A/N Thank you all for your support. Here is a follow-up to Bones that Speak, although I'm not certain whether this will be novella or novel length. As before I own no characters having to do with True Blood or SVM, but I do claim Carly as my own.

Chapter One

Preparations for the opening of Fangtasia had been the least of Carly Michael's concerns for the past three weeks, ever since the night in Flemington, New Jersey, when Eric cast Christophe-the murderous yet still tragic artist-onto the fire and into his freedom.

Most of her time over those three weeks was spent trying to cope with her newly found and quickly expanding abilities. Not only could she now tune into what people where thinking, she could do it through walls; she didn't just get isolated dreams from handling the remains of people who had died, but she could direct waking hallucinations to seek out specific information about both life and death. Although she couldn't clearly hear the thoughts of vampires, she could—somehow—tune into what the valkyries who'd preceded her had learned either as witnesses or from consuming the memories of the dead who had witnessed events.

Through this last, still poorly understood process, she'd identified Russell Edgington as the vampire responsible for sicking a pack of werewolves onto Eric Northman's family a thousand years ago in Sweden. She'd also learned that she was poisonous to ill-tempered vampires. This last piece of knowledge was what kept her up, mostly in the early morning once Eric had gone to sleep. Every morning after sunrise she looked at him, the strong, protective vampire who claimed her as his own, and worried that she might somehow, against her will, become his bane.

All of these supernatural concerns, along with her regular workload at the Medical Examiner's office in Shreveport, kept her blissfully unaware of the extent and complexity of preparations at Fangtasia. Once she gained enough courage to stay home by herself, in the guest house that belonged to Eric's lawyer, she saw little of the former strip club as it made its final transformation into Fangtasia—the Premiere Vampire Nightclub of Ark-La-Tex, specifically the Shreveport-Bossier Metropolitan Area.

From what Carly gathered in the small hours of the morning when Eric finally found his way back to her—he spent most nights with her at the guest house, although he'd finally taken her to his home over the weekends—Pam was carrying most of the load as far as opening the bar was concerned. Eric, on the other hand, was trying to remain above the political fray as vampires negotiated the future of Louisiana.

A number of proposals were, apparently, under discussion. The proposal favored by the Magister and some of the mysterious "authority" members was that Eric take on the monarchy of Louisiana. This was, he assured Carly, his least favorite, since most monarchs were either remarkably successful, like Jean-Jacques, or unsuccessful, like Sophie-Ann. Eric certainly didn't want to end like the late queen of Louisiana, and he thought that he might have to work much too hard to make Louisiana a success. He preferred, infinitely, to manage his own fiefdom well and to juggle numerous business interests around the world. Most monarchs had many progeny, a fact that helped them to secure their positions, and Eric only had one, although he commanded respect from most vampires who knew him.

Another proposal, which Eric did favor, was bringing in a monarch from another area. Eric had taken a few quick trips to Texas along with the Magister and some unnamed officials to try to persuade a Dallas-area sheriff to take the position, but the vampire was still undecided. Carly knew few details about this vampire, but Eric seemed almost giddy at the prospect of the new monarch.

The least favorite, but apparently most likely proposal, was the partition of Louisiana into three areas: New Orleans would become an autonomous district (like the District of Columbia) and home to the public face of vampires, to this "authority," and two other regions that would be annexed by adjacent states. Unfortunately, the other southern monarchs seemed about as interested in the prosperity of their regions as Sophie-Ann had been. Russell Edgington, king of Mississippi, was a murderous, avaricious monster, and Peter Threadgill, king of Arkansas, seemed to be fairly retiring, although Eric thought that both men had designs on Louisiana for some time. According to Eric, it seemed most likely that western Louisiana would be annexed to Texas and the Gulf coast and Mississippi floodplain would be annexed to Mississippi. As long as he wound up working for the King of Texas, Eric had no substantial complaints with this solution, although he dreaded any decision that would force him to engage Edgington.

So, just as Fangtasia was about to open to the public—humans and vampires alike—Louisiana was embroiled in political intrigue that would have far-reaching, if unknown, consequences to humans.

