X

"Where are you going, my dear Magdalena?" Eric asked softly. "You're surely not leaving, are you?"
I was. I had been. I was going to go back to my room and cry in the shower or sob in bed with my head under the pillow. Eric smiled down at me but his eyes were concerned. "Because I'm sure we want to spend some time together, now that our bond is no longer a secret."
I understood the subtext. Stalking off to cry in my room was as good as an admission of guilt and there were dozens of pairs of vampire ears listening to our exchange, waiting to hear what I would say. My task now was to continue the charade of happy little bloodling at Queen Catherine's ball, trailing behind Eric Northman, pretending to be delighted at the fact that I – what was the term Stephen had used? – that I, the wanton hussy, had flung myself at this vampire whilst pickled in alcohol and had given him my blood. Foisted it upon him, apparently.
"I'm just going to the loo," I said. "The restroom," I added, remembering that Americans didn't know what the loo was.
"Two minutes, my sweeting," he said with that same cold grin.

I allowed myself two precious minutes of silence, then returned to his side. He tucked my fingers into the bend of his elbow (had it really been less than an hour since I'd done the same with Stephen? It seemed like a century ago) and moved me around the room, introducing me to more and more people. I just smiled and accepted the congratulations on our fledgling relationship. Some even waxed lyrical about our symbiosis – surely a sign of things to come, if one of the Empress's human aides could find favour with the Queen's most powerful sheriff! What a wonderful union, so significant in these troubled times!

Eric accepted all of the compliments coolly, as though it were his due. I had more problems finding an appropriate reaction, so I stuck with my Rob-n-Katie smile. Most of the older vampires are not particularly good at discerning the subtleties of human reaction any more, so they all just thought that I was ecstatically happy. I grabbed a red drink from a passing waiter's tray and sighed with relief when I discovered it was a Bloody Mary, probably destined for someone else in the room. I drank it before the waiter could take it back and the smile came more easily. It came even more easily with the next drink I stole and by the time I was half-way through the third (some kind of sweet cocktail with cranberry juice), I was smiling like a loon. Eric had been holding the same glass of True Blood since we'd started our rounds, so he now discreetly swapped our glasses, giving me his to hold and confiscating mine. What a meanie, I thought.
"Sorry?" he asked, startled.
Oops. I might've said that out loud.

All the time I looked for Stephen – no sign of him - and Ilaria. She saw me and wriggled her fingers in a tiny wave, but she made no effort to come over. Instead, she remained at the Empress's side and signalled me with her eyes to stay with Mr Northman. The other members of the Five Families tried to approach me but Eric steered me away out of their range. Sonja looked insulted, then furious.
"Later," I said and though she couldn't hear me, she understood. She held Hans-Peter back and led him off towards the bar. Pietro was, as usual, more interested in talking to other people but Tomas Ardelean held my gaze steadily across the room. He was not stupid, the old one, he had seen his fair share of duplicitous vampires and he knew that something was going on. When I looked at him, he shook his head slowly. Silly girl, his expression said. My face burned bright and it wasn't just the alcohol.

The Empress, on the other hand, did not look at me. Not once. It broke my heart. I felt as if I'd let my mother down or disappointed my father, that same leaden ball of guilt and shame pressed up against my ribcage. When the Empress left the ball, with many hugs and kisses of air in and around the Queen's face, I breathed a sigh of relief. Not having to look at her alleviated my crushing guilt just a tiny bit. I waited a little longer, and then told Eric I was going to bed. To my surprise, he agreed to let me go. But then he said he'd escort me to my room.

"Ugh," I said. "No, thanks."
"You're drunk," he pointed out. "I really think I have to."
So, graciously, I allowed him to escort my tipsy self to my bedchamber. Or something like that. I really was three sheets to the wind.

Unfortunately, it wasn't that simple. We were stopped on our way up the stairs by Carl, one of the Empress's vampire guards. He'd been waiting for us because the Empress wanted to speak to me, he said. My stomach lurched and I wanted to flee, but Eric relinquished me to Carl, who led me away down the corridor before I could protest – or run. I was placed in front of the Empress's door and told to knock.
I knocked.

