“This was a fast paced and entertaining read that had me glued to my seat and turning those pages to see just who would show up and what was going to happen next.”—Fresh Fiction
Dead Reckoning (Sookie Stackhouse / Southern Vampire Series #11)by Charlaine Harris
The #1 New York Times bestselling Sookie Stackhouse novel—now in trade paperback with the original mass market art.
With her knack for being in trouble’s way, Sookie witnesses the firebombing of Merlotte’s, the bar where she works. Since Sam Merlotte is now known to be two-natured, suspicion falls immediately on the anti-shifters in/i>
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The #1 New York Times bestselling Sookie Stackhouse novel—now in trade paperback with the original mass market art.
With her knack for being in trouble’s way, Sookie witnesses the firebombing of Merlotte’s, the bar where she works. Since Sam Merlotte is now known to be two-natured, suspicion falls immediately on the anti-shifters in the area. Sookie suspects otherwise, but her attention is divided when she realizes that her lover, Eric Northman, and his “child” Pam are plotting to kill the vampire who is now their master. Gradually, Sookie is drawn into the plot—which is much more complicated than she knows. Caught up once again in the politics of the vampire world, Sookie will learn that she is as much of a pawn as any ordinary human—and that there is a new queen on the board...
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Table of Contents
Ace Books by Charlaine Harris
The Sookie Stackhouse Novels
DEAD UNTIL DARK
LIVING DEAD IN DALLAS
DEAD TO THE WORLD
DEAD AS A DOORNAIL
ALL TOGETHER DEAD
FROM DEAD TO WORSE
DEAD AND GONE
DEAD IN THE FAMILY
A TOUCH OF DEAD: SOOKIE STACKHOUSE,
THE COMPLETE SHORT STORIES
Ace Anthologies Edited by Charlaine Harris and Toni L. P. Kelner
MANY BLOODY RETURNS
WOLFSBANE AND MISTLETOE
DEATH’S EXCELLENT VACATION
Berkley Prime Crime Books by Charlaine Harris
SWEET AND DEADLY
A SECRET RAGE
The Harper Connelly Mysteries
AN ICE COLD GRAVE
The Lily Bard Mysteries
The Aurora Teagarden Mysteries
A BONE TO PICK
THREE BEDROOMS, ONE CORPSE
THE JULIUS HOUSE
DEAD OVER HEELS
A FOOL AND HIS HONEY
LAST SCENE ALIVE
POPPY DONE TO DEATH
Berkley Prime Crime Anthologies Edited by Charlaine Harris
CRIMES BY MOONLIGHT
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Dead reckoning : a Sookie Stackhouse novel / Charlaine Harris. p. cm.—(Sookie Stackhouse / True blood ; 11)
1. Stackhouse, Sookie (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Vampires—Fiction.
3. Werewolves—Fiction. I. Title.
I have to dedicate this book to the memory of my mother.
She would not have thought it strange to have an urban fantasy novel dedicated to her.
She was my biggest fan and my most faithful reader.
There was so much to admire about my mother.
I miss her every day.
I am afraid I’ll skip someone this time around, because I am fortunate enough to have a lot of great help as I work on these books. Let me thank my assistant and best friend, Paula Woldan, first and foremost, for allowing me the peace of mind to work without worry; my friends and readers Toni L. P. Kelner and Dana Cameron, who help me focus on the important aspects of the work at hand; Victoria Koski, who tries to keep the huge world of Sookie in order; and my agent, Joshua Bilmes, and my editor, Ginjer Buchanan, who work so hard to keep my professional train on the tracks. For this book, I had the excellent advice of Ellen Dugan, writer, mother, and witch.
The attic had been kept locked until the day after my grandmother died. I’d found her key and opened it that awful day to look for her wedding dress, having the crazy idea she should be buried in it. I’d taken one step inside and then turned and walked out, leaving the door unsecured behind me.
Now, two years later, I pushed that door open again. The hinges creaked as ominously as if it were midnight on Halloween instead of a sunny Wednesday morning in late May. The broad floorboards protested under my feet as I stepped over the threshold. There were dark shapes all around me, and a very faint musty odor—the smell of old things long forgotten.
When the second story had been added to the original Stackhouse home decades before, the new floor had been divided into bedrooms, but perhaps a third of it had been relegated to storage space after the largest generation of Stackhouses had thinned out. Since Jason and I had come to live with my grandparents after our parents had died, the attic door had been kept locked. Gran hadn’t wanted to clean up after us if we decided the attic was a great place to play.
