Disclaimer: The Southern Vampire Mysteries are copyrighted to Ms. Charlaine Harris. All rights to characters and locations in the Sookie Stackhouse books belong to Ms. Harris. Copyrights to original characters belong to me. This work of fiction is not intended infringe upon rights held by others than myself, and I make no profit from this work.
CAETERA DESUNT (The Rest is Wanting)
Part 9: Gaudete
"The closed gate of Ezechiel has been passed through; Whence the light is born, salvation is found."—Piae Cantiones, Henricus Theodoricus Nylandensis, 16th Century
Two hours later found an odd gathering in Northman's condo: Pam, Julio Menéndez, Sookie Stackhouse, Meredith Ward and Chase Brandon. The impromptu meeting took place at the Sheriff's behest, since the next person Chase had called after finding the body was Northman. The Viking insisted Brandon bring Meredith, though Chase couldn't fathom why. He preferred to keep her away from other vampires, but Northman insisted. One didn't argue with the Sheriff.
Frankly, Brandon didn't trust the Spaniard within ten feet of Meredith, but the Stackhouse girl proved helpful. She was human, and Meredith related to her better than to the wise-cracking Pam. At the best of times, Eric's childe didn't "give two hoots in hell" for humans, one of the few exceptions being the Stackhouse girl. At the moment, Sookie sat with Meredith on the sofa, offering what comfort she could to the distraught girl. Chase heard soft murmurs and occasional weeping, but the majority of his attention was on the vampires gathered around Northman's dining room table.
"You realize I'm missing Dracula: Dead & Loving It, don't you?" Eric's progeny said, looking bored. "It's one of my favorite movies of all time. So factual!" Sarcasm, thy name is Pamela.
Brandon was amused at Menéndez's confused expression. It was always hard to tell when Pam was and wasn't serious, especially if someone didn't know her well. Brandon settled in his chair, fingers laced across his stomach. He was still dressed in his tuxedo, though he'd removed his tie. Pam wore her pink dress and pearls, looking nothing like her bar persona. Menéndez wore a dark suit and tie. Both the Stackhouse girl and Meredith wore comfortable jeans, but Northman was as impeccably dressed as always.
Menéndez held a folder which he passed to Eric. "The Bossier City victim was a stripper named Cheyenne, aka Karen Collins." Julio glanced around, his dark eyes settling on the two human women. Chase didn't like the almost hungry expression on the Spaniard's face.
Apparently, neither did Northman. The Viking steepled his fingers in front of himself, eyes hardening to chips of ice when he saw where Julio was looking. "To me, Menéndez. They do not exist to you." The voice positively dripped with menace.
The detective instantly obeyed, turning away from the women. "A dishwasher found her in a dumpster behind Fuddruckers at Louisiana Downs. Cause of death was exsanguination from a fatal bite wound to her femoral artery."
Northman's brows knitted. "Any connection to vampires?" So far, one of the victims could be traced to a vampire—not including the one found at Fangtasia.
"Unknown. She worked at Belle's in Benton. If there's a vampire connection, you're in a better position to know than the police," Menéndez pointed out. "Time of death was between one and two a.m. Rigor mortis hadn't set in when she was found at two-thirty."
"Who discovered the body?"
"Manuel Fernandez. He was on break, and yes, his alibi is air-tight."
All in all, it was a thorough report, and Chase gave Menéndez credit for knowing his job. Pam, for all her earlier sarcasm, said nothing after the detective finished. Brandon glanced at her, noting her thoughtful expression.
"What about tonight?"
"Brandon can tell you what happened before I arrived, but it appears to be the same M.O.—exsanguination, bite marks, nude, found in a dumpster."
Northman's attention switched to Chase. It didn't take long to outline the basics from when Anne left Gerhardt's house to the moment Brandon opened the dumpster beside the equipment shed. He described how he'd insisted Meredith wait in the car with Matthew while he checked the dumpsters, finding Anne exactly where he'd figured she would be. The only difference between her and the other victims?—Anne was still warm. They had literally missed catching the perpetrators by minutes. He made mention of the two men he saw, and the van driving away, but whether they had anything to do with the crime was anyone's guess.
