"So," Pam whispered conspiratorially, "how bulgy were they?"
"I'm sorry: what?" I hissed. I was hurrying down the carpeted stairs, on my way to a meeting with the Louisiana Chamber of Commerce and Industry. And I was late.
"His eyes," she said. "How bulgy did they get when you told him once again that you didn't want a ceremony of symbiosis?"
I sighed. "Oh, Pam."
"Come on," she said, a note of teasing in her voice. "Would you say it was a six? A seven? Did he do that thing where he pretends to stare at something in the middle-distance so he doesn't kill you? Did that phantom vein pulse in his forehead?"
She was laughing out loud now, her gleeful, cackling laugh. From my position of authority, I probably should have told her off for mocking our liege lord, but instead I didn't even break my stride, just gave her a nudge with my elbow and told her to shut up.
"Well," she said, "at least he didn't lock you in a closet this time."
That brought me to a halt.
"Pamela," I said warningly. She looked at me, assessing me, then backed down.
"Only joking," she said and turned abruptly away, taking the side stairs down to reception, leaving me to continue on my way.
I kept going, but a little more slowly. My first half-year at Eric's side had been a steep learning curve. It was, in truth, a vertical learning curve up a slippery, icy slope, – steep enough to require mental ice picks and a strong rope, I thought. He had taken over a kingdom that was not only broke but, it transpired, in crippling debt. Barely had Queen Catherine's remains been scraped off the ballroom floor when New Orleans' most prominent bankers came knocking at his throne-room door, looking to remind him that he not only inherited her title but also her financial obligations. Her lavish, purpose-built palace, with its state suites and apartments, its four-star hotel and Michelin-starred restaurant had been financed on promises and, perhaps, a little glamouring. The Queen's financial advisors were quick to offer us the advice that she had ignored: there was money to be made in the hotel, convention centre and restaurant, as humans and vampires alike were keen on the whole New Orleans vampire experience. Before January was out, we had vacated her sumptuous apartment; by Valentine's Day it was being rented out for horrendous sums to anyone who could pay for the honour of spending the night in a real vampire queen's suite. We, on the other hand, were living in an apartment over the indoor tennis court, one that had originally been earmarked for the hotel's day manager. We had a bedroom, a living room, a study, a kitchenette and a bathroom that had been, most likely, an afterthought rather than an integral part of the apartment's planning.
I was in a strange twilight world: a human among vampires. The king's – wife? Consort? Unpaid private secretary? No one was quite sure what I was and it made the vampires uneasy. Eric was pushing to have us go to Dublin for a Ceremony of Symbiosis at the European headquarters, pretending that it was because he "wanted to take our relationship to the next level." Every time he said it, I made fake-gagging noises and pretended to stick a finger down my throat. We both knew it would simply make a lot of stuff easier, make my position – my remaining alive in a nest of vampires – safer. And being publicly joined to the daughter of one of the Empress's loyal retainers by said Empress in one of the world's oldest vampire kingdoms with all the bells and whistles of an ancient vampire ceremony would only help cement Eric's butt more firmly to the Louisianan throne. I, on the other hand, could not imagine anything worse than all of the high-octane drama that would surround it. While Eric liked to sneer at all of the pomp and ceremony, he was actually not averse to the kow-towing and cap-doffing. When he was the one at the centre of it, of course.
And because Louisiana was America's vampire capital, its historic centre, we were caught up in a charade of formality that had been all but abandoned when the king's seat had been in Shreveport.
("Can't we move back up there?" I begged Eric again and again, usually when I was being laced into yet another ballgown for yet another formal event.
"No," came the short but inevitable answer).
Sitting in a smaller throne just below Eric at his right hand, I was deeply uncomfortable, literally and figuratively. Pinned into formal dresses, I had to sit through a lot of vampire brouhaha, watching Eric scheme and manipulate, pulling his subjects into line.
My unexpected ally in this mire of bowing and scraping was the tall, spare vampire with the plummy voice, whom I'd first met at Queen Catherine's fateful ball many moons ago. It seems that we – or, specifically, I had inherited him upon Catherine's demise. He simply transferred his loyalty from one monarch to the next as smoothly as one might transfer a wallet from one pocket to another. While Catherine had called him Patrick, I could never bring myself to call him anything but Mr Montgomery; he, in turn, called me Ms Kennick, with his unerring sense of propriety. In fact, he only actually began to call me Ms Kennick when my divorce papers – fast-tracked through the Irish courts at a speed that reeked of back-handers and vampire interference – came through. Before that he referred to me as Mrs Dempsey, my married name, even though I had begged and pleaded with him not to. Not even a tongue-lashing from his king could stop him:
"It is the correct form of address," he insisted, unwavering. While everyone else at the centre called me Ma'am, with a respectful little bow, Mr Montgomery explained in his beautiful voice that as long as no ceremony of symbiosis or marriage had taken place, I was a commoner and it was incumbent on him to address me – with all due respect – in the correct manner.