Now I owned the house, and the key was on a ribbon around my neck. There were only three Stackhouse descendants—Jason, me, and my deceased cousin Hadley’s son, a little boy named Hunter.
I waved my hand around in the shadowy gloom to find the hanging chain, grasped it, and pulled. An overhead bulb illuminated decades of family castoffs.
Cousin Claude and Great-Uncle Dermot stepped in behind me. Dermot exhaled so loudly it was almost a snort. Claude looked grim. I was sure he was regretting his offer to help me clean out the attic. But I wasn’t going to let my cousin off the hook, not when there was another able-bodied male available to help. For now, Dermot went where Claude went, so I had two for the price of one. I couldn’t predict how long the situation would hold. I’d suddenly realized that morning that soon it would be too hot to spend time in the upstairs room. The window unit my friend Amelia had installed in one of the bedrooms kept the living spaces tolerable, but of course we’d never wasted money putting one in the attic.
“How shall we go about this?” Dermot asked. He was blond and Claude was dark; they looked like gorgeous bookends. I’d asked Claude once how old he was, to find he had only the vaguest idea. The fae don’t keep track of time the same way we do, but Claude was at least a century older than me. He was a kid compared to Dermot; my great-uncle thought he was seven hundred years my senior. Not a wrinkle, not a gray hair, not a droop anywhere, on either of them.
Since they were much more fairy than me—I was only one-eighth—we all seemed to be about the same age, our late twenties. But that would change in a few years. I would look older than my ancient kin. Though Dermot looked very like my brother, Jason, I’d realized the day before that Jason had crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes. Dermot might not ever show even that token of aging.
Pulling myself back into the here and now, I said, “I suggest we carry things down to the living room. It’s so much brighter down there; it’ll be easier to see what’s worth keeping and what isn’t. After we get everything out of the attic, I can clean it up after you two leave for work.” Claude owned a strip club in Monroe and drove over every day, and Dermot went where Claude went. As always . . .
“We’ve got three hours,” Claude said.
“Let’s get to work,” I said, my lips curving upward in a bright and cheerful smile. That’s my fallback expression.
About an hour later, I was having second thoughts, but it was too late to back out of the task. (Getting to watch Claude and Dermot shirtless made the work a lot more interesting.) My family has lived in this house since there have been Stackhouses in Renard Parish. And that’s been well over a hundred and fifty years. We’ve saved things.
The living room began to fill up in a hurry. There were boxes of books, trunks full of clothes, furniture, vases. The Stackhouse family had never been rich, and apparently we’d always thought we could find a use for anything, no matter how battered or broken, if we kept it long enough. Even the two fairies wanted to take a break after maneuvering an incredibly heavy wooden desk down the narrow staircase. We all sat on the front porch. The guys sat on the railing, and I slumped down on the swing.
“We could just pile it all in the yard and burn it,” Claude suggested. He wasn’t joking. Claude’s sense of humor was quirky at best, minuscule the rest of the time.
“No!” I tried not to sound as irritated as I felt. “I know this stuff is not valuable, but if other Stackhouses thought it ought to be stored up there, I at least owe them the courtesy of having a look at all of it.”
“Dearest great-niece,” Dermot said, “I’m afraid Claude has a point. Saying this debris is ‘not valuable’ is being kind.” Once you heard Dermot talk, you knew his resemblance to Jason was strictly superficial.
I glowered at the fairies. “Of course to you two most of this would be trash, but to humans it might have some value,” I said. “I may call the theater group in Shreveport to see if they want any of the clothes or furniture.”
Claude shrugged. “That’ll get rid of some of it,” he said. “But most of the fabric isn’t even good for rags.” We’d put some boxes out on the porch when the living room began to be impassable, and he poked one with his toe. The label said the contents were curtains, but I could only guess what they’d originally looked like.
“You’re right,” I admitted. I pushed with my feet, not too energetically, and swung for a minute. Dermot went in the house and returned with a glass of peach tea with lots of ice in it. He handed it to me silently. I thanked him and stared dismally at all the old things someone had once treasured. “Okay, we’ll start a burn pile,” I said, bowing to common sense. “Round back, where I usually burn the leaves?”
Dermot and Claude glared at me.
“Okay, right here on the gravel is fine,” I said. The last time my driveway had been graveled, the parking area in front of the house, outlined with landscape timbers, had gotten a fresh load, too. “It’s not like I get a lot of visitors.”