Since Eric was out of town again the night before the opening, Carly was at home, making sure the final touches on the portrait of Eric and Pam were complete and that it was ready to be hung in the bar. She was very proud of her work, mainly because it was the first portrait she'd done from live—or relatively live—models. The shimmer from Pam's beautiful red gown was extraordinary and seemed to play off whatever light was in the room. At times, Carly had sworn it sparkled in the dark, even though she hadn't included any luminescent pigments. Eric looked dashing and dangerous in his stripped down outfit—like the lord of the castle caught mid conquest. Carly had even gone the extra step to antique the painting so that it looked like it had been painted years ago. While she had no where near the talent—nor the sophistication of technique that Christophe had—she was proud that the patrons of Fangtasia would see Eric and Pam through her eyes.

Carly heard a knock at the door that was only half expected. Pam had called at sundown to say that if she had time, she would drop by to pick up the painting.

Indeed, Pam was at the door, along with a dolly to transport the large portrait.

"Hey Pam, how are you?"

"Bored." Pam, who had been to the guest house many times, strolled inside, leaving the dolly behind.

"Why?"

"Details, Carly. I hate details, and I'm swimming in them."

"Only one more night." Although she was afraid to offer, Carly asked, "Is there anything I can do?"

Pam smirked in her suggestive way and said, "I can think of lots of ways, but Eric would kill me."

"Anything that I can do that won't result in your death?"

"You can help me hang the painting and then pick out my outfit for tomorrow. Eric said I had to look vampiric and ravishing." Pam puffed out her chest and deepened her tone for the last two words.

Carly enjoyed flattering Pam, because she ate up every bit of it. "Well, Pam, you're always vampirically ravishing to me, if it makes you feel better."

"Thanks for noticing, Carly." Pam pointed at the painting. "How do we get it in the van without fucking it up?"

Carly lifted the painting into the protective carton the framer used to transport it and retacked the back to it. "It isn't stable for a thousand mile trip, but it will make it to the club." Carly tipped the carton to the side, and Pam moved the dolly inside and secured the carton to it. "So, can I get a preview of Fangtasia?"

"Sure, but you have to make me a promise." Pam looked much more serious than she usually did, even though she didn't sparkle with laughter.

"What about?"

"My clothes are at my house—you have to promise to keep its location secret."

"Of course, Pam." Carly thought for a moment and then asked, "Can I tell Eric I've been there?"

"Yeah, sure. Why not?" Pam gave Carly a look somewhere between a scowl and a smirk.

Carly shrugged and replied, "The audience for a secret is as important as the information."

Pam lifted one shoulder in a "whatever" expression that seemed to call for a verbal response.

"Sounds like a lot of fun." Carly never really got to do "girly" things in childhood or adolescence, and Pam was way more "girl" than Carly could ever hope to be, so, if nothing else, Carly could fill in an existential gap.

"What are you wearing?" Pam asked.

"I hadn't really thought about it." Carly probably would wear the same outfit she wore to Christophe's execution or maybe just a simple black dress. The plum dress her mother had bought her was beautiful, and she saw no reason not to wear it again.

Pam smiled broadly and said, "Oh, now we're going to have fun!"

Carly felt a little frightened.

After hanging the portrait and breaking up the carton for disposal, Pam gave Carly the "grand tour" of Fangtasia. It basically looked like a bar. A dance floor in front of the stage was punctuated by three small platforms for go-go dancers—who were all going to be vampires. The walls were a deep, dark purple, and there were lots of signs for beer companies and blood companies in neon and mirrors. The walls also included warnings that said there was to be "no biting."

"That's just to be safe—to reinforce that we're harmless." Pam winked. "Of course, you know otherwise." Pam stretched out the last syllable suggestively. "Human laws haven't really caught up yet, but there's no reason to beg for trouble."

"Sounds like a good idea."

"Now, it's party time." Pam beckoned Carly toward her car, leaving the bartender, whom Carly did not like at all—a Native American vampire named Longshadow who made her very nervous—and a few human staff to do the final check to make sure kegs were full, taps were working, and everything was ready for the grand opening the next night.

Once in the car, Pam asked, "What size shoe do you wear?"

"Nine."

"Excellent!" Pam enthused.

