Sookie 04 Dead to the World by Charlaine Harris

was on the ground floor, in number 4. Holly had a five-year-old son, Cody. Holly and her best friend, Danielle Gray, had both gotten married right out of high school, and both had been divorced within five years. Danielle’s mom was a great help to Danielle, but Holly was not so lucky. Her long-divorced parents had both moved away, and her grandmother had died in the Alzheimer’s wing of the Renard Parish nursing home. Holly had dated Detective Andy Bellefleur for a few months, but nothing had come of it. Rumor had it that old Caroline Bellefleur, Andy’s grandmother, had thought Holly wasn’t “good” enough for Andy. I had no opinion on that. Neither Holly nor Andy was on my shortlist of favorite people, though I definitely felt cooler toward Andy.
    When Holly answered her door, I realized all of a sudden how much she’d changed over the past few weeks. For years, her hair had been dyed a dandelion yellow. Now it was matte black and spiked. Her ears had four piercings apiece. And I noticed her hipbones pushing at the thin denim of her aged jeans.
    “Hey, Sookie,” she said, pleasantly enough. “Tara asked me if I would talk to you, but I wasn’t sure if you’d show up. Sorry about Jason. Come on in.”
    The apartment was small, of course, and though it had been repainted recently, it showed evidence of years of heavy use. There was a living room-dining room-kitchen combo, with a breakfast bar separating the galley kitchen from the rest of the area. There were a few toys in a basket in the corner of the room, and there was a can of Pledge and a rag on the scarred coffee table. Holly had been cleaning.
    “I’m sorry to interrupt,” I said.
    “That’s okay. Coke? Juice?”
    “No, thanks. Where’s Cody?”
    “He went to stay with his dad,” she said, looking down at her hands. “I drove him over the day after Christmas.”
    “Where’s his dad living?”
    “David’s living in Springhill. He just married this girl, Allie. She already had two kids. The little girl is Cody’s age, and he just loves to play with her. It’s always, ‘Shelley this,’ and ‘Shelley that.’” Holly looked kind of bleak.
    David Cleary was one of a large clan. His cousin Pharr had been in my grade all through school. For Cody’s genes’ sake, I hoped that David was more intelligent than Pharr, which would be real easy.
    “I need to talk to you about something pretty personal, Holly.”
    Holly looked surprised all over again. “Well, we haven’t exactly been on those terms, have we?” she said. “You ask, and I’ll decide whether to answer.”
    I tried to frame what I was going to say-to keep secret what I needed to keep secret and ask of her what I needed without offending.
    “You’re a witch?” I said, embarrassed at using such a dramatic word.
    “I’m more of a Wiccan.”
    “Would you mind explaining the difference?” I met her eyes briefly, and then decided to focus on the dried flowers in the basket on top of the television. Holly thought I could read her mind only if I was looking into her eyes. (Like physical touching, eye contact does make the reading easier, but it certainly isn’t necessary.)
    “I guess not.” Her voice was slow, as if she were thinking as she spoke. “You’re not one to spread gossip.”
    “Whatever you tell me, I won’t share with anyone.” I met her eyes again, briefly.
    “Okay,” she said. “Well, if you’re a witch, of course, you practice magic rituals.”
    She was using “you” in the general sense, I thought, because saying “I” would mean too bold a confession.
    “You draw from a power that most people never tap into. Being a witch isn’t being wicked, or at least it isn’t supposed to be. If you’re a Wiccan, you follow a religion, a pagan religion. We follow the ways of the Mother, and we have our own calendar of holy days. You can be both a Wiccan and a witch; or more one, or more the other. It’s very individualized. I practice a little witchcraft,