By the time Dermot and Claude knocked off to shower and change for work, the parking area contained a substantial mound of useless items waiting for the torch. Stackhouse wives had stored extra sheets and coverlets, and most of them were in the same ragged condition as the curtains. To my deeper regret, many of the books were mildewed and mouse-chewed. I sighed and added them to the pile, though the very idea of burning books made me queasy. But broken furniture, rotted umbrellas, spotted place mats, an ancient leather suitcase with big holes in it . . . no one would ever need these items again.
The pictures we’d uncovered—framed, in albums, or loose—we placed in a box in the living room. Documents were sorted into another box. I’d found some old dolls, too. I knew from television that people collected dolls, and perhaps these were worth something. There were some old guns, too, and a sword. Where was Antiques Roadshow when you needed it?
Later that evening at Merlotte’s, I told my boss Sam about my day. Sam, a compact man who was actually immensely strong, was dusting the bottles behind the bar. We weren’t very busy that night. In fact, business hadn’t been good for the past few weeks. I didn’t know if the slump was due to the chicken processing plant closing or the fact that some people objected to Sam being a shapeshifter. (The two-natured had tried to emulate the successful transition of the vampires, but it hadn’t gone so well.) And there was a new bar, Vic’s Redneck Roadhouse, about ten miles west off the interstate. I’d heard the Redneck Roadhouse held all kinds of wet T-shirt contests, beer pong tournaments, and a promotion called “Bring in a Bubba Night”—crap like that.
Popular crap. Crap that raked in the customers.
Whatever the reasons, Sam and I had time to talk about attics and antiques.
“There’s a store called Splendide in Shreveport,” Sam said. “Both the owners are appraisers. You could give them a call.”
“How’d you know that?” Okay, maybe that wasn’t so tactful.
“Well, I do know a few things besides tending bar,” Sam said, giving me a sideways look.
I had to refill a pitcher of beer for one of my tables. When I returned, I said, “Of course you know all kinds of stuff. I just didn’t know you were into antiques.”
“I’m not. But Jannalynn is. Splendide’s her favorite place to shop.”
I blinked, trying not to look as disconcerted as I felt. Jannalynn Hopper, who’d been dating Sam for a few weeks now, was so ferocious she’d been named the Long Tooth pack enforcer—though she was only twenty-one and about as big as a seventh grader. It was hard to imagine Jannalynn restoring a vintage picture frame or planning to fit a plantation sideboard into her place in Shreveport. (Come to think of it, I had no idea where she lived. Did Jannalynn actually have a house?)
“I sure wouldn’t have guessed that,” I said, making myself smile at Sam. It was my personal opinion that Jannalynn was not good enough for Sam.
Of course, I kept that to myself. Glass houses, stones, right? I was dating a vampire whose kill list would top Jannalynn’s for sure, since Eric was over a thousand years old. In one of those awful moments you have at random, I realized that everyone I’d ever dated—though, granted, that was a short list—was a killer.
And so was I.
I had to shake this off in a hurry, or I’d be in a melancholy funk all evening.
“You have a name and phone number for this shop?” I hoped the antiques dealers would agree to come to Bon Temps. I’d have to rent a U-Haul to get all the attic contents to Shreveport.
“Yeah, I got it in my office,” Sam said. “I was talking to Brenda, the female half of the partnership, about getting Jannalynn something special for her birthday. It’s coming right up. Brenda—Brenda Hesterman—called this morning to tell me she had a few things for me to look at.”
“Maybe we could go see her tomorrow?” I suggested. “I have things piled all over the living room and some out on the front porch, and the good weather won’t last forever.”
“Would Jason want any of it?” Sam asked diffidently. “I’m just saying, family stuff.”
“He got a piecrust table around a month ago,” I said. “But I guess I should ask him.” I thought about it. The house and its contents were mine, since Gran had left it to me. Hmmmm. Well, first things first. “Let’s ask Ms. Hesterman if she’ll come give a look. If there’s pieces that are worth anything, I can think about it.”
“Okay,” Sam said. “Sounds good. Pick you up tomorrow at ten?”
That was a little early for me to be up and dressed since I was working the late shift, but I agreed.
Sam sounded pleased. “You can tell me what you think about whatever Brenda shows me. It’ll be good to have a woman’s opinion.” He ran a hand over his hair, which (as usual) was a mess. A few weeks ago he’d cut it real short, and now it was in an awkward stage of growing back. Sam’s hair is a pretty color, sort of strawberry blond; but since it’s naturally curly, now that it was growing out it couldn’t seem to pick a direction. I suppressed an urge to whip out a brush and make sense out of it. That was not something an employee should do to her boss’s head.