"Why?"

"We can share shoes—just don't fuck up any of my good pumps."

Carly hadn't really thought about it before, but they were about the same size, about five-eight or so, and they were about the same weight, or Carly presumed. She thought that Pam might be a little bustier.

Pam's phone rang, and she asked Carly to answer it.

"It's Eric," Carly reported and then answered, "Pam's phone."

"With my girl answering. Why is that, I wonder?" Eric said playfully.

"I think we're going to go play dress-up, or Pam's going to get me ready for tomorrow night."

Eric laughed loudly on the other end of the line and yelled out to Pam, "No frilly sweaters!"

"Damn him," Pam yelled back, "She'll be so damn hot you won't be able to keep your hands off her!"

"Make sure, Carly, that Pam has you wearing clothes."

"Very funny, Eric." Carly giggled. "Do you need me to tell Pam something?"

"I was just going to tell her that I'm headed back, but that I was going to go to your house. Ask her if I can come over for the fashion show?"

"Did you hear that Pam?" Carly asked.

"No, he certainly may not. It's going to be a surprise."

"Get that, you're out of luck, Eric. No input on the fashion choices for opening night."

"I'm devastated, Carly, just devastated."

"Eric, was there a decision about what's going to happen?" Carly tried to turn the subject back to something more serious.

"Yes, and I'm very, very pleased. I'll tell you all about it when Pam returns you to your house, but you can tell her," Eric's volume decreased so that Carly strained to hear him, "that the whole family will be in Louisiana from now on. That will get her attention."

"Okay. I will. I'll see you later, then, okay?"

"Sooner would be preferable to later, Carly." Eric clearly articulated his playfulness.

"Did you hear that last part, Pam?" Carly asked.

"No, just the part about your house. Was he talking dirty?" Pam teased her.

Carly tried to be as precise as possible when she said, "He told me that I was to tell you that the whole family will be in Louisiana from now on."

Pam slammed on the breaks and the car skidded to a halt. Carly screamed and Pam shouted, "Shut the fuck up. Seriously?"

"Pam, what was that about? Are you trying to scare me to death?" Carly could feel her heart beating so fast against her tightened seatbelt that she thought she would panic and faint.

"I can't believe it," Pam began to straighten and accelerate the car just as tentatively as she changed position.

"Believe what?" Carly tried to contain the panic in her voice, but it wasn't going to abate easily.

Pam looked over at Carly, who struggled to read her expression. The general cynical irony that usually twisted Pam's face into a condescending smirk was replaced by an appearance of startled tenderness and mild fear. She said quietly, "I think Eric has to explain it to you."

"Okay. Do you still want to pick out outfits?"

"Yeah, sure, but we shouldn't take more than an hour or two. He'll want to talk with you."

Carly began to worry. "Pam, are you afraid?"

"No," Pam shook her head. "I'm happy, really." Cocking her head to one side, she said, "It might just get a little more complicated for the two of us."

"You and me?"

"Honey, we both just got lower on the totem pole." Pam laughed and said, "I thought I hated sharing him with you. Just you wait."

"So, this sheriff is another child of Eric's?" Carly thought that perhaps the Dallas sheriff would be an older child, perhaps one Eric was intimate with, since he and Pam no longer had sex with each other.

"Just wait until Eric talks to you about it."

With the mystery weighing down the space between them, Carly didn't pay any attention to the drive to Pam's home. When they drove into an elegant gated community of small patio homes, Carly was startled. Carly couldn't imagine Pam living among so many humans happily, since she always expressed such misanthropy, particularly a great deal of misandry. When she saw that the community was adjacent to a golf course that must have seethed with middle aged men during the daytime, Carly thought she'd fallen through the Twilight Zone.

"This is where you live, Pam?"

"Isn't it sweet?" Pam smiled broadly. "I love it here. It's so tidy."

"There's a golf course, Pam."

"I know. Isn't it grand?" Pam seemed genuinely excited. "I love it. You should see my outfits."

"You play golf?"

"Eric and I used to play a lot, until you came around." Pam said deadpan, and then laughed. "You're not so bad, though."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Most of the time you're just sitting there drawing and a helluva lot of the time you're useful." Shrugging, Pam said, "You smell good too, so it's not so bad."

