A/N: All characters belong to Charlaine Harris and HBO.
If I had a penny for every person who tried to kill me in the last two years, I might not be a rich woman, but I would have a lot of pennies. But since the powers-that-be don't hand out cash for hard knocks, I was still busting my buns for hourly plus tips at Merlotte's.
Tonight was set to be my first night back on the job after my kidnapping. Sam was dead against me returning so soon, but I ached to go back to work. Ever since Amelia moved back to New Orleans I couldn't stand to be in the house by myself. I noticed dark crannies I hadn't before and imagined threats to inhabit them. Sometimes I thought I saw Neave and Lochlan, but mostly I felt an indistinct dread, like something was lurking just out of my sight. I figured work was my best shot at distracting myself. I would be grateful to stumble home on sore feet, smelling like cheap beer and cayenne. It sure beat the hell out of torture.
Ultimately, my plan wasn't that complicated: when the shadows start taking shape, get away from the shadows.
I pulled into Merlotte's an even five below the speed limit. The granny driving was part of my new "safety first" regimen. I was also driving Eric's corvette. I didn't want to nick the car and give him another thing to lord over me. The vamps totaled my Malibu to corroborate the "car accident" cover story explaining my injuries. Since I had to get around, Eric gave me the choice between driving his ridiculous midlife-crisis-mobile or Bill's normal tan sedan. Bill was still too sick to leave his house and his car was sitting untouched in his driveway. Even though Bill's car would have been less flashy than Eric's, I felt dirty using it, knowing he couldn't. I would also rather start real rumors about me dating a rich man than encourage fake ones about getting back together with Vampire Bill.
The decision hadn't been thrilling. Choosing between Bill or Eric's cars was really a choice between being bad-mouthed about one man or the other. When I tried to explain my reservations to Eric, he got huffy and said I should consider it an honor to be associated with him. I had a little money saved to pay off a new car, but if I knew Eric, he would insist on providing a vehicle that screamed kept woman, like an SUV or any breed of BMW. Basically something I could never have afforded by myself and indebted me to him.
I slammed the corvette door and told myself to stop thinking about Eric. Yeah, good luck. The blood bond was humming away in the back of my head, faint, but still there, like the fly you can't squash. It was just after sunset and I was sure he was awake. He was probably in Shreveport, otherwise I'd feel him more strongly. I scowled. What was I, a homing device? Self-control had never been a problem for me before. After all I didn't drink, I didn't smoke, and I had sex only occasionally. It had to be the bond. I had to make myself stop or I was going to drive myself crazier than I already was.
If Eric didn't kill me, thinking about him would.
The bar was dark except for a light in Sam's office. I couldn't wait to see him. I smiled and felt a little silly about it because I was alone in the parking lot. I missed Holly, Danielle and the rest of the girls. I even missed the work. Clearing dirty dishes and getting stiffed once in a while made me feel like I still had a place in the real world. I stepped onto the back porch and it squeaked under my foot. The light in Sam's office switched off.
I froze. Who was in there? If the last month taught me anything, it couldn't be anyone good. If Dermott was going to kidnap me again, why would he wait until I came back to work? He knew where I lived and he'd already proven he knew how to snatch me from it. I grabbed my door handle, but didn't turn it because I could feel a cluster of minds just inside Merlotte's. I couldn't hear fairy thoughts but I cast around anyway, trying to dredge up anything.
Stay still. Goddamnit. She's going to hear me, she can't find us or it will be wrong—
I should walk away. Or call one of the vamps. But I didn't figure I'd make it halfway back to the corvette before whatever was waiting behind that door would take me. If it was here to kill me, I wanted to see its face. I had a flash of Neave and Lochlan—her silver teeth—and I shuddered. I hoped Sam had gotten away. I opened the door. God, I could taste bile. I wished Eric were here.
"Surprise!"