Kennedy Keyes and Danny Prideaux, who worked for Sam parttime as substitute bartender and bouncer, respectively, came in to climb on two of the empty barstools. Kennedy is beautiful. She was first runner-up to Miss Louisiana a few years ago, and she still looks like a beauty pageant queen. Her chestnut hair’s all glossy and thick, and the ends wouldn’t dare to split. Her makeup is meticulous. She has manicures and pedicures on a regular basis. She wouldn’t buy a garment at Wal-Mart if her life depended on it.
A few years ago her future, which should have included a country club marriage in the next parish and a big inheritance from her daddy, had been derailed from its path when she’d served time for manslaughter.
Along with pretty nearly everyone I knew, I figured her boyfriend had had it coming, after I saw the pictures of her face swelling black-and-blue in her mug shots. But she’d confessed to shooting him when she called 911, and his family had a little clout, so there was no way Kennedy could walk. She’d gotten a light sentence and time off for good behavior, since she’d taught deportment and grooming to the other inmates. Eventually, Kennedy had done her time. When she’d gotten out, she’d rented a little apartment in Bon Temps, where she had an aunt, Marcia Albanese. Sam had offered her a job pretty much right after he met her, and she’d accepted on the spot.
“Hey, man,” Danny said to Sam. “Fix us two mojitos?”
Sam got the mint out of the refrigerator and set to work. I handed him the sliced limes when he was almost through with the drinks.
“What are you all up to tonight?” I asked. “You look mighty pretty, Kennedy.”
“I finally lost ten pounds!” she said, and when Sam deposited her glass in front of her, she lifted it to toast with Danny. “To my former figure! May I be on the road to getting it back!”
Danny shook his head. He said, “Hey! You don’t need to do anything to look beautiful.” I had to turn away so I wouldn’t say, Aw.w.ww. Danny was one tough guy who couldn’t have grown up in a more different environment than Kennedy—the only experience they’d had in common was jail—but boy, he was carrying a big torch for her. I could feel the heat from where I stood. You didn’t have to be telepathic to see Danny’s devotion.
We hadn’t drawn the curtains on the front window yet, and when I realized it was dark outside, I started forward. Though I was looking out from the bright bar to the dark parking lot, there were lights out there, and something was moving . . . moving fast. Toward the bar. I had a slice of a second to think Odd, and then caught the flicker of flame.
“Down!” I yelled, but the word hadn’t even gotten all the way out of my mouth when the window shattered and the bottle with its fiery head landed on a table where no one was sitting, breaking the napkin holder and scattering the salt and pepper shakers. Burning napkins flared out from the point of impact to drift down to the floor and the chairs and the people. The table itself was a mass of fire almost instantly.
Danny moved faster than I’d ever seen a human move. He swept Kennedy off her stool, flipped up the pass-through, and shoved her down behind the bar. There was a brief logjam as Sam, moving even faster, grabbed the fire extinguisher from the wall and tried to leap through the pass-through to start spraying.
I felt heat on my thighs and looked down to see that my apron had been ignited by one of the napkins. I’m ashamed to say that I screamed. Sam swiveled around to spray me and then turned back to the flames. The customers were yelling, dodging flames, running into the passage that led past the bathrooms and Sam’s office through to the back parking lot. One of our perpetual customers, Jane Bodehouse, was bleeding heavily, her hand clapped to her lacerated scalp. She’d been sitting by the window, not her usual place at the bar, so I figured she’d been cut by flying glass. Jane staggered and would have fallen if I hadn’t grabbed her arm.
“Go that way,” I yelled in her ear, and shoved her in the right direction. Sam was spraying the biggest flame, aiming at the base of it in the approved manner, but the napkins that had floated away were causing lots of little fires. I grabbed the pitcher of water and the pitcher of tea off the bar and began methodically tracking the flames on the floor. The pitchers were full, and I managed to be pretty effective.
One of the window curtains was on fire, and I took three steps, aimed carefully, and tossed the remaining tea. The flame didn’t quite die out. I grabbed a glass of water from a table and got much closer to the fire than I wanted to. Flinching the whole time, I poured the liquid down the steaming curtain. I felt an odd flicker of warmth behind me and smelled something disgusting. A powerful gust of chemicals made a strange sensation against my back. I turned to try to figure out what had happened and saw Sam whirling away with the extinguisher.
