This is set after Dead in the Family (I haven't read Dead Reckoning yet) I planned this while I was writing my last fanfiction, and then somewhere within the 35 chapters of the last story, completely forgot about it. The free time graduating has given me, and desire to write the new season gave me has led me to digging out the old notes.

Lastly, I'm very sorry if I miss any facts or get anything wrong timeline-wise. I haven't read the books in a long time so I'm trying to remember where everyone at. Hopefully I'll get it right, but please point out anything that's wrong.

"Well hello little baby doll..."

This was whispered to me before cold, strong fingers grasped me by the shoulders and with a flick of my assailant's wrists, sent me hurtling into the cement wall of the basement I had snuck into.

"Oh Alice, you've taken a wrong turn. Wonderland is in someone else's basement."

The women, tall and slim and clad in leather, leaned over me. She had menacing glare on her sure enough, but her fangs stayed put within all her old regular teeth. A patronising act of kindness I responded to by bearing my own fangs, in all their creepy glory.

"Are all old people as fucking cheesy as you?"

Her fangs appeared on the word 'old', and I could see her restraining herself from kicking me in the face.

"Get out of here, go play house somewhere else," she snarled, the struggle of restraining herself resonating through each syllable. I could only laugh, which sure enough made her angrier. "You remind me why I never had any of you fuckers…"

"You didn't have any of us 'fuckers' 'cause you never had the chance. You were turned before you could form a real relationship with the one you loved…you were turned the night you went to meet him."

I loved these moments; I loved watching their faces after I mentally rooted round their past. I loved the mix of shock and fear and disbelief. I was a messed up kid!

"Who are you?" she snarled, much much more tense than before. This particular person had gone with the 'she's from my past to haunt me' theory. This was one of several different possible reactions, and one of the most popular. Others included 'she's been stalking me', 'she's been investigating me' and the factual theory, 'she's read my fucking mind'.

Before I could reply, she snatched me up by my hair, lifting me clear off the ground. She was too curious about me to say, rip my throat out, so I just hung there limply like a fish she'd just caught. There was no use fighting now, I'd been caught, like I'd been caught so many times before. This was just getting old now.

She carried me like that all the way up the basement stairs and down the lit corridor, into an office of sorts, before throwing me before the desk. I waited a moment before lifting my head to make eye contact with the figure behind the desk, and when I did we was gazing at me with a bemused look.

"Is this some sort of joke?" he enquired.

My fangs were still protruding, so he immediately knew the child being flung into his office was of his own nature. He was broad shouldered and handsome. He had the Aryan looks of a Nazi, but when I dipped into his memories, I saw shores, villages, wild landscapes. I heard his battle cries in his original tongue, and now recognized him as the Viking he was, rather than a Nazi. This meant he was old, very very old. I liked him instantly; his memories had an interesting flavour. The woman was alive when Victoria was on the throne. I was older than her, and had dipped into countless minds that had similar stories. This man was a fresh tale though.

"It's not a joke."

"I see," he sighed with the bemused expression still in place. "I didn't realise you had children Pam."

"Ha de fucking ha…" she retorted, and leant forward to give me a kick as she continued. "This little brat knows my life story, or rather my death story."

I realised I was still slumped on the floor, and that they would think me intimidated and nervous for it. Truth was I was busy rummaging around this Viking's fascinating mind. It was a beautiful map of experiences and places I'd never seen. I would have liked to meet his maker; I couldn't even imagine what gems his mind would be hoarding.

The man looked a little exasperated at this interlude to his night.

"I don't understand? How is this my problem?"

"If she knows about me then she knows about you. Whoever sent this little spy into our basement was…"

"She was in the basement?"

"The storage basement…"

I could picture the basement he originally thought. Blood streaked on the walls and people in chains, a barbaric setting. I washed the image from my mind as I had trained myself to do so well. I pushed it aside and focused on the white shores and fires in wood houses from his human life.

"Well my pet," he coaxed mockingly, getting up to walk round the desk and stand over me. I still cannot fathom why I didn't get up, but remained there staring starry eyed at him like a deer in headlights. "…tell me something about myself, tell me part of my story. Then you can tell me what you want and why you're rummaging through my basement."

I paused, wondering what to shock him with.

"Okay…" I said quietly, to give myself time to ransack his memories.

"I'm waiting…"

I was quiet a moment longer, and when I focused back on reality he no longer looked bemused but deeply troubled.

"I know that look…I've seen it before…what are you doing?"

I was quiet a moment longer, and then from his deepest memories I began to recite.

"Fell Alrekr, þar er Eiríki bróður vápn at bana urðu, ok hnakkmars með höfuðfetlum"

There it was, a disturbed character. He sank to his knees and clasped my throat with one hand in one swift moment.

"Dags friend of drepask kváðu; frá-at maðr áðr eykja greiði Freys afspring í folk hafa"

I continued, despite having no clue what I was saying. It was like reciting a play or a poem in a foreign language. This was new to me, being able to clean recite foreign quotes. I must be getting sharper.

"She speaks Swedish?" cried the women behind me. She was filled with hate for me already, and fear. I scared her, like a scared so many. You know the kids in horror films, that's me. Those twins from the Shining wouldn't have been as creepy if they were in their twenties.

"Like hell I do, I don't know what I just said."

"Eric, what the fuck is this creepy kid?" snarled the women.

The man, Eric, tightened his grip, causing me to growl in pain.

"Shut up Pam."

I gazed into his blue eyes. I may look like an eight year old, but I was mentally matured enough to appreciate this beautiful man for a moment, while he was busy choking me in his angry confusion.

"You just recited an old Swedish folk tale."

"How interesting, I didn't know I could do that…"

"Do that…please elaborate…" he snarled.

"And ask her what the fuck she was doing in our fucking basement."

"Lady, you swear too much..."

"Its 'miss' to you, child."

"Shut up, the pair of you."

It was at the moment when the door opened and footsteps shuffled into the room. The third presence was human or if vampire, very very young. Her memories were only a few decades long.

"Oh…I'm sorry to interrupt…" she had a sweet voice, she was a sweet southern bell no doubt. "Eric asked me to come tonight, I'll just wait outside."

I turned my head as much as I could within the Viking Eric's vicelike grip, and laid eyes on the blonde beauty. Then the strange thing happened.

As my pupils met hers, my head span. I could hear other's voices, their inner voices, in her mind. I could see and hear and sense dozens of perspectives. It was a lot to take in in a second, and my head reeled. I could feel my eyes fluttering as I span in and out of touch with reality and situation.

A hurried slam of a door resonated behind me, and I could feel the ground firm beneath me once more.

"Take a seat Sook," laughed the women, who had shut the door behind the girl. "Join the party."

"Eric…that's a lil' girl you're holding…"

"Quiet please Sookie, we have questions for her."

I took another look at Sookie, calming myself beforehand, and once again was bombarded with the many different perspectives and thoughts. They were like many different harmonies of a song. They intertwined and slotted themselves amongst one another; they all fit themselves along the timeline I could form of this girl's life. It was a story with a multi-string narrative.

"You're a telepath."

She gasped and the older Woman growled as I was swing into the air by my throat, similar to earlier with my hair, but much higher considering the Viking was over six foot.

"Oh, I have a lot of questions for you."