to the foot of the steps, and though I stil couldn’t see much, I could make out the two figures on the landing above beginning a furious motion. It accompanied a rhythmic thud. I realized the two men were throwing themselves against a door. There was a
Mustapha howled again, and I feared that Warren was dead.
I just couldn’t stand it; the death of the little blond sharpshooter with his pale freckled skin and his missing teeth was somehow more than I could bear tonight. I sank to my knees.
“Sookie,” Alcide said urgently.
I looked up. Mustapha was coming down the stairs, a body in his arms. Alcide was right in front of me.
“He’s alive,” Alcide said. “But he’s been up there without air-conditioning or ventilation or food or water for God knows how long. I guess the bitch couldn’t be bothered. We got to get him some help.”
“Vampire blood?” I suggested, but very quietly.
“I think Mustapha might consider that now,” Alcide said, and I knew that Warren must be very bad.
I cal ed Bil . “Sookie, where are you?” he yel ed. “I’ve been cal ing! What happened?”
I glanced at the screen. I did have a lot of missed cal s. “I had the phone on vibrate,” I said. “I’l tel you everything, but I want to ask you a favor first.
Are you stil in Shreveport?”
“Yes, I’m back outside the Trifecta, trying to pick up the trail of those dogs!”
“Hey, listen, chil . It’s been a real bad night. I need you now, my friend.”
“Anything.”
“Meet me at Alcide’s. You can save a life.”
“I’m on my way.”
On our way back into Shreveport, Mustapha took my place in the backseat with Warren’s head on his lap. When I proposed that Bil give Warren a drink to help him live, Mustapha said, “If it can bring him back, I’l do it. He may hate me later. Hel , I may hate myself. But we got to save him.”
Our drive back into Alcide’s neighborhood was shorter than our drive out because we knew our way now, but we grudged every stoplight or slow driver ahead of us, and Mustapha’s urgency pounded at me. Warren’s brain signature became weaker, flickered, resumed.
Sure enough, Bil was standing waiting at Alcide’s, and I leaped out of the car and pul ed Bil around to the backseat. When the door opened and he saw Warren, recognition flared in his eyes. Of course, Bil knew Mustapha, and he remembered Warren the shooter. I hoped it hadn’t occurred to Bil that it might be a good thing if he died, since he was yet another witness who could testify—at least in a limited way—to what had happened the night we’d kil ed Victor.
“He wasn’t in the club,” I said, grabbing Bil ’s wrist, as Mustapha gently lifted Warren’s head so he could vacate the car to leave room for Bil .
And Bil looked at me, a huge question on his face.
“Feed him,” I said. Without another word, Bil knelt by the car, bit his own wrist, and held the bleeding wrist over Warren’s parched mouth.
I don’t know if Warren would have done it if he hadn’t been so thirsty. At first, Bil ’s blood trickling into the slack mouth seemed to raise no reaction. But then something sparked in Warren, and he began to consciously drink. I could see his throat moving.
“Enough,” I said, after a minute. I could sense Warren’s brain firing back up. “Now, take him to the hospital, and they’l do al the right stuff for him.”
“But they’l know.” Alcide was scowling at me, and so was Mustapha. “They’l question him about who took him.” Bil , standing and holding his wrist, looked only mildly interested.
“You don’t want the police to arrest Jannalynn?” That seemed like the best of al possible worlds to me.
“She’d kil them if they tried,” Alcide said, but I knew from the conflict flowing from his head that he wasn’t voicing his real concern.
“You want to punish her,” I said, in as neutral a voice as I could manage.
“Course he does,” Mustapha said. “She’s pack. She’s his to punish.”
“I do want to ask her some questions,” I said. It seemed like the right time to get that out in the open. Otherwise, Jannalynn might end up dead before I’d had a chance to extract information.
“What about Sam?” Bil said, out of the blue.
“What about him?” Alcide asked after a moment.
“He’s not gonna be happy,” I muttered. “They weren’t ever as close as she told you they were, but after al …”
“She’s his woman,” Mustapha said, shrugging. He looked down at Warren. Just then Warren’s eyes fluttered open. He saw Mustapha and smiled. “I knew you’d find me,” he said. “I knew you’d come.”
It was touching, it was awkward, and I was total y confused.
“So it was Claude,” I said out loud. “I just can’t believe it. Why would he want Eric to drink from a borderline whore like Kym? Why would he give her his own blood to drink?” I was beyond mincing words, or being charitable.
“Claude could tel you why,” Bil said grimly. “Where is he now?”
“Nial came to get him. I haven’t seen Claude in days.”
