Alcide was in his office, which was a miracle. I described my location, and he gave me directions on how to reach his office. He offered to come get me, but I didn't want him to think I was an utter idiot.

I used a calling card to phone Bud Dearborn's office, to hear there was no news about Jason.

Following Alcide's directions very carefully, I arrived at Herveaux and Son in about twenty minutes. It was not too far off I-30, on the eastern edge of Shreveport, actually on my way back to Bon Temps.

The Herveauxes owned the building, and their surveying company was its sole occupant. I parked in front of the low brick building. At the rear, I spotted Alcide's Dodge Ram pickup in the large parking lot for employees. The one in front, for visitors, was much smaller. It was clear to see that the Herveauxes mostly went to their clients, rather than the clients coming to them.

Feeling shy and more than a little nervous, I pushed open the front door and glanced around. There was a desk just inside the door, with a waiting area opposite. Beyond a half wall, I could see five or six workstations, three of them occupied. The woman behind the desk was in charge of routing phone calls, too. She had short dark brown hair that was carefully cut and styled, she was wearing a beautiful sweater, and she had wonderful makeup. She was probably in her forties, but it hadn't lessened her impressiveness.

"I'm here to see Alcide," I said, feeling embarrassed and self-conscious.

"Your name?" She was smiling at me, but she looked a little crisp around the edges, as if she didn't quite approve of a young and obviously unfashionable woman showing up at Alcide's workplace. I was wearing a bright blue-and-yellow knit top with long sleeves under my old thigh-length blue cloth coat, and aged blue jeans, and Reeboks. I'd been worried about finding my brother when I dressed, not about standing inspection by the Fashion Police.

"Stackhouse," I said.

"Ms. Stackhouse here to see you," Crispy said into an intercom.

"Oh, good!" Alcide sounded very happy, which was a relief.

Crispy was saying into the intercom, "Shall I send her back?" when Alcide burst through the door behind and to the left of her desk.

"Sookie!" he said, and he beamed at me. He stopped for a second, as if he couldn't quite decide what he should do, and then he hugged me.

I felt like I was smiling all over. I hugged him back. I was so happy to see him! I thought he looked wonderful. Alcide is a tall man, with black hair that apparently can't be tamed with a brush and comb, and he has a broad face and green eyes.

We'd dumped a body together, and that creates a bond.

He pulled gently on my braid. "Come on back," he said in my ear, since Ms. Crispy was looking on with an indulgent smile. I was sure the indulgent part was for Alcide's benefit. In fact, I knew it was, because she was thinking I didn't look chic enough or polished enough to date a Herveaux, and she didn't think Alcide's dad (with whom she'd been sleeping for two years) would appreciate Alcide taking up with a no-account girl like me. Oops, one of those things I didn't want to know. Obviously I wasn't shielding myself hard enough. Bill had made me practice, and now that I didn't see him anymore, I was getting sloppy. It wasn't entirely my fault; Ms. Crispy was a clear broadcaster.

Alcide was not, since he's a werewolf.

Alcide ushered me down a hall, which was nicely carpeted and hung with neutral pictures—insipid landscapes and garden scenes—which I figured some decorator (or maybe Ms. Crispy) had chosen. He showed me into his office, which had his name on the door. It was a big room, but not a grand or elegant one, because it was just chock-full of work stuff—plans and papers and hard hats and office equipment. Very utilitarian. A fax machine was humming, and set beside a stack of forms there was a calculator displaying figures.

"You're busy. I shouldn't have called," I said, instantly cowed.

"Are you kidding? Your call is the best thing that's happened to me all day!" He sounded so sincere that I had to smile again. "There's something I have to say to you, something I didn't tell you when I dropped your stuff off after you got hurt." After I'd been beaten up by hired thugs. "I felt so bad about it that I've put off coming to Bon Temps to talk to you face-to-face."

Omigod, he'd gotten back with his nasty rotten fiancée, Debbie Pelt. I was getting Debbie's name from his brain.

"Yes?" I said, trying to look calm and open. He reached down and took my hand between his own large palms.

"I owe you a huge apology."

Okay, that was unexpected. "How would that be?" I asked, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. I'd come here to spill my guts, but it was Alcide who was spilling his instead.

"That last night, at Club Dead," he began, "when you needed my help and protection the most, I . . ."

I knew what was coming now. Alcide had changed into a wolf rather than staying human and helping me out of the bar after I'd gotten staked. I put my free hand across his mouth. His skin was so warm. If you're used to touching vampires, you'll know just how roasty a regular human can feel, and a Were even more so, since they run a few degrees hotter.

I felt my pulse quicken, and I knew he could tell, too. Animals are good at sensing excitement. "Alcide," I said, "never bring that up. You couldn't help it, and it all turned out okay, anyway." Well, more or less—other than my heart breaking at Bill's perfidy.

"Thanks for being so understanding," he said, after a pause during which he looked at me intently. "I think I would have felt better if you'd been mad." I believe he was wondering whether I was just putting a brave face on it or if I was truly sincere. I could tell he had an impulse to kiss me, but he wasn't sure if I'd welcome such a move or even allow it.

Well, I didn't know what I'd do, either, so I didn't give myself the chance to find out.

"Okay, I'm furious with you, but I'm concealing it real well," I said. He relaxed all over when he saw me smile, though it might be the last smile we'd share all day. "Listen, your office in the middle of day isn't a good time and place to tell you the things I need to tell you," I said. I spoke very levelly, so he'd realize I wasn't coming on to him. Not only did I just plain old like Alcide, I thought he was one hell of a man—but until I was sure he was through with Debbie Pelt, he was off my list of guys I wanted to be around. The last I'd heard of Debbie, she'd been engaged to another shifter, though even that hadn't ended her emotional involvement with Alcide.

I was not going to get in the middle of that—not with the grief caused by Bill's infidelity still weighing heavily on my own heart.

"Let's go to the Applebee's down the road and have some coffee," he suggested. Over the intercom, he told Crispy he was leaving. We went out through the back door.

It was about two o'clock by then, and the restaurant was almost empty. Alcide asked the young man who seated us to put us in a booth as far away from anyone else as we could get. I scooted down the bench on one side, expecting Alcide to take the other, but he slid in beside me. "If you want to tell secrets, this is as close as we can get," he said.

We both ordered coffee, and Alcide asked the server to bring a small pot. I inquired after his dad while the server was puttering around, and Alcide inquired after Jason. I didn't answer, because the mention of my brother's name was enough to make me feel close to crying. When our coffee had come and the young man had left, Alcide said, "What's up?"

I took a deep breath, trying to decide where to begin. "There's a bad witch coven in Shreveport," I said flatly. "They drink vampire blood, and at least a few of them are shifters."

It was Alcide's turn to take a deep breath.