I found myself looking through the serving hatch into the kitchen. Antoine, the cook, was shutting down all the appliances. Smart. I could hear the fire engine in the distance, but I was too busy looking for yellow flickers to feel much relief. My eyes, streaming with tears from the smoke and the chemicals, were darting around like pinballs as I tried to spot flames, and I was coughing like crazy. Sam had run to retrieve the second extinguisher from his office, and he returned holding it ready. We rocked from side to side on our feet, ready to leap into action to extinguish the next flicker.
Neither of us spotted anything else.
Sam aimed one more blast at the bottle that had caused the fire, and then he put down the extinguisher. He leaned over to plant his hands on his thighs and inhaled raggedly. He began coughing. After a second, he bent down to the bottle.
“Don’t touch it,” I said urgently, and his hand stopped halfway down.
“Of course not,” he said, chiding himself, and he straightened up. “Did you see who threw it?”
“No,” I said. We were the only people left in the bar. I could hear the fire engine getting closer and closer, so I knew we had only a minute more to talk to each other alone. “Coulda been the same people who’ve been demonstrating out in the parking lot. I don’t know that the church members are into firebombs, though.” Not everyone in the area was pleased to know there were such creatures as werewolves and shapeshifters following the Great Reveal, and the Holy Word Tabernacle in Clarice had been sending its members to demonstrate at Merlotte’s from time to time.
“Sookie,” Sam said, “sorry about your hair.”
“What about it?” I said, lifting my hand to my head. The shock was setting in now. I had a hard time making my hand mind my directions.
“The end of your ponytail got singed,” Sam said. And he sat down very suddenly. That seemed like a good idea.
“So that’s what smells so bad,” I said, and collapsed on the floor beside him. We had our backs against the base of the bar, since the stools had gotten scattered in the melee of the rush out the back door. My hair was burned off. I felt tears run down my cheeks. I knew it was stupid, but I couldn’t help it.
Sam took my hand and gripped it, and we were still sitting like that when the firefighters rushed in. Even though Merlotte’s is outside the city limits, we got the official town firefighters, not the volunteers.
“I don’t think you need the hose,” Sam called. “I think it’s out.” He was anxious to prevent any more damage to the bar.
Truman La Salle, the fire chief, said, “You two need first aid?” But his eyes were busy, and his words were almost absentminded.
“I’m okay,” I said, after a glance at Sam. “But Jane’s out back with a cut on her head, from the glass. Sam?”
“Maybe my right hand got a little burned,” he said, and his mouth compressed as if he was just now feeling the pain. He released my hand to rub his left over his right, and he definitely winced this time.
“You need to take care of that,” I advised him. “Burns hurt like the devil.”
“Yeah, I’m figuring that out,” he said, his eyes squeezing shut.
Bud Dearborn came in as soon as Truman yelled, “Okay!” The sheriff must have been in bed, because he had a thrown-together look and was minus his hat, a reliable part of his wardrobe. Sheriff Dearborn was probably in his late fifties by now, and he showed every minute of it. He’d always looked like a Pekinese. Now he looked like a gray one. He spent a few minutes going around the bar, watching where his feet went, almost sniffing the disarray. Finally he was satisfied and came up to stand in front of me.
“What you been up to now?” he asked.
“Someone threw a firebomb in the window,” I said. “None of my doing.” I was too shocked to sound angry.
“Sam, they aiming for you?” the sheriff asked. He wandered off without waiting for an answer.
Sam got up slowly and turned to reach his left hand to me. I gripped it and he pulled. Since Sam’s much stronger than he looks, I was on my feet in a jiffy.
Time stood still for a few minutes. I had to think that I was maybe a bit in shock.
As Sheriff Dearborn completed his slow and careful circuit of the bar, he arrived back at Sam and me.
By then we had another sheriff to deal with.
Eric Northman, my boyfriend and the vampire sheriff of Area Five, which included Bon Temps, came through the door so quickly that when Bud and Truman realized he was there, they jumped, and I thought Bud was going to draw his weapon. Eric gripped my shoulders and bent to peer into my face. “Are you hurt?” he demanded.
It was like his concern gave me permission to drop my bravery. I felt a tear run down my cheek. Just one. “My apron caught fire, but I think my legs are okay,” I said, making a huge effort to sound calm. “I only lost a little hair. So I didn’t come out of it too bad. Bud, Truman, I can’t remember if you’ve met my boyfriend, Eric Northman from Shreveport.” There were several iffy facts in that sentence.
