When my phone started ringing, I was on I-20 one exit north of Fangtasia. Keeping an arm on the wheel and an eye on the road, I dug into my purse one-handed and came out with my cell.

I didn't recognize the number. It was a 318, Shreveport's area code. I weighed the pros and cons of answering. These days, nobody contacted me to chat and a fair percentage of the people I ran across wanted to kidnap me, murder me, or kidnap me then murder me, you get the idea. But since vamps were dead for the day, that cut out a good third of the people who wished me harm.

As I stared at my phone, the ringer played out and clicked over to voicemail. That solved my problem.

Immediately, my phone rang again, same number. I answered before I could start another round of second-guessing. Better to know the problem than leave myself in the dark. The ostrich in the sand got the knife in the back and so forth. "Hello?"

"Ms. Stackhouse?"

"Who's speaking?"

"This is Bobby Burnham." Bobby must have saved my number when I called him. I'd hyped an innocent phone call into a potential assassination attempt. I was spending too much time around vampires. "Meet me at the Circle K across from Fangtasia." Bobby sounded like he was trying to earn points on his cloak-and-dagger rewards card.

I'd had enough of the Circle K to last me several lifetimes. "What's wrong with Fangtasia?"

"You'll see when you get here." Bobby hung up.

----

Bobby hadn't exaggerated.

A group of twenty or so Fellowship of the Sun protesters had set up outside Fangtasia, waving signs covered with such gems as UNDEAD CAN'T WED, EXHUME THE GROOM, and JUST BURIED. A clean-cut guy in a plaid button down stuffed fliers into the windshield wipers of the cars stopped at a nearby red light. The drivers honked at him and one woman leaned out her window to scream. She balled up her flier and threw it at his head. The centerpiece of the protest was a coffin set up on a couple folding tables. The coffin's current resident was a blow-up sex doll wearing a wedding dress. The breeze caught her veil, flapping it in and out of the coffin. A placard in front of the display read WE LIKE BRIDES WITH A PULSE.

I couldn't get to the Circle K fast enough. The last thing I wanted was a flier in my windshield wipers.

I saw Bobby as I pulled in. He sat on the trunk of what I assumed was his car, drinking a Circle K slushie and watching the protest. I parked next to him and put on my sunglasses before I got out of the corvette. I didn't know if any of the protesters would recognize me on sight, but I didn't want to risk it. The BLDSKR license plate was enough of a lure. "How long have they been here?"

"As long as I've been," Bobby said, taking a long draw on his slushie, "so at least ten minutes."

I sat next to Bobby on his trunk. He gave me a look, but didn't say anything. "You think they know the vamps are asleep?"

"One would assume, but they aren't going for the vamps." He passed me one of their fliers. "You'll want to remember to give this to Mr. Northman."

Now it was my turn to give him a look. "I'll try," I said, and took the paper from him.

In my few interactions with Bobby, he treated me like a piece of gum on his shoe. When I dipped into his thoughts, I wasn't surprised he thought I was a bimbo. Then Bobby stopped denigrating me and imagined giving Eric head in the back seat of the corvette. I stared at Bobby. He smiled and took a long draw on his slurpee, twisting the plastic straw between his lips. In Bobby's thoughts, Eric groaned.

I felt like I had been smacked. It was possessiveness more than the gay thing. But I couldn't blame Bobby for his private thoughts. It wasn't my business and as far as I knew, Bobby hadn't acted on his fantasy. Empirically, Eric was hot and plenty of people fantasized about him. Hell, selling Eric was part of Fangtasia's business model. The chances that Eric would hook up with Bobby ranged from unlikely to impossible.

I looked for the silver lining. Infatuation might make Bobby a more loyal business associate. Eric would probably see it that way. The fantasy helped explain why a grown man chose to spend his days picking up Eric's laundry. It also made Bobby's poor treatment of me a little more understandable. I was surprised to find myself feeling sorry for him.

"Is there something on my face?" Bobby asked.

"Sorry, I zoned out." I gave him my best 'Crazy Sookie' grin. If Bobby already assumed I was an airhead, it couldn't do any harm. Not that he'd be able to figure out the mind-reading thing, but I really didn't want to give him any clue to what I'd seen. If it had been Bobby looking in on my dirty dreams, I'd be mortified.

Bobby nodded to the Fellowship flier he'd given me. "You need help reading?"

I bit back a snappy comment. "No, thanks."

