III.
June 2009
I had accrued 42 days of PTO in three years of working for the Bureau. After mulling it over for two weeks after Eric had visited me, I requested vacation time. When I told him I was taking 18 PTO days with only three weeks notice, Manny, my boss, was certainly not thrilled. But there weren't as many cases in the pipeline these days. I had screened over 300 US declared enemy combatants all over the globe in the past eighteen months. I had also interviewed countless suspected terrorists in the field before they had even been ruled enemy combatants. I had interviewed every single suspected terrorist in custody in the US and Canada. I had questioned war crimes suspects at The Hague, and terror suspects in Berlin, London and Madrid. Really, I had earned a vacation. And besides, my Arabic, Farsi, Dari and Pashto interpreter, Alla, would be out on maternity leave. That would leave Ahmed, who was fluent in Arabic, Turkish, Kurdish and Urdu. But he didn't do Farsi or Pashto, which were the hot areas currently because of the tense situation with the Iranian-backed Shi'a in Iraq and with the growing Taliban presence in Pakistan. The Bureau was trying to find another Farsi, Dari and Pashto interpreter but I was pretty picky about who I'd work with. Alla and Ahmed were my gold standard. Keen minds, trustworthy and careful. Alla was a very kind and dynamic person. She was also brave and fiery and great at eliciting information. I thought Ahmed was one of the brightest people I'd ever met and a extremely skillful interpreter. He was sarcastic and ironic and could see the finer shadings of almost anything. Between the two of them, especially with their differing styles in Arabic, they could lead someone to think about almost anything useful in our screenings. They were the best, and pretty much the only interpreters I wanted to work with. There was no point in trying to read some terror suspect's thoughts if you were worried about your interpreter's thoughts on top of it. It was always a challenge to shift to a different interpreter for say, Serbian. Sometimes when I questioned domestic terror suspects in English, I actually even missed Ahmed and Alla's viewpoints.
Eric left my apartment that May night shortly before midnight, because I had to be up at 6 am. We'd spent most of the time talking, with only a bit of affection mixed in. I felt awkward and reserved and wouldn't even sit on the couch with him. So we mostly just talked while he sat on the couch petting Rosie and I sat in a straight-backed chair. He seemed very interested in my job and how a telepath worked with suspects who spoke a foreign language. I explained the many months of training that I had been through with Alla and Ahmed. I asked questions and they translated for the suspect. We worked in synchrony and I read the interpreter's mind as well as the suspect's. Some of the information I got from the suspects was largely visual, at the prompting of a skilled interpreter asking questions for me. We worked in the Counterterrorism Analytical Branch, supporting Operations I and II, which involved monitoring multiple terrorist groups, their access to WMDs and trying to prevent foreign terror groups from harming US interests and acting acting in concert with within terror cells within the US. We were one of the only units of the FBI with standing clearance to work outside the US. Eric pointed out, with a broad smile, that he had thought of using a telepath to interrogate people instead of torturing them at least two years before the federal government had. He came back the following evening and we talked some more. He had to go back to Louisiana later that night but stayed until almost 1 am before departing for the airport. I felt sad when he left. Even several hours after he left I felt as if I could still feel his lips on mine or his arms around me. I was dismayed to think that time really hadn't changed my feelings in the least. How could that be? And I could hardly stand to think about what had happened to him, and to Bill, because of me. I didn't know what to think about what Eric said his feelings for me were. My nice, neat world had been turned on its end.
After insisting on getting my private email address, Eric and I talked by Skype internet calling almost daily after he left Alexandria. We didn't really discuss much of our day to day lives, other than whether it had been a good day or a bad day. We mostly talked about generalities. The occasional book, a movie or two, politics. Sometimes it seemed like we talked about nothing. But I found myself looking forward to talking to him every night, or early in the morning, as the days and weeks rolled by. I'd find myself fussing over how I looked before logging into Skype. Once in a while he'd try to talk about serious things, like the blood bond, or my resistance to going back to Louisiana. He always seemed very in control whenever we talked, immediately diffusing things if I seemed to respond too negatively. As soon as I'd start to get uncomfortable discussing something, he found a way to redirect it. It was like he could still feel how I felt even after all that time apart and even though he was so far away. The room from which he spoke was dim and I didn't recognize it. There were never any interruptions at his end, even when I'd have to chat at odd times because of my traveling, rather than the usual right after sunset on Central time or 6 am Eastern time conversations. He kept up the steady but quiet pressure to come to visit. Finally at the very end of May I told him that I'd go to Louisiana to visit him in June when I got back from a work-related trip I'd be taking in a few days. I'd actually already requested the vacation days almost a week before, but was just stressing over whether I'd actually go back to Louisiana. Going to Iraq? Fine. A hard day's work, occasionally scary, but fine. Going back to Louisiana? Frightening.
I could tell that my travel for work made Eric edgy. I hadn't told him much about where I went and what I did there, but he knew I traveled a fair amount. He knew little about what I did. Mostly he just knew about how I worked with my interpreters. He said he was worried when he found out that I was going to 'somewhere in the Middle East,' (Nasiriyah, though I couldn't tell him) for a few days for work the first week of June and would be unavailable for chatting. Some of the places I'd been to 'listen' to people in the past eighteen months, as US policies began to change in response to international pressure, were very scary places, and although certainly Nasiriyah was a bit up there in the tinderbox category, it was not currently that bad. Much better than say Afghanistan or Pakistan currently. But I couldn't tell him where I was going. When I got back home, Eric looked like he was extremely relieved to have me Skype him that night. I wondered what Alla's husband must have thought of his eight months pregnant wife going to Nasiriyah with Ahmed and me. Alla was simply fearless. But Mercan, her husband, wasn't fearless. He worked for the CIA so he was in a position to know what he was still fearful about in Iraq. They'd been married for four years and he wanted her to quit and I thought that after having her baby she probably would at least stop doing work outside of the US. It made me worry about finding another interpreter as wonderful as she was.
Sometimes, as much as I enjoyed traveling and as important as I felt the work to be, I wished I could just stay home and talk to domestic terror suspects. It was so much easier. The illusory 'excitement' and 'intrigue' of traveling to war zones to work had worn off about a millisecond after the first time a vehicle blew up in front of us because of a landmine. Seeing snipers shoot children pretty much sealed the deal for me. Some of the places I'd been had been very, very scary. And we were the lucky ones, since we were often flown in and out the same day when we worked some of those locations. Ahmed, Alla and I seldom talked about work among ourselves anymore. The work just left you too numb. Occasionally, in the beginning, we had soberly discussed how trapped in a dreadful cycle some of the different regions plagued by terrorism were. We had interviewed people who had done truly terrible things, sometimes without even having a clear idea of why their 'enemy' was their enemy. We had even interviewed people who were basically little more than children. After the first few very intense months, we tried to talk about other things.