"Well, Pam, that's the best compliment I've ever received from another woman."

"If I had a chance to lure you into bed, I could do better, but there's that death thing again." Pam started laughing as she pulled into her garage, and Carly couldn't help but follow along.

"You're too much, Pam."

Pam's garage was immaculately clean and very well-organized, especially immediately next to the entrance to the living space. Pam had an "undressing station" with a bench, hangers, and shoe boxes, along with slippers that she could change into to move into the house.

Pam handed Carly a pair of fuzzy socks. "You'll have to take off your shoes and put these on. I've got white carpet. And hang your purse on the rack so we don't forget it."

Carly changed out of her shoes and put on the fluffy socks with little non-skid strips on the bottom.

When the door was open, Carly saw why Pam would be so meticulous on the garage. Everything inside the house was either white, powder blue, or pink. It was beautiful, but somewhat surreal. Most of the furniture looked as if it was about twenty to thirty years old—it was as if Carly were walking into a life-sized version of "Vampire Barbie's" penthouse.

"I don't have anything for humans to consume except water," Pam said off-handedly.

"I'm good, Pam. And I'd be afraid to drink anything other than water." Carly couldn't understand how a vampire could manage to live in such pristine surroundings. "Pam, this is a stupid question, but how do you manage this? Wouldn't you get blood everywhere?"

"Ew, Carly. No."

"But, how do you eat?"

Pam smirked, "I never thought you'd ask, Carly. I eat out."

"Funny." Carly winked at Pam and responded with disbelief. "Always? You never wake up hungry and want a True Blood?"

"I never want a True Blood—ever. But I've never fed where I slept." Pam shrugged. "It was different when I lived with Eric, but we haven't shared a home in forty years."

"Okay. Well, I'm impressed, Pam, because this place is absolutely immaculate."

"I like things to be nice, and I'm not a slob." Pam put her hand on her hip and said, "Unless you want me to dictate a Vampire's Tips for Housekeeping, let's try on some clothes."

Pam led Carly into the narrow hallway where a bathroom separated two bedrooms. The smaller of the two bedrooms had a bed that looked intended for a little girl obsessed with princesses. The other, larger room, was one big closet and dressing room, complete with wrap-around mirror and a wall of shoes.

Astonished, Carly said, "You take wardrobe very seriously, Pam."

"Yes, and this is just what's in season. I have storage for everything else." Pam smiled. "Isn't it wonderful? This is the best part of the Great Revelation."

"You get to shop freely?"

"You know it, baby."

The two women smiled at each other and laughed.

Pam said, "You first."

"Whatever you say, although you're going to be the main attraction, Pam. I'm just wallpaper."

"Nonsense. You're going to be at Eric's feet, so you should look good enough to eat." Pam giggled. "I think you need to be wearing red, don't you think?

Taking a minute to process what Pam said, "At his feet? Like a puppy dog?"

"I need to keep my mouth shut and let him talk about this. But you should wear red." Pam started sorting through her color-coded clothing.

Carly took a deep breath and tried to think about how the scene would unfold at Fangtasia the next night. Eric would be sitting in his "throne" with Pam behind him, much as they were posed in the portrait, and then Carly would be...

"What do you have, Pam, with harem pants?"

"Ooohh, Pam intoned, that would be good." Zipping around the room at full speed, Pam started pulling outfits out and tossing them onto a bench. Once three or four covered the white settee, Pam returned and started describing them. "Red silk pantsuit—very chic."

Pam held up a "pantsuit" that seemed to be more like a hooker's outfit: tight, fitted red silk top with a mandarin collar and cap sleeves with a set of low-slung trousers.

"Purple also suits you." This marvel had to be from the 1970s, since it had a high collar on a halter top that was cut down below the bust and trousers that were slit at the knee.

Carly responded positively to it, despite its dated appearance. "I kind of like that one. I could pull my hair up tight and look like a Bond girl. What do you think?"

"Try it on!"

Retreating behind a screen for a little privacy, Carly changed into the outfit, although she realized quickly that she'd need to modify her undergarments, perhaps even going without any kind of bra at all, which made her very uncomfortable.