The title was BETTER OFF DEAD? and they had pasted my high-school yearbook picture underneath it. It was the same snapshot that ran on the front page of the Bon Temps Gazette. The rest was a hyperactive screed about how vampires corrupted American women and undermined families. The paper cited a declining birthrate and a climbing deathrate and ended with a call to petition the Governor to intervene on behalf of life.

"Eric's not mentioned by name." I said. Bobby didn't say anything, but he thought it was lucky for Eric. Considering the pamphlet featured my name and picture and said I was better off dead, I thought it was pathetic and sexist they didn't even mention the dead guy I was married to. I thought back to my conversation with Pam last night. "The girl always gets the flack."

Bobby could care less. He proved my theory by thinking I placed Eric at risk. "Mr. Northman should see this." He nodded to the flier. "Will you remember to give it to him?"

"Of course I will."

"I can bring it to Fangtasia tonight so you wouldn't have to think about it." Bobby was worried I'd forget. He thought Eric had to be alerted to the protests in case the Fellowship tried to kill him or bomb Fangtasia.

"Sure, thanks for offering." I handed Bobby the flier. I didn't want to look at it anymore and if it meant that much to him, who was I to get in between him and his neuroses? Considering how little Eric had cared about all the media attention thus far, I doubted this newest rant would upset him.

"So what does Mr. Northman have for me?"

It took me a second to realize Bobby was asking for Eric's "instructions." I'd written them at Eric's kitchen table before I left his house this morning and put them in a sealed envelope to up the cloak-and-dagger factor. I had no idea how Eric usually gave Bobby instructions. Probably verbally. I doubted he'd want to leave any kind of written record. "Eric said he wants you to pick up a few things. Bring them to Fangtasia tonight. " To get Bobby really excited, I put on a pout. "Do you know what it is? Eric gave it to me sealed. "

"My work is between Mr. Northman and myself." Bobby put the envelope inside his blazer pocket. He tried not to smirk and failed.

"Eric's so busy these days. I never see him anymore. He's so worried about these murders—" I put my hand over my mouth like I had said too much.

I was worried I was hamming it up, but Bobby took the bait. "What murders?"

"You know, the girls at Fangtasia." I dipped into his head. He was thinking about Eric and my marital problems. Then Bobby thought about how good Eric would look on the throne at Fangtasia when he came in tonight and how Eric would stand up and invite him over to his private booth and Bobby was thinking about how his leg would brush up against Eric's under the booth and then he thought about getting hard—and then he realized he was getting hard and he looked at me and worried I would see it. I had to get out of there. Bobby's thoughts made me feel sad and gross all at once. "Eric won't tell me anything. I thought maybe you'd picked something up."

"Up about what?" Bobby readjusted his position and held his slurpee over his lap. I looked over at the protesters so I could give Bobby some privacy.

"The murders," I repeated. "The women who have been killed."

Bobby started thinking I was a dumb cow who watched too much CSI. He imagined me on the couch watching television. Then he imagined Eric on the couch. Then he tried thinking of anyone who had been killed and fixed on poor Ginger. She had been dead for over a year, I'd forgotten. Bobby was sure Ginger had screwed Eric—on that point, so was I—and he started comparing me with her. Then he compared himself. He'd felt this weird competition with Ginger, since they both wanted to fuck Eric and both managed parts of his business during the day. Then he thought about Eric on the couch again, shirtless in track pants.

I pulled out of his head before I got sucked back into another fantasy. It seemed pretty clear to me that Bobby wasn't the killer. He didn't even know what murders I had been talking about. "Maybe I heard wrong about the killings. There's so much going on with those vamps I can't keep it straight. Do you know what Eric does?"

That got Bobby's attention. "What?"

I tried to get into the role of whiny girlfriend. "You know him so much better than me. Do you know what his work is? He won't tell me anything."

"He runs the bar. I thought even you would figure that out," Bobby said, but he was thinking Eric had to be some sort of head vampire—maybe even the leader of vampires in Louisiana or the South. Bobby believed Fangtasia's tacky throne was a coded symbol of Eric's rank.

