This is the part of the author's note where I thank PMR for having my back more than half a globe away. This is the second sentence of the author's note, wherein a further note at the bottom of the chapter is mentioned.

Eric was surprisingly convincing as a paragon of gentlemanly virtue, between handing me down into the car and making sure I was completely inside before shutting the door for me. The image sort of fell apart, however, when he got to the driver's side. While he fought with the seat, trying to adjust it to his much-longer legs, I dug around in the glove box for some tissues, since my nose had started to run. Having nowhere else to put them, I stuffed the used ones into the front pocket of my battered hoodie, and in the process encountered the smooth lines of my phone.

Jason hadn't called back.

Gran was dead, Jason still didn't know, and I wasn't in a position to meet him in-person to tell him.

There was nothing for it, then.

I set to remedying the situation, hoping that he'd be near enough to waking up for work that he'd hear the phone ringing, but realistically knowing that he would be sound asleep in God-knows-whose bed. The phone clicked to voicemail, and I struggled to leave a message that would let him know that something serious was up without sounding too impersonal, as well as telling him where I was.

"Uh, Jason, it's me. Sookie. I called you earlier, but you haven't responded, so I'm calling again." I took a deep breath, the sobs I was holding back rattling in my chest. "You really, really need to get in touch with me before you talk to anyone else, and definitely don't go to Gran's before calling me back." I was pretty sure even Jason would be able to guess roughly what was going on. "I'm headed to Shreveport to stay with a friend for a little while. Call me when you get this, and if I don't answer, keep calling until I pick up."

The line beeped just after I finished, telling me that I was out of time. I sniffed again and called another three or four times, each time hanging up as soon as it switched over to the answering service, thinking that maybe if he saw he had five missed calls from his sister, he'd get that it was important. I fell back against the seat, slipping the phone back in my tissue-filled front pocket, and after a while my head flopped over to look at the driver's side of the car.

Eric was behind the wheel, as expected, but a tiny Super Beetle is just not meant to be driven by the very tall, so his knees were jammed into the steering wheel, which he was maneuvering at arm's length, and his head was scrunched up into his chest in an effort to not bash it against the roof. I started to giggle and couldn't stop.

Just as suddenly, though, I was sobbing.

I was only peripherally aware of the rest of the journey, really only coming awake again after we stopped and Eric lifted me, snotty nose and all, out of the car and carried me into his house. There was a set of stairs that we climbed, and then he was laying me on a bed, pulling off my shoes before tucking me under the sheets. He was back to that uncharacteristically gentlemanly persona, refraining from joining me under the covers when he climbed onto the bed and sitting silently next to me until I passed out from exhaustion.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

I woke in the dark, my eyes glued shut with the dried remnants of my tears and my only concept of the world a soft haven of down pillows, high thread-count sheets, and a mattress that happily gave way whenever I shifted. I also had no idea how I'd gotten there, given that I was most certainly not in the habit of sleeping in houses other than my own, where this bed definitely did not reside. As I worked my eyelashes free, trying to recall why I'd been sobbing in the first place, it all came back, a pit opening up in my gut: Gran, sprawled on the kitchen floor in a pool of her own blood; Grandpa Fintan, gore to the elbows and standing mournfully over her corpse; Andy Bellefleur, insinuating that me or Jason could possibly be responsible; Eric, getting me moving again when I couldn't get my head on straight - Eric, showing kindness and concern.

Forcing back the second round of tears, since they wouldn't help a damn thing and it felt better to focus Eric's motivations than the gaping hole in my soul which Gran had lately occupied, I sat up and swung my legs out of bed. With my eyes able to open, I could see dim outlines of furniture in the tiny amount of light that seemed to be sneaking under the door. Groping around on the nightstand, my fingers found a piece of paper (not helpful) and a lamp (helpful). The sudden illumination when I switched it on made my eyes hurt, but after a moment I was able to examine the paper, which I'd crumpled a little in my fumbling search.

It was a note, from my vampiric benefactor, scrawled on the back of a receipt for TrueBlood and indicating that he'd prefer it if I stayed until nightfall, but he would not keep me against my will. It also said that if I chose to leave, he would recommend not returning home until after four. I snorted, amused by the pitiful level of courtesy he'd extended, even while I was confused by the final statement. Probably anything more would have been too much of a strain, given the effort he'd made last night.