Holly, Danielle, Sam, D'Eriq, Terry Bellefleur, and a pretty blonde wearing a Merlotte's T-shirt crowded into the dark hallway, clustered around a cake with candles. Sam flicked on the lights. He was holding a box of Band-Aids with a bow tied around them.
"Welcome back, Sookie," he said.
I knew I should be relieved, but my heart wouldn't stop pounding. I should have been dead.
"Oh my gosh, Sookie, you're shaking." Holly stared at me, open-mouthed.
"Am I?" I tried to play it off. "I'm just so glad to be back." I forced myself to step over the threshold. I was going to be okay. I was already okay.
They all stared at me. The blonde in particular looked really frightened. I didn't recognize her, so I figured she had to be Arelene's replacement. I scrounged for something to clear the air. "That cake is so big."
Bless his heart, D'Eriq needed no more invitation to brag. "It's my Grandma's recipe: chocolate cream and something secret. You can't get this off the menu."
As he blabbed, I started to breathe normally again. Just being surrounded by familiar faces and thoughts made me feel calmer. Holly thought I looked like hell. D'Eriq's Grandma's secret ingredient was mayonnaise. Danielle was wondering when the party would be over so she could pick up her little boy from school.
Silence settled around me. I realized D'Eriq had already stopped talking, probably a good while ago. Everyone was staring at me.
I was more out of practice being around people than I thought. I shook my head to clear it, slamming up my shields. "Thanks, D'Eriq. I've been eating hospital food for too long." Everyone laughed, so I figured I was off the hook with all of them except for Sam. I was sure he could hear my heart pounding.
"Damn, girl, you look good for a fender bender," D'Eriq said. "The hospital stitched you up right." More like vampire blood and no stitching involved, but I wasn't at liberty to tell him that.
"And what about that new car?" Danielle asked. "Is your insurance covering a corvette?"
I gave her a big smile. "They felt real bad about the accident." Danielle had given me the perfect excuse for anyone dumb or optimistic enough to believe that bottom-of-the-barrel car insurance would pay for a top-of-the-line sports car. Sam wouldn't buy it. But, then again, he knew whose car I was driving.
Danielle laughed. "Gosh, I need to get in a crash. No offense."
After a round of hugs and thank yous, I managed to slip off to Sam's office to lock up my purse.
He shut the door behind me.
"I'm sorry about the surprise, Sook. I should have known it wasn't a good idea."
I sighed. "Don't give me sorry, Sam. I shouldn't be this jumpy. I hate to be this jumpy. I was just surprised."
"You looked more than surprised." He took my hand. "Are you sure you're ready to come back? Take your time, if you need it. You've got a job here as long as you want."
"Thanks," I said. "I'm fine. Well, I'm almost fine. I'm trying. Work will do me some good."
Sam squeezed my hand. "If you think so."
"I do. I need to come back. After all the fairies and vampires and god knows what else, I gotta feel like I'm part of the real world again."
"The supes are the real world."
"I know, but sometimes I wish they weren't." I caught myself. Sam was technically a supe, although I rarely thought of him in that way. "By that, I don't mean you or, I don't know, Bill, but it would be so much easier if a lot of the others just... disappeared."
Sam cracked a smile. "I know what you mean."
He let go of my hand and pulled me into a hug. I inhaled deeply and relaxed into his arms. God, he smelled so good. I think it was Axe deodorant. Anyway, his arms were warm. I let out a big sigh. "I'm so glad to be back."
At once, Sam gave me an awkward pat on the back and pulled away. "So, you're driving Eric's car?"
I stiffened. "He offered."
Sam scowled. "I'm not criticizing you, Sookie. I'm just trying to understand."
I shrugged. "I'm not wearing his ring. He's not living with me. I needed a car, so I'm driving his."
Sam walked away from me to fiddle with papers on his desk. "You must see a lot of Eric, then."
"Not really," I said, flushing. "He comes around sometimes." Sam hunched over his papers. I picked up on a sort of snarled anger in his thoughts.
"Just sometimes?"