So Pam was right. Bobby had no real sense of the vampire power structure. I doubted that he could have told the murderer who Louisiana's Sheriffs were, even if he wanted to. I doubted he would want to. I might find Bobby mean and sad, but he was obviously loyal to Eric, maybe even to a fault. At the very least, Bobby's obsession with Eric wasn't helping his personal life. I wondered what they gay scene in Shreveport was like. Probably pretty grim. Would Claude hit on Bobby if I asked nicely? It was doubtful. Bobby's imaginary sexscapades with Eric chewed me up inside. I wasn't even jealous. They just made me sad. I felt like I should cut my losses and get out before he sucked me into another fantasy. "Thanks for the advice, Bobby." I stood up to go. "Maybe I'll see you around the bar tonight."

"Sure." Bobby looked me up and down. He wondered why Eric married me and what we had to talk about. Then he thought we mustn't do a lot of talking. Then he was back to the beginning, wondering why Eric tied the knot if I gave the milk for free. "Do you go by Mrs. Northman?"

"No. " Maybe someday I would, but I wasn't going to have a heart-to-heart with Bobby about it.

Bobby grunted. I gave him a little wave and hopped into the corvette.

----

Lunch with Alcide was next on the agenda.

I got to Denny's first. "I'm one, but I'm going to be two," I told the hostess. She offered to seat me, but I said no, and plopped down on a bench overlooking the parking lot. Bubba's old standards filled the air, piped in from the restaurant via outdoor speaker.

After five minutes, when it became clear Alcide wasn't showing up on time, I decided I wouldn't continue my pathetic wait for him without appearing busy, so I pulled out my cell phone. I opened my contacts. Alcee Beck was first, in case of police emergency, then Alcide three times, no thank you, then just the person I wanted to talk to: Amelia.

I pressed dial. To my delight, she picked up after a ring. "Sookie, how are you? Did you get the shudders?"

"Shudders?"

"Hadley's light-tight shudders? I sent them just after we talked, two days ago."

I'd forgotten. "Nope, but I haven't been back to Bon Temps."

"Where are you?"

"Shreveport," I said and Amelia laughed. "You hush."

"How's big and blond?"

"Same as always," I said. "Actually, no, he's good. We're really good."

"I'm glad to hear it. It's about time. You two have been dancing around so long—"

"What do you mean?"

"It's the yes and no dance: yes I wanna, no I don't, yes I like you, no I don't. If I didn't know you better, I'd think you craved drama."

"Amelia."

"Sorry, but you should see the two of you some days. I'm not saying go for it, but stop making breakfast with it."

"What?"

"Wafflling," she clarified.

"I'm not waffling. I just don't know what I want."

"Except that you're spending the night in Shreveport."

I laughed. "Well, I know what I want as far as that's concerned."

Amelia laughed too. "Sookie, you're cold."

"A girl's got the right to take what she wants," I said. "What about you? How are the bayou guys treating my favorite girl?"

"I'm still in the boxes stage of moving so there hasn't been much treating over here yet. I met a guy in Octavia's coven, but I'll tell you more once I know something."

"Sounds good," I said, as Alcide's pickup sped into the Denny's lot. I had to hurry this up before Mr. Late started expecting my full attention. "Listen, could you do me a favor?"

"Always. What's up?"

"There've been some murders in Bon Temps. One victim, Susan…" I grabbed the crime scene folder out of my purse and flipped through it to check Victor's girlfriend's last name, "Lefebvre, was based out of New Orleans and had connections to some pretty powerful vamps. I was wondering if you could check her out in the New Orleans archives, see if you could get me a next-of-kin listing or something. I'd like him or her a call."

Alicde jumped out of his pickup and he was looking pretty nice. He was wearing big state trooper sunglasses and his jeans clung to him like they were auditioning for the role of epidermis. "Sookie, have you ever tried google?" Amelia was saying to me.

I wiped the drool off my chin and tried to be a good friend. "I don't know what you're talking about, but it can't work as well as the library."

Amelia sighed. "How do you spell that girl's last name?"

"L-E-F-B as in boy-V as in vamp—"

"I hope not," Alcide said, plopping down next to me on the bench. He'd unbuttoned his shirt a notch too far and I could see his pecs. It was probably intentional, but I didn't care. I felt warm all over.

"R-E." I finished, resisting the urge to fan myself. "Amelia, I got to go. My lunch date just showed his sorry ass."

Alcide gave me a grin as Amelia sputtered into the phone. "Lunch date? I thought vamps couldn't come out for the day—"

I hung up. Sure, it was a hos before bros move, but that whole framework is sexist anyway and Alcide was looking really hot.

