Dead as a Doornail by Charlaine Harris

small cargo ships and the like. I sailed aboard a small hoy, so we couldn’t take on too large or well defended a ship. But when we caught up with some bark, then there was fighting!” He sighed—recalling the happiness of whacking at people with a sword, I guess.
    “And what happened to you?” I asked politely, meaning how did he come to depart his wonderful warm-blooded life of rapine and slaughter for the vampire edition of the same thing.
    “One evening, we boarded a galleon that had no living crew,” he said. I noticed that his hands had curled into fists. His voice chilled. “We had sailed to the Tortugas. It was dusk. I was first man to go down into the hold. What was in the hold got me first.”
    After that little tale, we fell silent by mutual consent.
    Sam was on the couch in the living room of his trailer. Sam had had the double-wide anchored so it was at a right angle to the back of the bar. That way, at least he opened his front door to a view of the parking lot, which was better than looking at the back of the bar, with its large garbage bin between the kitchen door and the employees’ entrance.
    “Well, there you are,” Sam said, and his tone was grumpy. Sam was never one for sitting still. Now that his leg was in a cast, he was fretting from the inactivity. What would he do during the next full moon? Would the leg be healed enough by then for him to change? If he changed, what would happen to the cast? I’d known other injured shape-shifters before, but I hadn’t been around for their recuperation, so this was new territory for me. “I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost on the way back.” Sam’s voice returned me to the here and now. It had a distinct edge.
    “ ‘Gee, thanks, Sookie, I see you returned with a bouncer,’ ” I said. “ ‘I’m so sorry you had to go through the humiliating experience of asking Eric for a favor on my behalf.’ ” At that moment, I didn’t care if he was my boss or not.
    Sam looked embarrassed.
    “Eric agreed, then,” he said. He nodded at the pirate.
    “Charles Twining, at your service,” said the vampire.
    Sam’s eyes widened. “Okay. I’m Sam Merlotte, owner of the bar. I appreciate your coming to help us out here.”
    “I was ordered to do so,” the vampire said coolly.
    “So the deal you struck was room, board, and favor,” Sam said to me. “I owe Eric a favor.” This was said in a tone that a kind person would describe as grudging.
    “Yes.” I was mad now. “You sent me to make a deal. I checked the terms with you! That’s the deal I made. You asked Eric for a favor; now he gets a favor in return. No matter what you told yourself, that’s what it boils down to.”
    Sam nodded, though he didn’t look happy. “Also, I changed my mind. I think Mr. Twining, here, should stay with you.”
    “And why would you think that?”
    “The closet looked a little cramped. You have a light-tight place for vampires, right?”
    “You didn’t ask me if that was okay.”
    “You’re refusing to do it?”
    “Yes! I’m not the vampire hotel keeper!”
    “But you work for me, and he works for me . . .”
    “Uh-huh. And would you ask Arlene or Holly to put him up?”
    Sam looked even more amazed. “Well, no, but that’s because—” He stopped then.
    “Can’t think of how to finish the sentence, can you?” I snarled. “Okay, buddy, I’m out of here. I spent a whole evening putting myself in an embarrassing situation for you. And what do I get? No effing thanks! ”
    I stomped out of the double-wide. I didn’t slam the door because I didn’t want to be childish. Door slamming just isn’t adult. Neither is whining. Okay, maybe stomping out isn’t, either. But it was a choice between making an emphatic verbal exit or slapping Sam. Normally Sam was one of my favorite people in the world, but tonight . . . not.
    I was working the early shift for the next three days—not that I was sure I had a job anymore. When I got