Summary: Sookie makes her acting debut. Bill's 'happy face' is an internet sensation. Eric & friends are the cutting edge in performance art. Sookie joins an elite club. You get all that plus a Moon Pie.

Disclaimer: The lovely and talented Ms. Charlaine Harris owns all the characters in this story. Ms. Harris, please forgive me for this trespass.

Acknowledgements: Many thanks to Jodi, aka Vamplover1 for all of her assistance. She was able to provide a detailed clean up to chapters 1 – 3 of this story. If you spot errors, I made them after she completed her edits. She is both an imaginative writer and flawless beta reader. She knows what she is doing, while I'm clueless. She has also created a funny and informative writing column dedicated to helping fan fiction writers. It has helped me a great deal. Who knew that Pam was such a great and funny teacher?

http: /www . thesookieverse . com/search/label/Dear%20Pam (Remove the spaces)

Time Frame: This story begins one month after the first chapter of Dead in the Family. The rest of the DITF book was not included. It is the sequel to my fan fiction story entitled "Through the Fairy Door." Sorry, but you will not understand this story if you do not first read "Through the Fairy Door." But it is a fast and easy read.

Characters: Sookie, Eric, Bill, Victor, and several of Sookie's friends.

Rating: PG-13

Chapter One

Niall's spectacular show of magical power did not go unnoticed by humans. The blasts of energy lighted the night sky and literally blew me out of my chair. Niall had been successful in blowing to smithereens the portal between the Fae and human world, but I knew there would be consequences. There always were.

Not long after the crickets decided it was safe to resume their courtship songs, the Bon Temps Area Volunteer Firefighters came blasting up my driveway, scattering gravel everywhere. Neighbors had reported seeing fire coming from my place. Once the Firemen saw that nothing was amiss, they quickly piled back into their emergency vehicles to rush back to their TV's and baseball games.

Sheriff Dearborn along with a couple of new deputies arrived the following day to investigate reports of hearing an explosion. I loudly announced that they were welcome to search all of my land. I was hoping the Pixies would get the hint, and leave them alone.

Just the other day, a small clan of Pixies came back with me from the Fae realm. I know how that sounds, but I'm not creative enough to have imaginary friends. If I were, they would at least have better attitudes. Dermot and Claude cooked up a wild plot to defeat Niall. Dermot kidnapped me, and took me to the Fae realm. It was complicated, but once again, I was dragged into someone else's crazy shit. It was looking grim for me, until the True People of the Trees, aka Pixies, showed up. I made them a deal: get me home in one piece, and they could live on my land. Forever…and ever. I was beginning to realize the down side of that agreement.

I chewed my bottom lip as the Deputies half-heartedly wandered around my property. One Deputy was annoyed over his time being wasted, while the other just kept singing to himself, "I Shot the Sheriff" over, and over again.

I was tired from last night's events, tired in a peaceful sort of contented way that only a night with Eric seemed to create. He was very happy to see me, and he wanted to show me how happy he was, repeatedly. Surprisingly, his lovemaking was remarkably relaxed and playful. His anger and possessive vibe seemed to melt away once the Fae door closed. I had wondered if he felt some threat from Niall, but I was too tired for any amateur-shrink analysis. If Eric wanted to share with me, he will.

I was sitting on the porch drinking sweet tea, stroking my black and white cat, Junior, and watching the "I Shot the Sheriff" Deputy go wild swatting his legs. He was doing a great Fire Ant dance. That was when Sheriff Dearborn came limping up to the front porch.

"Sookie, you said that you saw a bright flashing light coming from that direction?"

"Yes sir, it was coming from the direction of the cemetery. I thought it was lightning. I don't know what it was." I had decided early on that my story was going to be as truthful as possible, simple, and grossly abbreviated. "Sheriff, did you hurt yourself?"

"Yeah, I tripped on something, but I'll survive. That's the price I pay for being an ole-fart, trying to run around in the woods like a kid."

As he bent over to brush the dirt off of his knees, I couldn't help but notice that he was a boxer man, and his wife must be fond of Scottish Terriers. I knew this not because he was wearing his trousers "hip hop, low riding," but because his back pants pocket had been neatly cut out. I fiddled with my ponytail, trying to appear nonchalant, as I looked over the Sheriff's clothing. Fortunately, there was no Pixie artwork.

As Sheriff Dearborn hobbled towards his car, the horn began to inexplicably honk. He struggled to open the hood to disconnect the horn, but the latch was stuck. The Deputies joined him and tried to pry it with a screwdriver, but they finally gave up. We said our goodbyes shouting over the horn. I was thoroughly peeved. As they drove away, I noticed that the horn would honk faster when they accelerated. I had to smile just a little. Gran used to say that true genius is in the details.

I thought about yelling at the Pixies' leader Tall Oak but decided to save my breath. They had not even been here a week, and they had already figured out they could do as they please. I was hoping it would take them at least a few months before they started blowing raspberries at me.