“How’d you know there was trouble here, Mr. Northman?” Truman asked.
“Sookie called me on her cell phone,” Eric said. That was a lie, but I didn’t exactly want to explain our blood bond to our fire chief and our sheriff, and Eric would never volunteer any information to humans.
One of the most wonderful, and the most appalling, things about Eric loving me was that he didn’t give a shit about anyone else. He ignored the damaged bar, Sam’s burns, and the police and firefighters (who were keeping track of him from the corners of their eyes) still inspecting the building.
Eric circled me to evaluate the hair situation. After a long moment, he said, “I’m going to look at your legs. Then we’ll find a doctor and a beautician.” His voice was absolutely cold and steady, but I knew he was volcanically angry. It rolled through the bond between us, just as my fear and shock had alerted him to my danger.
“Honey, we have other things to think about,” I said, forcing myself to smile, forcing myself to sound calm. One corner of my brain pictured a pink ambulance screeching to a halt outside to disgorge emergency beauticians with cases of scissors, combs, and hair spray. “Dealing with a little hair damage can wait until tomorrow. It’s a lot more important to find out who did this and why.”
Eric glared at Sam as if the attack were Sam’s responsibility. “Yes, his bar is far more important than your safety and well-being,” he said. Sam looked astonished at this rebuke, and the beginnings of anger flickered across his face.
“If Sam hadn’t been so quick with the fire extinguisher, we’d all have been in bad shape,” I said, keeping up with the calm and the smiling. “In fact, both the bar and the people in it would have been in a lot more trouble.” I was running out of faux serenity, and of course Eric realized it.
“I’m taking you home,” he said.
“Not until I talk to her.” Bud showed considerable courage in asserting himself. Eric was scary enough when he was in a good mood, much less when his fangs ran out as they did now. Strong emotion does that to a vamp.
“Honey,” I said, holding on to my own temper with an effort. I put my arm around Eric’s waist, and tried again. “Honey, Bud and Truman are in charge here, and they have their rules to follow. I’m okay.” Though I was trembling, which of course he could feel.
“You were frightened,” Eric said. I felt his own rage that something had happened to me that he had not been able to prevent. I suppressed a sigh at having to babysit Eric’s emotions when I wanted to be free to have my own nervous breakdown. Vampires are nothing if not possessive when they’ve claimed someone as theirs, but they’re also usually anxious to blend into the human population, not cause any unnecessary waves. This was an overreaction.
What People are saying about this
“Doesn’t disappoint fans of the southern, mind-reading belle who gets mixed up in the world of vampires and magical creatures…It’s the perfect poolside read.”—The Kansas City Star
“This was a fast-paced and entertaining read that had me glued to my seat and turning those pages to see just who would show up and what was going to happen next.”—Fresh Fiction
Meet the Author
Charlaine Harris writes both fantasies and mysteries.
- Southern Arkansas
- Date of Birth:
- November 25, 1951
- Place of Birth:
- Tunica, Mississippi
- B.A. in English and Communication Arts, Rhodes, 1973
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
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I bought the Nook book version of Dead Reckoning and read it pretty much straight through. Though it is another fun installment, I feel like there wasn't enough plot and character development to really warrant this book (or the price). This book occurs around two weeks after the end of the last. Too much felt like a re-hash of previous books; Eric's preoccupied, Jannalynn is vicious, Tara's pregnant, Claude is an ass. Editing was sub-par, things were repeated several times using practically the same words. Dead and Gone had a lot going on, and now the last two books were sort of slow. I understand that Ms. Harris can't have really crazy stuff happening each time, like vampire summits and fairy abductions, and maybe this is just a "set-up" book for the next installment and we'll get a jump forward next time. I certainly hope so, because character development has come to a screeching halt between Dead in the Family and Dead Reckoning.