I sighed. Despite our half-romantic history, Sam was just about my best friend. If I couldn't tell him the truth, something was really wrong with me. "I don't know if I'd want him over more frequently than that, Sam. Honestly, I don't really know what's going on."
Sam was quiet for a second or two. "Well you should think about it." He finished with his papers and looked right at me. "There are some people who want to do right by you, Sookie."
----
Sam had given me a lot to think about. After his declaration or proposition or whatever it was, I muttered thanks, grabbed my apron and bolted out front. A few minutes later I saw Sam take his spot behind the bar. I knew I couldn't avoid him forever, but I would sure give it a grade-A try.
After my meltdown at the surprise party, I was happy with how easily I was able to get back into the swing of waiting tables. Injuries or not, I could still balance a tray like a pro and the clientele gave me an easy time of it. I got a lot of polite questions about my accident and sympathetic thoughts all around. It was easily the most popular I had ever been in Bon Temps.
I had about an hour of peace until Eric walked in during the dinner rush. I'd describe what he was wearing, but does it really matter? It was mostly black and he looked real good in it. A few of the people in the bar turned to stare and then looked away, pretending they hadn't copped a glance. Some of them peeked at me. Eric had been frequent enough fixture over the past year that his arrival wasn't totally surprising. Everyone knew he was a vamp. And everyone, of course, knew who he was here for.
Eric confirmed the rumors by sitting in my section. "Hello, lover."
"Yeah, yeah," I said. "O-negative?"
"Is it on tap?"
He thought he was so bad. I rolled my eyes and came back with the True Blood.
"Too bad," he said when he saw the bottle. "You're not getting a tip."
"Don't you have an Area to run?"
"I came in for your well-wishes."
"Good luck. But don't tell me what you need it for. And it better be within the law."
"See you later tonight?"
"Sure." I was pleased he was asking for an invite and not just showing up on my doorstep. Baby steps.
Eric threw a few bills on the table. He stood up without touching the True Blood. "Then I'll wait for dinner."
Half of me said yum and the other half said ew, but most of the ew was because we were in the middle of Merlotte's and god only knew who might be listening to us. But really, I didn't have much of a reputation left to protect as far as my relationship with vampires was concerned. My squeamishness was mostly vestigial. Or delusional? Anyway, it helped me get through my shift without feeling like the slutty queen fangbanger of northern Louisiana.
Eric leaned close. His lips brushed my ear. "Later, lover."
My pulse started doing the rumba. "Okay, whatever," I said on an exhale. "Now shoo before Sam fires me."
"That will never happen," Eric said. "If the shifter fired you, he would have no chance with you." Eric kissed my cheek. I shivered, even though it was a pretty chaste goodbye by his standards. I could tell he wanted to do more, and a bad part of me wanted him to, but there is such a thing as appropriate workplace behavior. He was already standing so close it was pretty obvious to anyone watching that we'd crossed the "friend" line a few miles back.
"Eric," I whispered. "Stop. You're making a spectacle. I have to work here."
"Hush," he said. "I want you to smell like me."
"Then stop." The supes' obsession with smell was one thing I'd never get. It was just insulting-- whoever I smelled like, I wasn't property. "You better not be trying to piss off Sam."
"I have better things to do than taunt the shifter," Eric said. "You will thank me later."
Then Mr. High-handed high-tailed it. He had enough sense to pull the vamp-speed skedaddle. Otherwise, I would have kicked his fine ass out the door.
When I arrived back at the bar with Eric's untouched True Blood, Sam's scowl matched mine. "It's like watching him mark his territory."
"You would know," I snapped, even though I secretly agreed with him.
Eric and I had a few kinks to iron out before I would be willing to give whatever we had going a more official name than "whatever Eric and I had going."