Moving from the bedroom to the rest of the house was a bit of a shock, since I hadn't been in a state to note the decor previously. The room I'd come from was bland, all whites and beiges, clearly not a room to which he felt particularly connected. In fact, the entire upper floor was much the same, like a model house or furniture showroom, and it felt less like I was invading in such an impersonal space. The living room downstairs, however, was completely different, and showed he liked his colors deep and vibrant.

I noticed the walls first, the sapphire hue fairly smacking me in the face, and I had a brief thought that they matched his eyes brilliantly. The furniture was made of heavy wood and had no particular theme aside from being durable and upholstered in jewel tones. It reminded me a little of Gran's house, actually, with its mismatched pieces added whenever the Stackhouses needed them. A single, rattling sob broke free at that thought, and I quickly moved into the adjacent room.

It was a library, and the smell of old books was enough to banish the grief, if only for a second. The walls, what little I could see of them, were a burnished orangey-red, like garnet, with the same brilliantly white crown moulding as ran around the living room. The majority of the perimeter, though, was covered in tall shelves filled with an eclectic mix of new and old, literary and otherwise. The shelf immediately to the left of the doorway was full of books on business, management, and finance, plus an assortment of self-help guides from the past fifty years. I was moderately curious about that last category, but not enough to go after an answer just yet, even if Eric had been immediately available for comment.

As I walked around the room, fingers trailing across the spines and my neck tilted at an awkward angle to read them, my eyes fetched up on an immense paperback volume, the picture on the spine of a dancing man in an oni mask. The title, The Tale of Genji, sounded vaguely familiar, so I pulled it from the shelf and flipped it open to read the flap copy, which mentioned that it was widely-regarded to be the world's first novel. The short description made it sound kind of like what I'd heard of One Hundred Years of Solitude, except about as old as Eric, so I tucked it under my arm, figuring at the very least it would distract me for a good long while.

My next stop was the kitchen, as my stomach had started making it known that it had Opinions about Things while I'd been perusing. I wasn't optimistic about the potential selection, but if there wasn't any food in the house I'd have to leave to get some. Given...other vampires' opinions on food, I wasn't surprised when the cupboards were bare and the little fridge had nothing in it but TrueBlood, LifeFlow, and a tall bottle of blend whose name I didn't recognize. I hit the jackpot, so to speak, with the freezer. It was sparse, yes, but the two frozen pizzas and handful of microwaveable appetizers were a start. I took out one of the pizzas, noticed that there was no oven to put it in, and traded it for a box of potato skins.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

"How are you finding it?"

I jumped, partly because the house had been silent all day (aside from the twenty minutes I'd spent on the phone with Jason, being alternately sobbed and yelled at), but also because I could swear that the chair Eric was in had been completely empty not a moment before. While I stared at him, willing my heart rate back down, he indicated the massive volume I'd balanced on the arm of the chair.

"It's alright. I think. It's kind of hard sort out the which antecedents go with which pronouns."

He nodded. "That's the problem with translating a text from a language that doesn't have pronouns to one that does."

"Oh. I didn't know that." I paused, scrunching up my face in disbelief. "Really? No pronouns?"

"Yes and no. They have them, but they don't use them the same way."

"Oh. Did you read this, when you were in Japan?"

"No, but I heard pieces of the broad story. I read the Waley translation when it was new, then found a copy of the original to compare. I find the Tyler translation," he pointed a finger, "to be superior in terms of preserving the style of the prose."

"Hm." I shut the book, marking my page with the cover flap, and set it aside. "Now that you're up, I have questions."

He smiled. "I would expect no less."

I nodded. "I'll start at the beginning."

"It is tradition."

"Also, I won't lose track." I opted, however, to skip the bits at the bar. For one, he'd already answered me, even if I didn't think he'd told me the whole truth, and for two because I might not have liked the whole truth. I didn't strive for ignorance, but I could see its uses. "How did you find my house? And don't tell me you finally read my résumé, because we both know that's not true."

"That document is not the only place your address is listed. Among other places, it's in the payroll files."

"Okay, fine, you have access to my address. And I suppose you used a satellite image to find the turnoff, since it's not the most visible driveway." He shrugged. "Alright, now tell me why you were there."

"I had business in Monroe, and I thought it prudent to stop by on the way back."

"But why? I gave you no reason to believe it was a vampire," I said, remembering his comment the night before, "and you had no reason to believe I'd still be there after that long."

He shrugged again. "In light of the current situation, caution is best."

