The consignment shop was only a mile away. Since "fancy used clothes" didn't sound very enticing, the owners had gone for Second Time's the Charm. Tara seemed slightly embarrassed at visiting a used-clothing store, no matter how upscale it looked.
"I have to look nice since I've got a clothing store," she told me. "But I don't want to spend a lot on bigger pants, since I hope I won't be wearing a size up for long." Tara was actually two sizes up, her head told me.
This is one of the things I hate about being telepathic.
"Only makes sense," I said soothingly. "And maybe I'll see something for the wedding." It seemed highly unlikely that the original owner of the dress would turn up at Jason's wedding, and that was my only qualm about purchasing a garment someone else had worn a time or two.
Tara knew the owner, a bony redhead, whose name appeared to be Allison. After a hug of greeting, Tara hauled out pictures of the twins . . . maybe a hundred pictures. I was completely unsurprised.
I'd seen the real thing, so I wandered away to check out the "better" dresses. I found my size and began to slide the hangers along the rack one by one, taking my time about it. I was more relaxed than I had been in a week.
I was glad Tara had winkled me out of the house. There was something wonderfully normal and reassuring about our shopping expedition. The air-conditioned shop was peaceful, since the music was turned down very, very low. The prices were higher than I'd expected, but when I read the labels, I understood why. Everything here was good quality.
I scooted aside a hanger holding a terrible purple-and-green garment, and I came to a complete stop, enraptured. The next dress was a rich yellow. It was sleeveless, lined, and scoop-necked, with a large, flat bow curving around the middle of the back. It was beautiful.
"I love this dress," I said out loud, feeling profoundly happy. This was shallow, all right? I knew that. But I'll take joy where I find it.
"I'm going to try this on," I called, holding it up. The owner, deep in Tara's delivery story, didn't even turn around. She raised her hand and waved it in acknowledgment. "Rosanne will be right with you," she called.
The dress and I went past the curtain into the changing area. There were four cubicles, and since no one else had entered the store, I wasn't surprised to find them all empty. I wriggled out of my shorts and my T-shirt in record time. Holding my breath with suspense, I slid the dress off its hanger and over my head. It settled on my hips like it was happy to be there. I reached behind me to zip it up. I got the zipper halfway to its destination, but my arms can only bend so far. I stepped out to see if I could detach Tara from her fascinating conversation. A young woman, presumably Rosanne, was standing right outside, waiting for me to emerge. When I saw her, I felt a faint buzz of familiarity. Rosanne was in her late teens, a sturdy kid with her brown hair braided and rolled in a bun. She was wearing a neat pants outfit in French blue and cream. Surely I'd seen her before?
"I'm so sorry I wasn't on the floor to help you!" she said. "What can I do for you? You need help with that zipper?" She'd started speaking almost as soon as I'd emerged from the curtain, and it wasn't until she finished that she took a good look at my face.
"Oh, shit!" Rosanne said, so sharply that the shop owner turned around to look.
I gave the elegant Allison an "everything's all right here" smile, hoping I wasn't lying.
"What's the matter with you?" I whispered to Rosanne. I looked down at myself, searching for something that would explain her alarm. Had I started my period? What? When I didn't see anything alarming, I looked up at her anxiously, waiting for her to tell me why she was so agitated.
"It's you," she breathed. "You're the one."
"I'm the one what?"
"The one who has such big magic. The one who raised that twoey from the dead."
"Oh." Revelation. "You're in the Long Tooth pack, I guess? I thought I'd seen you somewhere before."
"I was there," she said, with an unblinking, unnerving intensity. "At Alcide's farm."
"That was kind of awful, huh?" I said. And it was the last thing I wanted to talk about. Back to the matter at hand. I smiled at Rosanne the werewolf. "Hey, can you zip me up?" I turned my back to her, not without trepidation. In the full-length mirror, I saw her looking at me. It didn't take a telepath to interpret that expression. She was afraid to touch me.
