Dead Ever After Read Online Free PDF

I’d thought Pam liked me a bit, as much as she ever would a human, and her words smarted like a slap in the face. I didn’t need to hurt any worse than I already did, but I’d come here to see if I could smooth things over with Eric a little, tell him that he was wrong about Sam and me, find out what he’d decided about Freyda.
    “I need to talk to Eric,” I said. I didn’t try to enter. I knew better.
    At that moment, the door to Eric’s office flew open. He stood framed in the doorway. Eric was big and golden and all male, and normally when he saw me, he started smiling.
    Not tonight.
    “Sookie, I can’t talk to you now,” he said. “Horst will be here any second, and he doesn’t need to be reminded you exist. They’ve called in a lawyer to go over the contract.”
    It was like he was talking to a stranger, and furthermore, a stranger who had very little business appearing on his doorstep. In fact, Eric seemed both angry and wounded.
    I had a mouthful—and heart full—of things I wanted to say. More than almost anything else in the world, I wanted to put my arms around him and tell him how much he meant to me. But as I took a half step in his direction, Eric moved back and shut the office door.
    I froze for a moment, trying to absorb the shock and hurt, and keep my face from crumpling. Pam glided toward me and put one hand on my shoulder to spin me around and guide me away from the door. After it clanged shut behind us, she said into my ear, “Don’t come here again. It’s too dangerous. There’s too much going on, too many visitors.” And then she raised her voice and said, “And don’t come back until he calls you!” She gave me a little shove that propelled me into the side of my car. And then she zipped back inside and closed the door with that quick vampiric movement that always seemed like magic, or a really good video game.
    So I went home, brooding over Pam’s warning and Eric’s words and demeanor. I thought about crying but didn’t have the energy. I was too tired of being sad to make myself even sadder. Obviously, there was a lot of upheaval at Fangtasia and a lot of things hanging in the balance. There was nothing I could do about it except stay out of the way in the hope that I’d live through the change in regime, whatever that turned out to be. It was like waiting for the Titanic to sink.
    Another morning went by, another day I passed holding my emotional breath, waiting for something to happen . . . something conclusive, or terrible.
    I didn’t feel as though I were waiting for the other shoe to drop; I felt as though I were waiting for an anvil to fall on my head. If I hadn’t met with such a crushing reception when I went to Fangtasia, I might have tried to shake things up on my own, but I was discouraged, to put it in the mildest possible way. I took a very long, hot walk through the woods to put a basket of tomatoes on the Prescotts’ back porch. I mowed my meadowlike lawn. I found I always felt better when I was outside: more whole, somehow. (And that was good, because there was a shitload of yard work to do.) But I brought my cell phone with me every step I took.
    I waited for Sam to call me. But he didn’t. Neither did Bernie.
    I thought Bill might come over to let me know what was going on. He didn’t.
    And so ended another day of noncommunication.
    The next day, when I got up, I had a message of sorts from Eric. He had texted me —texted me !—and not even personally, but through Pam. She relayed a stiff message, informing me that he’d talk to me later in the week. I had cherished a hope that perhaps Pam herself would show up to bawl me out or to enlighten me about how Eric was faring . . . but no.
    As I sat on the front porch with a glass of iced tea, I examined myself to see if my heart was broken. I was so emotionally exhausted, I couldn’t tell. As I saw it, maybe melodramatically, Eric and I were struggling with the chains of the love that had bound us