In the moments following Special Agent Lattesta's demand that the two men lay down their arms, bullets flew through the air like pine pollen in the spring.

Though I was in an exposed position, none of them hit me, which I found absolutely amazing.

Arlene, who didn't dive as fast as I did, got a crease across her shoulder. Agent Weiss took the bullet - the same one that creased Arlene - in the upper right side of her chest. Andy shot Whit Spradlin. Special Agent Lattesta missed Donny Boling with his first shot, got him with his second. It took weeks to establish the sequence, but that's what happened.

And then the firing was over. Lattesta was calling 911 while I was still prone on the ground, counting my fingers and toes to make sure I was intact. Andy was equally quick calling the sheriff's department to report that shots had been fired and an officer and civilians were down.

Arlene was screaming over her little wound like she'd been gut shot.

Agent Weiss was lying in the weeds bleeding, her eyes wide with fear, her mouth clamped shut. The bullet had gone in under her raised arm. She was thinking of her children and her husband and of dying out here in the sticks, leaving them behind. Lattesta pulled off her vest and put pressure on her wound, and Andy ran over to secure the two shooters.

I slowly pushed up to a sitting position. There was no way I could stand. I sat there in the pine needles and dirt and looked at Donny Boling, who was dead. There was not the faintest trace of activity in his brain. Whit was still alive though not in good shape. After Andy gave Arlene a cursory examination and told her to shut up, she quit shrieking and settled down to cry.

I have had lots of things to blame myself about in the course of my life. I added this whole incident to the list as I watched the blood seeping into the dirt around Donny's left side. No one would have gotten shot if I'd just climbed back in my car and driven away. But no, I had to try to catch Crystal's killers. And I knew now - too late - that these idiots weren't even the culprits. I told myself that Andy had asked me to help, that Jason needed me to help ... but right now, I couldn't foresee feeling okay about this for a long time.

For a brief moment I considered lying back down and wishing myself dead.

"Are you okay?" Andy called after he'd cuffed Whit and checked on Donny.

"Yeah," I said. "Andy, I'm sorry." But he'd run into the front yard to wave down the ambulance. Suddenly there were a lot more people around.

"Are you all right?" asked a woman wearing an EMT uniform. Her sleeves were folded up neatly to show muscles I didn't know women could develop. You could see each one rippling under her mocha skin. "You look kind of out of it."

"I'm not used to seeing people get shot," I said. Which was mostly true.

"I think you better come sit on this chair over here," she said, and pointed to a folding yard chair that had seen better days. "After I tend to the ones that are bleeding, I'll check you out."

"Audrey!" called her partner, a man with a belly like a bay window. "I need another pair of hands here." Audrey hustled over to help, and another team of EMTs came running around the trailer. I had nearly the same dialogue with them.

Agent Weiss left for the hospital first, and I gathered that the plan was to stabilize her at the hospital in Clarice and then airlift her to Shreveport. Whit was loaded into the second ambulance. A third arrived for Arlene. The dead guy waited for the coroner to appear.

I waited for whatever would happen next.

Lattesta stood staring blankly into the pines. His hands were bloodstained from pressing on Weiss's wound. As I watched, he shook himself. The purpose flooded back into his face, and his thoughts began flowing once again. He and Andy began to consult.

By now the yard was teeming with law enforcement people, all of whom seemed to be very pumped. Officer-involved shootings are not that ordinary in Bon Temps or in Renard Parish. When the FBI is represented at the scene, the excitement and tension were practically quadrupled.

Several more people asked me if I was all right, but no one seemed to be anxious to tell me what to do or to suggest I remove myself, so I sat in the rickety chair with my hands in my lap. I watched all the activity, and I tried to keep my mind blank. That wasn't possible.

I was worried about Agent Weiss, and I was still feeling the ebbing power of the huge wave of guilt that had washed over me. I should have been upset that the Fellowship guy was dead, I suppose. But I wasn't.

After a while, it occurred to me that I was also going to be late for work if this elaborate process didn't get a move on. I knew that was a trivial consideration, when I was staring at the blood that had soaked into the ground, but I also knew it wouldn't be trivial to my boss.

I called Sam. I don't remember what I said, but I remember I had to talk him out of coming to get me. I told Sam there were plenty of people on-site and most of them were armed. After that, I had nothing to do but stare off into the woods. They were a tangle of fallen branches, leaves, and various shades of brown, broken up by little pines of various heights that had volunteered. The bright day made the patterns of shadow and shade fascinating.

As I looked into the depths of the woods, I became aware that something was looking back. Yards back within the tree line, a man was standing; no, not a man - a fairy. I can't read fairies at all clearly; they're not as blank as vampires, but they're the closest I've found.