Pam called from the other side of the room, "I have some of those paste-on cups. Let me find them for you."

"Are you reading minds, now, Pam?" Carly chuckled. "I was just thinking about how weird it would be to go without a bra in this."

"I feel the same way, Carly. But I was raised with corsets—I still prefer something boned to these flimsy, stretchy things you find now."

"Are you telling another dirty joke, Pam, because this one didn't work as well."

"Now who's being funny, Carly?" Pam harrumphed.

"Well, if you can't beat them, sit at their feet, right?" If she had to embrace the role of passive slave girl for the sake of Eric's reputation on opening night, then she would go all the way with it, but she thought that she probably wouldn't become a regular at Fangtasia.

As she emerged from behind the screen, Pam gave a wolf-whistle that would have made a stevedore proud. "Perfect!"

"Okay. Since I've got my Princess Leia at the belly of Jabba the Hut outfit, it's your turn."

"Do you want me to tell Eric you called him that?"

"No. No.." Carly blanched. "That's not what I meant. That's just how I felt—not that he was Jabba..." Carly sighed, "Shit, this isn't going to be easy, Pam. How do you keep from mouthing off about this stuff?"

"I'm a vampire." Pam winked at Carly. "I don't have to be at his feet."

Suddenly, Carly felt inspiration. "You know what? I'm a fucking valkyrie. I'm not going to sit at his feet. Or at least—I'm not going to look like I'm chained to him."

"Do you need another outfit, then?"

Carly giggled, "No, I look sexy in this one, don't I?"

"Yeah. You do. But what are you going to do?"

"I'll worry about that tomorrow, but I might be bringing in a little furniture, or at least a rug." If she was able to work through her idea, Eric wouldn't mind at all. He'd be just as amused as she would be. "I just need to get there before you open."

"Sounds to me like Eric expects to bring you himself."

"Well, he'll have a chance to vote it up or down, then." Carly clapped her hands together, "So now let's get you all vamped up."

"I already have them picked out." Pam brought down three outfits: one long dress, one short, and one with leather capri pants. They were all black.

"Okay...get to it, Pam."

"Which first?"

"Pants, because I think I'm going to like them least."

Pam grunted in agreement. "Let's just toss them out, because I'm not crazy about them either."

First, Pam tried on the short dress, which reminded Carly of an outfit from Blade Runner: a overly structured black dress that seemed too intent to recall the 1940s with broad shoulders and pointed hips.

"I don't like it, Pam." Carly shook her head. "It makes you look like Grace Jones."

Pam changed into the long gown, and Carly said, "Perfect for opening night."

Pam's expression was pure hatred. "I knew you'd say that. You're gonna dress me like fucking Morticia, aren't you?"

"Well?"

"Yeah, audience expectations, right?" Pam glowered at Carly. "If I looked pissed, will that make me seem scarier?"

"I'm terrified right now, Pam." Carly smiled and giggled a little.

"Bitch."

After changing back into her original outfit, Pam said, "Now you need shoes."

"No shoes, Pam. I'll go barefoot."

"Bullshit, Carly, you need shoes."

"Trust me, Pam."

Pointing toward the wall, Pam said, "Have you seen my shoes, Carly? Don't you understand what I'm offering you?"

"I'm not good in heels, Pam. I'll fall down. Or I'll break a heel." Carly remembered one occasion where she'd gone to a gala with her Uncle Benjamin in a beautiful pair of expensive heels. By the end of the evening, one strap was ripped and one heel was broken off.

Pam looked at Carly as if she's offered to kill one of her children."Go without then. I don't want you breaking mine."

After packing up Carly's outfit and conferring about hair and makeup—Pam insisted on doing Carly's for her at the club—they departed for the guest house. As Pam had suggested earlier in the evening, Eric was already there.

"Do you want to come in and say hi, Pam."

Pam replied, "No. I'll let you two lovebirds be disgusting. Tell him I'll see him tomorrow and he better look the part too."

Enjoying this new-found kinship with Pam, Carly said, "I'll make sure he's wearing the cape and cravat."

"Smart-ass, Carly."

