Disclaimer: I own nothing from the Sookie Stackhouse Universe. All characters mentioned in the books belong to Charlaine Harris.
Thank you for all the reviews! It has been really fun to read what everyone thinks of the story. A huge thank you to my beta Wandersfar as well. Hope you enjoy. Critiques are always welcome.
Chapter 8
Bo arrived at the bar a while later. The soles of his shoes were covered in dirt. He had gotten lost four times on the way over. It wasn't the first time Bo had trouble finding a place. He didn't like maps. He also refused to ask for directions. Bo could find places sooner or later, though the majority of the time, it tended to be later. Much later. Bo wiped a thin coat of sweat off his brow.
He checked the clock on his phone. It was near midnight. Bo should be asleep. Instead, he was going to a vampire nightclub to spy and/or get this whole head on a platter thing fixed. What was the deal with what Tim said anyway? Area Five? What was that? And why was the Viking called a Sheriff? Nothing made sense anymore. Maybe it was just a Louisiana thing.
The running was exhilarating. He hadn't gone that fast in years. His mother said it was dangerous. She was right, of course. Most teens couldn't out dash Lamborghinis on freeways. It felt wonderful though. It was one of the few times he could forget about everything in the world. The pounding of his feet against the asphalt was almost rhythmic. He twisted through a busy intersection, jumped a corner and turned right.
As he got closer, the uncertainty in his chest grew. He was not as daring as he would have liked to be. Twice, he stopped on the road to turn back. Only pride and fear for his life made him go forward. He couldn't very well leave things be. He could negotiate, or at least spy on the place. They didn't know what he looked like. Only his address and name were known. Bo could use this to his advantage.
The bar was along a strip mall. The architecture was unoriginal at best, the only thing catching his eye being the neon sign. It was discreet enough to find if you were searching for it, but out of sight if you were a passerby. A smart move. A long line of people stood outside, all dressed in varying shades of black. Some, which he guessed were the fangbangers, wore tacky outfits channeling Dracula himself. Fake fangs and black capes were in season for these folks, even on a balmy August night. A good portion of them were already sweating, one girl's excess makeup giving her a sad clown appearance. Bo could almost smell the desperation.
Others, tourists he guessed, were closer to his genre. Like him, they were dressed in black shirts and regular pants, the only thing setting them apart being the cameras on their necks. Most were in their thirties and forties. Only a girl with short dark hair was in his age group. If Bo had time, he might have talked to her. Or simply admired her. He was rather terrible in the conversation department.
Bo wondered why people were attracted to such things. It had been more than two decades since the Great Revelation, yet America's fascination with the undead was still ongoing. There were more vampire sitcoms and talk shows than Bo cared to count. The emergence of the Were-people only strengthened the public's interest in everything otherworldly. It wasn't as if Bo was turned off to these sorts of things though. He did occasionally watch a random vampire comedy or shifter boxing match. Perhaps he was just a hypocrite.
At the front of the line were two bouncers. They were dressed like Tim, only with more style. They too were undead. Pale faced and stoic, the vampires were likely hundreds of years old. He was about to round the corner, hoping to find a back entrance. Too late. Bo accidently caught the attention of the male one. They locked eyes. His heart stopped.
A nod. Hesitantly, Bo copied the movement. They lost eye contact a second later. Bo had no clue what had just transpired. His blood started pumping again. The backdoor was far less impressive than the front. There were also far more expensive cars parked here as well. Bo spotted at least five sports cars and two or three hybrids with an abundance of add-ons. Vampires loved nice rides apparently. Bo didn't blame them. He could go for a nice Jaguar as well. He slinked over to the door. He tried to turn the knob. It was locked. He tried again.
Bo gave up after the fifth time. He couldn't break it, as much as he wanted to. He'd seen enough crime shows to know breaking doors left evidence. A lot of evidence. Bo was getting antsy. He racked his head for a plan of action. He would have to wait until someone decided to leave. Bo dug his foot into the ground, frustration gripping him. What was he going to do now?
Someone touched his shoulder. He had been too busy with the doorknob to notice their approach. Bo jumped. The stranger did too. Without meaning to, Bo extended his fangs. He bit his lip and cussed loudly. Not cool.
It was the girl from the line. She held her hands up as if to defend herself. Her expression was a mixture of fear and excitement. A large, outdated Canon hung from her neck. She was dressed plainer than most girls, in a pair of jean shorts that came down to her knees and a midnight blue camisole that fit her comfortably. In the poorly lit parking area, her eyes were as black as coal.
"Bernard Stackhouse?" He paled. She opened the lens of her camera. "Holy cheese! You're a vampire! Oh man, wait, can you smile for me? I want to take a "
"What are you doing?" He swiped the camera away. His extra incisors immediately returned to their hiding places in his gums.
"Taking a picture for the school newspaper." She stated. "Sure, it's a bit early to start a story, but this could be the biggest scoop of the year! Can I use you for my vampire expose?"
"No. Wait, who are you? How do you know me? Did the Viking guy send you?" Bo's voice was two octaves higher than normal. Had his plans been ripped to shreds before they'd even begun?
"Viking guy? No, I'm doing this on my own. And my name's Rose. Rose Bellefleur." She attempted to recover her camera from his grip. "My dad's the head sheriff of Bon Temps. Everyone in Bon Temps knows about you. You're practically a celebrity. I was going to interview you later, but it looks like you've moved up to my number one article. Can I get a statement?"
"Again, no." She was a chatterbox, that girl. Bo moved the camera away from her reach. "I have to get inside. I need to talk to someone."
"Through the back?" Rose gestured with surprise.
"Yes." Bo replied.
"But it's locked."
Bo sighed. "Well, it's my only option."
"Can't you just go through the front?" Rose said, her lips taunting him.
He threw up his hands in frustration. "You can't simply walk into a bar infested with bloodthirsty vampires! That's insane! I'd be killed!"
She pointed at him. "But aren't you one of them?"
"No! Absolutely not!" Bo said in indignation. "I am human. Hu-man."
Rose didn't appear to agree with his statement. "Sure. Well, why don't you take me along then? My article can't write itself."
Bo couldn't believe what he was hearing. "And why would I take you? I don't even know you."
"Listen. Both of us want to get inside. I know how to do it. You could follow my plan, which is near foolproof, or wait like a sick little puppy all night for someone to come out for a smoke. Your choice." Rose explained in a matter-of-fact manner.
"This isn't going to be legal is it?" Bo said.
"Like sneaking in through the back doesn't warrant an arrest?" Rose crossed her arms.
Bo tried to find a way out. "Aren't you a little young to be going to a vampire bar?"
"Aren't you as well?"
Bo glared at her. He racked his head to come up with an answer. He had nothing. She was right. His plans were in tatters. It wasn't even much of a plan to begin with. Begrudgingly, he put the camera back in her hands. She smiled, a crooked grin which somehow made him even more nervous.
"What do you have in mind?" Bo asked.
"Bite me."