"Hi Sookie," he said. "You got married to Eric Northman?"

I couldn't help but smile. Alicide was talking about me with another man, but he said it like he was asking me out. I was grinning from the roots of my hair on down. "Let's get some lunch buffet and I'll tell you all about it."

----

Denny's lunch buffet served up row after row of glistening meats, coagulating sides, and squishy desserts that wiggled when you poked them. I loaded up a plate with fried chicken, lima beans and chocolate chess pie. After missing breakfast this morning I felt like I was eating for two, especially after the workout Eric gave me last night. As I walked back to the table I realized I should have put grocery shopping on Bobby's to-do list. If I started spending the night at Eric's, he'd have to at least stock cornflakes. I got him True Blood. It was only fair.

Alcide had given the hostess a really big smile when we came in and thus secured us the corner booth. He was already back from the buffet, tucking into a roast beef sandwich. I slid in across from him. Alcide looked at my plate. "Eric lets you eat like that?"

I gave Alcide a look. "Eric doesn't worry about food. And he doesn't let me do anything."

Alcide took a bite of his roast beef sandwich. "So many of those fangbanger chicks you see look like toothpicks. "

I would enjoy my chicken, no matter what he said. I took a big bite of it, chewed, and swallowed. I felt good to talk without saying something I might regret. "Ok, Alcide."

"What?" Then he got it. "Aw, Sook, you aren't a fangbanger. That's not what I meant. When vamps," he pointed to his neck, "take, sometimes it takes a little too much out of the girl, know what I mean?"

I knew exactly what he meant, but I still didn't like his saying it. So many of the people hanging around Eric's bar—fat or skinny—had hollow eyes and waxy skin. "They're anemic and it's not just girls. When anyone loses blood they get sick."

"I'm sorry if I offended you. This is weird for me."

I didn't want to make it easy for him, especially after the fangbanger comments. "It's weird for me too, but I've been with Eric for a while."

"It's not Eric." Alcide sighed. "All right, it is kind of Eric, but it's mostly you being married." I took a sip of my tea so I wouldn't have to say anything. Alcide just watched me. "Despite everything that's happened between us, I always sort of hoped—" he trailed off.

"That we'd end up together?"

"Yes." Alcide shrugged. "Or that I'd have a real shot. You've always been there in the back of my head, Sookie, so sue me."

"Why are you telling me this?" It was a real question. I didn't know if Alcide was propositioning me or apologizing for the fangbanger comments in a roundabout way.

"I don't know. Trying to clear the air, I guess."

"You have a funny way of going about it."

"I never thought you and Eric were that serious." For that matter, neither did I, but considering all the connections in the supe world, I didn't think it would be a good idea to tell Alcide the full story behind my marriage. There was no way to tell what would get back to Felipe.

I chose my words carefully. "I would like to be your friend, Alcide, if that's possible."

"You will always be a friend of the pack."

"That isn't what I meant." Alcide looked down at his sandwich instead of looking at me. "Look at me. We were never together, and what I've done is no different than you moving on with another woman, which you've done. Don't give me this double standard crap."

He leaned across the table and lowered his voice. "It's different because it's Eric Northman and it's different because you married him."

As soon as Alcide badmouthed Eric, the Debbie card crossed my mind, but I felt bad thinking it. The best thing I could do was play this cool. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Alcide."

"I'm just sorry you put yourself in this situation."

I stared at him. There were a thousand things I wanted to say and all of them were a prelude to a screaming match. "I didn't ask you to lunch today to talk about us."

Alcide leaned back in the booth. "So?"

"So, five women have been murdered over the past few weeks. All connected to vamps."

I thought Alcide was going to make a snide comment, but he deflated. His shoulders slumped. "God, Sookie, I'm sorry to hear that."

"They're from this area. Have you heard anything?"

He shook his head. "No. I didn't know. How old were they?"

"My age or younger, all linked to vamps. Two of them were with Sheriffs. I think whoever's behind it must have some knowledge of how the vampires have set themselves up. It could be a coincidence, but—"

Alcide cut me off. "Sookie, with all the press you and Eric have been getting, have you taken precautions?"

"I'm fine, Alcide."

"Let me send someone to watch you."

"Thanks, but I can take care of myself. I'm with Eric mostly, and if not Eric, then Sam."

"What about during the day?"