It was easy to read the hostility in his stance, though. This fairy was not on my great-grandfather's side. This fairy would have been glad to see me lying on the ground bleeding. I sat up straighter, abruptly aware I had no idea whether all the police officers in the world could keep me safe from a fairy. My heart thudded once again with alarm, responding to the adrenaline in a sort of tired way. I wanted to tell someone that I was in danger, but I knew that if I pointed the fairy out to any one of the people present, not only would he fade back into the woods, but I might be endangering the human. I'd done enough of that this day.

As I half rose from the lawn chair with no very good plan in mind, the fairy turned his back on me and vanished.

Can't I have a moment's peace?At this thought, I had to bend over and cover my face with my hands because I was laughing, and it wasn't good laughter. Andy came over and squatted in front of me, tried to look into my face. "Sookie," he said, and for once his voice was gentle. "Hey, girl, get it together. You got to come talk to Sheriff Dearborn."

Not only did I talk to Bud Dearborn, I also had to talk to lots of other people. Later, I couldn't remember any of the conversations I had. I told the truth to whoever asked me questions.

I didn't mention seeing the fairy in the woods simply because no one asked me, "Did you see anyone else here this afternoon?" When I had a second of not feeling stunned and miserable, I wondered why he'd shown himself, why he'd come. Was he tracking me somehow? Was there some kind of supernatural bug planted on me?

"Sookie," Bud Dearborn said. I blinked.

"Yes sir?" I stood up, and my muscles were trembling.

"You can go now, and we'll talk to you again later," he said.

"Thanks," I told him, hardly aware of what I was saying. I climbed into my car, feeling absolutely numb. I told myself to drive home and put on my waitress outfit and get to work. Hustling drinks would be better than sitting at home recycling the events of the day, if I could manage to stand up that long.

Amelia was at work, so I had the house to myself as I pulled on my working pants and my long-sleeved Merlotte's T-shirt. I felt cold to the bone and wished for the first time that Sam had thought about stocking a Merlotte's sweatshirt. My reflection in the bathroom mirror was awful: I was white as a vampire, I had big circles under my eyes, and I guessed I looked exactly like someone who'd seen a lot of people bleeding that day.

The evening felt cold and still as I walked out to my car. Night would fall soon. Since Eric and I had bonded, I'd found myself thinking of him every day as the sky grew dark. Now that we'd slept together, my thoughts had turned into cravings. I tried to stuff him in the back of my mind on the drive to the bar, but he persisted in popping to the fore.

Maybe because the day had been such a nightmare, I discovered I would give my entire savings account to see Eric right now . I trudged toward the employee door, gripping the trowel stuffed in my shoulder bag. I thought I was ready for an attack, but I was so preoccupied I didn't send out my extra sense to detect another presence, and I didn't see Antoine in the shadow of the Dumpster until he stepped out to greet me. He was smoking a cigarette.

"Geez Louise, Antoine, you scared me to death."

"Sorry, Sookie. You planning on doing some planting?" He eyed the trowel I'd whipped out of my bag. "We ain't too busy this evening. I took me a minute to have a smoke."

"Everybody calm tonight?" I stuffed the trowel down into my purse without trying to explain. Maybe he would chalk it up to my general strangeness.

"Yeah, no one preaching to us; no one getting killed." He smiled. "D'Eriq's full of talk about some guy showing up earlier that D'Eriq thought was a fairy. D'Eriq's on the simple side, but he can see stuff no one else can. But - fairies?"

"Not fairy like gay, but fairy like Tinker Bell?" I'd thought I didn't have enough remaining energy to be alarmed. I'd thought wrong. I glanced around the parking lot with considerable alarm.

"Sookie? It's true?" Antoine was staring at me.

I shrugged weakly. Busted.

"Shit," Antoine said. "Well, shit. This ain't the same world I was born into, is it?"

"No, Antoine. It isn't. If D'Eriq says anything else, please tell me. It's important." Could have been my great-grandfather watching over me, or his son Dillon. Or it could have been Mr. Hostile who'd been lurking in the woods. What had set the fae world off? For years, I'd never seen one. Now you couldn't throw a trowel without hitting a fairy.

Antoine eyed me doubtfully. "Sure, Sookie. You in any trouble I should know about?"

Hip-deep in alligators. "No, no. I'm just trying to avoid a problem," I said, because I didn't want Antoine to worry and I especially didn't want him to share that worry with Sam. Sam was sure to be worried enough.

Of course, Sam had heard several versions of the events at Arlene's trailer, and I had to give him a quick summary as I got ready to work. He was deeply upset about the intentions of Donny and Whit, and when I told him Donny was dead, he said, "Whit should have got killed, too."

I wasn't sure I was hearing him right. But when I looked into Sam's face, I could see he was really angry, really vengeful. "Sam, I think enough people have died," I said. "I haven't exactly forgiven them, and maybe that's not even something I can do, but I don't think they were the ones who killed Crystal."

Sam turned away with a snort and put a bottle of rum away with such force that I thought it might shatter.

Despite a measure of alarm, as it turned out I treasured that evening ... because nothing happened.