The Empress was in her nightdress. This might've been awkward under other circumstances, but it was long and voluminous, white cotton with a lace collar. Without makeup and with her long hair loose, she looked like something from a Wagner opera. It wasn't awkward but it was intimidating.

"Suí síos, a Maggie," she said in Irish – sit down. Oh God, this was going to be bad. The room was bugged, but she knew the chances of the Queen having an Irish Gaelic speaker in her employ were relatively low. So Moya let me have it. I didn't understand everything because I hadn't spoken Irish since I left school and, well, I was quite drunk, but I understood the effect of the low hiss of her words. Essentially, she was disappointed in me. Ashamed of me. I had let her down. My blood would no longer be needed because the King of the Islands would not want me if I had besmirched myself with a lowly sheriff. She did not want to see me till the summit and when I was there, I was to keep out of her way.

"Tuigim," I said sadly. I understand. I was crying again, big ugly tears. "Tá brón orm, a Mhoya, tá brón orm." I'm sorry, I'm sorry. What else could I say? Anything else would implicate Ilaria and Stephen and, by the looks of things, I was getting off lightly. My heart was still beating, that was a good start.
"Tá sé déanta anois," she said, standing up. It's done now. She turned her back on me and stared out the big windows that overlooked the dark courtyard. This was my sign to leave.

I slipped out, pulling the door closed. Eric was waiting for me at a respectable distance down the corridor, beyond the cordon of the guards. He waited till I was by his side and then said, "Now it's my turn; apparently I have been summoned by the Queen."
"Thank you, Eric," I said. "I really appreciate this."
He shrugged. "It's my own fault," he said. "I should've known better than to get involved ... so now I have to make the best of a bad lot."
He dipped his head and we kissed for the benefit of the Empress's guards and then parted ways.
"By the way," he called after me, "We'll be leaving here tomorrow as soon as the sun goes down. I'd like to be back in Fangtasia before closing."
For a moment I didn't understand what he was talking about.
"Back to Shreveport," he said and glared at me, tipping his head the tiniest fraction in the direction of the listening guards.
"Oh, right," I said. "Back to Shreveport. Right. I'll be packed and ready. My love," I added, just in case.
He grinned at me. "God natt," he said in Swedish and walked away.

I didn't think I'd ever fall asleep. I spent the dawn hours fretting: fretting about the Empress, about Ilaria and Stephen's fates, about having to spend three weeks in a town I didn't know with vampires I didn't know. Fretting about needing to sleep but not being able to. Time was passing and I was still awake. Why couldn't I sleep?

Then I woke mid-afternoon to the sound of banging on my door. At some point sleep had obviously sneaked up on me and snagged me into its depths. Sonja was outside and she looked a bit worse for the wear, her eyes bloodshot and tired, her hair a bird's nest of tangled curls. She'd obviously just gotten out of bed because she was still wearing her pyjamas bottoms, a thick fleece pullover criss-crossed over her chest. Of course, who was I to pass judgement? I thought when I caught sight of myself in the dressing table mirror. Before I'd gone to bed, I hadn't bothered to remove the pins that held my hair up, so mine had matted into some kind of thick thatch at the back. Ilaria's artful curls had long since drooped, forming a curtain of limp hair on either side of my wan and freckly face.

Sonja sat down on my bed and I told her all – well, I told her all of the official version. The fewer people knew that Ilaria had tried to get Eric Northman to meddle with our Empress and his Queen's affairs, the better. Instead I told her a version of the story Eric had regaled the previous night: one that put me in a better light, of course, and cast him as the desperate and clingy party.
"And now you're going to spend the next few weeks with him in – where was it again? Shreveport?"
"Yes," I said. It was hard to admit it without wincing. Sonja looked sceptical. I knew she didn't believe me but she'd worked around vampires long enough to know that it's sometimes better to know too little than too much. She hugged me and wished me the best of luck. I told her to say goodbye to the others from me – I just couldn't face lying to all of them as well, I didn't think I'd be able to spin my story in front of Tomas Ardelean without breaking down and confessing the truth. She left, making me promise to tell me all about my Louisianan adventures when we met at the summit, and then I set about packing quickly and efficiently, folding everything neatly so it would all fit into my big case.