----
I discovered what spawned Eric's little show when Victor Madden walked into Merlotte's a half hour later. Victor Madden believed that Eric and I were married and I guess we were—technically—at least according to the secret vampire shadow government of Louisiana, Arkansas, and Nevada. I still hadn't decided where vampire marriage stood as far as "ceremonies Sookie considers legally binding," but I sure wasn't going to let Victor in on that. Eric hadn't been over for a few nights and I probably didn't smell enough like him to support the marriage sham. If Eric had been rubbing up on me to trick Victor—and not just to give Sam an aneurism—I guess I could forgive him. Maybe.
Predictably, Victor sat in my section.
I checked that my other tables were freshly fed and watered before meandering over to the second vampire of the night. I probably stalled longer than I should have getting Andy Bellefleur extra packets of ketchup, but I was sure whatever Victor had to say would be lengthy and disturbing and I didn't want to lose any tips over it.
"How-dee-do, Victor," I said, finally forcing myself to serve to him. "Can I get you a True Blood?" I wasn't going to ask him what brought him to Bon Temps, because I was pretty sure it was me.
He sniffed. "Your Sherriff's been around lately."
Bingo. "Eric's always around." It wasn't exactly a lie, but it was definitely a stretched truth.
"Where is he now?"
I could only hope Victor came in to Merlotte's looking for Eric. There was no way I was that lucky. "Maybe Fangtasia? He's probably making Felipe money sitting on that throne, glaring at some fangbangers. Have you tried his cell?"
Victor just stared at me. I took his silence as a "no" as well as punishment for daring to suggest anything so pedestrian as calling Eric's phone. Then Victor kept staring. I was sure he was doing it to creep me out, but it was definitely working, so I said, "I'll get you that Tru Blood," and hurried off. So what if Victor hadn't given me his order? He could drink B negative—our least popular flavor—and he could drink it cold.
While I was getting the blood, Sam bent down next to me on the pretense of unpacking a case of Abita. "Everything okay?"
"Please watch him, if you can," I whispered, grateful our earlier tiff was forgiven. "I'm sorry for snapping at you, Sam."
"We'll talk about that later." He shooed me and I hurried back to Count Chocula.
As soon as I arrived, Victor said, "Sookie, sit down."
It wasn't a request, but I decided to ignore his tone. "Victor, I can't take the time. My boss is a hard ass." I nodded at Sam who, bless his heart, glared at us from behind the bar.
Victor looked annoyed. "Why does your Sherriff allow you to work here?"
"We haven't talked about it," I lied. It sounded weak to me and would to anyone who knew Eric. Victor looked at if he was about to say something more on the subject so I sat down. It was a tried-and-true female tactic: give him what he wants to shut him up. "What's up?" I said. "And please make it quick before Sam throws me out."
"Has Eric mentioned the murders at Fangtasia?"
Boy, that was a sentence I could have gone my whole life without hearing.
----
Four hours later, Madden was long gone, my clean-up was done, and I was all set to head home to Mr. Dead-and-Withholding. I wasn't sure I had the energy to deal with him right now, but my choices were either to be overdramatic and rescind his invitation and swallow my pride and hear him out like an adult.
When I unlocked the door, Eric's first words were enough to make me question my decision. "It's only waitresses."
"Only waitresses?" I huffed. "I'm a waitress." I followed his voice into my living room. He was lying on the couch with his feet up, but he had taken his boots off first, so I guess that was okay.
I scowled and sat next on the sofa arm. He wiggled his toes at me. Yeah, right. There was no way he was getting a foot massage tonight. There's wishful thinking and then there's just delusion.
"These waitresses are different than you." Eric said. "I can't keep them straight. And there are so many of them."
"Right," I said. "So many of them that have been murdered."
"Five is not many," he replied. "More than ten may have been many, although that would depend on the period of time in which the murders took place. Ten over ten years would not be many, but ten over the course of a week…"
"Eric, why didn't you tell me?"
He glared, as if he were trying to intimidate me into rescinding my question. "It's not your concern."
I sighed. "These days, it seems like I can't avoid making your concerns mine. Especially after that stunt you pulled with the knife."