I went back inside and threw myself on the couch. I was just too tired mentally to do anything. Given everything that I had been through lately, I deserved a day off. I had checked out an old favorite romance book from the library the other day, deciding that 17th century Scotland deserved another visit. I adored Outlander when I read it the first time, but as I got into the meat of the book, the enjoyment was no longer there.

It occurred to me that my life was more interesting than the story I was reading, and certainly more fun. The heroine travels back in time to 17th century Scotland, hooked up with a 6'4" hotty named Jamie. She got into a lot of trouble, and her hubby gave her a whipping. What's so great about that? I went to a different world, and I can read minds. (Not that I'm bragging.) I have a 6'4", former Viking vampire who is definitely a hunk. On top of that, my vampire hunk uses soap and water. There was no bathing, clean clothes, or toilet paper back then. I bet all the kilts had to be plaid, so you would not see all the skid marks. I was chuckling over my juvenile joke when it occurred to me, Jamie and Claire did have a baby together; that gave me pause.

I was contemplating how empty my old house was when I saw something moving outside the dining room window. It was a very small female pixie. I recognized her as the Pixie who tried to console me when I was trapped in the Fae world. She understood why my attempted escape from my confines was a failure; women were weak. That pissed me off, which got me out the door and ultimately back home. I guess she did help me.

She was no longer wearing a weed on top of her head. Her hat appeared to be a red plastic drink cap. She was just sitting on the windowsill doing nothing. Opening that old window was easier said than done, so I walked outside, and around to the side of my house. She had her head back against the windowpane, and her eyes were closed.

"Hello, can I help you?"

Her voice was extremely high and squeaky. "Mistress Sookie. Pardon me for disturbing you. I was just relaxing and enjoying the sun."

I looked across my property at the expansive sunny grass field, and compared it to the uncomfortable window ledge. "Okay, have a good day."

I returned to my book, but I was completing pages without knowing what I had read. The little Pixie was still sitting on the windowsill. She had her arms wrapped around her knees. She looked lonely.

Against my better judgment, I tapped on the window, and asked her if she would like to come in for a visit.

She smiled and immediately appeared inside the window. "Thank you, Mistress Sookie. I am honored." She disappeared and reappeared on top of my book sitting on the coffee table. "I have read books before, but none this large. I can also write."

"Oh really, and what's your name?"

"My name is Sunlit, but you may call me Grit. That is what everyone calls me." Her crooked smile looked a bit self-conscious.

"Well, that is a beautiful name and a great nickname. Grit is a great trait to have. It means you're tough."

Her expression brightened. "It does? Others, think it means something very small, and walked upon."

"That's not nice. Why would they insult you?"

"I am not very big and neither is my magic. It has been known to stink at times."

I stifled a smile. "I have no magic, but I get by fine.

"You don't need to be big to be tough. Grit is a deceptive thing. It may look like something small that you walk on, but it has been known to stop powerful machines. Grit in the eyes of an adversary will stop him every time. Never underestimate the power of well placed grit."

She smiled and stood straighter. Her hat tumbled off her mass of brown hair. As she fumbled about to pick it up, I could not help but notice that Grit was small even for Pixie standards. She was pencil thin and lacked female curves. Her brown hair seemed to be plagued with static electricity. She was into the woodland look or failed to comb out the twigs and debris out of it. Her clothing was a red colored rag-tag affair, consisting of bits of cloth and paper. Her features were broad like all the Pixies, but her ears were exceptionally large. They would twitch when she was excited.

From what I gathered, she was a bit of a loner. Her parents were killed during a skirmish with a group of Sprites, and she had little family left. She seemed to be more of a dreamer than a fighter, which made her different from her fellow clan members. She looked a bit confused, and shook her head when I asked if she had a boyfriend.

She admired an old kitchen tablecloth that was polka dotted with red cherries, so I gave her a handkerchief that had belonged to my grandmother. It was white with tiny red ladybugs on it. It would look nice made into a dress, and it would match her red screw-on hat. She thanked me profusely, and kissed my hand before she disappeared. Such a humble gesture for an old hanky made my heart go out to her. Once she was gone, there was a distinctive reek of sulfur in the air. I held my nose. Ugh, her magic does stink.

I was contemplating how I might be able to help Grit, when I heard a car driving up my driveway. It was two "Special Agents" from Homeland Security-Secret Service Department. Apparently, someone saw something on a computer screen that was unexplainable. From what I gathered, while sorting through the dribble in their minds, they were the low men on the flow chart, so they were nominated to the task.

They thought for certain that it was a computer glitch, and they were sent on a wild goose chase, but were determined to do the job by the book. The Agent who did all the talking was a nondescript, 30's, short and stout fellow who had a name that I could not catch. He seemed quite impressed with himself and his job. His partner, Special Agent Smith, was considerably older and had a permanent scowl on his face. He was quite unimpressed with his job and his partner. He mostly wished he was back home.