Just before dusk there was another knock on the door. I looked through the peephole and saw Ilaria. She didn't look good: even through the peephole I could see a small trickle of blood from her ear. I let her in, pulling down the blinds and switching on the light.
"I am so terribly, terribly sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to put you into this position and I am eternally grateful to you for not saying anything."
"Where's Stephen?"
"I don't know. He's pretty much kept himself to himself since the receiving line fiasco."
"Do you think the Empress knows why we really stopped in Shreveport?"
"She might suspect what I'd been trying to do but she has no proof and I think she'd rather not know, to be honest. The Queen, though – well, that's another matter. Behind her fluffy haircut and Chanel suits, she's not a dummy. God knows who she has working for her up in Shreveport. Just be careful, trust no one, not even Sheriff Northman."
I nodded.
"And just remember, Magdalena, you don't have to do anything you don't want to do. Do you understand? You can offer him your blood in exchange for his ... hospitality –" (protection, come on Ilaria, we both knew what was meant) "- but you are not obliged to give him anything else, nor should you feel pressured into taking his blood. Do you understand?"
I nodded again and she pressed me to her, her bloody cheek up against mine.
"Be careful, my child," she said, "And remember it's just three weeks. You'll be back here with us in no time and we can tell our majesties that it just didn't work out. The relationship ran its course."
"Familiarity bred contempt," I suggested.
She smiled wryly and slipped out the door, down the corridor on soundless bare feet, before any of her fellow vamps woke up to greet the twilight.

I waited for Eric in the lobby. There were two other receptionists on duty, two men this time. They were vampires and they did not smile, they just surveyed the foyer with expressionless faces, their backs as straight as soldiers'. When Eric came out of the elevator, I stood up to go over to him but I was overtaken by a portly man, who ran up to him at a speed that belied his bulk. He thrust a key into Eric's hands and nodded, clasping his hands together obsequiously. Eric did not break his stride, causing the round little man to scuttle along beside him.
"Maggie," he said to me in greeting.
"Eric," I answered in the same vein.
"Thank you very much, Mr Caulton," Eric said to the man. "Your excellent service will be noted."
"My pleasure, Sheriff Northman. Any time," the man assured him.
"Come," he said and took my suitcase with his own. Parked on the curb outside the hotel was a sleek black Audi. Eric pressed the keycard and the doors chirped. He stowed our cases in the back of the car and opened the passenger door for me. I slid inside. The car smelled brand new and the surfaces were pristine. My suspicion was confirmed when Eric got in beside me and spent several minutes adjusting the seat and mirrors.
"Is this your car?" I asked.
"It is now," he said.
"Did you just buy it?"
"Yup," he said. "You like?"
"Yes, I like," I answered, "but what happened to your other car? Or didn't you have another car?"
"I did but I traded it in an hour ago. Mr Caulton was happy to take it and give me a good deal on this model here."
"Why did you need to buy a new car?" I really wanted to know.
"Because the other one was bugged," he said. "Of course."
Of course. The Queen of Louisiana probably had shares in a security equipment factory.

We set off. Eric drove confidently but fast. I wasn't entirely sure what the speed limit on Louisiana roads was, but he drove as though he were on a German autobahn and his German car purred under the challenge. While he drove, he asked me about where I was from and how I'd ended up in Moya's retinue. I gave him the bare bones of my backstory and asked him about his. He didn't say much about himself – but then, vampires rarely do. It's one of the reasons why we humans keep a database on them. They tend to like to forget the more salient details of their long existence. Instead, he told me how the United States had managed to rid itself of the Vampire Authority and their problems with the Hep V virus. I know he was skipping a lot of things I probably would've liked to know: he kept pausing and I could see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to figure out a way to tell me a lot without telling me much, if you know what I mean.

We lapsed into silence and my head lolled against the car window. Lulled by the sound of the car's smooth engine and the soft music on the radio, I drifted in and out of sleep. Eric drove without a stop, two hours, three hours ... and when I woke and stretched, I discovered that we were close to our destination. I yawned and tried to pluck up my courage: I felt we couldn't skirt the inevitable any longer.

