That made sense, at least to me. Bellenos the elf had scoffed at Amelia's spells and added his own, and there wasn't anything human about Bellenos.

I felt guilty at doubting her. It was time for me to act happy. "Having defense money calls for some ice cream with that cake. How about it, you all? I've got Rocky Road and Dulce de Leche." I smiled all around the kitchen. While I was dishing up the ice cream (everyone wanted some), I was keeping my fingers crossed that Amelia and Bob would cast a good spell.

After dessert, as the two witches went outside to work and Barry covered the remains of the cake while I put away the ice cream, Diantha said she was going upstairs to sleep. She still looked exhausted. Mr. Cataliades went up with her and came down with the papers about the monthly payment and a check for the property sale. It was attached to the legal documents with a paper clip in the shape of a heart.

I rinsed my hands and dried them on a dish towel before I took the documents from him. I glanced down at the check, with no idea what to expect. The amount made my head swim, and the letter clipped to it said I would be getting three thousand dollars a month. "This year?" I asked, to be sure I understood. "Three thousand a month? Wow. That's amazing." A whole year of luxury!

"Not this year. For the rest of your life," Mr. Cataliades said.

I had to sit down very quickly.

"Sookie, you okay?" Barry asked, bending over. Bad news or good news? he asked.

I can pay for my legal defense, I told him. And I can get the house sprayed for bugs.

Chapter 15

At midnight the alarms went off.

I hadn't known there were alarms and I hadn't known it was midnight, but when the chiming started, I glanced at the clock. I'd been having the best sleep I'd had in days, and I experienced a moment of vicious disappointment before I launched myself out of bed.

From across the hall, Amelia shouted, "It worked!" I flung open my bedroom door and stumbled out. Amelia and Bob, in a nightgown and sleep shorts respectively, were hurrying through their doorway and heading to the back door. I heard Mr. Cataliades bellow something. Diantha shrieked back. They were pounding down the stairs completely dressed in their day clothes. Barry staggered down after them in LSU sleep pants and shirtless.

We all crowded onto the back porch, staring outside. There was one big security light in the back, but we could also see that a ring of blue light had sprung up around the yard and house. A body lay on the ground outside the ring. "Oh, no!" I said, and put my hand on the porch door.

"Sookie, don't go out!" Amelia said, grabbing my shoulder and yanking me backward. "That's someone who tried to sneak up on the house."

"But what if it's Bill and he was only coming to see if everything was okay?"

"Our defensive circle recognizes enmity," Bob said with simple pride.

"Diantha, do you have your cell phone?" Mr. Cataliades asked.

"SureIgotit," she said, and I spared a moment to be relieved that she was back to normal.

"Go take a picture of the person who is lying on the ground, but from well within the circle," he directed.

Before we could think to stop her or argue with the procedure, Diantha was out of the house and running across the backyard at an incredible speed. The phone was out in her hand, and as she reached the perimeter of the protective circle, she paused and took a picture. Then, before we could be more frightened for her, she was back.

Mr. Cataliades turned the little screen toward me. "Do you recognize this vampire?" he asked.

I peered at it. "Yes, I do. That's Horst Friedman, Felipe de Castro's right-hand man."

"I thought as much. Amelia, Bob, I congratulate you on your power and your perspicacity."

I didn't know what "perspicacity" was, but Amelia did, and she beamed with delight. Even the dour Bob looked proud.

"Yes, thanks," I said with extra enthusiasm, hoping it wasn't too belated. "I don't know what he wanted, and I don't want to know, at least right now. Do you have to recharge the circle, or something like that?"

"We should retest it," Bob suggested, and Amelia nodded.

I saw Barry's gaze encompass the nightgown and Amelia in it, and he looked away resolutely. I really didn't want to hear his thoughts about my witch friend. I said lalalalala inside my head for a moment so the lust could abate.

"Sookie!" The call came from outside, from the dark woods.

"Who's there?" I called in reply.

"Bill," he said. "What has happened here?"