"After Menéndez arrived, I searched the area. The only place with a strong blood scent was the dumpster. I did smell bleach, but it dissipated within a block or so. A bloodhound might be able to track Anne's scent in a vehicle, but that's not within the scope of my talent."
"What about when you first arrived? Did you see anyone?"
"Campus security, and he was snoozing when we walked up." Brandon looked over at Meredith. "I saw two men, but they were probably students. Meredith spotted her friend's shoe as we approached the theater. I even tried to catch a scent from it, but—" He shook his head.
"The media is having a field day—as usual." This from Pam. "Jessie said reporters have been calling since the third body was found."
Northman closed the Bossier City file, setting it aside. "I issued a statement this evening." Brandon watched the Sheriff's eyes dart to the Stackhouse girl, who had her arms around Meredith's shoulders. "Unless one of us does something stupid, we'll all seem like law abiding vampires." There was ice in those words, and he looked directly at Pam. "I trust you to handle things until I return."
"Return?" Pam sounded surprised and annoyed.
"Sookie and I were invited to spend a few days with His Majesty." The Sheriff didn't sound happy, but an invitation from the king was tantamount to an order. "We were on our way to the airport when Brandon called." He rose, signifying the meeting was ended. "Pam knows how to reach me. You all answer to her while I am gone." To Pam, "I expect nightly reports."
With that, Northman walked over to Sookie, holding out his hand. "Come." He paused, then said, "My condolences on your loss, Miss Ward. May I recommend exercising extreme caution until the perpetrators are caught." It was not a suggestion.
Once her sire and his lover left, Pam herded everyone into the living room. Meredith shrank into the corner of the huge, black leather couch, apparently trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. Her eyes looked huge and lost, and even Pam softened. Chase perched protectively on the sofa arm beside her. He looked relaxed, but was completely aware of his surroundings. Should either Pam or the Spaniard make a move toward the human, they'd meet resistance in the form of a very pissed off Chase Brandon.
"So, you found nothing?" That was Pam, who sat in an adjacent chair. "Saw no one?"
Menéndez perched on the opposite sofa arm, which Chase didn't like. "I am of the opinion this is the work of a serial killer."
"No shit." Brandon sneered at the obvious. "What gave you the first clue?" Sarcasm wasn't only Pam's forte.
"I have begun investigating on my own, to see if there is a possible connection to my case." Menéndez ignored Chase's jibe.
"The Case of the Missing Bride-To-Be." Pam's expression was completely neutral; Chase knew that was a sure sign of Pam at her worst. "You sure you're not Agatha Christie in drag?"
Chase barely managed to suppress his laughter while answering Pam's original questions. "No, to both." Of Menéndez, he asked, "Any progress on the missing woman?"
"No—which is odd. We traced her whereabouts up until the exact moment she stepped out of Fangtasia. Then—poof!" The Spaniard spread his hands. "Nothing."
"Maybe she got cold feet." Pam again. "Or, maybe she met the vampire of her dreams and ran off with her." Pam nonchalantly pulled out a nail file. She looked up at the silence, seeing a skeptical expression on Menéndez's swarthy face. "What?—it could happen."
"It is possible, but someone should have seen her by now. There are flyers, even a website, yet no report of her anywhere." It was easy to see that troubled the detective.
"Well, I wish you luck." Chase stood, stretched, then turned to Meredith. "Come. It is past time I saw you home." There was no arguing, which made Brandon feel certain she was worn out. "I'll see you at the bar," he told Pam. Menéndez was given a nod as Chase helped Meredith to her feet.
The car ride to his home was uneventful. Chase cast a glamour to make Meredith fall asleep moments after they climbed into the back seat. She might be angry with him when she woke, but Brandon could tell Meredith was beyond exhausted. She needed rest. She didn't even wake when he carried her into his house, nor stir when he removed her coat and shoes. He placed her on the bed in his guest room, then calligraphed a note apologizing for what he did, and let her know Matthew was at her disposal when she woke.