Ahmed was incredibly well read. He was the one who directed me to Thistle and Shamrock. Ahmed was the kind of person who didn't need an annotated Finnegan's Wake. We'd watch movies on DVDs during our long flights, play board games or cards, and read or sleep. After the first year, many times it was just the three of us traveling to remote locations and being met by military personnel. Occasionally Manny or his associate head of the unit, Bruce, would go with us. But Ahmed, Alla and I were like a little clique. I knew so much about them because of how I did what I did. In spite of the fact that it could have gone the other way, they found me the very opposite of intrusive. They never had to explain things like the need for silence or for space. I was so much less educated than the two of them and yet one time when Ahmed had sensed the fact that I felt that disparity keenly he'd said quietly to me that a diamond in the rough was still, after all, really a diamond. He was never condescending, which I thought was quite surprising considering I was a high school educated small town Southerner who'd hardly traveled anywhere before. He'd been raised in Britain, gone to topnotch universities and had a PhD. Ahmed liked the fact that I was an avid reader and that I looked at different cultures with an open mind. Alla, whose father was in the diplomatic service for Iran, left Iran as a child with her family, had been raised in France and then the US. She had a dual Masters degree in Persian Languages and Literature. Although it was never openly mentioned, they knew that something terrible had happened to me. Once, early on, when Alla took me to visit a hammam in DC for fun, she had seen my scars when I was starting the scar revision surgery. She was upset but said nothing. I could tell a short time later that she had told Ahmed that I had been tortured. They were both inordinately kind. They never asked. They talked about how alone I seemed and that I seldom went out anywhere. That was when Ahmed came up with the plan of teaching Alla and me how to sail. He'd seen me reading Pride and Prejudice and said I would find sailing excessively diverting. He was right. I really loved it. He also started inviting me to gatherings he had in his rather chic apartment. We had been friendly before but it marked kind of a turning point in friendship. Ahmed was very protective of those he cared about. Alla was pretty fierce, too.
So here it was, the end of the second week of June and I found myself in New Orleans for the first time in four years. I still wasn't clear why Eric was living in New Orleans now. Frankly, after the whole thing with his hand, I was really afraid to ask. I worried that Felipe had taken Eric's businesses away or done some other horrible thing, although in comparison to cutting off someone's hand, it was hard to think of losing your business as being in quite the same league. But I knew Eric had loved his businesses. It all made me very afraid just thinking about it. But I was too cowardly to ask why the address he gave me was in New Orleans instead of Shreveport. He didn't offer any info, either. I was already so consumed with guilt over what Eric and Bill had gone through because of me. If there was even more to it, I didn't want to find out over the internet or phone. I wanted to be able to say I was sorry and feel horribly guilty in person. I asked no questions. It was most likely that he was just the Sheriff of Area 1 now. Felipe probably spent only part of the time in Louisiana. In spite of whatever grievance Felipe de Castro had with Eric, Felipe wasn't stupid. Eric was an extremely efficient business person. Since Felipe was really based in another state, having Eric in the most important business area would likely make sense.
I had shown up and asked for a room for two weeks in the Iberville Suites, which is at the edge of the French Quarter. It cost a small fortune. I had plenty of savings though, since other than rent and odds and ends, the only other expenses I had were taxes and insurance on my sealed up house in Bon Temps, which were all paid through the Bureau. Besides, I told myself, I'd never had a real vacation in my entire life. I planned on using the fitness center of the Iberville Suites sister hotel, the Ritz-Carlton, with which it shared the building. I got a manicure and pedicure in the Ritz-Carlton spa at 7 pm. I felt deliciously indulgent.
Eric hadn't been happy that I wouldn't stay with him, but I figured he ought to be satisfied that I was even setting foot in the state. I'd told him more than once that I had seriously bad memories of Louisiana. He'd pointed out that bad things had actually happened to me in Rhodes, Dallas, Jackson and Arkansas, not just Louisiana. He didn't know about things like getting shot at by snipers or seeing vehicles bearing people I personally knew destroyed by landmines right in front of me. That had happened to me in Najaf or in Miran Shah. I didn't look forward to going back to any of them, either. Frequently, in the month since we'd reconnected, Eric would try to convince me that I'd enjoy being home. Only then it turned out that 'home' wasn't even Shreveport and Bon Temps in his mind. It was where he was in New Orleans, as I found out several days before I was leaving. I managed to bite my tongue and not say what I thought, which was that it was rather amazing that he seemed to consider himself home for me. I tried to remind myself that touch of arrogance was part of Eric's 'charm'. Maybe not literally going back to Bon Temps and Shreveport would be easier. It would certainly be safer from the standpoint of not being recognized. Up to that point, I'd seriously been trying to figure out how I would make the whole thing work. But this was easier.
I thought if I heard the word 'safe' from Eric one more time that I'd throw something at my laptop camera. He seemed determined to assure me that he could keep me safe. Whereas my main concern was actually what the FBI reaction would be to my just visiting Louisiana. I had told them I wanted to leave the state and cover my tracks completely. Now I was going back? I'd had to do all sorts of pussy footing around with my boss Manny about where I was going on vacation. I didn't even tell Ahmed and Alla. Since they were well used to my evasiveness on some things, it wasn't even an issue for them. 'Visiting friends' I'd say obliquely when asked where I was going. And then I'd change the subject by asking my own questions. Of course, it legitimately turned out that even I wasn't sure where I was going. I flew standby from DC to New Orleans. I figured as soon as he found out I was in Louisiana, which would take him all of about a minute after my first credit card swipe, Manny would start having fits, thinking that I was going to blow my carefully crafted WPP identity and create all sorts of problems for him. While I could have used difficult to trace Visa cash cards and a disposable cell phone and call forwarding tricks to make the trip ('thinking like the Agency' as they said in the Bureau) I just didn't feel motivated to go sneaking around to that extent. I was not a sneaky person. He would have found me anyway. The FBI could find anyone if they want to. They were like vampires, but with more technological tracking skills. When Manny called me to tell me off about being in Louisiana, I planned to just take it and try to reassure him that I was carefully traveling as Sasha and had been in the mood for beignets.
When I arrived, it was still early afternoon. I thought about looking up Amelia but scrubbed the idea. I was really worried that it would be awkward and that she wouldn't even want to see me. Eric had told me that Pam was still in touch with Amelia. I figured that if Pam told Amelia I was in New Orleans that if Amelia wanted to see me, Pam would arrange it. Only a few people were going to be privy to the information that I was there, and that Sasha Gordon was really Sookie Stackhouse. It was odd walking around in the Quarter, realizing that probably, even if I had run into Amelia, in all likelihood she would not even recognize me. Octavia and her beau Louis still lived here, too. Of course, so did Sara Weiss, still an agent with the Bureau. And I was sure Sara would be keeping track of me as soon as Manny realized where I was. She'd probably track me with the GPS chip in my phone and I wouldn't even be surprised if she put me under surveillance. I was sure the Bureau was not going to be thrilled with my travel plan.