"What's going to happen when we get to Shreveport?" I asked. "I mean, I know we're going to Fangtasia, but I mean after that. Where am I going to stay? What ...?" I couldn't finish the question because I didn't know what it was: what do you want from me? What do I have to do for you? What do we want to do with or to each other?
He looked over at me, his big hands clutched and unclutched the steering wheel. Given the speed we were going at, I suddenly felt a bit scared.
"I think you should stay with Pam," he said. "I am not accustomed to having humans in my home. Pamela will provide you with her guest room and I will stay there on the nights when I take your blood or we have sex."
My mouth opened and shut. The cheek.
"I will stay with Pamela, thank you very much. I will give you some blood, that's fine. But I'm not having sex with you - how often do I have to say it?"
He raised his eyebrows. I was about to argue my point home when his finger tipped the indicator and we pulled off the interstate and started to drive through the city suburbs. I decided to leave it – no point in having a fight about something that had not happened and, if I had my way, simply would not.

Eric pushed the door of the Fangtasia back office open.
Pam put down her phone when she saw him, her face lit up in almost childish delight.
"Eric! You're here! So, did you bring me back a goody bag?"
I stepped out of her maker's shadow.
"Oh, goody," she said sarcastically. "A human. Can't have too many of them."
Then she recognised me. "Where's Ilaria?" she asked in surprise.
Eric sat behind the desk, swishing her off it with her hand. She stood between us, like a spectator at a tennis match. Saturday was obviously an important night for Fangtasia: not only was the place packed, but Pam was decked out in her full Vampire Barbie gear. This time she was wearing skin-tight leather pants and a bright pink t-shirt that had been ripped to shreds in all the right places. Her lipstick matched and her hair was loose but curled into an 80s-style halo around her head.
"What happened?" she asked.
Sorting through the papers on his desk, Eric filled her in. After a few sentences in English, they switched to Swedish so they could fight in peace. Now it was my turn to look from one to the other.
As my Swedish was limited to "Skoll!", I could only surmise that Pam was not happy with the general situation but, hey, who was? She lectured her maker for a couple of minutes and then ended with "... (unintelligible Swedish) sucky, (more Swedish) sucky (Swedish, Swedish) sucky."
Eric emphatically denied it was sucky but in a vicious, biting tone.
Pam was quiet, but I could tell she had lots more to say.
"Look," I said placatingly, "I know it sucks. It's sucky for everyone but let's make the best of it. We have no choice."
They looked at me, wide-eyed, then they both started to laugh.
"It is sucky," Eric agreed.
Pamela looked at me pityingly. "Not 'sucky'," she said. "Sookie. As in, the name Sookie. She was the last little breather that wrapped Eric around her finger and when she was finished wrecking havoc on our lives – on our business – " she added, giving Eric the stink eye, "she nearly brought about our ruin. This reminds me too much of the whole Sookie circus."
I didn't know what to say to that, I just wondered what had become of this poor Sookie person. I wondered if she was still alive, or perhaps even living a dead existence with the vampires?

"Enough," Eric announced. "Pamela, Maggie will require the use of your spare room until she returns to New Orleans for the summit."
"Nope," Pam said promptly. "Raë is renovating my apartment. I'm knocking through my bedroom into the spare room to make myself a suite. I'm spending the next two weeks in a coffin downstairs."
Eric's mouth twitched. He turned to the door.
"And don't bother asking Ginger," Pam said. "Her brother's visiting from Yellow Pine with his wife and two kiddiewinks, so that'll be a no. Hotel room or your place, take your pick."
"Hotel room," I said immediately.
He weighed it up and sighed. "A hotel room would be unwise. You can stay with me. If the Queen's little birds are watching us, it's only what they would expect I suppose."
I pulled a face of displeasure but there wasn't much to be done. Equally unenthusiastic about our new status as roomies, Eric gathered up his keys and a sheaf of papers from his desk. I stood up and said goodnight to Pam with as much good grace as I could muster.

Her eyes were practically shining with delight. Her schadenfreude was palpable.
"Good night, dear lovers," she sang as we exited the office. "Now this, for sure, is really sucky!"
We could hear her still cackling with glee, even as Eric closed the door.