"It's Dr. Smart-ass to you, Pam." Giggling again, "Thanks a lot for loaning me the outfit."

"You can keep it. I don't do harem girl, anyway."

"No, you don't, Pam."

With one last parting smile, Pam drove away. Before Carly was even at the door, Eric had it open and had a glass of champagne extended toward her. "I have a surprise, Carly."

Taking the flute from him, Carly asked, "Do I have to close my eyes?"

Eric was about to answer, when Carly realized there was another vampire in the house. "Did you bring someone back with you, Eric?"

"So much for my surprise." Eric sighed.

"Who is it?"

Smiling again, Eric said, "I forgot you can't tell who it is. Come inside, and I'll introduce you. I hope it's okay. Phyllis let him in."

Carly scanned the main living space and didn't see anyone. Looking at Eric, she shrugged her shoulders and asked, "Where is he?"

"He's looking at the cellar. Come meet him." Eric's smile was effusive, so Carly presumed that she was about to meet someone Eric cared deeply for, and she was frightened that she would soon be displaced, just as Pam had suggested to her.

Once they began to descend the stairs, Carly could see a somewhat small figure seated in the center of their bed. The moment she saw his posture, Carly whispered, "Godric?"

Excited and nearly uncontainable, Eric said, "Yes, Carly, may I present my maker to you. Godric, this beautiful creature is my Carly."

As Godric turned, Carly relieved her dream of Eric's making. The imp who'd perched himself on Eric's chest now stood before her, fully-dressed in jeans and a white Guayabera shirt. He couldn't have been more than twenty when he'd been transformed, and he was more likely to have been fifteen or sixteen. As Carly ran the probabilities in her mind, she realized he'd most likely been a nobleman and a warrior, perhaps even a significant leader at the time of his death.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Carly. I've heard a great deal about you the last few weeks."

His pale face, which combined the smoothness of youth with the wisdom of overpowering age, transfixed her as he spoke. Realizing that Eric expected a response, Carly finally blurted out, "I'm so happy that you'll be the king."

"Why, Carly?"

"Because I know you have always made good choices." Carly's response was so incoherent, that Eric seemed a little taken aback by it.

Godric, on the other hand, seemed nonplussed. "If you're referring to my progeny, I would say that I did make an excellent choice, the best choice. But, alas, Carly, with two thousand years behind me, I have a catalog of poor choices that follow me."

Carly blushed in embarrassment and looked to Eric for guidance, but he seemed still. Closing her eyes to gather herself, she realized that despite Godric's appearance, he was Eric's father and that she owed him that respect. She lowered her head and said, "Please, sir, forgive me. I've been too forward. I'm honored to meet you."

Godric raised her chin and said, "I am equally honored to meet you. Perhaps you do not realize it, Carly, but you bear a remarkable resemblance to your father."

The statement hit her like a freight-train, and she lost her balance slightly. Eric caught her before her equilibrium became too disturbed. "My father?"

A serene smile spread across Godric's face. "Yes, it took quite a bit of persuasion on my part to convince him to give Eric to me." Godric smiled at his son, whose look of shock matched Carly's. "Yes, we stalked you simultaneously, Eric, but I convinced him to take your companions instead of you. Of course, he said that I would owe him a debt."

Eric's disbelief manifested itself, "You never said anything?"

"And what, dear child, would I have said?" Godric dropped his head down toward his shoulder. "Would you have liked to know that Tiwabealu stalked you as I did? That the son of Brunhilda also wished to claim you as his own? Would you have spurned my offer had you known?"

"No," Eric responded quickly.

"Even if you thought Valhalla awaited?"

Eric hesitated slightly, and Godric said, "The presence of a valkyrie would have convinced you that Odin's hospitality awaited you, and you would have died rather than accept my proposition."

Sinking to his knees, Eric said, "I am grateful you won your contest of wills, master."

"As am I, Eric." Godric turned to Carly and said, "I apologize Carly, but since I've agreed to support my progeny as his king, I fear I must start eating more often. I'm very hungry. Would you feed me?"

Eric popped to his feet. "Godric, I told you what happened to Sophie-Ann and Andre, and what I promised Carly."