No one suddenly announced that he was a gargoyle and wanted a place at the American table.

No one stomped out in a hissy. No one tried to kill me or warn me or lie to me; no one paid me any special attention at all. I was back to being part of the ambience at Merlotte's, a situation that used to make me bored. I remembered the evenings before I'd met Bill Compton, when I'd known there were vampires but hadn't actually met one or seen one in the flesh. I remembered how I'd longed to meet an actual vampire. I'd believed their press, which alleged that they were victims of a virus that left them allergic to various things (sunlight, garlic, food) and only able to survive by ingesting blood.

That part, at least, had been quite true.

As I worked, I thought about the fairies. They were different from the vampires and the Weres. Fairies could escape and go to their very own world, however that happened. It was a world I had no desire to visit or see. Fairies had never been human. At least vampires might remember what being human was like, and Weres were human most of the time, even if they had a different culture; being a Were was like having dual citizenship, I figured. This was an important difference between the fairies and other supernaturals, and it made the fairies more frightening. As the evening wore on and I plodded from table to table, making an effort to get the orders right and to serve with a smile, I had times of wondering whether it would have been better if I'd never met my great-grandfather at all. There was a lot of attraction in that idea.

I served Jane Bodehouse her fourth drink and signaled to Sam that we needed to cut her off. Jane would drink whether we served her or not. Her decision to quit drinking hadn't lasted a week, but I'd never imagined it would. She'd made such resolutions before, with the same result.

At least if Jane drank here, we would make sure she got home okay. I killed a man yesterday . Maybe her son would come get her; he was a nice guy who never took a sip with alcohol in it. I saw a man get shot dead today . I had to stand still for a minute because the room seemed to be a little lopsided.

After a second or two, I felt steadier. I wondered if I could make it through the evening. By dint of putting one foot in front of the other and blocking out the bad stuff (from past experience I was an expert at that), I made it through. I even remembered to ask Sam how his mother was doing.

"She's getting better," he said, closing out the cash register. "My stepdad's filed for divorce, too. He says she doesn't deserve any alimony because she didn't disclose her true nature when they got married."

Though I'd always be on Sam's side, whatever it was, I had to admit (strictly to myself) that I could see his stepdad's point.

"I'm sorry," I said inadequately. "I know this is a tough time for your mom, for your whole family."

"My brother's fianc¨¦e isn't too happy about it, either," Sam said.

"Oh, no, Sam. She's freaked out by the fact that your mom - ?"

"Yeah, and of course she knows about me now, too. My brother and sister are getting used to it. So they're okay - but Deidra doesn't feel that way. And I don't think her parents do, either."

I patted Sam's shoulder because I didn't know what to say. He gave me a little smile and then a hug. He said, "You've been a rock, Sookie," and then he stiffened. Sam's nostrils flared. "You smell like - there's a trace of vampire," he said, and all the warmth had gone out of his voice. He released me and looked at me hard.

I'd really scrubbed myself and I'd used all my usual skin products afterward, but Sam's fine nose had picked up that trace of scent Eric had left behind.

"Well," I said, and then stopped dead. I tried to organize what I wanted to say, but the past forty hours had been so tiring. "Yes," I said, "Eric was over last night." I left it at that. My heart sank. I'd thought of trying to explain to Sam about my great-grandfather and the trouble we were in, but Sam had enough troubles of his own. Plus, the whole staff was feeling pretty miserable about Arlene and her arrest.

There was too much happening.

I had another moment of sickening dizziness, but it passed quickly, as it had before. Sam didn't even notice. He was lost in gloomy reflection, at least as far as I could read his twisty shapeshifter mind.

"Walk me to my car," I said impulsively. I needed to get home and get some sleep, and I had no idea if Eric would show up tonight or not. I didn't want anyone else to pop up and surprise me, as Murry had done. I didn't want anyone trying to lure me to my doom or shooting guns in my vicinity. No more betrayal by people I cared for, either.

I had a long list of requirements, and I knew that wasn't a good thing.

As I pulled my purse out of the drawer in Sam's office and called good night to Antoine, who was still cleaning in the kitchen, I realized that the height of my ambition was to get home and go to bed without talking to anyone else, and to sleep undisturbed all night.

I wondered if that was possible.

Sam didn't say anything else about Eric, and he seemed to attribute my asking him to escort me as an attack of nerves after the incident at the trailer. I could have stood just inside the bar door and looked out with my other sense, but it was best to be double careful; my telepathy and Sam's nose made a good combination. He was eager to check the parking lot. In fact, he sounded almost disappointed when he announced there was nothing out there but us.

As I drove away, in my rearview mirror I saw Sam leaning on the hood of his truck, which was parked in front of his trailer. He had his hands in his pockets, and he was glaring at the gravel on the ground as if he hated the sight of it. Just as I pulled around the corner of the bar, Sam patted the truck's hood in an absentminded way and walked back into the bar, his shoulders bowed.

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