"Fine by me," I said. I wasn't very fond of all of the pomp and circumstances anyway.
"And when we are married," Eric said, "what will you call her then?"
"Then she will be the Queen Consort," he said. "And I shall call her Queen Eric, as is correct."
This had made Eric laugh, his great, big unexpected laugh which I couldn't appreciate because I was so outraged.
"Queen Eric?" I spluttered.
"I'm sorry, Ms Kennick," he said, wringing his manicured fingers, "but you are not vampire, you are not royalty. This will be a morganatic marriage at best, so you must take your husband's title. It is very rare that a reigning monarch marry a human, most keep their humans as lovers but marry strategically among their own."
Oh, yes. The king of New York was, in theory, married to the Queen of Vermont and Maine but kept a string of human lovers and feeders while his wife sat firmly on her own throne many miles away. It was a strategic alliance, a little block of combined power in the country's north-easterly corner.
"Well, good job we're not – " I started and stopped when I felt Eric's blood thump-thump in mine, a signal that he was startled, telling me to stop. I slid into sulky silence and waited till Montgomery was gone, vacating our apartment by walking out backwards (you can't turn your back on the sovereign, did you know that?) to assure Eric that I was never, never ever going to be the Queen Consort, Queen Eric of Louisiana. The prospect of becoming Queen Magdalena had been bad enough, the realisation that I would actually only be entitled to Queen Eric was worse.
"Would you rather I married among my own kind and kept you as my mistress?" he'd asked, genuinely curious.
"NO!" I shouted.
"Then what is the problem?" he said, turning to me.
"Eric," I said with exasperated patience, "I said I'd stay for one year. One year. We're not getting married and even if we were, there's no way in hell I'd want to be Queen Eric of Louisiana. Come on."
He looked at me through slitted eyes, weighing up his options. I stayed still, waiting.
"We'll see," he said and I sighed inwardly.
Battling Eric took a lot more energy than I could usually summon; I preferred to simply stare him down. The first time we'd fought after he'd taken the throne, he'd picked me up and dumped me in our closet, telling me he'd deal with me later. Before he'd reached the throne-room, the local police were at the front desk to investigate reports of a human woman being kept captive in the king's apartments – stupid vampire hadn't thought to confiscate my phone. Of course, the police officers were promptly glamoured and sent on their way, but it was enough to send Eric storming back into our apartment to let me out. I sprayed him with silver nitrate when he opened the door and that was the last time he had used his physical strength in an argument with me. Nowadays he just relied on grinding his teeth and making, as Pamela insightfully pointed out, bulgy eyes.
"Ms Kennick?" Montgomery said, stirring me from my thoughts.
I nodded.
"They are waiting," he said and threw open the door.
"His highness, King Eric's consort, Ms Magdalena Maria Kennick," Mr Montgomery announced to the waiting members of the Chamber of Commerce. Confused, some of them stood out of respect, others sat stubbornly, to show me they didn't think much of my pseudo-title and non-status. I approached Jim Pullman, the council head, a man I liked and respected. We'd been working on ways to cement vampire-human business opportunities, to help rebuild New Orleans' status as an international tourist destination.
"I am so sorry King Eric could not make it," he said with fake regret.
"He has so much to do upon awakening," I lied.
We smiled at each other; the charade was intact.
My consort was currently stretched out on our couch, catching up on the latest episode of The Walking Dead, something he failed to see the irony in, given that he himself was the walking dead. He fed when he woke, tried to persuade me (often successfully) to have sex, then I went downstairs and continued to conduct the human aspect of our business till he descended at ten p.m. In the initial weeks of our reign, I had poked him out of our light-tight bedroom at sundown and had made him attend all the meetings with the New Orleans Chamber of Commerce and the Louisiana Tourism Council and the City of Louisiana Education Department and the southern branch of the Vampire-Human Initiative, till I realised that these meetings were being scheduled earlier and earlier on purpose, to avoid Eric being there. Mr Montgomery, in his discreet fashion, revealed that many people found it easier to deal with me and have me intercede with Eric on their behalf.
"You know best how to handle him," he said in his mellifluous voice. "His Majesty and Ms de Beaufort are too ... vampire for most humans' tastes."
I'd grinned broadly, not bothering to be discreet. Too vampire? That was one way of putting it.
Eric arrived for the end of the meeting, causing a flutter of flustered unrest among the humans. Many had not stood for me, but they all stood for him when he threw open the doors and strode inside, followed by two or three retainers.
"Ladies," he snapped. "Gentlemen."
He caught my eye.
"My lady," he said and nodded his head.
