A/N I know this is getting to a climax, but I may not be able to post an update until the end of the holiday weekend. I'd like to thank everyone who has reviewed my work—I really appreciate the encouragement, and I think the next couple of sections will answer some of your questions. As always, I own nothing to do with True Blood and SVM.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Without anything to read or a sketch book, Carly dawdled as she ate, killing time until Eric retrieved her, one way or another. Fearing that she'd be awake all night, instead of just part of it, she avoided drinking coffee and asked for hot water and lemon. After the police finally departed the pharmacy, once Philip the elder pharmacist arrived to cry, throw himself on the ground in despair, and then lock up the store, and after she'd finished her fourth cup of hot water, Carly heard tires screech outside and a roaring engine purr to a halt. She looked over her shoulder and watched as Eric unfolded himself out of his car.

He entered the diner with a broad smile and a clean set of clothes. The waitresses watched as he entered, walked up to the counter, took Carly's head in his hand and kissed her. "Sorry to have kept you waiting, beautiful."

"No problem. I'm glad you brought the car." Carly smiled and kissed him in return.

Eric didn't sit down but looked at the waitresses, pointed at Carly and said, "Her bill, please."

Carly's waitress scampered over with a piece of paper and said, "Yeah, here it is, sir."

Eric looked at it in passing and handed her a twenty. He turned to Cary and said, "Service good?"

She nodded, so he said, "Keep the change."

The waitress smiled to receive a tip almost as much as the original bill and waved at them as they left the diner.

"How can you stand to eat in there, Carly? It stinks, like burning flesh." Eric made a mock retching sound.

Carly responded, "We all have our triggers, I guess. It doesn't bother me." She wasn't interested, however, in Eric's opinion about bacon or waffles, but in his prisoner. "Did Christophe give you any problem?"

"He bled all over everything. Pam's furious with me, because they put down the new floor near the stage, and it's not varnished yet. They'll have to strip it tomorrow."

"What are you going to do?" Carly didn't really understand the next step that Eric had to take.

"Well, I have to take you home—I presumed you wouldn't want to fly after eating."

"Thank you," Carly interjected.

"No problem." Eric sped away and said, "Then I'll have to get him to talk and eventually call the queen."

Eric accelerated up to nearly one hundred miles an hour and they sped back to Shreveport. After about ten minutes of silence, Carly asked, "Why do you have to call the queen?"

"I need her to contact the Magister; she has to authorize all trials and punishments of vampires within her kingdom." Eric tried to explain the procedure in the simplest terms possible. "If it's a small infraction, or the vampire is from another area, then I can notify the Magister, but this is a significant issue, and he'll have to visit."

Carly tried to process this simplified version of vampire law and make generalizations. "So, if a vampire, like Esther, is one of her..." she searched for the right word.

"...dependents," Eric supplied the term.

"Okay, dependents," Carly repeated, "then she has to summon the Magister."

"Yes."

"And you're afraid that she won't, or will try to silence you, because she's in cahoots with Edgar and Christophe in blood trafficking."

"Yes, again, Carly. That's exactly what I'm afraid of, since she already tried once to trap me in a way where she could order my death for feeding upon her favorite without her permission."

"That was convenient, wasn't it, since I'm guessing that Andre—who lied about her invitation to feed on Hadley—would be the one to kill you, right?"

Eric smirked, "If he could. I doubt he'd be able to, even armed to the teeth."

"Okay, but if a vampire isn't her dependent, then you, as sheriff, can notify the Magister, who then, I would guess, notifies the vampire king responsible for the vampire who has caused trouble in your area."

"Exactly." Eric smiled, impressed. "You have a very good mind for laws. You should have been an attorney."

"My mom said that too, but it seemed as if I'd have a really unfair advantage over people."

"True." Eric laughed, "But I know I pay a fortune for my mind-reading attorney."

"Really? Is he a fairy?" Carly was beginning to think that fairies were as common as terriers.

"No, a demon."

"Wow."

"He's not like what you'd expect. He's quite pleasant to be around. Rather corpulent, but highly entertaining and very reliable."

"Good to know." Carly giggled. "I'll tell my mom to look out for fat, pleasant lawyers, just in case they're demons."

Eric smiled back at her, and Carly felt suddenly on a more equal footing with her thousand year old vampire, as if she were learning the rules of his world, learning to negotiate the huge differences between hers and his successfully.

"I've got a silly question, though."

"What?"

"What do you do when you have a vampire in custody who is supposed to be dead? How can a dead vampire be anybody's dependent? If he's dead, doesn't that make him a non-person?"

Eric swerved onto the shoulder, and the car skidded to a stop after fish-tailing for a moment, while Carly braced herself for an impact that didn't come.

"Eric!" Carly yelled, "What the hell?"

"You're fucking brilliant, Carly."

"Why?"

"I don't have to call the queen, because how could she know Christophe was even here? If she admitted to knowing that he was in my area, she should have contacted the central authority to report his existence." Eric smiled and rubbed his hand over the steering wheel. "I could even kill Christophe myself. Why not? According to authorities, I already killed him three hundred years ago."