Then Chase sat beside the bed watching her sleep. She looked as vulnerable as she had the first time he'd seen her in the alley. It roused the hunter in him, and he ached to join her on the bed. Had it not been such an emotional night for her, he might have thrown caution to the wind and seduced her. Sleep erased the strain on her face, albeit her eyes were still slightly red from crying. So simple to ease her pain with tender kisses and gentle stroke of his hands, but even Chase wasn't such a churl as to force himself on a woman upset by the loss of a close friend.
Besides, he wanted her to trust him. What better way to gain that trust than to restrain himself from taking advantage of her in such a vulnerable state. Better to maintain a rigid control of his baser instincts than to risk ruining his victory. He could use glamour, but Brandon wanted her in his bed of her own volition. Prey always tasted sweeter when they succumbed willingly.
Brandon spent the rest of the night at her bedside, returning to his haven with the dawn. He expected her gone when he awoke, but she was sitting in his library. Chase wasn't sure which one of them was the more startled. He stopped short when he saw her, and she gasped when she spotted him in the doorway. Her eyes flew to the window, apparently only then taking notice of the twilight outside. Neither of them spoke for several minutes.
She broke the silence first. "Good evening." She set aside the book she held—an original portfolio of Christopher Marley's works published in 1612—and looked almost guiltily at him from where she sat. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have touched this, but I couldn't resist. It's ... incredible." He noted she wore a pair of thin, latex gloves over her hands to protect the velum pages from skin oil. "I'll put it back."
"No, it's quite all right." Chase waved her back into the chair. "Books are made for reading, not gathering dust on shelves." He moved further into the room, stepping over to a locked, glass enclosed set of shelves. "You should've had Matthew unlock these for you. They are even more rare and precious."
"Is that a copy of Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry?" she asked, sitting forward on the chair. "The copies were of much lesser quality, but the Nazi's stole the original. Sadly, I don't think it was ever found."
Chase couldn't miss the expression of pure excitement filling her face. "It is a copy, yes." Brandon hesitated, uncertain of her reaction if he were to admitted he'd stolen it from the Germans, but hadn't returned it to France. "I've been collecting for a very long time."
"Yes," Meredith breathed, awed, "you have. Matthew showed me around the house, and Dr. Gerhardt is right—it is magnificent." Her eyes drifted around the library, resting on various paintings and items on display. "Aren't you afraid someone will break in and steal things?"
"No." Short and simple, that answer. "I expected you to have had Matthew drive you home before I woke. I hope he's not absented himself."
"I slept till noon," Meredith admitted, and Chase saw her blush. "He offered to take me home, but I saw all these books and I really wanted to look at them, since I didn't know if I'd ever get another chance. Then he fixed me lunch, and even called Grace for me so she wouldn't worry! I just ... lost track of time."
"Don't apologize." Brandon turned toward Meredith, smiling. "I'm pleased you stayed. I have the pleasure of your company, and can see you safely home as I promised last night."
The mention of the previous night froze her expression. Her eyes widened as everything apparently came rushing back to her. "Oh... yes. Last night." The tone was hollow, haunted, as he saw recollection fill her eyes. "Poor Anne." The sadness was palpable.
"Forgive me," Chase said, moving to kneel in front of the chair. "I didn't mean to distress you." His eyes sought hers, and he willed the pain she felt to ease. "Please, let me have Matthew prepare you dinner before you go home. It's the least I can do to make up for my crassness."
Chase saw her hesitation, but slowly a small smile curved her lips. "Were all Henry's courtiers as gallant as you?" she asked him. "If so, the ladies didn't stand a chance."
Brandon laughed. "I fear most of them were base knaves compared to me."
"So modest!" But Meredith continued to smile. They were of a level with one another, and he gazed into her eyes. They were bright, glistening in the light of his library, the color more green than gold. Finally, she looked down at the book in her hands. "You make me feel—" She stopped, apparently unable to find the correct word.
"Special," Chase supplied. "Every gentleman should make a lady feel special." He reached for one of her hands, lifting it to his lips—stopping when he saw she still wore the latex gloves. "Such smooth skin you have, my dear."
"The better to not ruin your priceless books with." The parody of a line from Little Red Riding Hood brought laughter to them both.