He had a flair for the dramatic, that man. I moved slightly to let him sit beside me and showed him my notes. Eric might have claimed to be uninterested in these many meetings but he was always well informed and sharp as a tack. It only took him a few moments to figure out what was going on: he allowed Jim Pullman to present the marketing campaign plans for New Orleans for the coming year, the one targeted at the growing number of vampire tourists, made some minor changes and stood up to show the meeting was over.
He left the room, my hand in his. I tugged him to slow him down so I could say my goodbyes, but he was already on his way to his next meeting and I was firmly in tow. Mr Montgomery scurried behind us, trying to get Eric to take a piece of paper that listed the supplicants that would present themselves at his throne that night.
"Not now," he said imperiously.
"Eric," I said, tugging his sleeve, "I need a minute. Eric," I said and pinched his wrist. "I need a minute."
His eyes widened in confusion, then he remembered my human need to use a bathroom and let me go.
"See you inside," he said and bent to kiss me with rather more enthusiasm than necessary, just to make Mr Montgomery squirm.
"Sorry," I whispered to the tall vampire, as Eric swept into the ballroom. I could hear vampires murmur, "Majesty," in deferential tones.
"Not to worry, Ms Kennick," Montgomery said. "Everything is as it should."
When I returned, I saw a long line of vampires waiting in the hall for their audience with the king. As I reached the back of the queue, a door opened behind me and a blond human came in. He took off his baseball cap and, to the confusion of the last vampire standing in the queue, gave her a little bow.
"Ma'am," he said.
She frowned at him and looked away. He caught my eye and the relief that crossed his face was palpable. He gave me a broad grin, an easy smile, and winked.
"Hey, darlin'" he drawled. "You work here, baby?"
"I do, sweetheart," I responded in kind.
"That's a pretty accent you got right there. Where you from?" he asked and leaned a shoulder against the wall so he could look down into my eyes. There was a collective silent gasp from the vampires who knew who I was.
"Ireland," I said.
"Iowa?" he answered.
"Ireland," I enunciated.
"That up north somewhere?" he asked.
"Really north," I replied. "Go up to Newfoundland, turn right and keep going across the Atlantic."
He looked at me in confusion, then it dawned on him what I meant. "Oh, Ireland," he said. "Like ... the green place."
"The very one," I confirmed.
"Say, hun," he continued, undaunted, "Am I in the right place to see King ... King ..."
"Eric?"
"Yeah, that's the one. Big guy, blond, always looks kinda, you know, grumpy. You work for him?"
"In a manner of speaking," I smiled. "Just take a seat somewhere here and your name will be called if you're on his list."
The blond man laid a finger on my forearm and moved it a fraction; a tiny caress.
"See, hun, that's the problem right there. He don't know I'm comin'. This is private business, if you know what I mean. Family business. So how can I go about gettin' on that list?"
My curiosity was piqued.
"What's your name?" I asked as the door of the throneroom was thrown open. Mr Montgomery stood on its threshold, ushering vampires out.
"Madame," he said when he saw me. I was late. Chop, chop. When he saw the human with his fingers on my arm, he frowned crossly and said, "Madame," even more sharply.
"Coming, Mr Montgomery," I said and I hurried forward. The blond man followed me, apologising to the vampires on whose feet he accidentally trod.
"Miss," he called after me, "eh.. ma'am? Madam?"
"What's it about?" I asked him, pausing at Montgomery's side.
"It's my sister," he said, a note of pleading to his voice. "She couldn't come herself 'cause she's, like, nine months pregnant. But she says she got some vampires after her. She says she's in trouble, she needs Eric's help. I mean, King Eric's help. She says it's life and death."
A cold finger drew a line from the nape of my neck down my spine.
"What's your name?" I asked again.
"It's Jason..." he began.
"Stackhouse," Eric finished, appearing in the doorway. He towered above the blond man, who grinned at him apologetically.
"Hey, Eric," he said. "I was just telling your assistant here ..."
"She's my wife," Eric said coldly.
Jason Stackhouse looked at me, astonished. "Oh, hey, I mean – I see. Yeah. Congratulations, I guess I musta missed the part about you gettin' married, Eric. King Eric. Nice to meet you, Mrs.. eh... Mrs King."
"Come in," he said stiffly and clicked his fingers to indicate the other vampires should leave. To Mr Montgomery's chagrin, he closed the door in his face, leaving the three of us alone in the throne-room.
"Tell me all, Stackhouse," he said and grabbed my hand, leading us to the dais with our chairs. As Jason made appreciative noises, whistling at the big windows and fancy drapes, Eric squeezed my hand, bending his head to say,
"For what is about to come at us, I apologise, Magdalena."
Startled I said, "What is coming at us?"
"I don't know," he said. "But it involves Sookie Stackhouse so it will not be good."