I've been a devoted fan of the Southern Vampire series since began. I've waited anxiously for each new book and developed a sort of trust in Charlaine Harris; I knew there was going to be a thrilling and fun adventure between the covers. I wish I could say this book was a continuation of long term happy relationship between reader and author, but I can't. I don't know what happened here--but this book was just okay. True there are some brilliant spots, moments of terrific imagination. The twist regarding Eric's maker and the maker's meddling certainly makes the outcome of a happily ever for Sookie and Eric anything but a certainty--It's a big time OMG! revelation. There are always questions as to what will happen next at the end of a Sookie book, however, this is the first time I'm both vexed and frustrated by the ending. The story was story arc was so weak, I felt like my order for a rich descendant dessert had been snatched away leaving me with a hard granola bar, it was a huge let down. I missed the Bon Temp rhythm of everyday life that always hums under the clashes. For me those little background stories tug my mind's eye and make Sookie's world real. Perhaps this was a rush book or a bridge book as in one that begins to lay the foundation for the big finale. Who knows? But at a cost of 14.99 for 274 pages in an e-book I expected more. I'm not ready to throw in the towel, I'll be back for the last installments, disappointed I may be, but I still want to know how the story ends. I'll also be hoping the promise of ebooks being cheaper is a reality and not marketing hype for the publishers.
It seems ms. harris isn't as passionate to the sookie stackhouse series as she had been in the past. If she has grown bored with the series, she should just end it. The book was too short, could have been more developed, and while authors tend to leave books in cliff hangers, this one lacked a resolution. It was definitely not up to par with other books from the series, I was pretty disappointed. Just because a book is popular, doesn't mean the company should be milking it with these expensive prices that only result in resentful customers.
I don't think I've ever been disappointed in a Sookie book, but this one definately made me feel like I wasted my money and time. Yes, we learned about Sookie's past, and there were changes, but overall this book did nothing to really advance the storyline in a positive way. I really hope Charlaine Harris puts more into the next book.
Too many subplots without any apparent connection between them. There isn't a climax, the novel just ends abruptly. I've been a fan for many years, but this is the second novel in a row that was subpar.
I loved reading this series!They will keep you entertained for hours.
I really felt this book went nowhere. This could have been a short story in regards to content. The story did not progress much and nothing too exciting happened. It was pure character developement with little plot. I really hope the next book returns to the usual wonderful level of writing I have come to expect from Ms. Harris.
Dear @FANGBANGER, Charlaine Harris as made available the first chapter of DEAD RECKONING through her website. I read it the other day and I find it simply awesome!!!!! We even get to read a bit of ERIC in the first chapter... hehehe
i have all of sookie stackhouse stories and loved them! this book seemed incomplete. it had many possibilities but other than a look at sookie's past..... that's it. what about her crazy relationships with her lovers? alcide again? where did that come from? i felt there was no depth to the story and read the book because i'm a true fan...... maybe the next one will be better......
What I find sad is that people are reviewing a book based on the PRICE, most of them before it was even released, which isn't fair to others who base their reading material off reviews that are supposed to be about the BOOK. Everyone can see what the price is, we don't need reviews on it. If you don't like it, get the book from the library or wait for the price to go down! With that said, I will say that this is probably one of my favorite Sookie books. A lot of questions are answered and a lot of new questions arise. This won't be the last book. There were times I was laughing out loud and times I about wanted to cry. Can't wait for the net one!
I just finished reading this and am walking away saying "Ms Harris didn't get the book done before her publishing deadline." Without spoiling the book I can't go into details, but will say Sookie hasn't come to any resolutions in this one there are hints but everything seems to hang for her. Eric gets to resolve some issues, and Bill comes to some realizations- but what does poor Sookie get--- nothing. Ms. Harris please take the time, write a longer book and give us some resolutions to some hanging questions next time!
Book publishers -- not Barnes & Noble -- set the prices on their books (hardcover, softcover, audio, and digital). Tell the publisher -- in this case Penguin Group USA -- that you object to the ebook price and will not pay it!
This book was just OK. So you get only 247 pages on this book. All the action and important parts of the plot are in the last 30-47 pages. I really hope all stuff in the first 200 pages of the book leads somewhere in the next book and that the issue between Sookie an Eric gets resolved. This book should not have been priced more than $5.
This book did not justify the price. It is a short book that did not move the story forward- sad.
I found this book to not be as good as the first 10 books in this series. I went out and bought the hardcover copy this morning and read it by tonight. I did not want to put it down hoping something in it would peek my interest. I can say I am disapointed in this one.
I recommend this book for anyone who loves vampire stories and mysteries. Charlaine Harris is a very good writer, and when I read her stories, I feel as though I am there. In each book, Sookie goes on an adventure, but not always getting hurt or needing help to stay alive. Mrs. Harris gives lots of details about all the characters even though the story is told through Sookie's eyes and mind. 'Dead in the Family' was not as exciting as the other novels, but it gave us lots of information that we need for the upcoming story. Plus it left us hanging with an important question. I am very excited to get 'Dead Reckoning' in hopes that my question will be answered. This book and the next 2 in her series are destined to be worth the wait.