The remnants of my good mood crashed and burned.
When I'd been a child, some people had regarded me with a blend of unease and disgust. Telepathic children can say the worst things at the worst times, and no one likes them for it or forgets that they blurted out something private and secret. Telepathy in a child is nothing short of terrible. Even I, the actual telepath, had felt that way. Some people had been absolutely frightened by my ability, which I hadn't had the skill to conceal. After I'd gained some control over what I said when I "overheard" something startling or awful from the thoughts of a neighbor, I'd seldom seen that expression. I'd forgotten how painful it could be.
"You're scared of me," I said, stating the obvious because I simply couldn't think of what else to do. "But you have nothing to fear from me. You're the one with claws and fangs."
"Hush, Allison'll hear you," she whispered.
"You're still in the closet?"
"Here at work I am," she said, her voice deeper and rougher. At least she didn't look frightened any longer, which had been my goal. "You know how hard it is for two-natured girls, when they start changing? Harder than it is for the boys. One in twenty of us ends up a permanent psycho bitch. But if you can get through your teens, you're pretty nearly home free, and I'm almost there. Allison is nice, and this is a low-stress place. I've worked here every summer. I want to keep this job." She looked at me pleadingly.
"Then zip me up, okay? I have no intention of talking about you. I just need a frickin' dress," I told her, really exasperated. I wasn't unsympathetic, but I truly felt I had enough problems at the moment.
She hesitantly reached up with her left hand to grip the top of the dress, held the zipper with her right, and in a second I was enclosed properly. The bow covered the zipper and was held in place by snaps. Since summer is prime tanning time, I was a lovely brown, and the deep yellow looked . . . wonderful. The dress wasn't cut too low at the top, and it was just high enough at the hem. A little dab of my previous good mood returned.
While I hadn't enjoyed Rosanne's assumption that I'd "out" her simply for my own pleasure, I could understand her worries. Sort of. I'd met two or three women who hadn't made it through their supe adolescence with their personality intact; this condition was something to fear, all right. With an effort, I shoved the whole exchange away. When I could focus on my image in the mirror, I felt a flutter of sheer gratification. "Wow, it's so pretty," I said. I smiled at her reflection, inviting her to lighten up with me.
But Rosanne was silent, her face still unhappy. She was not going along with my "we're all happy girls" program. "You did do that, right?" she said. "Bring the shifter back from the dead."
I could see I wasn't going to get to enjoy the thrill of shopping victory. "It was a one-time-only event," I said, my smile vanishing. "I can't do it again. I don't even want to do it again." I realized I might not have used the cluviel dor if I'd had time to think about it. I might have doubted it would work, and that doubt would have weakened my will. My witch friend Amelia had told me once that magic was all about will.
I'd had plenty of will when I'd felt Sam's heart quit beating.
"Is Alcide doing all right?" I asked, making another effort to shift the topic.
"The packmaster is well," she said formally. Though she was a Were, I could see into her mind clearly enough to tell that though she'd overcome her initial fear, she had deep reservations about me. I wondered if the whole pack now shared that distrust. Did Alcide believe I was some kind of super witch?
Nothing could be further from the truth. I'd never been super anything.
"Glad to hear he's okay. I'll take the dress," I said. At least, I figured, I can salvage something from this encounter. When I went to the checkout counter, I saw that while Rosanne and I had had our uncomfortable heart-to-heart, Tara had found a couple of pairs of shorts and a pair of jeans, very good labels. She seemed pleased, and Allison did, too - because she wouldn't have to look at any more baby pictures.
As I left the shop, the dress in a bag over my arm, I looked back to see the young Were watching me through the front window, a mixture of respect and fear on her face.
I'd been so absorbed in my own reaction to what I'd done to Sam - for Sam - that I'd never worried about how other witnesses might react.
"So what was with you and that girl?" Tara said abruptly.
"What? Nothing."