That afternoon I just sat by myself at the Café du Monde, finishing The Great Gatsby, eating beignets and drinking a hot café au lait with coffee and chicory and tried to steel myself for visiting Eric in the evening. He'd told me that Pam was very excited and looking forward to seeing me. I was glad Pam was still with him and looking forward to seeing her, too. But I was still very nervous about the whole visit. Sometimes I wondered what I was even doing here. Kissing someone passionately a few times and chatting for two evenings was not a natural prelude to a two weeks long visit in my book. Not even with all the time we'd spent chatting on Skype calls and all the previous history. I didn't know what to expect and thought I was half-crazy for agreeing to such a long visit. But Eric had been by turns playful, cajoling and extremely flirtatious. He was like the old Eric, the one I first knew, back in Dallas or Jackson days. He was happier and freer than I had remembered him for many months before I'd left. In some ways he acted as if the visit was a first step to my moving back to Louisiana, although he had quickly backed off when he sensed I was getting very upset with that implication. His expression had made it obvious he was not too thrilled that I was staying in a hotel, but he didn't push it after two offers of having me stay with him were firmly refused. He seemed concerned about my safety if I didn't stay with him, but I pointed out that hardly anyone knew what I looked like now and I was armed. He seemed as if he let it slide. I almost got the feeling when I told him I was flying standby I thought he wasn't even really convinced that I was going to show. I'd sent him a text message when I arrived so he'd see right away when he awakened that I had really come, just as I promised.
The sun was setting around 8 pm these days. I figured that I'd show up around 10 pm. The address Eric had given me seemed familiar. In fact, I had to say it seemed like it was in the same building that had been Sophie-Ann's old residence and court. That point was confirmed when I Google-mapped it on my phone as I sat in Café du Monde. It was definitely in the same flank of buildings, a huge chunk of real estate, but I was being directed to a different entrance from the one I knew though, on a side street, not the side nearest the French Quarter, where the crowds of tourists usually built up. Since I really wasn't up on vampire politics at all anymore, I had no idea how often Felipe was here or if tourists still gathered around hoping to see some wealthy and beautiful vampires as they had in the elegant Sophie-Anne's time. I began to nervously wonder again what Eric was doing there. Was he really the Area 1 Sheriff? A crazy thought crossed my mind that he was going to hand me over to Felipe but I managed to get that one under control. I kept thinking about what had happened to him but I just couldn't see Eric doing something like that, no matter how paranoid I allowed myself to be. He was too honorable, at least in my mind, to do something so underhanded. And his talking to me both in person and by Skype felt genuine, if I could trust that what I still felt through the bond was real. I tried to focus on trusting Eric. But still, I was cautious and I went prepared in case there were problems. Of course I had my service weapon, which really technically I was supposed to carry at all times anyway, my badge and well… I was just prepared. Of course, realistically, the likelihood of getting out of that building if they didn't want me to leave was slim. I wore black boot-cut jeans, an emerald green silk shirt and my black leather jacket. I took only minimal ID and no purse, my cell phone in my jacket pocket. It was amazing what you could conceal, though, even wearing such a simple outfit.
When I approached the door to which I'd been directed, a young vampire who looked East Indian greeted me. He was dressed in street clothes but it looked like he had a very pricey lightweight Kevlar vest on under his oxford shirt and jacket. His badge declared his name was Pradep. He was very tall, dark and thin with luminous brown eyes. From his looking me over, I got the feeling that he'd been told to expect me specifically. However, he got totally bent out of shape when he saw me put down my Glock on the table near the metal detector then pick it right back up to put it back in the shoulder holster once I had crossed through. He had evidently planned to put the gun into some sort of locker, which he had already opened, near the door. He started arguing with me and so I flashed my FBI badge and told him "Can't leave it, sorry. Besides, these would hardly even slow you down for more than a minute or two, so why the fuss?" I made sure to show him the magazine so he could see the bullets were definitely not silver. He still wasn't buying it. He made a phone call from his cell phone and got into a heated discussion with whoever was on the other end. I waited, leaning against the wall, tapping my foot. About five minutes later, Rasul showed up, looking at me cautiously. I greeted him in my best Arabic and with a broad smile.
"Masaa el kheer, Rasul." Good evening in proper Arabic. Then I switched to English. "It seems that this guy has a serious problem with my gun."
Rasul looked at me with surprise at the well-inflected Arabic. I didn't speak a lot, but what I did sounded pretty good thanks to Alla and Ahmed. He drew closer, looking at me carefully while sniffing the air. He turned his head at an angle and stared.
"Sookie? Is that really you?" he asked quietly, looking me up and down. Finally he leaned closer and looked me in the eyes and in spite, of the green contacts, with another deep inhalation he smiled broadly and seemed satisfied that it was truly me.
"Sasha, Rasul. The name is Sasha," I said firmly, nodding with a smile to him.
"Pradep was concerned that you are armed, Sasha." he looked at me as if he was immensely amused by the idea I was calling myself Sasha.
I took my Glock out of the shoulder holster under my jacket, and removed the magazine. I showed him my badge.
"I'm required to carry the gun. Standard bullets. Nothing that could harm anyone here permanently." I took one out and offered it to him so he could see it wasn't silver. Meanwhile, Pradep leaned over and said something to him.
"FBI? You're kidding? Wow. And you really know how to shoot that thing?" he shook his head as if very surprised.
I replaced the bullet in the magazine, the magazine in the G22 and reholstered the gun.
"Yes, I do Rasul. In fact, I know how to shoot it very, very well."
"I've always figured there's a reason why Eric finds you so enchanting. So many unexpected qualities. Shall we, Sasha?" he said with a chuckle.
He took my arm and led me toward the stairs after nodding to Pradep, who looked quite chagrined that I'd gotten to keep my gun. He didn't know the half of it.
Rasul smiled as we walked up the stairs to the second floor.
"I am glad to see you. I had wondered how long it would be before we would have the pleasure of your visiting us. I trust you have been well?"
"Well, yes. Thanks Rasul. I hope you have been well, too? It's a pleasure to see a familiar face. Especially here, after that November, a few years back," I said referring to the Nevada takeover in which Rasul had been the sole survivor of Sophie-Anne's entourage. "By the way," I said quietly putting my other hand on his arm for emphasis, "you have to remember to call me Sasha, now. Please."