"That wasn't entirely what I was thinking, Eric." Carly felt sick to her stomach. Her intention had been to protect Eric from the queen's machinations, not to enable him to kill a vampire—even one who'd murdered people horrifically and who sought to consume and do who knows what to her.

Eric smiled, "I know, Carly. But it's true. No wonder Christophe kept asking me why I was locking him up. He probably expected that I would just kill him quickly."

The car began to roll back down the highway, and they soon rejoined the flow of traffic back to Shreveport. "Christophe will expect me just to kill him, not to interrogate him."

"Probably." Carly felt somewhat relieved. "So you're not just going to kill him?"

"No, I can't." Eric shook his head and replied, "If I just kill him, Edgar or the queen will just start with someone else. Also, I have to find a way to either destroy Edgar or force him to release Esther and Alan, otherwise he'll just order them to continue and carry out Christophe's work, whatever it is."

"I'm glad to hear that, Eric."

"Carly, don't be mistaken." Eric's gaze turned as cold as the edge of a sword and the light that reflected from his eye was macabre and icy. "I don't have any reservation about killing anyone, human or vampire, who endangers me or those I care about." He placed his hands over hers. "But it's not always in my interest just to kill those who get in my way—in fact, it can be unwise for me to lose my temper."

Carly didn't know exactly what she'd expected from him. She couldn't possibly expect him to pronounce some set of morals comparable to a human being's, or to hers, or to suggest that he wanted justice most of all. With a thousand years of life experience, and an ethical and moral foundation forged in medieval Scandinavia, Eric Northman would always see the world refracted differently than she would, even if both angles produced the same picture. She resolved to be satisfied if the result seemed just to her, if what Eric did appeared merciful to her understanding, and if the retribution he effected seemed right to her. Carly just hoped she could continue to see the world through some other lens than self-interest and self-protection. Or perhaps, she just would continue to fool herself into thinking that wasn't how she already saw the world.

When they hit the Shreveport city limits, Carly asked, "Can I go with you to Fangtasia?"

"Why, Carly?" Eric seemed troubled. "I don't want you to see what I'm going to do to him."

Carly suggested, "Eric, you're operating under the assumption that you'll have to torture him."

"Yes."

"Well, why?"

"Why would he answer my questions?" Eric asked.

"Perhaps it's not in his interest to do so?"

"I can't see how it's in his interest to answer them."

"If he answers your questions, he'll learn that you value his testimony against other vampires." Carly tried to reason with him.

"He'll see the same thing if I torture him," Eric responded, adding, "And he deserves it."

Carly had an idea that she couldn't formulate quite yet into words. "Would you let me try something? And if it doesn't work, you can have Pam take me home. Or I'll go sleep in your office."

Eric shrugged. "I don't see how it would harm anything if you did."

When they entered the club, they didn't see Alan, Esther, or Pam. Eric called out, and they emerged from what would likely be the kitchen or bar/prep area. He asked, "Are you hiding?"

Pam replied, "They didn't want to be out here when you started working on Christophe. They're babies, Eric, and cowards." Pam sounded exasperated with their reticence.

"Keep them close by," Eric advised. "I might need them. You never know."

"Can I take them in your office, so I can at least sit in a decent chair?" Pam whined at her maker and flexed her ankles. "These shoes are a little higher than usual."

Eric pouted back at her, "You can take your lazy aching feet back into the office and wait for me." Then he added, "You might need to take Carly home."

"She's going down there with you?" Esther asked, horrified.

"Yes," Carly answered. "I think I may know a way to get him to talk."

"He'll never talk to you," Esther responded. "All he wants is Edgar."

Carly lifted a shoulder in response and said, "Probably, but it won't hurt anybody if I try."

As Carly descended the stairs with Eric, she tried to clear her mind. She recalled the vivid hallucination she'd had of Cherisse's kidnapping, and then thought of the way she'd compelled Sookie to see what was in her own mind, and how she'd glamoured John, the young man Alan and Esther fed upon. When she saw Christophe, part of her felt pity. He hung by his broken arms, punctuated with silver, his mouth, hands, and feet still held together by silver.

Neither Carly nor Eric spoke when they came face to face with the renegade vampire.

"Can I borrow your pocket knife, Eric?"

He handed it to her, and she cut off the tape that covered the silver containing Christophe's jaw. She unwrapped the silver chain from his head, and as she finally loosed his head, he attempted to bite her. Carly said, "No, Christophe," sharply, as she would a naughty puppy, and he was startled into quiescence.

Carly closed up the pocket knife and handed it back to Eric. Standing before Christophe, she took her hands and placed them firmly upon each of his cheeks and stared into his eyes. The two stood there, her eyes transfixed by his, and she bored into his mind, into his past, and into the life he lived as a human. Within a minute, Carly saw a vortex swirling before her within the triangle made of his eyes and nose. Slowly it expanded to take in his entire face, and then the winds of the vortex cleared, allowing her passage into a corridor, into a hallway where Christophe stood at the end, a monumental canvas before him, a short, older man, dissipated, hands arthritic, to his left, barking orders at him.