His fangs ran out a bit. I think it was angry fang and not horny fang. "If it wasn't for that stunt, you would be in Las Vegas as Felipe's personal bloodbag."
"Well, now I'm his personal Miss Marple." I scowled. "Victor and Felipe want me to find the murderer."
"I know," Eric said. "They overruled me."
That scared me a little more than it should have. I didn't like relying on Eric for protection, but at least I knew I could more-or-less trust him. If he wasn't able to hold off Felipe, who would be?
"I'm not unhappy to help," I sighed. "I would love to find out who is doing this and save your waitresses. But I don't appreciate being ordered to do it. And more than that, I'm afraid what kind of precedent it will set. If they can force me to do this, where does it end?"
"I'll think of something before it comes to that," Eric said.
I didn't know what to say, so I nodded and tried to ignore the big lump in my throat. Even though I knew Eric meant what he said, his assurance was too vague to clear the air.
Eric stared at me for a minute, totally quiet, and then pulled me down on the sofa next to him. He wasn't quite hugging me—not that it mattered because I hadn't quite forgiven him—but the closeness was nice.
"I didn't tell you because I didn't want to drag you into it." Eric's arms circled around my waist. "Like you said, you are also a waitress."
It was sort of sweet, but also selfish. "Eric, lives are at stake."
"Shh," he hushed me. "Pam and I have taken care of crimes in the area for years. There was no need to put you in danger. Felipe and Madden are trying to force my hand."
"Why?"
"Because they want you."
That exactly wasn't news, but it still gave me a lot to chew on. I scooted away from Eric.
I needed space. This was one of those rare, but increasingly frequent, moments when I wished I had never met the vamps. It was seemed more and more unlikely that I would ever be able to rid myself of them. What did that mean for me long-term? Did I have to tether myself to Eric forever if I wanted to avoid being Felipe de Castro's sex slave? Now it was nice being with Eric (mostly), but I had no idea how I would feel six months from now. Would I be free to make a choice?
"Don't worry," Eric said, misinterpreting my worry as a cry for male reassurance. "They can't take you thanks to my stunt with the knife," he patted my hand and grinned—horny fang this time.
God, that man. I know English was about his thousandth language and he wasn't so hot on the idioms but we had to go over the definition of "digging your own grave." I said, "Eric, I want to talk to you about that knife."
He smelt danger. In a second, Eric's expression was emptier than Jason's head on a dumb day. "We already talked about it."
"I want to talk to you again."
He stared at me, which was all the permission I would get.
"You've been alive for how long?"
"A long time."
I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he was being forgetful and not obstructionist. I guess when you're over a thousand the years blend together. They didn't have great counting systems back then either.
"Seventy years may not be a lot to you, Eric, but it's all I got. Well, now it's probably more like fifty." More like five, at the rate I was going, but I clamped my mouth shut on that special little doozy of optimism. Bringing up my impending death to Eric was the surest way of derailing whatever chance I had of getting him to see eye to eye. "I have to share that time with someone who realizes how special it is."
I felt his anger flare through our bond. For a second I thought he would yell and I was thrilled. I half-wanted him to be angry with me—how sick was that? But he kept his expression buttoned up tighter than a Sunday suit and said, "You are special to me, Sookie."
Well, thanks for the revelation, Prince Charming. I couldn't tell if I was actually angry or feeding off whatever was revving Eric's engine, which just made me feel worse. "You are special to me too," I said, and I wasn't lying, whatever message my clenched teeth might send. "But do you understand what I am saying to you?"
"I am trying to interpret." His tone was too even and the way he was sitting on the sofa, totally still, reminded me of those big cats in the animal documentaries waiting in the bushes to shred some passing gazelle. I had a vision of Eric pouncing on me, here of the sofa, and doing a different kind of shredding—but I shook it out of my head. That was the last thing I needed to be thinking about right now.
Eric stared at me and boy, was I glad he couldn't read my thoughts. "You are concerned I do not value your life."
"I know you value my life, Eric. You value my physical safety—"
"More than you do," he slipped in.