"Certainly," he said, looking a bit puzzled but taking it right in stride. "And here we are, Sasha. I will look forward to seeing you later," he said nodding with a slight bow and pushing me gently through the doorway, after opening the door.
I entered Sophie-Anne's old audience chamber and was caught off-guard by first seeing Eric sitting at the same ornate table at which I remembered Sophie-Anne sitting and then being practically tackled in an embrace by Pam.
She kissed me on the cheek after hugging me and then stood back slightly to look me over, still holding onto my hand. She looked beautiful in a periwinkle shantung silk dress.
"Mmmm, Sasha, you look delicious as always. I am so pleased to see you, my friend." She smiled broadly at me.
It seemed like an almost overwhelming display of affection from Pam. The way she smiled at me, and the look in her eyes... She was really pleased to see me, just as Eric had told me. I squeezed her hand. I'd missed her.
"Pam, I'd almost think you missed me or something? Careful or you'll slip up and look gushingly sentimental about a human. It's so wonderful to see you," I said softly, squeezing her hand a bit. Then leaning toward her discreetly I asked "Um, can you sort of brief me about what the deal is here? What is going on and what is Eric actually doing here? I was afraid to ask him before and now I'm totally confused…I don't know what to do. Like protocol stuff. It all looks so much more formal than before. Is he the Sheriff of Area 1 now?"
Pam looked at me open mouthed, with frank amusement. "He really wasn't kidding then? He really didn't tell you? Oh my, that is so rich. He is truly devious. I am so impressed." She erupted in open laughter with a huge grin and glanced in Eric's direction. In a low voice, and still smiling broadly, she said, "Well Sasha, it is a pleasure to inform you that Eric is now the King of Louisiana. Stan and Russell helped him overthrow Felipe de Castro late last year. Russell got Arkansas and Stan got Nevada. But Joseph is running Nevada because Stan said it was foolish to try to maintain multiple states separated by large geographic distances. It certainly didn't work out well for Felipe, did it? Welcome home, Sasha. As rigorously instructed, I can firmly assure you that you are very safe in Louisiana. You're married to the King of your state. Anyone laying a hand on you would have to be out-of-their-mind stupid. Oh, I can't wait to have fun with both of you. I'm going to have a wonderful time at both your expenses. I plan to tread the fine line between indiscretion and sheer annoyance," she said with a chuckle. Then she shook her head again and said, "I really have to give Eric more credit for artfulness."
As she spoke a shiver ran up my spine. Eric had staged a takeover of three states with the help of Russell Edgington and Stan Davis? My mind flew back to that night in Alexandria when Eric had said something about assuring things would be safe at home for me to visit there. Well, I guess he was in a pretty good position to assure me of that, at least in terms of being safe from vampires in Louisiana. Not that vampires had ever done me much harm. But I was guessing he meant Weres or any remaining fairies would think twice about going after me, too.
"When did you say all this happened, Pam?" I asked in a low voice.
"Oh, about six months ago. They'd been planning it for almost a year, though. After Victor Madden had Maxwell brined for something totally inconsequential, Eric was totally done with both Victor and Felipe. First the problems with you, then the penalties for him and for Bill, then Maxwell. Maxwell was the absolute last straw because he hadn't really done anything. He's Sheriff in Area 5 now but I think his skin is permanently damaged. Anyway, it was quite an interesting takeover. It was a real, ehem, bloodbath. Even that stupid tiger ex of yours fought with them because Eric and Stan guaranteed him that Stan would release him from service after taking over Nevada and would leave his family alone. But the tiger still can't set foot in our state without permission. Eric really enjoyed killing Victor Madden. It took several nights. It's really such a shame you weren't… although no, perhaps not. You never did seem to enjoy that sort of thing much, did you? Oh well. I believe Bill will be arriving tomorrow or the next day. He is really looking forward to seeing you. He is the lead investigator for the state of Louisiana now. He handles much of the security for the state, too. He has recovered fairly well from when you last saw him, although he was sick from silver poisoning for almost six months." She hesitated then for a moment and then said, "Eric said you were very upset about what happened to them. When you found out, I mean, about what happened to them?"
My eyes were still fixed on Eric, who was talking with several people. He was dressed in a charcoal gray suit, with a robin's egg blue shirt and a sharp looking tie. His hair was neatly tied back. He really looked like he belonged in GQ in his beautifully cut suit. Two of those standing and talking to him were vampires and the other was a Were. They were discussing business it seemed. The Were looked very nervous and had an agitated thought signature. He was trying to look calm and professional, though. He wanted to make a good impression. He was the only person in the entire room that I could read at all. A tall, blond male vampire standing next to Eric, shifted papers on the table. He was obviously some sort of an assistant. Eric, after a brief glance my way and a faint smile, started shifting through the documents, reading them and then signing things. My heart felt warm when he smiled that ever so slight smile. He was happy.
Pam shifted restlessly.
"Sookie? I mean Sasha… Do I really have to call you Sasha?" she said in a whisper.
I glanced back at Pam. "Yes, you really do. When we're alone you can call me which ever you want but if we're around other people, I have to keep up the identity thing," I said in a low voice. "That was the whole purpose of going to all the trouble. To pull away from this world, Pam. Right now I'm just Special Agent Sasha Gordon, okay? And yes, I was very upset. How could I not be upset? They tried to protect me, providing protection Felipe said he had conferred on me, and they were punished for it in an absolutely gruesome fashion. How could I not be upset with that? It still makes me sick just to think about it." Really.
"Some day Sook… Sasha, I will tell you about that night when the fairies had you. I… really don't think you could imagine how Eric was that night. But then you were…" She looked over at me and suddenly let go of my hand and brushed the hair away from my face. "I am so sorry, my friend. I am so sorry for what happened to you and that it took so long to help you. I was so sorry that you left before I could see you, talk to you and express my sympathy for what happened to you. But perhaps it was better that you were not here in the weeks that followed. I think it would have been just as bad on you, albeit in a different way. I don't know that Bill and Eric understood how bad it would have been for you. I was sad that you left us. But perhaps it was better you did. Three years is only a short time to us. Perhaps it seems a lifetime to you. We three never stopped thinking about you, Sasha. We never did. Bill and Eric had their revenge for what was done to them. Rich revenge. But some of it was also revenge for what happened to you because Eric couldn't get to you fast enough. And then for Maxwell. In any case, things are much better now. And now I am Eric's second, which has been quite pleasant. Everyone has to put up with my sarcasm and irony. Few are in a position to complain. It is all immense fun." She smiled at me.