I was relieved to discover that neither agent thought about Hotel Gizeh blowing up. Nor were they aware of my telepathic ability. Apparently, even after 9/11, Federal agencies still did not talk to one another.

As I was answering their questions, a dozen pixies materialized out of thin air behind the men. The little 6 inch people appeared armed to the teeth with make shift armor and weapons. They had clearly been into my tool shed. I heard scuttling and movement. Suddenly, I realized that the special agents were carrying guns. My blood pressure jumped, and I felt the adrenaline pumping into my system. I stifled the impulse to shout at the Pixies. I tried to look calm, as I shook my head in a firm 'no.' I tried to wave them off and covered the movement by acting as though I was shooing a fly away. The Special Agent stopped talking and stared at me. He slowly turned around to see nothing but an empty porch. They exchanged knowing glances. The short stout fellow resumed his line of questioning and decided to ignore my spastic fit.

As they wrote on their note pads, I felt a mind tickle and looked down to see Junior behind the men. He calmly sashayed around their ankles and appeared to be watching and listening to them carefully. I was still tense from the Pixies' aborted assault. A question struck me while the agent blathered on. Was Junior still linked to Niall? Was Niall watching? Followed quickly by, why can't I have a normal cat? Why must I have a mutant feline who is also a Fairy minion?

I tried to pull my scattered thoughts together to answer their questions. I was relieved when the agents thanked me and finally left. But I knew they would be back. They were going to go talk to the Sheriff to compare notes. They thought I was tense because they were with the government, and I had something to hide. Well, that was partly right. But they would've never guessed that I feared they were going to be torn apart by dozens of tiny beings. Their Special Agent asses were just inches away from being turned into Special Agent leather used to upholster the Pixies' couch. The Agents planned on returning in the early morning in order to catch me unaware. I shook my head. Those rascally Feds, they're so sneaky.

When they returned the following day, I gave them an identical story minus the spastic fit. I thought we were done, but later that day, I heard their sedan driving up my gravel driveway. As I was looking out my window, I decided that I had to get rid of these jerks without mobilizing the Pixie A-team. I looked around the room for inspiration. I found it in Gran's bible. Of course! I picked it up, held it close to my heart, and said a quick prayer to God to forgive me for the "stuff" that was going to be spewing. I opened the door wide; I was ready for my acting début.

The short Federal Agent started with his usual greetings and statements about why they were there. He had a new speech about how it was "time for honesty," blah blah blah, "protection of our country," and so on. Once he began to ask the same questions, I was aggravated and brimming with inspiration.

"Honestly, I do know." In a whisper, I added, "But I figured you wouldn't believe me." I looked around my front porch, just in case Bin Laden was hiding behind my porch swing.

The agents' eyes lit up, and they whipped out their note pads from their pockets. The short fellow who acted in charge leaned forward, urging me to continue.

"Well, it's a sign, these are the 'Last Days.'" I did the air-quote signs with my fingers. "Jesus is coming! I didn't tell you earlier because everyone knows that the Federal Government is nothing more than a bunch of liberal-loving, Atheists. But like you said, now is the time for honesty. It's time for sinners to get down on their knees and beg God for forgiveness. Have y'all been saaaved?" I didn't let them answer; I was going for the Oscar.

"I'm sooo ready for Armageddon. You see, when those Democrats took over Washington. I knew the end of the world might be a coming. I got born again, for the third time! I joined the Tea Party to stop Satan and Democrats, which are the same thang."

"That light I saw the other night, it was just another sign telling me that the end of the world is near. It was fire from hell! The Reverend Benny Hinn on TV, he told me if I gave him a donation, I would receive some of God's grace and see the truth. Heck, I must be full of it, cause I see signs everywhere now."

I had to look down at my bible to stifle a laugh when I said, "I was full of it."

Their faces went from bored, excited, to stone-cold hard in less than one minute.

I quoted my favorite scripture, which made no sense since it had nothing to do with the end of the world. I shook my bible at them, and laid on the southern trailer-trash accent with a trowel. "We needs to get-ta pray-in cause time's a wastin." I opened my door wider and invited them into my home to pray.

They put their notebooks in their pockets, mumbled something about a long drive back. Agent Smith gave me what he thought was a smile, but it looked more like a painful grimace. They turned on their heels and walked back to their car. The short Special Agent was thinking I was just another racist IRS: Ignorant Religious Southerner. His partner only thought about his painful hemorrhoids, and he dreaded the long ride back home.

I waved at them as they drove away. I watched the sedan disappear in a cloud of dust and proudly said, "I'm ready for my close up, Mr. Demille."

If they really knew what happened here, they would drop a load of Al-Qaeda in their pants. Later, guilt would set in, and I would feel rather badly about degrading my religion, democrats, and President Obama just to chase off some irritating people. But I figured, given everything I had been through in the last few years, God must have a sense of humor. He would probably understand, or at least cut me some slack.