As nice as a little extra muscle might be, I didn't want a strange were following me around, especially after what happened to Dawson. I couldn't live with myself if another person got killed trying to protect me. "It's generous of you, but I have it covered. Can you think of any information that might help? Anything at all?"

Alcide shook his head. "Most weres know who the big vamps are, but it's not one of us. No one in my pack would touch a woman the wrong way." I thought Alcide was overestimating the goodness of the people he ran with, but I didn't say anything at the risk of starting another fight. From the fuzzy reading I could get from his head, I knew he believed what was telling me. "If someone in the pack was involved, I'd be able to smell it. A kill doesn't wash off easy."

I shivered. I hated it when supes talked like that. Sooner or later, all of them did.

"If something happened to you, I couldn't forgive myself," Alcide said.

I sighed. "Thanks, but it's not your responsibility."

----

After that, we inhaled our food, peppering the silence between bites with dribs and drabs of small talk. Both of us wanted out of Denny's stat. I let Alcide pick up the check, made a couple disingenuous good to see you comments, and split for the parking lot. Alcide walked me out.

"Eric's car?" he said, when I headed for the corvette.

"I was in a car crash. Mine got totaled." Alcide followed me across the lot. I guess he was walking me to my car.

"Nice vanity plate." He said when we got there, raising his eyebrows at BLDSKR.

We looked at each other, and for some reason, both started laughing. "I'm working on him," I said. "Look, Alcide, I don't want to part on bad terms."

"Me neither. I'm sorry for what I said in there. If it's any consolation, it's only because I care about you."

"That makes it worse."

"I guess so." He gave me a half-smile.

"For what it's worth, I forgive you." I sighed. "And I'm sorry you had to find out about the wedding from the papers. We didn't see that coming ourselves."

"Water under the bridge." He opened the corvette door for me. I got in and put on my seatbelt. Alcide leaned over on the window. "Safety first, that's good."

I figured he was prolonging the goodbye as a way of erasing what had happened inside the restaurant. I didn't begrudge him. I'd be happy wiping it out too. "I've got to get my safety points where I can."

"You're a danger-magnet, Sookie."

"You're telling me?"

Alcide laughed. "Fair enough." He clapped the corvette on the hood. "Okay, I guess I'll be seeing you."

"Sure. Thanks for lunch." With that I started the engine and headed out of the lot. I watched Alcide in the rearview window. He stuck his hands in pockets and stared after me. As I made the right turn out of the lot, he waved. I felt kind of sad, until I though of a way to solve one of the day's earlier problems. With one hand on the wheel, I dug up my phone, opened my contacts and scrolled down to the Cs.

"Hooligans Strip Club. We provide the man in demand."

I rolled my eyes. "Claude, is that you?"

"Who is this?"

"Sookie." In case he was going to be really antisocial, I added, "your cousin."

Claude chose to stay on this side of the wall when Niall and the rest of the fairies sealed themselves off. He'd come to my house a few days after Claudine's death. I'd made some tea and we'd sat in silence. When Claude left, he'd given me a big hug. It was the first time he'd shown me any physical affection. Then I'd started crying and he'd dropped me and left without even getting me a Kleenex. Claude's exit aside, the hug had been nice. More than that, it had been good to have someone to grieve with. Claudine hadn't had a funeral, at least on this side of the divide. I wasn't sure how fairies mourned their dead, but I wanted some concentrated time to remember her. My afternoon with Claude had gone some ways towards that.

"Listen, Claude, I need a favor."

"No," he said, and hung up on me.

I called back. After about ten rings, he picked up, "What?"

"I want to set you up on a date."

That got his attention. "Tell me more."

"His name is Bobby. He's a really nice friend of Eric's—"

Claude interrupted me. "Sookie, am I the only gay person you know?"

He was, not counting Lafayette, which I didn't, because he was dead. "This feels like a trick question."

"Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I will like your friend," Claude said and hung up again.

It was a fair point. I was pretty sure that Claude would not like Bobby, since Bobby didn't have high-fashion male model looks, let alone mail-order catalog male model looks. However Bobby was such a textbook case of needing to get out more, I felt like I had to do my part. My phone started ringing. It was Claude.

"Tell him to meet me tonight, 8:30, at that French place off I-20."

"That bistro in Bossier City?"

"Whatever," Claude said and hung up.

I rolled my eyes and dug Bobby's number out of my recent calls.

He picked up after one ring. "What is it?"

"Hi Bobby, it's Sookie Stackhouse."

