A/N I own nothing having to do with True Blood or SVM.
Chapter Twenty-Six
"Out!" Eric barked at Pam and the two other vampires, who were lounging around Eric's office.
Alan and Esther jumped up, disoriented, and moved toward the door in unison, blocking one another.
"Pamela!" Eric yelled again, "Move!"
Pam rotated the chair slowly, stood up carefully, and said, "Fine, where's the fire, Eric?"
Eric rushed to her side, grabbed her by the neck, and said, "Why are you so undisciplined, Pam?" He lifted her over the desk and placed her down on the other side. "Out, before I regret making you."
Rushing out as quickly as she could on her heels without breaking them, Pam went through the door cursing under her breath. She passed Carly who was waiting for the room to clear and said, "He's all yours, sweet thing."
As Carly entered, she knew that Eric was strategizing, because he was moving so slowly when he could access super-human speed with no effort. He pulled a huge Rolodex out of a desk drawer and thumbed through it. When he landed on the right card, he picked up the phone receiver and then put it back down.
"There has to be some other way than to have you near him." Eric shook his head. "No, Carly, I can't risk losing you."
Carly waited for a moment while she thought, although she didn't feel as if she was thinking as herself. She felt as if she were spinning, caught on an out of control carnival ride, and then everything began to slow. Two or three days ago—or even less-she couldn't even remember, Carly nearly dissolved into hysterics after confirming that she was something—a fairy or a valkyrie—inhuman. At this moment, as she sat on Eric's couch, she was calm, contemplating how she was going to communicate the hell Christophe and the others—including Esther—had suffered to the only vampire who seemed empowered to stop Edgar.
"Eric, can I ask Esther a couple of questions before we call the Magister?"
"Of course." Eric rushed to the door, leaned out, and called "Esther. Carly wants you."
Esther approached somewhat tentatively, "Sure, what do you need?"
Eric moved out of the doorway and gestured for Esther to come inside the office and sit down.
"Esther, can I ask you a question about how Edgar treated you?"
Esther began to tremble and said, "I can't tell you anything about him. You know that, Carly."
"Esther, do you trust me?" Carly looked the vampire in the eye and tried to decode the frantic buzzing in her mind.
"Yes." Esther swiped a bloody tear from her eye.
Carly took Esther's face in her hands, just as she had, instinctively, Christophe's. Her field of vision narrowed into a single point, and Carly felt as if she were on a train, hurtling forward at top speed, into a scene much like that she saw in Christophe's mind. Yet, in this scene, Christophe was absent, and Esther was chained to a wall, alive, breathing, blood coursing through her veins. Edgar stood before her, his fangs extended, and he glared at her venomously and spat blood as he spoke.
"Esther, tonight, little match girl, you die. Did you foresee that?"
"Please..." Esther begged, shivering, naked. "Please just let me live."
Edgar laughed, "Perhaps I shall, but not the way you are." Grabbing a hank of Esther's hair and pulling her head until the skin strained in her throat, Edgar growled, "You will rise with me tomorrow a vampire, and you will do as I say. From that moment forward, Esther, you will keep all I do to you, with you, and around you to yourself. You will never speak of me, for I will be your maker, and a vampire must do all her maker commands. Do you understand, Esther?"
Unable to speak or nod because of the position of her head, Esther grunted pathetically.
As quickly as Carly found herself inside the memory, she was out, back on the couch with Esther's face in her hands.
"What, Carly? Why are you smiling?" Eric asked, sounding almost alarmed at the sudden and radical change in her expression.
"Esther," Carly stared at her, "If Edgar ever commanded you not to speak of him after you were made a vampire, cough."
Esther remained still and silent.
Carly asked the same question in a different way, "If the only time Edgar ever commanded you to be silent about him was when you were still human, cough."
Esther took in a breath and then coughed loudly.
"Eric," Carly giggled, "that's why I'm smiling."
"I still don't understand, Carly," Eric struggled to make sense of the information.
"I don't get it either," Esther concurred.
"It's simple, I think." Carly smiled and grasped hold of Esther's hand tightly. "His command to you, when you were a human, has no power over you, as I see it."