It was perfect Sookie. I loved every page.
Walks in locating samanthas crying running towards her
Reading a Sookie Stackhouse novel is like sitting down with an old friend. She's such a likable character. You feel like you know her even though she only exists on the page. A down home Southern girl, she enjoys her Dairy Queen ice cream while making sure her toenails are brightly painted at all times. At heart, she's a girly girl, yet she's real and easy to relate to. In Charlaine Harris' 11th installment of the continuing saga that inspired the hit HBO series True Blood, Sookie is once again running for her life against humans, vampires, werewolves, shape shifters and fairies. Merlotte's bar is firebombed leaving her with a singed ponytail and rattled nerves. She is repeatedly attacked by the newly released Sandra Pelt whose sister she killed. Her vampire "husband," Eric, is keeping a monumental secret that will affect their romantic relationship. Not to mention his club, Fangtasia, is struggling under the reign of the new Louisiana regent, Victor. Things are looking pretty bleak. Over the course of the series, Sookie has grown from a naive, socially isolated telepath to a pawn in a supernatural power struggle to a more jaded, cynical combatant. Still reeling from the effects of being subjected to fairy torture, Harris begins to portray her heroine as a hardened survivor. She realizes that she now belongs among the ranks of those who have taken a life. Her innocence is replaced by a skeptical and suspicious worldview. Yet underneath the surface, the same sweet Sookie remains. Her first vampire boyfriend, Bill, used her to advance his career. Her Gran never revealed her hidden fairy heritage. Her lover, Eric, tricked her into a blood bond. Yet, she still holds onto an optimistic outlook. That's why you keep coming back to these stories to see how she is going to battle though the next catastrophe. As the series progresses, I feel it has "jumped the shark" a bit. Dead Reckoning and the previous novel, Dead in the Family, are a tad jumbled and convoluted in storyline. It seems that there are just too many supernatural communities to keep track of - that it's hard to catch up with all of the pertinent characters in one book. Instead, they all tend to make cameo appearances. Sookie's brother, Jason, is briefly mentioned as he drives by in his truck. Amelia, the witch, arrives back in Bon Temps only to be thrown out of Sookie's house. Alcide, the werewolf, fulfills his shirtless scene requirement then exits stage left. There are too many people to touch base with in only 325 pages. And it's a shame because that's where Harris connects with her readers - through the memorable, distinctive personalities that inhabit her novels. Whether it is the town drunk, Jane Bodehouse, sitting at Merlotte's bar or Pam the vampire's sarcastic one-liners, we look forward to reconnecting with these characters when we pick up the latest Sookie Stackhouse book. Unfortunately, in this go-around, we're left with quick glimpses of the cast instead of any lengthy, back porch conversations. Overall, Dead Reckoning advances the narrative, of the Sookie Stackhouse series as a whole, setting up what looks to be an interesting book #12. However, as a stand alone book, it is creatively tapped out.
I bought the book today, I'm only on page 48 and can not find the patience to follow her inconsistency throughout the paragraphs. I have been a reader and follower of her books since the first day it has come out, I'm truly disappointed that her books no longer has passion in them and that her heart and mind is now set on making money. I don't like her Trueblood series, they do not follow the books are ridiculous to watch. I don't know if I will finish this book or if I will purchase the rest of her series. I'm really sad, I guess I'll stick to other good writers like Laurel Hamilton. :(
I rated this one star and a need change back for it. this book sucka!!!!!!!!!
If ur gnna offer samples fr free,then u should skip all the fluff. Ths one fr example,says 23pges,however,only 7 of those pges are the actual STORY!.........smh.....
Poor Sookie, I'm surprised it's taken this long for that poor girl to start to crack...lol. Ms. Harris was born for this and this series is proof of her incredible writing skills. I've enjoyed every book in this series and am a True Blood junkie. I wish HBO was truer to the books, but it is very enjoyable in it's own right.
DO NOT PAY FULL PRICE FOR THIS BOOK! The price is ridiculous, the story was lazy & unfinished. I have all of the Sookie Stackhouse books in paperback & I wish I would have waited a year, or borrowed from a friend before purchasing this, at full price of a hardcover. It was, what 248 pages of crap. Crap crap crap. And the "hook" to keep you interested in the saga of Sookie was just enough to piss me off. I believe this may be the last Charlaine Harris/ Sookie Stackhouse book that I read. Wish I could sell the e-book.