This was about the warmest and most amiable that Pam had ever been with me. She must have seriously pitied me for what had happened to me to be so warm, I thought to myself. Well, no matter what the eventual outcome (another takeover) was, I couldn't stand the thought of what had been done to Eric and Bill, all because of me, for another minute. It was literally still making me nauseated whenever I thought about it. My eyes started to tear up. I let out a tiny gasp and changed the subject.
"Eric says that you are still in contact with Amelia. How is she?" my voice sounded so uneven. Eric glanced over at us as if suddenly sensing I was upset.
Pam took up my hand again. I knew she saw I was about to cry. She held my hand then in both of hers and stroked it soothingly.
"She is doing alright," she said briskly. "She is dating someone. He's some sort of witch or sorcerer person. I haven't met him yet. I haven't talked to her in several weeks. I wasn't sure whether or not you would wish to see her. I was not even sure you would really come since you had no advance reservatons. She actually mentions you often. I think she knows that we knew where you were. She would no doubt like to see you, to see that you are really okay. Everyone was very shocked when you disappeared. She felt very bad about having left you alone in Bon Temps. At first everyone was worried that that stupid half-fairy uncle of yours had gotten you. Even your brother was. Especially since your car was still there. Eric was quite upset. He actually broke things, which for Eric is rather unusual. He is not usually inclined to such displays of emotion. They found that note on your refrigerator door that said 'Live Better' but we weren't sure what it meant. Although Eric was quite odd about it. It had a fresh scent on it, according to the shifter, when he got into your house. Eric said the bond between you was so worn down. He couldn't sense exactly where you had gone, but knew it was not close. A day later Bill got your phone company records. They were worried that the FBI might have stolen you. Bill came down here and glamoured that FBI agent you'd called into telling him what she had done, where you had gone. Eric charged Bill with finding you. It was their secret project- to find you. Of course, when that Dermot person showed up skulking around, they still killed him just as if he'd been responsible for your disappearance."
I pulled back in shock. "Wait a minute. What? Who killed Dermot?" I said trying really hard not to raise my voice.
Pam winced ever so slightly as if realizing that she'd potentially made a misstep in her enthusiasm for talking to me. She glanced quickly across the room at Eric who was signing things and talking to several additional people now. I glanced casually around the room while waiting for Pam to explain and noticed that relatively few people in the room were armed. One tall dark vampire had a sword, which he leaned on slightly. There was another tall blond vampire, not the assistant, who stood at the back of the room, not far from Pam and me. He had no apparent weapons but he was even bigger than Eric and frankly reminded me of the Berts in terms of the sense of an overwheliming presence. He looked much sharper however. As soon as my glance fell on him, within an instant, he regarded me coolly, as if assessing something about me. Then he quickly looked back in Eric's direction, watchfully. So these two guys were it for the protection? Awfully trusting, I thought. I noticed the nice long sword resting against the empty chair at Eric's right. I looked at him and wondered if he was further armed. He'd always made it sound like being a King was so dangerous, as if you were a target. His security seemed really light from my perspective. Sophie-Anne always had far more security in evidence. I wondered if there was security I just couldn't see or if they were relying on the security at their entrance. If the front entrance security was like the side entrance security, I was extremely unimpressed.
Pam continued,
"Didn't Eric tell you anything when he saw you in Virginia? And you two talk virtually every night? Sometimes even twice in a night? My goodness, whatever do the two of you talk about? Is it only 'phone sex'? He made it sound like you actually discussed things. Eric and Bill killed Dermot two years ago. I think Eric had promised Niall that he would kill him if they found him. Niall was worried for your welfare. It wasn't some gruesome, prolonged thing in case you're worried. They decided you'd get upset if they did anything really gross, although they really wanted to, let me tell you. But it was quick. They didn't even 'enjoy' him if you take my meaning and he was big enough to have been quite a meal. You know, they don't go to dust when they're only half fairy…"
I tuned her out a bit and glanced back over at Eric, who was on what looked to be the last stack of papers on his desk. Yes, I was rather amazed at all the stuff that Eric hadn't told me. We'd talked for at least ten and often as long as twenty minutes a day, almost every day, for more than a month. Of course, I could compare notes and think of all the stuff I didn't tell him… Islamabad, Nasiriyah, that I was totally scared about coming here and risking pulverizing my heart all over again and hadn't told him for more than a week that I had already requested the vacation time or that I had even considered going to Europe instead... Still, I'd specifically told him that one of the reasons that I'd gotten into the marksmanship was to better defend myself against Dermot, if necessary. And he'd said nothing about the fact that he and Bill had killed him two whole years ago? Then, thinking about it all, I realized that knowing Eric, he was likely so focused on my coming to Louisiana that he thought if he told me that, by the way, he was King of Louisiana now and he'd killed my great-uncle perhaps I might get upset about either of those two things and just not come. I remembered his clearly telling me that night three and a half years ago in Bon Temps that he would not lie to me but he might not always tell me everything. Back then I would have been outraged. Three years with the FBI made it seem like a standard operating procedure in the real world, however. I never knew all the specifics of what I was dealing with and frequently had to glean what was really going on from people on site. Basically, he just hadn't told me anything that he thought would deter me from coming. Well, I decided, I didn't care that Eric hadn't told me. It didn't matter. Caring that he hadn't wouldn't change anything anyway. It was irrelevant to the facts. The fact was, now I didn't have to worry about Dermot coming after me anymore and I should be grateful. And if Eric wanted to be King of Louisiana, it was his business and I was sure he'd do a smashing job of it because he'd always been a good boss from what I knew from vampires who'd worked for him. The stuff I hadn't been told was all irrelevant detail. The only things that really mattered were that we were all safe. Especially them, since I had caused a couple of them considerable harm.
"Sook… Sasha. You know, I'm not having an easy time with you being a Sasha. You don't look Russian. Although you look… quite fetching as a redhead." She touched my cheek gently and looked into my eyes. I smiled at her, puzzled at her being so affectionate. "Yes, really it quite suits you. You're thinner but you still have curves in all the best places," she said in a sultry voice while her eyes roved up and down over me and she leaned closer. She still had her hand on my cheek.
Eric cleared his throat very loudly and Pam broke into the most mischievous smile.
"Forgive me, my friend. I'm afraid I have rather overstepped." She immediately lowered her hand but continued to smile like the Cheshire Cat, displaying a lovely set of fangs.
She was baiting Eric by flirting with me? It was too funny. I glanced over at Eric and he kind of glowered a bit at what he was signing and appeared to be pressing that pen into the paper as if he was signing into the wood below.
"Pam, you just never change," I said breaking into laughter. At least Pam had gotten me to laugh and had jostled me out of my somber mood. "You're shameless."
"It's too much fun for me to want to change," Pam said in a low voice, still grinning. "I'm going to have a great deal of fun with the two of you. I'm going to be very bad. I expect your unqualified support."
