Living Dead in Dallas by Charlaine Harris

her.
    I tried to suppress my sigh.
    “You weren’t aware of it, but you did. It slid across your mind when you looked at the palest vampire—Isabel—because her face was as white as the icing for the cake. And you thought of how much you missed yourdog when you were thinking of how your parents would miss you.”
    I knew that was a mistake as soon as the words went out of my mouth, and sure enough, she began crying again, recalled to her present circumstances.
    “So what are you here for?” she asked between sobs.
    “I’m here to help you remember.”
    “But you said you’re not psychic.”
    “And I’m not.” Or was I? Sometimes I thought I had a streak mixed in with my other “gift,” which was what the vampires thought it was. I had always thought of it as more of a curse, myself, until I’d met Bill. “Psychics can touch objects and get information about the wearers. Some psychics see visions of past or future events. Some psychics can communicate with the dead. I’m a telepath. I can read some peoples’ thoughts. Supposedly, I can send thoughts, too, but I’ve never tried that.” Now that I’d met another telepath, the attempt was an exciting possibility, but I stowed that idea away to explore at my leisure. I had to concentrate on the business at hand.
    As I sat knee to knee with Bethany, I was making a series of decisions. I was new to the idea of using my “listening in” to some purpose. Most of my life had been spent struggling not to hear. Now, hearing was my job, and Bethany’s life probably depended on it. Mine almost certainly did.
    “Listen, Bethany, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to remember that evening, and I’m going to go through it with you. In your mind.”
    “Will it hurt?”
    “No, not a bit.”
    “And after that?”
    “Why, you’ll go.”
    “Go home?”
    “Sure.” With an amended memory that wouldn’t include me, or this evening, courtesy of a vampire.
    “They won’t kill me?”
    “No way.”
    “You promise?”
    “I do.” I managed to smile at her.
    “Okay,” she said, hesitantly. I moved her a little, so she couldn’t see Stan over my shoulder. I had no idea what he was doing. But she didn’t need to see that white face while I was trying to get her to relax.
    “You’re pretty,” she said suddenly.
    “Thanks, and back at you.” At least, she might be pretty under better circumstances. Bethany had a mouth that was too small for her face, but that was a feature some men found attractive, since it looked like she was always puckered up. She had a great quantity of brown hair, thick and bushy, and a thin body with small breasts. Now that another woman was looking at her, Bethany was worried about her wrinkled clothes and stale makeup.
    “You look fine,” I said quietly, taking her hands into mine. “Now, we’re just gonna hold hands here for a minute—I swear I’m not making a pass.” She giggled, and her fingers relaxed a little more. Then I began my spiel.
    This was a new wrinkle for me. Instead of trying to avoid using my telepathy, I’d been trying to develop it, with Bill’s encouragement. The human staff at Fangtasia had acted as guinea pigs. I’d found out, almost by accident, that I could hypnotize people in a jiffy. It didn’t put them under my spell or anything, but it let me into their minds with a frightening ease. When you can tell what really relaxes someone, by reading his or her mind, it’s relatively easy to relax that person right into a trancelike state.
    “What do you enjoy the most, Bethany?” I asked. “Do you get a massage every now and then? Or maybe you like getting your nails done?” I looked in Bethany’smind delicately. I selected the best channel for my purpose.
    “You’re getting your hair fixed,” I said, keeping my voice soft and even, “by your favorite hairdresser . . . Jerry. He’s combed it and combed it, there’s not a tangle left. He’s sectioned it off, so carefully,