”

Time to change the subject. “Your mom’s fixing chicken,” I said. “Oven baked, with Parmesan cheese and bread crumbs.”

“Yeah? She’s a pretty good cook.” Sam’s eyes brightened.