I let his comment slide. "But seventy years means something different for you than it does for me."
"Of course it does," he said. "What else would you expect?" He paused, and must have been thinking hard, because his forehead creased. "I don't like where you're headed."
Well, I couldn't fault him for honesty. I didn't like it any more than he did and I was pretty sure it wasn't just Eric's reluctance rubbing off on me.
I steeled myself. "Look, Eric, I care about you. A lot. You know that. But our circumstances are so different I don't know if we can ever be on the same page."
He stared at me and then said the last thing I would have expected. "I agree."
I had been so ready to meet him with a snappy retort that I couldn't link up my thoughts with my voice. Luckily he took care of the silence. "I don't always like this. In fact, I most often don't like this. But I am happier when I am near you." He paused. "If you keep making me have conversations like this, that may no longer be the case."
"That would solve our problems."
Eric laughed and after I second, I did too. He took my hand. As he spoke, he traced a little circle on my palm with his thumb. "You are a liability to me. I spent months shoring up my relationship with my new masters and threw it away when I stole you out from under them. I lost one of my earners saving you from the fairies. I put my best people at risk. I didn't become Sheriff making decisions this way. And I won't be able to maintain my position if I keep doing so."
I had always appreciated Eric's honesty. Even when I hated what he was telling me, I sure as hell appreciated the telling. And although I wouldn't have expected it, it made me feel better that he had as many reservations about our "relationship" as I did. "So should we end this?"
He looked at me. "Do you want to?"
My chest tightened and my throat dried up. "No," I said before I could think about it. At once, I both did and didn't want to take it back. J. C., I was going to give myself a hernia. "What do you think?"
"No," he agreed. "I'm not finished with you." And then, wily creature that he was, he did the surest thing to stop my critical wheels from turning: he kissed me.
Wow. What a kiss. I would describe it for you, but I prefer to keep some things private. I will just say that it made a very strong entry in Eric's "pro" column. "This doesn't make any sense," I muttered when he let me come up for air. "What are we going to do?"
"Let's trust ourselves a little bit," he said.
"What if we're fooling ourselves instead?"
He growled and kissed my neck. Yeah, he was avoiding my question, but gosh, it felt nice.
"So we'll just give it some time?" I pressed.
"Sure," he said, or I think he said, because his voice was muffled from the neck-kissing. A tingle ran up, then down, my spine.
I gasped. "Eric, time's easy for you. You have all the time in the world."
He looked up from the wonderful thing he'd been doing and gave me a look. I felt guilty, but only a little: maybe I set him up on that one, but that didn't make what I said any less true.
"Technically, I have half the time in the world," he said, after a pause. "I only live half-days because I'm dead at dawn." Eric's face was still stony, but I think he must have meant it as a joke. Or maybe, it was just a fact. Either way, god bless him, for the first time since I'd known him, he wasn't taking my bait.
I laughed. I couldn't help myself. "My part-time—" then I trailed off. I couldn't find a word for him. "Boyfriend" sounded so juvenile and "lover," his favorite, made me feel like I should be wearing petticoats. "My part-time man," I said. And then, because I realized "part-time" implied availability, I added, "I'm not taking other applications for the job."
He smiled at that—as I knew he would—and he grabbed me by the ankle, pulling me towards him. He began to massage my calves and as his big hands wandered up my legs I was oh-so-glad I'd worn my itty-bitty shorts tonight.
"Eric," I gasped. "You're getting me in too deep."
He smiled at me: low, lazy. It opened up his whole face. "I like you in deep." He dipped a hand under my waistband.
I swatted at him. "Stop it. That doesn't even make sense."
Eric didn't pull away. I rocked back into him and he cupped my… well, you know. "I think you know what I mean." He nudged his hips for emphasis.
Boy, did I ever. Lucky me. The one thing to say for potentially bad decisions is at least they were fun.
"Yeah, okay, keeping going." I said.
Tomorrow was another day.