Something about it still wasn't sitting right, and I took a moment to think it over. Once I had it all in order, I continued. "But you did know I was there. I don't think you saw me, even with your fancy eyesight, and the wind was all wrong for you to smell me, so how'd you know?" I realized that I was relying on his night-vision being ruined by lights like a human's, but I didn't think it was outside the realm of possibility.

"Your blood. Or rather," he answered, his face utterly impassive, "my blood in you."

"So you're saying that, what, you can ping me like a submarine?"

"Something like that, over short distances. The effect will fade with time."

"Great. So your blood heals me, and acts like a little Sookie LoJack. Anything else I should know?"

He shrugged.

I suspected he wasn't telling me anything because he wasn't sure. I'd heard stories about the underground vampire blood market, about people who went crazy and raped or killed others people, but more about the heightened senses and extra-stength libido. As best I could tell, though, all I'd gotten was an itchy scar and maybe the confidence to pull off last night's get-up, which I suppose I was technically still wearing under my sweatshirt. "I see."

He leaned forward slightly, steepling his hands in his lap. "Since you've brought up my sense of smell, I did catch an even more enchanting scent than yours last night, and I think you know exactly what it was."

Ah-oh. Time for me to play dumb. "I beg your pardon?"

He smiled knowingly. "I find it very interesting that there have been fairies skulking around my telepathic bartender's house."

"My, that is interesting. Fairies, you say? I had no idea they actually existed. Are they nice?"

"No," he said with finality, scowling, and it seemed to me that he was both answering my question and telling me to cut the crap. Problem was, I wasn't sure I could. Grandpa Fintan had said that Eric knew his daddy, but I didn't really know the circumstances of their business dealings, and I didn't want to mess with things I didn't understand. On the other hand, he'd never actually told me not to tell Eric, and while he hadn't said outright that Eric was trustworthy, he'd called him honorable, which in certain circles was almost the same thing. Perhaps more importantly, I trusted Eric, at least until my well-being conflicted with his own or that of vampire-kind. Still...

I took a deep breath. "You know, I was supposed to be the one asking questions." I chuckled uneasily, then continued. "I know I can't realistically stop you from telling anyone this, much less your queen, but I'd prefer it didn't leave this room." He made no movement, which I took to be about as much acknowledgement as I was liable to get. "You caught me, I've got fairies in my family tree. One of my relatives just couldn't resist." I said a silent apology to Gran, since I knew the situation was a lot more complicated than I was making it seem.

"Ah." If I was him, I'd have a lot more questions, but to his credit, he didn't ask them. Of course, I didn't exactly leave an opening for it.

"Yes, ah. I trust that settles that?"

"For the time being."

"Good. Second question: why didn't you want me going back to my house right away?"

"Because the cleaners were there."

"What cleaners? You weren't even inside last night, how would you know whether or...not..." I trailed off, realizing what might need cleansing. "Don't the police take care of that?"

"No. Though perhaps their time would be better spent cleaning," he mused, idly. I wasn't sure what to make of that comment - I suspected it was related to the raid on Fangtasia and his somewhat tenuous relationship with law enforcement since then, but I couldn't be sure.

"Oh." The single syllable was tiny, practically inaudible to my human ears, but no doubt Eric's picked it up just fine. "You shouldn't have done that." Aside from the fact that I'd just managed to accrue a massive debt to vampire entirely by accident, it felt sort of wrong that I wasn't going to be doing this one last thing for Gran. It was too much to have to deal with that kind of guilt on top of my already tightly-coiled grief, plus worry about what kind of favor Eric was going to request in recompense.

I felt tears prickling at the corner of my eye and glared harder, clenching my jaw to keep it from shaking. Stupid, high-handed vampire.

"So the kitchen - " I had to take a couple of very deep breaths. "The kitchen is clean now?"

"Nearly. Bobby said they estimated completion between seven and seven-thirty."

"But your note said four. When did they start?"

"Early in the afternoon, but they were delayed by another crime scene. I understand it takes longer because they clean completely, not just to the appearance of cleanliness."

"Surgical theatre clean?"

"Probably. They certainly make sure to check for splatter behind the appliances, where it could start to rot unnoticed and fill the room with unfortunate odors."

"That's good, then, I suppose."

After a long silence, during which Eric settled into downtime, I continued, lapsing again into the barely-vocalized range. "I still don't understand, though. I get that that you're doing all this to help, but I can't figure out what you stand to gain, aside from gratitude."

"Must I get something from it?"