Brandon notified Matthew he would be having a guest for dinner, then personally unlocked the glass-fronted bookshelf for Meredith. As a student of history, he knew she would appreciate the books and portfolios stored within. Some volumes literally took her breath away. Chase heard her heart beat increase as she touched illuminated manuscripts from the 8th and 9th Century. He showed her actual weapons which once belonged to Richard III and Henry VII. Of the more priceless items, he let her try on jewels once belonging to beautiful women throughout history, and admired how they looked around her neck.
All too soon they retired to the dining room for a delicious meal of roasted chicken, fingerling potatoes, glazed carrots and freshly baked yeast rolls. Meredith seemed totally under the spell of Brandon and his house. She was awed by the sheer magnificence of his collection, which made it all the easier for Chase to worm his way into her confidence. Over dessert, Meredith told him about the problem she had with Deirdre Varnell.
"...turned up about six months after Aunt Lurleen died, saying she was Robert Dillman's granddaughter. That was my aunt's youngest brother. He was disowned, but I don't know why. My aunt refused to discuss it." Meredith stopped, taking a bite of chocolate mousse. "She lives in Florida and isn't very nice. When she came here to file the motion, she told Grace to get her black ass out of her house, and used the "N" word a lot."
The distress in Meredith's tone of voice was thick enough to cut with a knife. Brandon made up his mind to find out everything he could about this Deirdre Varnell, and to make it worth her while to drop the case. Chase suspected Varnell would take cold, hard cash rather than wait months, possibly years, for a settlement. There would also be court costs, lawyer fees, death duties—all to come out of the estate. He was pretty sure the Varnell woman would be more than willing to take the money and run.
Chase could tell the old house meant a lot to Meredith; the sorrow in her expression when she said she'd probably lose it made him positively furious at Varnell's temerity.
They lingered at the table until Meredith regretfully said she should get home. Grace would worry, and she needed to apologize to the Sisters at St. Vincent Mission for missing her volunteer day. Brandon was just as reluctant to see her leave, but honored his promise. He had an obligation to Pam, and there was no way he could ask Meredith to join him at the bar. So it was that he put Meredith into the Town Car with Matthew at the wheel, giving his manservant orders to make certain Meredith's house was safe before he left.
As for himself, once he saw Meredith off, he went into his office, standing at the French doors to watch the taillights disappear into the night. Stepping outside, Brandon savored the night. Beyond the terrace, Cross Lake was an inky blackness broken only by street lamps on the I-220 bridge. Farther to the southeast, the sky over Shreveport glowed as city lights reflected on gathering clouds. There would be rain before morning; weathermen predicted precipitation most of the week. Temperatures were expected to dip into the low 30s until New Years Eve.
For the moment, however, the night was cold and crisp, though slightly humid. Fine for a motorcycle ride to Fangtasia. He didn't wear a helmet, letting his hair fly freely in the wind. As fast as he went, he couldn't escape the sheer thrill of the hunt.
Heads turned as he entered the bar. His tight, black leather pants and sleeveless vest caused quite a stir. Pam's brows lifted as he approached her chair beside the one where Northman usually sat. She was the epitome of vampire lust in a figure hugging black leather bustier, tight black glove leather pants laced up the sides and spike-heeled boots. Long, black leather gloves encased her hands and arms. A black leather cape lined with blood-red silk fastened around her neck, falling down her back nearly to the floor. Hair and make up were straight out of a Dracula film. Judging from the gaggle of pale-faced boys drooling around her feet, Pam was the epitome of a horny Goth-boy's wet dream.
Brandon paused, smirking at the scenario Pam presented. An eyebrow lifted in question as Pam placed her foot on one boy's shoulder, giving him a shove backwards. "Go. Away. Now." Her voice was a command. They scrambled over themselves to do her bidding, which amused her.
She motioned Chase forward, a smirk on her lips. "So. Is that a woody you're sporting, or did you happen to find someone's rolled up socks?"
AUTHOR NOTES: Just to set the story straight: the mention of "Eric/Sookie" was not added to the summary in order to trick people into reading the story. It was put there because Eric and Sookie play a larger part in later chapters. That's why it says "OC/OC, Some E/S." This isn't totally an Eric/Sookie story, but they play an important part. You all just haven't gotten there, yet. :)