I ignored her on that point.
"So you were telling me about Amelia…"
"Yes, Amelia. She still mentions you. Do you wish to see her?"
"If you think it wouldn't upset her, yes, I would love to see her."
"Pam," Eric's voice called sharply. She moved quickly over to where Eric was sitting, bowed slightly and they conferred for a few minutes. The guests were gone. He handed Pam several documents. I noticed how odd it was that the remaining vampires around him appeared to call him by his first name, rather than Master or Your Majesty. They still bowed and scraped but it didn't have the feel of being servile. The Were had called him Mr. Northman. It was all respectful, but not slavishly so.
Finally Pam called out, "Sasha," and beckoned to me.
I walked over to the table and nodded politely to Eric, but couldn't quite contain my amusement from leaking into my expression. He was still cross with Pam over the flirtation bit, I could tell. The vampire assistant standing behind Eric looked at me in frank disapproval because of my irreverent smile. I guess I was supposed to look considerably more awed? I was having a hard time with capturing the right manner.
"Stefan," Eric said, "this is Sasha Gordon. Please make sure everyone knows that she is my personal guest." This was apparently some sort of heavily loaded, coded directive.
Stefan murmured his understanding. He regarded me with cool appraisal. He looked Scandinavian, just like Eric. He could almost be a sibling because of the similarity in looks. He wasn't quite as tall as Eric though, and his eyes were cold ice blue and seemed, I thought, to lack Eric's sparkling humor. Maybe it was just I got the feeling from his frosty manner that he didn't quite approve of me, though.
Eric rose, picked up his sword and walked around his desk. Putting his hand on my shoulder, he led me toward another door in the room. I glanced back at Pam and she smiled at me.
After we exited the audience room, Eric took up my hand and led me through some sort of sitting room filled with sofas, and a huge flat screen TV, through a narrow corridor and then down a long hall. We passed Rasul, who greeted me cordially in Arabic to which I replied in Arabic, earning an odd look at the two of us from Eric. Finally, we arrived at the doorway of a spacious office, and Eric closed and locked the door and hung the sword up on the wall, took of his dark charcoal gray jacket, and after taking a rather nasty looking stake out of his jacket's inside pocket, hung the jacket on a coatrack and tossed the stake onto his desk. Then he spun around, looked at me smiling and swept me into his arms and kissed me on the lips.
"Forgive the cool greeting, Lover. Business. And it's safer not to draw too much attention to you in front of strangers." He drew me to the long, deep couch along one wall and I sat down near him. He smiled, looking satifisfied, but was silent. He had teased me repeatedly by Skype that he expected me to be brave enough to sit next to him again or that it would be a very boring two weeks.
I looked down at my hand in his. I actually still felt so nervous. Weeks of talking still wasn't the same as being alone with him again. I wondered what he thought about how nervous I was because of course he was feeling it. He seemed completely unconcerned.
Actually, he seemed to be waiting for something but I couldn't figure out what it was. Congratulations on staking, ripping and probably slicing Felipe and his minions to shreds? Nice digs? Since I didn't know what to say, I started with,
"Rasul knew right away it was me," I said with a smile.
Eric looked a bit caught off-guard by the statement but replied, "When Pradep called Stefan from downstairs, I sent Rasul down telling him I had a guest who he would very much enjoy seeing. Rasul always had a great nose and remember he tracked you before. He could tell in an instant, I'm sure. Well, I have to say that you certainly seem to be taking everything very much in stride Lover..." he said with a curious look on his face.
"You mean about your takeover thing, yeah. It was a surprise. But I was actually more stuck on the Dermot thing, really. Pam told me that you and Bill killed Dermot two years ago? That one really kind of got me. Especially since I told you I was still worried about his finding me and maybe wanting some revenge or something."
He seemed to want to appear unperturbed that I'd found out. I had the feeling he wasn't too pleased, though.
"Your grandfather wanted me to get rid of him, in case Dermot came looking for you or Jason. Since Claude went back, there was no one he trusted to protect you from Dermot. Other than me, of course. And frankly, I'm not too sure he'd have trusted Claude to do it even if Claude had stayed."
"You saw Niall before he left and sealed away Faery?" Now that was another surprise.
Eric was careful as he replied. "Yes, we spoke." There were clearly other things he was not prepared to tell me at present.
"About Dermot or about other things, too."
"We spoke about Dermot, and about you and Jason."
"What about Jason and me?"
"Just general things, his concerns for your welfare and such."
"What concerns?"
"We will talk about it all later. On Tuesday. Mr. Cataliades will be coming to see you about some business matters."
"What business matters?"
"It relates to your grandfather's businesses. Mr. Cataliades will explain it all to you on Tuesday, Lover. I figured that it was better to tell you, together with Bill, about Dermot. I'm sorry if you were upset to find out from Pam. You have little family, so I didn't exactly relish the idea of being the one telling you that we'd gotten rid of some more of it even if I knew you didn't like Dermot. Bill on the other hand will tell you that he enjoyed it as much as he did getting rid of that other uncle of yours. I had not known about that… other uncle." From the way he said it, clearly he had learned not just that Bill had killed Uncle Bartlett but why Bill had killed Uncle Bartlett. It looked as if he wholeheartedly approved, too. Since I said nothing, he didn't comment further on Uncle Bartlett, for which I was grateful.
I didn't say anything and there was a moment of awkward silence.
He reached over and touched my face gently. "I've really missed you, Lover."
He slid closer to me on the couch and bent his head to kiss me, sliding his arm under my jacket and around the back of my waist. He pulled me closer to him and then chuckling, he jiggled my gun in its holster. It did make things a little awkward. I laughed and took it out of the holster and put it on the coffee table in front of the couch. Actually, I felt I really had better come clean on a few other things. Especially since I was getting uncomfortable with the idea of being on the couch and having those things become more apparent on their own.
"Eric, you know," I said, leaning away slightly, "I really think you need better security for coming into the building. At least at that side entrance."
"What do you mean?" he said puzzled, pulling back a bit. "Pradep said you had the gun, right?"
"Well, yeah, he stopped me because of the Glock but of course I took it off before going through the metal detector. But the problem is he didn't catch all the other stuff."
He was very still as he looked at me with narrowed eyes. "What other stuff?"
I proceeded to show him my M4 ceramic pistol, which I had strapped to my left calf right above the ankle and the two shielded aluminum clips, which had made it past the metal detector without a hitch. The two clips had silver bullets and the metal hadn't registered them because metal detectors generally don't register aluminum or silver, they just register iron and ferromagnetic metals like steel. I hardly ever used this gun before other than twice at a range but it was useful to have a weapon that could get around metal detectors. Eric looked rather taken aback at the little detail of the silver bullets and aluminum not triggering the metal detectors. But when I pulled the silver knife and the wooden knife saturated with iron sulfide salts from my right calf, he was even more impressed, though in the end, he frowned.