Tara gave me a massively skeptical look. I was going to have to explain. "She's a Were from Alcide's pack, but she's keeping her second nature a secret from her employer," I said. "You don't feel obliged to tell Allison, I hope?"
"No, who Allison hires is up to her." Tara shrugged. "Rosanne's been there since she was a kid, coming in after school. As long as she does the work, what difference does it make?"
"Good. We'll keep it under our hats, then."
"Rosanne didn't look happy with you," Tara said, after a long moment.
"No . . . no, she wasn't. She thinks . . . I'm a witch, a really terrible witch. Terrible in the sense of being very powerful and scary."
Tara snorted. "I can tell she doesn't know you worth a damn."
I smiled, but it was a weak effort. "I hope it's not a widespread opinion."
"I would have thought they could smell if you were bad or not."
I tried to look indifferent. "They should know better, but since they don't, I'm just going to have to weather it out."
"Sook, don't you worry. If you need us, you call JB and me. We'll strap those babies into their car seats, and we'll be right over. I know I've failed you some . . . disappointed you some . . . in the past couple of years. But I swear I'll help you, no matter what."
I was taken aback by her vehemence. I looked sharply at my friend. There were tears in her eyes, even while she pulled out into traffic and turned the car back toward Bon Temps.
"Tara? What're you talking about?"
"I did fail you," she said, her face grim. "In so many ways. And I failed myself. I made some really dumb decisions. I was trying so hard to escape the way I was brought up. For a couple of years, I would have done anything to make sure I never had to live like I had at my folks' house again. So I looked for protection, and you know how that turned out. When that was over, I hated vampires so much I couldn't listen to your problems. I've grown up now, though." She gave a sharp and decisive nod, as though in her opinion she'd taken the final step in spiritual growth.
This was the last thing in the world I'd expected: a declaration of reconciliation by my oldest friend. I started to deny every negative thing she'd said about herself. But she'd been so honest that I had to be honest in return - at least, in a tactful kind of way. "Tara, we've always been friends. We'll always be friends," I said. "If you've made mistakes, I have, too. We just got to do the best we can. We're coming out the other side of a lot of trouble, both of us." Maybe.
She pulled a Kleenex out of her purse and blotted her face with one hand. "I know we'll be okay," she said. "I know it."
I wasn't convinced of that, at least about my own future, but I wasn't going to ruin Tara's moment. "Sure we will," I said. I patted her hand on the steering wheel.
For a few miles we drove in silence. I looked out the window at the fields and ditches, choked with growth, the heat hovering over them like a giant blanket. If weeds could flourish with such vigor, maybe I could, too.
Chapter 3
Our shopping trip jolted me out of my rut of worry. When Tara went home, I sat down to make some resolutions.
I promised myself I would go in to work the next day, whether or not I heard from Sam. I had a part interest in the bar, and I didn't have to get Sam's permission to show up. I gave myself a rousing speech before I realized I was being ridiculous. Sam wasn't denying me entrance to the bar. Sam hadn't told me he didn't want to see me. I had stayed at home of my own volition. Sam's noncommunication might mean many things. I needed to get off my butt and find out.
I heated up a DiGiorno's that night, since no one would deliver out on Hummingbird Road. Actually, the Prescotts, my neighbors closer to town, got their pizza delivered, but no one wanted to venture onto the long, narrow driveway to my house after dark. I'd learned lately (from the thoughts of patrons at Merlotte's) that the woods around my house and along Hummingbird Road had a reputation of being haunted by creatures frightening beyond belief.
Actually, that was absolutely true - but the creatures that had sparked the rumor were now departed to a country I couldn't visit. However, there was a dead man strolling through my yard as I tried to fold the cardboard disk that had been under the pizza. Those things are hell to get into kitchen garbage bags, aren't they? I'd finally managed it by the time he reached the back door and knocked.
"Hey, Bill," I called. "Come on in."