"I guess Horst tried to sneak up on the house, and Bob and Amelia's witch spell zapped him," I yelled. I opened the back door and took two steps down. I figured if I was still standing on the steps, I could jump back inside.

Bill emerged from the tree line. "I felt the magic from my house," he said. He looked down at Horst's limp body. I wondered if the vampire was finally dead, but his body seemed intact. "What shall I do with him?" Bill asked me.

"That's up to you," I called, wishing that I could walk out to the blue ring and lower my voice. I was afraid to, though. "You gotta keep the peace with the king, I guess." Otherwise, I might be tempted to ask Bill to use a little persuasion on Horst when the vampire woke up, so we could discover what Horst and his boss had had in mind for me.

"I'll take him to my place and call the king," Bill said, and he hoisted the unconscious vampire to his shoulder as if Horst weighed nothing. In a moment, Bill and his burden were out of sight.

"That was exciting," I said, trying to sound calm and casual. I stepped back onto the porch. "I guess I'll go back to bed. Thanks, you two, for putting that protection around. Diantha, I appreciate your help. You all okay? Anybody need anything?"

"We'll be right back in as soon as we test the spell," Bob said, and turned to Amelia. "You up to it, babe?"

"We should check its strength now that it's reacted," she said, nodding, and they went down to the yard in their bare feet. Without any consultation, they each took the other's hands and began to chant. A strong scent wafted across the back porch, and I knew it was the scent of their magic. It was musky and heavy, like sandalwood.

It wasn't easy to get back to sleep after such a rude awakening, but somehow I managed it. For all I knew, the sudden drop into deep sleep was part of the spell my friends were casting in my yard. When I next opened my eyes, the room was full of light and I could hear my guests moving around the house.

Though I knew I was being a bad hostess, I checked my cell phone for messages before I went out to the kitchen. I had one, a voice message from Bill.

"I called Eric and told him I had the kings friend at my house," he said. "Eric asked what had happened, and I told him about the witches' circle. I told him that you had many friends staying with you and they were prepared to defend you. He asked if Sam Merlotte was among them, and when I said I hadn't seen him, he laughed. He told me he would tell the king where Horst was. Afterward, Felipe sent his woman, Angie, to collect Horst, who was only beginning to recover consciousness by the time she got here. Angie seemed quite angry at Horst, so I suspect he was on an unauthorized mission. Your witch friends did a good job." Then he hung up. Older vampires are not into phone etiquette.

It wasn't pretty, the picture of Eric laughing at Sam's absence. It made me think furiously.

"Sookie, do you have any more milk?" Barry called. Of course, he would know that I was up.

"I'm coming," I yelled back, and pulled on my clothes.

The needs of the world went on, no matter how many crises erupted. "All God's children got to eat," I said, and found another quart of milk at the back of the top shelf and handed it to Barry. Then I poured myself a bowl of cereal.

Bob said, "The psychic's going to be here any minute." He was not trying to sound like he was telling me to hurry up, but it was a timely reminder. I was horrified when I looked at the clock.

Everyone but me had already eaten, rinsed out the dishes, and stacked them by the sink. I should have felt embarrassed, but instead I was simply relieved.

Just after I brushed my teeth, an ancient pickup truck rumbled into my front parking area. Its motor cut with an ominous rattle. A short, stocky woman slid out of the high cab to land on the gravel. She was wearing a cowboy hat decorated with the tip portion of a peacock feather. Her dry brown hair brushed her shoulders and almost matched her skin, as tan and weathered as an old saddle. Delphine Oubre was nothing like I'd imagined. From her battered boots and jeans to her sleeveless blue blouse, she looked like she'd be more at home at a country and western bar like Stompin' Sally's than coming to the house of a telepath to practice her touch psychic-ness.

"Paranormal psychometry," Barry corrected.

I raised an eyebrow.

"It was just called psychometry originally," he said, "but in the past few years 'real scientists' " - he made the imaginary quote marks - "have started using that term to designate . . . well, measuring psychological traits."

That didn't sound much like a science to me.

