Chapter 2: Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the Sookie Stackhouse series or any of its characters. These belong to Ms. Harris (and HBO/Alan Ball). Like all the other avid fans out there, I can only hope they don't mind if I borrow these fascinating characters for a little while.

A/N: This chapter "piggy-backs" off of the first one, but lacks the introspective style. It is really just a bridge to the action/story that will lead Pam back to her self evaluation, as she never quite resolved it. Also, I wanted to experiment with some dialog between her and Eric. As always, comments and feedback are welcomed and appreciated. They are motivating, and will help me adjust my writing style and story to make it more enjoyable. Thanks for reading!

If Pam had been feeling a little insecure when she woke, she snapped right out of it when she heard the crunching gravel of her drive, and the accompanying purr of her Master's Corvette. Ridiculous car, she thought, like painting a damn target on your back. Hers was much more sensible, of course, but she would never say that to his face. He loved that Corvette more than . . . well . . . more than he loved her, of that she was certain.

She fixed a bored expressionless gaze on her face and glided out the front door. This new routine of traveling together irritated her. It reminded her of those silly humans who rode around in the big vans or sport utility vehicles, chattering away as they pretended to save money and gasoline. She vaguely recalled that humans referred to this habit as "carpooling." She enjoyed pools, and cars, but could not understand how the two related in this context. In any case, she liked her Master, but hated his driving and showy car. Even more than his driving, she hated his criticism of her own driving, which was far smoother and less aggressive than his.

She was smart enough, however, to keep her mouth shut and "carpool" as her Master requested. He had established this new routine to account for any potential attacks on their lives. The routine was not to have a quantifiable, traceable routine. Sometimes he would pick her up, sometimes she would pick him up, and sometimes they would drive separately, or ride in other vamps' vehicles. He wanted to be certain they never traveled solo, or in a predictable manner. He wanted them never to be ensnared, or caught unawares.

She understood this rationale, and thought it would probably work. But, she secretly hoped that whoever he feared would get it over with and attack them already so that she could go back to her own routine.

"Good evening." She didn't even glance in his direction when she entered the passenger side of the vehicle.

"Good evening." His tone possessed the same boredom as hers. Well, what do you expect to happen when you've known someone for hundreds of years?

Tonight was supposed to have been a "separate" driving night for the two vampires. She was to have departed her home at 8:00 p.m. in her silver Volvo, while he was to have left from his home immediately after sundown. She was curious why her Master called her at 7:00 p.m. and told her to be ready and waiting for him to pick her up at 7:30 p.m., but she knew better than to ask. He would perceive that as questioning his authority. Though she has often questioned his authority, she could sense his tension, and was not in the mood for a fight—damned feelings of insecurity.

Instead, she waited; keeping her gaze fixed over the darkening horizon and the shadowy single story homes whizzing past. She'd never found Northern Louisiana a beautiful country; it was too flat and uninspiring. She enjoyed the rugged mountains of the West, and the rolling hills of the East. Her Master, on the other hand, was oddly at ease among the suburban sprawl and pedestrian architecture. He was more content in this little corner of the world than he had been in anywhere during all the years of their association.

With her peripheral vision she observed her Master's hands tapping ever so slightly on the gear shift. His face was blank and expressionless, and he was silent. Something was definitely . . . how do the humans say it, she wondered. Oh yes, she thought, something is definitely "up." Again, she would not ask him. Instead she will wait for him to divulge his concerns. In the world of vampires, at least where hierarchy and problems are concerned, do not speak unless spoken to. This is doubly so if the problems happen to involve the hierarchy. This clichéd mantra had saved her hide more than a handful of times.

She continued staring out the window, noting that a few seconds had passed since her Master had tapped his fingers. She wondered what he was waiting for. Perhaps he was baiting her, trying to get her to break the silence? Doubtful. He rarely, if ever, played those types of games anymore, and she has done nothing (lately) that would warrant punishment. No, she thought, he is definitely concerned about something. I'll know when it's time to know.

Pam remained motionless for the next minute, refusing to shift positions, head carriage, or any other aspect of her attitude that might reveal her internal impatience. She barely blinked an eye when her Master took a wrong turn leading away from Fangtasia. This is not good, she thought, but I will not break. I will wait for him to speak. In truth, she didn't trust her ability to keep her tone and facial expressions entirely neutral. Her Master is extremely adept at reading body language and facial expressions, however fleeting.

"So Pam," when he finally spoke it was in Old Norse, which she had learnt from him within the first ten years of her second life, "we have a bit of a problem."

"What kind of a problem?" Her response was carefully neutral, and her voice lethargic, while her inner-monologue considered a series of scenarios. Most involved protecting the danger magnet Sookie Stackhouse, and a fight with Victor Madden. Ooooh, she thought to herself, an opportunity to take out that domineering asshole. I hope I get to do it with my own bare hands. It took quite a bit of effort for her to prevent a slow smile from spreading across her face as she visualized tearing Victor apart limb by limb.