"It's your nature to have ulterior motives."

"Perhaps."

"There's no 'perhaps' about it. Why were you so nice last night, Eric?"

"I take care of all of my employees. That's why Fangtasia has a group health plan."

"You are such a bullshitter." There was a niggling feeling in the back of my head that I might be pushing too hard, and another one saying I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. I ignored them, because with so much of my life up in the air, I needed to know, and some lame explanation referring a health insurance policy wasn't going to cut the mustard. "I'm not in the mood for any more games and evasions. Just tell me."

He frowned, hard. I averted my eyes slightly, just in case eye contact and particularly determined thoughts had been the key to hearing him the last time. I was walking on thin ice with just that one incident, and I really didn't want to up the chances I'd be caught by repeating it. If I hadn't been staring at his temple instead, I probably would have missed it. I blinked, and he twitched again. Just a slight tic at the corner of the eye, but like any good poker player, I knew what it meant.

Eric was uncomfortable.

I decided not to push it, on the basis that I had plenty on my plate already. "Never mind, Eric. I retract the question."

He didn't really react except to relax slightly, the twitch disappearing entirely. I could make an educated guess what was bugging him, but since the field of vampire psychology was nonexistent, I wouldn't trust any conclusions I made. Leaving him to it would probably only help me, anyway, in terms of the favors he wouldn't give me a straight answer about.

I stood and took the few steps to cross the space between us, then leaned down to kiss his cheek. It was cool, as expected, and there was the dry, pleasant scent that I'd found was characteristic of vampires. I'd more than half-expected him to turn into the kiss, to try and catch my lips on his own, but he remained perfectly still. I pulled away.

"Thank you. I need to..." I fluttered my hand vaguely at the upper portion of the house, not really sure myself what I needed to do. He made no indication that he'd heard, so I moved away. Halfway across the living room, I heard him calling to me.

"Does wanting to have sex with you not count as motivation?"

I kept walking.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

I heard him coming up the stairs, mumbling something into his phone. I could hear the tinny cadence of the other end of the conversation, which I thought might be related to the blood I'd ingested, as it was not normally in my repertoire. Nonetheless, I stayed where I was, sitting cross-legged on the bed with my eyes shut.

He pushed the door open (vampires are not big on knocking) and stepped inside, snapping his phone shut as he did so.

"Sookie my sweet, I am needed immediately at Fangtasia." I remained as I was, waiting for him to get to the point. "Unfortunately, this means I won't be able to personally see you home, but if you come with me, I can make sure someone does. Pam, perhaps."

I opened my eyes. "The house is clean?" He nodded, and I considered my options. I'd remembered while I'd been sitting up here that I still needed to talk to the police, but appearing in slept-in attire from work last night didn't strike me as a ton of fun. With the house clean and empty of strangers, I could go home and change, but I wasn't feeling up to that quite yet. "I can drive myself, but could I come along for a tiny bit anyway? I think I have a spare set of clothes there." And if I didn't, Pam could probably find me something. I wouldn't even have to go into the club proper, which would cut down on the nastiness I heard.

Eric studiously didn't comment on my bedraggled appearance. "Certainly. We can take your car, but we should leave soon."

I glanced down at myself, then down to the floor and my shoes. "I can deal with that. Two minutes."

"I will be in the garage," he said, then disappeared in a blurry poof of air.

It amused me that he would assume my memory of our passage through the house last night would be sufficient to remember where the garage was. I started pulling on my shoes. Lucky for him, I'd found it while I'd been waiting for my lunch-of-sides to heat.

Okay ducks, here's the haps. When I started posting this story, I had many chapters of buffer, and managed to write another chapter roughly every week. However, I haven't actually finished a new one since I posted Ch.5, so my buffer is all but depleted. As such, we are now likely to enter a cycle of bi-weekly updates while I try to rebuild that buffer a wee bit. Good news is that we're more than half-done as of this moment, and I've got a good bit of the most climactic scenes already written, so this could be a temporary measure. I endeavor to tweet as far out as I know when there are changes in update schedule, so that's always a good place to start if you're wondering.

TL;DR version: Assume bi-weekly updates until further notice, check twitter if you're in doubt.

Characters included in the above are the sole property of Ms. Charlaine Harris, long may she write (but not too long, lest her books become like Deuteronomy or Laurell K. Hamilton's work). This work of fiction was intended to amuse without providing monetary gain, and any lawyers who should come to read this are politely asked to keep that in mind.