"I know."

I grit my teeth. Bobby was such a pain. Maybe he and Claude were more compatible than I thought. If you went by manners, they were practically soul mates. I put on my best ditsy voice. "Look, Eric asked me to tell you this and I forgot. He's thinking about buying a bar and wants you to meet the owner, test him out, see if he's honest, that sort of thing. But don't tell him Eric's interested in buying. And go to the bar, if you can, see if it's worth Eric's money. And be friendly. Eric wants a man on the inside."

Bobby sounded thrilled at all the responsibility. "Where do I go?"

"He'll be waiting for you at that French bistro in Bossier City off I-20, 8:30 tonight. His name is Claude Crane. He has dark hair, he's about six-two." I trailed off before I started listing Claude's measurements. "Be nice. Eric wants you to wear him down."

"Message received," Bobby said and hung up. I stared at my phone. Who ended a call with "message received"? This wasn't Star Trek.

I called Claude back. "Don't mention you know me," I said, when he answered.

"Why?"

"It's a long story, just don't say anything."

"That won't be difficult," Claude said. "I never talk about you unless I'm talking to you."

"Great," I said and hung up. I tossed my phone in my bag and sighed. I'd done my part for humanity.

When I got back to Eric's, I kicked off my shoes, pulled off my dress and crawled into bed with him. His dead body still creeped me out, even after my good-faith spooning earlier in the morning. I pushed him to the other side of the bed, as far as my strength would allow, and hollowed a little solitary nook for myself as close to edge of the mattress as I could get without falling off. Then I rolled over so I didn't have to look at him. It was about two-thirty. He'd be awake soon enough.

I drifted off to sleep. Just before five, my phone woke me. It was Amelia, so I grabbed it. "What was the mysterious lunch date?"

"Alcide," I said. "I don't want to talk about it."

"It went that well?"

"You don't sound surprised."

"Really? Why would a date with your ex go poorly?" Amelia had sarcasm down to an art.

"We never dated."

"Just like Pam and I never dated, come on Sookie." I rolled my eyes. "Look, I stopped by the archives, like you asked, and you'll want to hear this."

"Shoot, I'm listening." Behind me, Eric stirred. I glanced over at him, but his eyes were still closed.

"Susan Lefebvre has a brother in New Orleans, and I'll give you his number if you want, but he's not her legal next-of-kin."

"Ok, spit it out." Eric's arm snaked around my waist and he yanked me to him.

He kissed my neck. "Lover."

I waved a hand at him. "Shush."

"What was that?" Amelia asked.

"Nothing," I lied. "I'm driving." Eric pushed me under him and trailed his hands up my sides.

"I thought I heard Eric." Always excited by the sound of his own name, Eric gave me a smirk and reached between my legs.

"Nope," I gasped. "Why would you say that? Going home to meet him—he'll be up soon."

"Yeah, it's sunset here already."

I didn't know how much longer I'd be able to carry on a conversation, especially if Eric kept doing what he was doing. "So what did you find out about Susan?" I put my hand over the mouthpiece and leaned up to kiss Eric. He nipped at my bottom lip and his fangs ran out with a click.

"Susan Lefebvre was twenty-three, brother Jim in New Orleans, uncle in Monroe—"

"She worked for the uncle," I said as Eric kissed his way down my neck. I wrapped my legs around his waist and ground up against him. Eric smirked at me. He pointed at the phone and drew a finger across his neck. I'm trying, I mouthed at him.

"Right, since Katrina," Amelia said. "But as far as the next-of-kin, you'll want to call her husband."

That was a surprise. "Husband?"

"The marriage license was in the archives."

"And? Where's the husband based? I wonder if he knew about Victor."

"I would say so. Two months before she died, Susan Lefebvre married Victor Madden."

I dropped the phone. Eric, always quicker than me, snatched it out of the covers.

"Victor Madden, you are sure?" He paused. "Yes, I am here, Amelia." Another pause. "Sookie would not want me to say." I rolled my eyes as he listened to Amelia some more. "Are you busy tonight?" A beat. "Good. We'll be there around midnight. I imagine she will want to see you." Another beat. "Not with the way I drive." He closed my phone.

"What's the story?"

"Get up, lover. We're going to New Orleans."

----

A/N: Belongs to Charlaine Harris and HBO. Thank you for reading and for the reviews!

Up next, Eric and Sookie head to the big easy, where things are anything but.