expression.
“I’m not a psychic,” I said truthfully, and Weiss immediately felt disappointed. She felt she could be in the presence of a poseur or a nut job, but she had hoped I’d admit I was the real thing.
“Chief Trochek said you told them where to find survivors. He said you actually steered the rescue crews to the living.”
Amelia came down the stairs then, looking very respectable in a bright red sweater and designer jeans. I met her eyes, hoping she’d see I was silently asking for help. I hadn’t been able to turn my back on a situation where I could actually save lives. When I’d realized I could find people—that teaming up with Barry would result in saving lives—I couldn’t turn away from the task, though I was scared of being exposed to the world as a freak.
It’s hard to explain what I see. I guess it’s like looking through infrared goggles or something. I see the heat of the brain; I can count the living people in a building, if I have time. Vampire brains leave a hole, a negative spot; I can usually count those, too. Plain old dead people don’t register with me at all. That day when Barry and I had held hands, the joining had magnified our abilities. We could find the living, and we could hear the last thoughts of the dying. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. And I didn’t want to experience it again, ever.
“We just had good luck,” I said. That wouldn’t convince a toad to hop.
Amelia came forward with her hand extended. “I’m Amelia Broadway,” she said, as if she expected them to know who she was.
They did.
“You’re Copley’s daughter, right?” Weiss asked. “I met him a couple of weeks ago in connection with a community program.”
“He’s so involved in the city,” Amelia said with a dazzling smile. “He’s got his fingers in a dozen pies, I guess. Dad’s real fond of the Sook, here.” Not so subtle, but hopefully effective. Leave my roommate alone. My father’s powerful .
Weiss nodded pleasantly. “How’d you end up here in Bon Temps, Ms. Broadway?” she asked. “It must seem real quiet here, after New Orleans.” What’s a rich bitch like you doing in this backwater? By the way, your dad’s not around to run interference for you .
“My house got damaged during Katrina,” Amelia said. She left it at that. She didn’t tell them that she’d been in Bon Temps already when Katrina happened.
“And you, Ms. Fant?” Lattesta asked. “Were you an evacuee also?” He’d by no means abandoned the subject of my ability, but he was willing to go along with the social flow.
“Yes,” Octavia said. “I was living with my niece under cramped circumstances, and Sookie very kindly offered me her spare bedroom.”
“How’d you know each other?” Weiss asked, as if she was expecting to hear a delightful story.
“Through Amelia,” I said, smiling just as happily back at her.
“And you and Amelia met—?”
“In New Orleans,” Amelia said, firmly cutting off that line of questioning.
“Did you want some more iced tea?” Octavia asked Lattesta.
“No, thank you,” he said, almost shuddering. It had been Octavia’s turn to make the tea, and she did have a heavy hand with the sugar. “Ms. Stackhouse, you don’t have any idea how to contact this young man?” He indicated the picture.
I shrugged. “We both helped to look for bodies,” I said. “It was a terrible day. I don’t remember what name he gave.”
“That seems strange,” Lattesta said, and I thought, Oh, shit . “Since someone answering your description and a young man answering his description checked into a motel some distance from the explosion that night and shared a room.”
“Well, you don’t have to know someone’s name to spend the night with them,” Amelia said reasonably.
I shrugged and tried to look embarrassed, which wasn’t too hard. I’d rather they think me sexually easy than decide I was worthy of more attention. “We’d shared a horrible,
“I’m not a psychic,” I said truthfully, and Weiss immediately felt disappointed. She felt she could be in the presence of a poseur or a nut job, but she had hoped I’d admit I was the real thing.
“Chief Trochek said you told them where to find survivors. He said you actually steered the rescue crews to the living.”
Amelia came down the stairs then, looking very respectable in a bright red sweater and designer jeans. I met her eyes, hoping she’d see I was silently asking for help. I hadn’t been able to turn my back on a situation where I could actually save lives. When I’d realized I could find people—that teaming up with Barry would result in saving lives—I couldn’t turn away from the task, though I was scared of being exposed to the world as a freak.
It’s hard to explain what I see. I guess it’s like looking through infrared goggles or something. I see the heat of the brain; I can count the living people in a building, if I have time. Vampire brains leave a hole, a negative spot; I can usually count those, too. Plain old dead people don’t register with me at all. That day when Barry and I had held hands, the joining had magnified our abilities. We could find the living, and we could hear the last thoughts of the dying. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. And I didn’t want to experience it again, ever.
“We just had good luck,” I said. That wouldn’t convince a toad to hop.
Amelia came forward with her hand extended. “I’m Amelia Broadway,” she said, as if she expected them to know who she was.
They did.
“You’re Copley’s daughter, right?” Weiss asked. “I met him a couple of weeks ago in connection with a community program.”
“He’s so involved in the city,” Amelia said with a dazzling smile. “He’s got his fingers in a dozen pies, I guess. Dad’s real fond of the Sook, here.” Not so subtle, but hopefully effective. Leave my roommate alone. My father’s powerful .
Weiss nodded pleasantly. “How’d you end up here in Bon Temps, Ms. Broadway?” she asked. “It must seem real quiet here, after New Orleans.” What’s a rich bitch like you doing in this backwater? By the way, your dad’s not around to run interference for you .
“My house got damaged during Katrina,” Amelia said. She left it at that. She didn’t tell them that she’d been in Bon Temps already when Katrina happened.
“And you, Ms. Fant?” Lattesta asked. “Were you an evacuee also?” He’d by no means abandoned the subject of my ability, but he was willing to go along with the social flow.
“Yes,” Octavia said. “I was living with my niece under cramped circumstances, and Sookie very kindly offered me her spare bedroom.”
“How’d you know each other?” Weiss asked, as if she was expecting to hear a delightful story.
“Through Amelia,” I said, smiling just as happily back at her.
“And you and Amelia met—?”
“In New Orleans,” Amelia said, firmly cutting off that line of questioning.
“Did you want some more iced tea?” Octavia asked Lattesta.
“No, thank you,” he said, almost shuddering. It had been Octavia’s turn to make the tea, and she did have a heavy hand with the sugar. “Ms. Stackhouse, you don’t have any idea how to contact this young man?” He indicated the picture.
I shrugged. “We both helped to look for bodies,” I said. “It was a terrible day. I don’t remember what name he gave.”
“That seems strange,” Lattesta said, and I thought, Oh, shit . “Since someone answering your description and a young man answering his description checked into a motel some distance from the explosion that night and shared a room.”
“Well, you don’t have to know someone’s name to spend the night with them,” Amelia said reasonably.
I shrugged and tried to look embarrassed, which wasn’t too hard. I’d rather they think me sexually easy than decide I was worthy of more attention. “We’d shared a horrible,
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