"You have the light all wrong. The left side of his forehead is illuminated, but the right side of his jaw is in the light. How do you justify that?"

"I'm sorry master, I'll do better. I can change it."

"You must understand, Christophe, I cannot allow anything to leave my workshop under my name, unless it is a masterpiece."

"Yes, master."

Carly popped back into the room, and Christophe was growling at her. "What are you doing to me?"

"Trying to understand," was all Carly said.

The process repeated, but Carly found herself instead before Christophe as he knelt at the feet of another man—she recognized him from the sketches she'd done from Alan's mind—Edgar, and Christophe begged, "Please, father, do you approve of my work?"

"No. You call yourself a vampire, Christophe? You're pathetic. Why did I give you life, when you're not even worth my attention? You told me you were an artist, and this is what you give me?"

Carly saw, on the wall, the form of a crucified and bleeding woman, a real woman—not a painting. "There's no art in this. Just the same tired, pathetic shit I've seen in churches. You think it's clever to make Christ a whore? You think this will win me any praise or gold?"

"Master, I strive to please you."

Carly emerged, back in the room, still holding tightly to Christophe's face. "How sad," Carly whispered.

Christophe was trembling, "What is she doing, Northman?"

Eric was leaning against the wall, absently looking around the room, "I have no idea, Christophe."

"Tell me, Christophe, what do you want," Carly whispered. "Why do you do this?"

"Northman, get her away from me," Christophe begged.

"No," Eric replied. "I find this quite entertaining."

"Now, Christophe, look at me. What do you want?"

"Out. I want it to be over. I want that bastard to keep his promise!" Christophe nearly screamed.

"Who?"

"Edgar," Christophe started crying, "he told me he'd let me go, let me die, if I made him rich."

Eric swept up next to the whimpering vampire, "Why do you want to die?"

"It's what I was trying to do when he found me. I'd stabbed myself, but Edgar turned me. I've always wanted out, ever since Rembrandt told me I couldn't be his apprentice any more."

"Why haven't you just met the sun?" Eric asked quietly.

"Edgar commanded me not to." Eric sobbed. "I've tried so many ways, but he's always stopped me. He sent a man after me when you pinned me to the tree, and then drained his blood into me when I refused to feed from him."

Carly still held tight to Christophe's face, "Why would you offer to make Philip a vampire if you hate your existence so much?"

"So I could command him to kill me!" Christophe gathered himself up and said, "Edgar insured I couldn't ask a human to kill me, but he didn't say anything about a vampire."

She let go and turned to Eric, "What do we do?"

"I don't know, really." Eric crossed his arms and glared at Christophe, then he pulled the silver from the man's arms. "I suppose we don't need to make a suicidal vampire suffer quite so much."

"Eric," Carly sounded tentative, "I don't understand any of this."

"A vampire must do as his maker commands, until he's released."

"Edgar never releases any of us..." Christophe spoke slowly.

"How many?" Eric asked.

"At least fifty..." Christophe trailed off and then back, "at least."

"He's only ever reported five progeny."

"Edgar likes to play with us." Christophe looked at Carly, and she fell into his mind, where she saw scenes of unbearable horror, dead and dying bodies, dismembered, regrowing, bursting into flames, impaled with iron and silver. Humans drank their blood and beat them, raped them, tortured them. The horror grew too much, and Carly couldn't breathe.

"My sweet, please, come to, wake up!" Eric was on the floor with her, begging, trying desperately to revive her.

She shook, whimpered, wept, "Call the Magister, Eric."

"No!" Christophe yelled. "I can't tell him anything about Edgar."

"Carly, what's going on?" Eric pleaded with her to explain.

Even though she trembled, Carly said, quietly, "Let me show you." She grasped Eric's hand, and he was sucked into the scene she saw within Christophe's memories. Her mind dragged Eric into a pit of despair, of hell, he'd never experienced, even in the worst battle, even in his most degraded, most lustful state. He began retching up blood and screamed, "Make it stop, Carly!"

She let go of Eric and said, "I can make the Magister see, Eric." Carly's sense of self-preservation disappeared, even though she knew that revealing herself to the Magister could endanger her. She had to let Christophe go free, had to end the suffering of this exploited herd of vampires whose blood and torture enriched their gluttonous master.

"No, Carly, he'll take you, he'll take you from me." Eric wrapped himself around her.

"But I have to make it stop, Eric. I wouldn't be able to live with myself."

"I can kill him, Carly. He won't suffer anymore." Eric shook his head frantically.

"And the others? How can we help the others? And those he'll make to replace them?" Carly tried to reason with Eric, but she knew that human reason wouldn't work. "I am yours, Eric Northman. How could the Magister take me from you?"

"You're right. He couldn't take you from me." Eric kissed her, but his tone suggested to Carly that he didn't really believe what she was saying, but knew that she was right. "Let's call him."

They mounted the staircase and walked toward the door. As they crossed the threshold, Carly heard Christophe say, quietly, "Thank you, Carly. I knew you'd help me when I first smelled you. You smelled like death."

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