"Me, either," he confessed. But I read up on this online last night to get ready for her visit. In case Bob is mistaken about her talent.

Good move, I told him, watching Delphine Oubre come up the back steps.

"You don't need to tell her your names," Bob said hastily. "Just mine, that's all she needs."

Up close, Delphine seemed to be about forty years old. She wore no jewelry or makeup; her only decoration was the feather in her hat. Her cowboy boots were ancient and venerable. She looked like she could pound in nails with her bare hands.

Bob introduced himself to Delphine, and though (following his orders) I didn't tell her my name, I offered Delphine a drink (she wanted water from the tap, no ice). She pulled out a kitchen chair and took a seat. When I put the glass in front of her, she took a big swallow. "Well?" she said impatiently.

Diantha offered her the scarf, still in its plastic bag. I hadn't seen it, hadn't wanted to see it. The scarf had been cut off Arlene, so the knot was intact. It was twisted into a thin rope, and it was stained.

"Dead woman's scarf," Delphine said, though not as if that worried her.

"No, it's my scarf," I said. "But I want to know how come a dead woman was wearing it. Do you have a problem with holding something that killed someone?"

I wanted to be sure Ms. Oubre wouldn't start screaming when she touched the fabric. Though judging by what I'd seen of her so far, that didn't seem likely.

"It ain't the scarf that killed her, but the hands that tightened it," she said practically. "Show me your money and hand it over. I got cows to feed back home."

Money? Bob had called her. Since he'd done the arranging, I'd forgotten to ask him what the payment should be. Naturally, she wouldn't take a check.

"Four hundred," Bob murmured, and I could have slapped him for neglecting to tell me this. Of course, I should have asked. As I tried to remember what was in my purse, my heart sank. I'd have to pass Delphine's cowboy hat to come up with the cash on the spot.

Mr. Cataliades's hand appeared in front of Delphine with four hundred-dollar bills in it. She took the money without comment, stuffing it in her chest pocket. I nodded my thanks to my demon benefactor. He nodded back in a negligent way. "I'll add it to my bill," he murmured.

Now that that was settled, we all watched the touch psychic with anxious interest. Without further ado, Delphine Oubre opened the plastic bag and extracted the scarf. The smell was pretty bad, and Amelia immediately went to a window and opened it.

If I'd thought twice, I'd have done this outside, no matter how hot it was.

The psychic's eyes were closed, and she held the scarf loosely at first. As it revealed things to her, her grip tightened, until she was clenching the material tightly. Her face turned slightly from side to side as if she sought a better view; the effect was indescribably eerie. And believe me, seeing inside her head was eerie, too.

"I've killed women," she said suddenly, in a voice that was not her own. I jumped, and I wasn't the only one. We all took a step back from Delphine Oubre.

"I've killed whores," she said gloatingly. "This one's close enough. She's so scared. That makes it sweeter."

We were frozen, like we'd drawn a collective breath and were holding it.

"My friend there," said Oubre, still in the slightly accented voice, "he's squeamish, just a bit. But it's his choice, you know?"

I almost recognized that voice. I associated it with . . . trouble. Disaster.

I turned to look at Barry, at the same moment he took my hand in his.

"Johan Glassport," I whispered.

My comfort level had just shot out of the uneasy area and into the blood-pressure-medication zone. Barry had mentioned seeing Glassport in New Orleans, and Quinn had seen him at an area motel; but I couldn't figure out why. Glassport had no reason to dislike me that I knew of, but I didn't believe that reasons were a big part of his operating system when he wasn't on the clock as a lawyer.

When I'd met Glassport, we'd been on an airplane flight to Rhodes, both hired by the then-queen of Louisiana, Sophie-Anne. I was supposed to listen in to human brains at the vampire summit, and Glassport's job was to defend her against charges brought by a contingent of Arkansas vamps.

I hadn't seen Glassport since the Pyramid of Gizeh had been blown up by human supremacists who wanted to make a statement about vampires - namely, that they all ought to die.