"I have received word that both my authority and that of the King will be challenged by an outside source seeking to cast doubt on Felipe's ability to handle such a large amount of territory." He paused to let the words have their full effect. In her mind this speech meant that he did not know the exact source of the attack, but he suspected there was truth to the rumor that the challenge would come from an outside kingdom.

She also surmised that he believed the outside source had an inside track advantage—or at least she hoped it did. "Do you suspect Madden?" It was nearly impossible for her to suppress the glee that came with the idea of having a legitimate excuse to kill him.

This question elicited a smile and small chuckle from her Master. He sensed what feelings motivated it, and she suspected he harbored a few of his own ideas about Victor that tended toward the homicidal. "Not at present." There was a brief pause, and his next words were careful: "He is the one who informed me of the whispering." He glanced at her out of the corner of his right eye with a slightly raised eyebrow.

This was her Master's amused expression, and she could practically see the wheels turning behind their light blue façades. "That's interesting," she replied. It was best to say no more than this. She knew he had already devised a plan to combat the potential outsider attacks, and simultaneously expose Victor as an inside connection. "What is the plan?"

"Tonight we shall create a bit of a diversion. We will use this diversion to hasten the actions of the threatening party. We will see who this diversion draws out of the woodwork." His face was again expressionless and bored, but Pam could hear the excitement building in his voice.

"What role am I to play in this?"

"You will incapacitate my attacker."

"I see. Will there be a signal?"

The blankness that coated his face dissipated for a moment. A bigger smile crept over his face, and his chest swelled as he straightened his posture, asserting his superior prowess and authority. "You will smell him. We are going to his home now to obtain a garment and his scent." His smile broadened further at her questioning expression. "This has been carefully orchestrated. He is not home now. He received very explicit instructions about when and how to attack." She hated these blatant shows of masculinity and testosterone that lingered on through a male vampire's second life, but could still appreciate the things it did to his muscular physique and chiseled face.

"Instructions from whom?"

"From an anonymous tipster who has reported to the human Fellowship of the Sun member that I am one of the most abominable threats in the vampire world. The letter he received explained that I am away from my second in command at very specific times during the night. During one of these times, which was specifically indicated as midnight, by the way, he is to retrieve a stake from the men's bathroom. The instructions specified that this stake was previously smuggled into and deposited in the restroom for this purpose, and was hidden in the tank of the only stall in the entire bathroom. He is to retrieve it and hide it under his jacket, and then attempt to stake me in front of the entire club."

"This is a good plan, Master, but very risky . . . . Should the human get anxious, or something go wrong . . . ." Pam's voice was submissive, and she looked down at her lap. She did not want him to perceive this as a challenge, but she also did not want to lose her Master this night.

"Do you perceive a reason that you should not be able to fulfill your role?" His voice was soft, but threatening. She knew she must proceed regardless of her doubts, and that she should expect little in the way of reassurance.

"No, of course not, Master. I will do exactly what is necessary of me."

"Besides, I will know his smell, and will be prepared if he 'jumps the gun,' as the humans say." His smile returned. "Besides, I do not believe it likely that he will do anything other than what is asked of him. He has been led to believe that his informant will be present and watching his every move. Should he conduct any part of this mission in a manner diverging from the instructions, his life will be forfeit immediately, and another loyal member of the Fellowship will be recruited to receive the honor and glory of staking one of the oldest and most powerful vampires in Louisiana." He was using an impassioned and booming voice, and she could tell immediately that he was quoting the contents of the letter verbatim.

"Very well, Master, I look forward to killing the pathetic little bloodsack." She smiled at her Master as they slowed to a stop next to a small soccer field.

"He is not to be killed Pam. We need him to recite the contents of the letter—whether it is out loud after some . . . persuasion . . . or after Sookie has read him." His voice was firm, and she understood that this was an important part of the plan. "None of the others know of this, of course, and this is why you must execute your part of the plan," he continued. "We must be able to question him for the information about the letter as he was ordered to destroy it, and no copy will exist by the time the investigation begins."

She realized at once the amount of detail and preparation her Master had put into the plan, and how much potential there was for things to go wrong. "Don't worry so much, Child, it does not become you. Everything will be fine. Even if something goes wrong, there will be other times and other plans. I'd just like to get this moving, and I'd prefer not to get staked in the process."

His voice was light and playful, but she could almost read something underneath it. Both of them knew it was not in her nature to question, or fret. She was certain he perceived this as well as her, if not better.

At this, she swung open the car door, and prepared to rise. Her Master did not move, and she looked at him questioningly. "I cannot go with you. My scent cannot touch anything near that house. No one must know I've been here. I can send you after he divulges the information under the cover of an investigation, and this will explain the presence of your scent in the house. Touch as little as possible, and bring a shirt that smells like it has recently been washed. He was instructed to wear clean, dressy clothes to Fangtasia. This way, we can smell him and his detergent or other scents that might be mingled."

She nodded. "The address, Master?"

"425 Butterfield Court. The bedroom is on the far left at the back of the house. Be brief. We are on a tight timeline tonight."

TBC