"Carly may offer willingly, or reject my request. It makes no difference to me. Since she brings you great happiness, I wish her a long and happy life." Godric looked back toward Carly, "But she is a glass of champagne that sits among glasses of water."

Carly said, "I will do whatever you want, Eric, although the risk frightens me. I wouldn't want to hurt him or you."

"You would let him feed from you, Carly?" Eric asked. "I promised you it would never happen again."

"Only because he's your maker, and he loves you."

"Vampires don't love, Carly." Eric shook his head vehemently.

Smiling, Carly said, "I've heard that." She touched Eric's cheek. "But I've also heard other things, and I feel other things."

Everything that emanated from Godric was serene, although an undercurrent of loss and despair also lingered in the air. Carly was about to consent to it, until a strange thought crossed her mind.

"Godric, you knew Latin, didn't you?"

"Yes, although it wasn't my mother tongue. Why the change of subject?"

"There's a phrase in Latin, isn't there? Tedium vitae. Isn't that what it is?"

Godric's serenity evaporated, and a small ripple of anger, ever so subtle, rumbled through him. Godric made a loud noise as he inhaled, "Yes. And you sense that from me?"

Carly looked at Eric, who seemed as horrified at the suggestion that Godric might be suicidal. She replied as compassionately as she could, "Yes, I do. Even though you've agreed to be king, you're tired of living, aren't you?"

Godric sat back down on the bed and, looking up at his progeny, said, "You have done extraordinarily well, Eric. I apologize for risking your happiness with her. It was reckless."

"Master?" Eric's voice became the voice of a frightened little boy.

"She's right, Eric. Life has been unsatisfying, probably for the last sixty years, if not the last century." Godric's eyes became distant. "Human suffering has always been great, because of aging, disease, violence. But what I've witnessed in the last century...what I've lost...what everyone has lost. It's difficult to bear. You and your sister are my only connection to this world. Yet, I only feel a connection to you, Eric."

"So you've taken this on just for me?" Eric squirmed with the realization.

"When you told me what Carly learned—that Russell Edgington was the wolf-master—how could I do otherwise? How could I let you suffer with him as your sovereign? Or let him annex your area? We sought him together for so long—and the things that he did during the war and even before. Now that you know it is he, I can only help you win your revenge and move on with your existence."

Eric prostrated himself before Godric, and Carly didn't know what to do. She backed herself up against the wall, because she felt she should kneel beside Eric, but didn't know if that would be right.

"Thank you, master, father, brother." Eric's voice had the quality of an incantation.

"Son, father, brother." Godric repeated. "Carly?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Please, Carly, call me Godric." Touching Eric's head and caressing it, Godric said, "Eric will always revert to his earliest self when around me. To him, I am his chieftain, and he treats me thus. But please call me Godric, although, as his bonded, you must kneel with Eric in public—in fact..."

"I will teach her, Godric." Eric looked at Carly with visible anxiety.

"I know that I have to sit at Eric's feet in public. Do I prostrate myself before you, Godric?"

"Yes, Carly. I fear you must." Godric's eyes were sorrowful. "As proud a creature as you should not need to, but we must also conceal what you are from the rest of the world."

"I know." Carly shook her head. "I'll follow whatever protocol is necessary." She added, "But, please know, I feel you are worthy of every show of respect I can offer, as well as all compassion I can give."

"Thank you, Carly."

Carly yawned. "I apologize, Godric, but are you going to sleep here tonight?"

"Can I take you home with me, Carly?" Eric asked.

"Sure. Let me just gather some things."

As Carly rose on the stairs, she wondered how she'd known that Godric was passively suicidal. As she thought back, she couldn't pinpoint any one thing. His mind was so still, so silent, but still, something seemed amiss. He was so alienated, so distant, so disengaged. Perhaps that was it. She'd seen him in her dream, and, despite being a vampire, he was full of life. In Eric's stories, Godric always found a way to live artfully. The man she met tonight was a shadow, willing to fulfill his duty toward his son, but without any joy in its doing. While she doubted she could do anything to renew that joy, she believed that Eric could engage him—perhaps not entertain him—but certainly reunite him with life.

She knew Dallas could be boring, but why was it deadly?