Dead and Gone

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

There are lots of people who’ve helped me along the way, and that help has put me where I am today. I want to give thanks to just a few. The current moderators of my website (Katie, Michele, MariCarmen, Victoria, and Kerri) make my life so much easier, and the moderators emeriti (Beverly and Debi) deserve a tip of the hat, too. The readers who visit www.charlaineharris.com to offer their comments, theories, and pats on the back are always a source of encouragement.

Backed by a cast of thousands—okay, four—Toni Kelner and Dana Cameron are a constant source of support, encouragement, commiseration, and enthusiasm. I wouldn’t know what to do without them.

Chapter 1

“Caucasian vampires should never wear white,” the television announcer intoned. “We’ve been secretly filming Devon Dawn, who’s been a vampire for only a decade, as she gets dressed for a night on the town. Look at that outfit! It’s all wrong for her!”

“What was she thinking?” said an acidic female voice. “Talk about stuck in the nineties! Look at that blouse, if that’s what you call it. Her skin just cries out for contrasting color, and what is she putting on? Ivory! It makes her skin look like a Hefty bag.”

I paused in the act of tying my shoe to watch what happened next as the two vampire fashionistas burst in on the hapless victim—oh, excuse me, the lucky vampire—who was about to get an unsolicited makeover. She’d have the additional pleasure of realizing her friends had turned her in to the fashion police.

“I don’t think this is going to end well,” Octavia Fant said. Though my housemate Amelia Broadway had sort of slid Octavia into my house—based on a casual invitation I’d issued in a weak moment—the arrangement was working out okay.

“Devon Dawn, here’s Bev Leveto from The Best Dressed Vamp, and I’m Todd Seabrook. Your friend Tessa called to tell us you needed fashion help! We’ve been secretly filming you for the past two nights, and—AAACKK!” A white hand flashed at Todd’s throat, which vanished, leaving a gaping reddish hole. The camera lingered, fascinated, as Todd crumpled to the floor, before it rose to follow the fight between Devon Dawn and Bev.

“Gosh,” said Amelia. “Looks like Bev’s gonna win.”

“Better strategic sense,” I said. “Did you notice she let Todd go through the door first?”

“I’ve got her pinned,” Bev said triumphantly on the screen. “Devon Dawn, while Todd recovers his speech, we’re going to go through your closet. A girl who’s going to live for eternity can’t afford to be tacky. Vampires can’t get stuck in their pasts. We’ve got to be fashion forward!”

Devon Dawn whimpered, “But I like my clothes! They’re part of who I am! You’ve broken my arm.”

“It’ll heal. Listen, you don’t want to be known as the little vampire who couldn’t, do you? You don’t want to have your head stuck in the past!”

“Well, I guess not . . .”

“Good! I’ll let you up now. And I can tell from the coughing that Todd’s feeling better.”

I switched off the television and tied my other shoe, shaking my head at America’s new addiction to vampire “reality” shows. I got my red coat out of the closet. The sight of it reminded me that I myself had some absolutely real problems with a vampire; in the two and a half months since the takeover of the Louisiana vampire kingdom by the vampires of Nevada, Eric Northman had been fully occupied with consolidating his position within the new regime and evaluating what was left of the old.

We were way overdue for a chitchat about Eric’s newly recovered memories