"Point taken on the security issue. I guess a good question would be why you felt you needed to be so well armed to come to visit me. I'm not sure I'll like the answer."
"I have to carry my gun. That's a given. For the rest of the stuff, well, I didn't know what was going on. 'Be prepared' seems to be a pretty good philosophy at this point in my life after everything that's happened to me, Eric." I shrugged my shoulders.
He looked at me intently and was very still.
"Sookie, do you honestly still think I'm going to hurt you?"
"In what sense?" I countered.
"In the sense that I'm going to go after you and exact some kind of revenge for your having taken off after I protected you and paid a heavy price for it? In the sense that I've already told you quite clearly I'm not going after you, since I'm interested in going after you in an entirely different fashion, Lover." He said that last part with something of a leer.
"Yeah. That last one has me really worried" I said rolling my eyes. "Eric, I just didn't know what I was walking into here and damned if I'm ever going to be caught flat-footed in the supe world again, unable to defend myself to the best of my ability. No one is ever gonna get a hold of me again the way Neave and Lochlan did if I can possibly help it. No human, fairy, vampire, Were, no anything or anyone."
He looked so very pained whenever I said Neave and Lochlan's names. He looked about the way I felt whenever anyone mentioned his hand.
"Fine," was his only comment. "Let me assure you again that while you're here, you're going to be safe on my watch."
Safe. His new favorite word to use with me.
Eric slid closer again and put his arm around me again. I felt edgy and awkward. I made nervous conversation.
"Is Pam still into jazz as much as she was? I saw in my hotel that Nnenna Freelon is at the Preservation and I was thinking of going to see her."
"I like jazz, too. We could all go if you wish. I'll have Stefan make the arrangements."
"Okay, but I'd be pretending to be with Pam."
He leaned back slightly. He looked displeased at that idea. "And the reason for that is?"
"The taxpayer money invested in my new identity and keeping me in the Witness Protection Program? It's a pretty good reason. If I hang out with you all the time, especially in public, it's going to be more likely someone might figure me out, right? I need to be able to creep back to my world and just disappear again, Eric. The FBI is not going to be thrilled I'm here in Louisiana and even less so if I start hanging out in a very public way that's going to get me recognized. Frankly, I'm thinking I've got all of about another minute before my boss calls me after figuring out that not only am I in New Orleans but that I'm presently in a vampire compound. They know I wanted to get away from the supernatural world and they're not going to be happy to see me go for a dip in it for old time's sake, so to speak."
"They will track you? You have a GPS chip in your phone? Why did you even bring it with you, then? What if you don't answer? Perhaps they would think the phone was lost?" Eric said with a raised eyebrow.
"Well, I have to be reachable. It's part of my job requirement. It's a special kind of Blackberry with worldwide service. It's not the kind of thing you lose and don't report right away. And considering the fact that I think it would be extremely poor taste on my part to have the FBI raid your compound and start shooting at people with silver bullets, yeah, I'm really thinking I'll answer and just tell him I'm fine and take his wrath. They seem to have a lot of interest in keeping their only telepath nice and safe. That's why I flew standby instead of booking ahead of time. So I wouldn't have to listen to the wrath ahead of time and chance they'd cook up an 'emergency' I'd be needed for. But anyway, if I go out with any of you, I'm with Pam, okay?"
"Well, I do not like the idea," he said looking at me coolly.
"Is this more of the mine stuff?" I said rolling my eyes.
"No, it's more of the stuff that messing with someone who is mine has very different implications from messing with someone who is Pam's. If we go out socially, you will be with me."
"Has the situation in Preservation Hall deteriorated to the extent that I should be worried about people messing with me? Is there sniper fire or anything? Vampires in a rush of bloodlust go after people right there in the club? Is it so dangerous to listen to jazz in New Orleans these days? I didn't think to bring much of my other gear beyond what you see on the table. I only have three handguns and the knives with me. I hope that's going to be enough? To think I thought it was overkill and paranoia to have brought this stuff. I could always apply for a loan of additional weapons from the Armory if you think it's too risky to just go with the Pam plan."
He looked at me stonily and ignored the jibe. He shifted his arm away from me and leaned forward examining my stash.
"Wooden knives are standard gear for the FBI?" he said in an ironic tone as he picked up the wooden blade and examined it.
"Well… yes actually. You can take them on regular airline carriers without a lot of fuss. There's kind of a mandate that if you fly and there are any 'problems' that you're supposed to neutralize any threats you can to civilians. They can actually be surprisingly nasty even against humans. See, it's serrated to make it harder to pull out. And of course after declaring to the TSA I get to have my Glock. But all this stuff" I said gesturing to the pile on the table, "is nothing in terms of weapons against supes. My friend Alla's husband works at the Agency. You know, the CIA? The stuff they have is just incredible. All kinds of stuff for fighting anything you can think of. And you know, I really think they must know about the fairies, even though most probably left with Niall. They have all this iron and lemon-based stuff. That's where I got the idea of that knife soaked with iron sulfide salts. It makes it multipurpose against vampires and fairies. I had to leach some of the salt out of the blade though, because I thought it would trigger the metal detector. Guess I got it about right... The stuff the CIA has for fighting vampires is seriously scary. Aerosolized silver colloids and stuff like that. It's supposed to be really lethal."
"Should you even be telling me that?" Eric said with a chortle. "Are you going to have to 'kill' me for telling me classified secrets? You're always so secretive about your work." He flashed an amused smile.
"That's not my work stuff. I don't work for the Agency. I work for the Bureau. We don't have stuff like that. We have other stuff. But I can tell you about Agency stuff. It's not our stuff. A good question is whether Mercan should be telling me information like that." I said with a laugh. "After all, there's a long and entrenched history of the Agency not telling the Bureau anything and vice versa. Even in spite of all of the mandates for cooperation post 9/11. Anyway, somehow I think you wouldn't be surprised that they have some nasty stuff to use against vampires. Something tells me you guys might have figured that."
We chatted on for another twenty minutes about how much the FBI and other government agencies might really know about vampires. I told him that really I didn't know for sure, since I'd tried to diligently avoid anything supernatural for the past three years. Then my phone vibrated with a call. I looked at my watch. It was 12 am, exactly midnight and an hour later back in Virginia. I was sure it was the moment of truth, since virtually everyone knew that I was away on vacation and few people, other than maybe Ahmed, would think of calling me that late. I took out my Blackberry and saw that it was indeed Manny. I nodded to Eric with a grimace, and answered. Eric shifted ever so slightly closer no doubt so he could hear whatever Manny said with those bat ears of his.
"Manny? You're up late. What's up? Everything okay?" I said, trying to sound chipper and vacation-y.
"Sasha, are you in New Orleans?"
"Yes, I'm with my phone, which is definitely in New Orleans. Any problems?"
"Are you in that vampire compound there, for the past two hours?"
"Um, well actually, yes. I'm on vacation, though. Do you call Terry and ask him what he's doing in Bangkok or am I the only special one? What I'm doing is a lot less questionable than the stuff Terry does, I assure you. I'm just talking."
"Let's stick to you, Sasha. Seriously, what are you doing there? Why, of all places, did you choose to go to New Orleans?"
I sighed. I had planned to tell him about longings for beignets, jazz and coffee with chicory. But I didn't have the heart to play hardball. Manny was a nice man and he'd never tried to push me to do anything with my telepathy that I thought I shouldn't do. He'd had me pulled from any situation that seemed very likely to go south after a very scary experience in Khartoum more than a year before. He'd treated me with kid gloves and kindness from the get-go. As people go, Manny was a very decent human being and a very nice boss. He didn't deserve anything less than the truth.
"Manny, I'm really fine. I'm just visiting. If you get worried, I'll be happy to meet up with Sara Weiss and she can tell you I'm fine, okay? Everything is hunky-dory.
"We pulled you out of there because you wanted to get away from these people, Sasha. Who are you visiting?"
I leaned my face into my hand and rubbed my forehead. If there was any chance I'd be coming back to visit Eric again then they'd know sooner or later that there was more to the situation than a simple vacation. Maybe sooner was better. It was definitely way better on my conscience. There was only one really convincing reason I could come up with for making such a visit, though. At least in terms of justifying things. And I wasn't above using it to try to smooth things over.
"Manny, I'm going to tell you the truth. Something that you and the Bureau didn't know. I'm kind of… married. To a vampire."
I felt a rush of surprise and pleasure from Eric. He had seemed rather pleased in the past month whenever I made any reference to the marriage thing. Here I was acknowledging it to my boss. But I hope he understood that I was using it as a way to justify my presence here. It was a way to parlay my stay in New Orleans into something more reasonable in Manny's eyes. I had to say that I really just didn't get Eric's thoughts on the marriage thing. He'd gotten very ruffled a week before when I called it a marriage of convenience, as in conveniently keeping me out of Felipe's clutches. The look on Eric's face at present, in combination with what I was feeling from him, kind of caught me off-guard, however.
The other side of the line on the other hand was, excuse the expression, dead quiet. Finally Manny said,
"You've got to be kidding me, Sasha. And you went back to him? Is he the bastard that did that shit to you? You went back to him? What the hell are you thinking? I want you out of there!" He sounded paternalistic, angry and incredulous. Manny really had always been pretty protective of me and knew that I had been a victim of something horrible. In fact, he was a large part of the reason why the majority of my remaining scars were now barely visible.
I let out a gasp, "No Manny! He is not the one that did that to me… Jesus Christ!" Eric stiffened and I felt rising anger on his part as he looked away. It amazed me that Manny's automatic assumption was that a vampire had harmed me. Years after the whole vampire revelation thing and prejudice was still alive and kicking. I put my hand on Eric's arm and shook my head, continuing to Manny, "No, he tried to… Look, what happened to me was not his fault. He actually took care of me afterwards, as much as I'd let him. What happened to me had absolutely nothing to do with him. I'm really safe here. I promise you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you any of this before. I just barely even know what to say about any of it, even to myself. I'd been through so much in a short time and I did want to leave when I left. I wasn't trying to be duplicitous. What happened to me was a nightmare, Manny, and I really can't tell you any more than that. I wanted to leave everything and everyone, and so I did. But I miss him. So I came to visit him. I'm being very careful and I'm here as Sasha. Few people would recognize me and of those few who would, they will keep me safe." It was all the truth.
"What's his name? What's this husband's name, Sasha?"
I looked up at Eric. I didn't know whether it was okay to tell. He just nodded, though he still looked more than a bit offended at Manny's suggestion that he had been the one who did what had been done to me.
"You need to understand this is like a vampire thing, Manny. If you're going to go looking for a marriage license in a Louisiana Clerk's Office, you're not going to find one. It's not a marriage sanctioned by Louisiana state law." I bit my lip a bit and then offered quietly, "Eric Northman."
Manny was silent a moment on the other line, except for the sound of his keyboard clacking and then said,
"Geez, Sasha. He's 1100 years old? He lives in Shreveport? Are you both just visiting in New Orleans? How can he keep you so safe if it isn't even his home turf? Aren't they very territorial?"
Well, this definitely confirmed that the FBI had Bill's database. And that Manny knew much more about vampires than I would have thought…
"I think your database is out of date. You have to get regular updates online. He lives in New Orleans now. And besides, in terms of vampire stuff, no one is allowed to touch me on like pain of final death or something because of the marriage thing. I really don't think anything will happen to me here, Manny. I really am safe. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before but we both know how it would have gone over. My vacation, my plans, my private life."
I could hear Manny typing more on his computer. And then he let out a soft 'whoa'.
"So he's now what the vampires call a King? King of the state of Louisiana? He lives in that compound, then?"
"Yes, Manny. So, um, is there like a classified file on him or something? How did you get that little tidbit of info? Are there files on high profile vampires?"
"You have heard nothing from me on that topic." Omigod, I thought... The Bureau has classified files on vampires… "And are you sure you're safe there, Sasha?" He meant we had fail-safe terms for communicating that I was definitely not safe at a location and that I had to be extracted asap.
"I'm sure I'm safe, Manny. Really. If you want, have Sara Weiss meet me tomorrow for coffee. I have the cell on. You can track me. What me to send you a picture? I'm really fine. I promise you."
"When you get back, we'll have to have a talk about this. You realize that, right, Sasha? Chuck is not going to be happy with this. Not at all."
I quavered internally. Chuck was seldom happy with anything where I was concerned. This would be one more strike. In spite of scary moments from time to time, I'd have to say that this was, without question, a pretty good job if you were going to work as a telepath. What if Chuck didn't like this whole vampire business? Because I was pretty sure he wouldn't like it. For the first time I wondered if the FBI wasn't all that different from vampires like Felipe or Andre? Or even, glancing over at the one next to me, like Eric? The FBI clearly thought I was theirs. Suddenly, I felt a moment of genuine panic. It was one of those moments when I realized that I was still an asset. I'd just thrown in with a different sort of master.
"Yes, sir. I do."
After a brief goodbye, I ended the call. Eric wrapped me in his arms. Either he had stopped listening, or else he didn't get the subtext of what Manny was really saying. Eric was happy. I was just plain worried.