"But he's..." Esther strained to speak, "Carly." Esther shook her head.
"Were you a vampire when he commanded you to be silent?"
She shook her head again to signify no.
"So, he never gave you a command," Carly paused slightly, "once he was your maker."
"But," Esther began to object.
"But, nothing, Esther." Carly took a deep breath, grasped Esther's other wrist. "His command to you while living holds no power, even if you were glamoured. Death intervened—all he said to you while you lived life as a human is null, void, meaningless. Death severed you from your human life. All that stops you from speaking his name, from telling the Magister all he has done to you, to Christophe, to Alan, is the memory of his command."
"E-," Esther winced.
Carly grasped Esther's cheeks again and spoke in a voice that chilled the room, a voice deep, resonant, and terrifying. "Esther, I am a valkyrie. I am a daughter of Friagabi, who pulled the dead from battle and consumed their fears." As she spoke, wind swept through the room, pulling papers from bulletin boards, turning Eric in his chair. "I command you to forget your death, to forget your pain, to forget his command to you."
"Edgar..." Esther smiled. "Edgar's a bastard. He's terrorized us all—sold people our blood, our bodies, forced us to debase ourselves. He stole Christophe's art, submitted it in a show in New York City. He's made vampires just so he could drain them and sell their blood."
"Good, Esther." Carly embraced her. "Now, you need to tell your story, and Christophe's, to the Magister, so that Edgar can be punished appropriately."
"Thank you, Carly." Esther had begun weeping as she spoke. "You've freed me. I can finally live—finally be free."
"Only once you're released from him entirely," Eric reminded the two women. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to make a call."
The two of the walked out of the office together and encountered Pam, who was standing dumbstruck outside the door.
"What the fucking hell was all that?"
Carly smiled and laughed lightly. "I think it was me, Pam."
"She freed me from Edgar's command—I can talk about him now, talk about all the horrible things he's done to us all."
"By doing what? Did you tear down a wall or something?"
"Pam," Carly asked, "what did you hear from the office?"
"A tornado, a hurricane, thunder, cannon-fire."
"All that?"
"No, goddamn it. That's what it sounded like." Pam cocked her head to one side and said, "Didn't you hear any of it?"
"No," Carly laughed again. "But I think I spoke a little differently than I'm used to."
Eric came out of his office. "He's coming. He was in New Orleans, believe it or not."
"Why?" Carly was frightened that the Magister might already have sided with the queen and Edgar and that all she'd done, all she'd summoned, would be for nothing.
"Some New Orleans vampire has been sending baby vampires out from the nest prematurely." Eric grinned, enjoying their shared knowledge, "One turned up in Miami, and the Caribbean King figured out where the girl was from, and lodged a complaint against our Sophie-Ann, for not keeping track of her vampires properly. According to the Magister, she's claiming that Katrina destroyed her records, so she is having trouble keeping track of everyone."
"When will he be here? Can he fly like you can?" Carly wondered how many vampires could fly.
"No," Eric stood proudly, "but he has a plane. He'll be here within the hour." Eric held his hand out to Carly. "Pam," he raised his chin to his progeny, "take Esther and Alan into the basement so that they can talk with Christophe. Don't let him out of his chains, though."
Eric started to pull Carly into his office. "Lock yourselves in until I give you our signal."
"Fine. But I'm still waiting for an explanation." Pam stood with her arms crossed before her.
"Don't worry, child. That's what I'm hoping to get myself, after I eat a little." Eric smirked and closed the door behind them, locking it. "Now, my little valkyrie."
Carly continued to smile, "I don't know how that happened."
"I don't care how it happened, I just want you." Eric lifted her up, held her legs beneath his hands, and then sat down on the couch. "I'm sorry we don't have much time, but we need to feed on each other."
They kissed hungrily, and Eric's fangs popped out. Carly responded by skewering her lip against the point so that blood streamed out. Eric bit himself, and their two tongues, each covered in blood, wrestled and fought, until both wounds were healed. The taste as their blood mixed together only inflamed them both more.
"Eric, your knife." Carly kissed his neck and bit him gently, and then harder, until Eric started moaning and bit into her neck and sucked her blood. Harder, until it broke the skin, Carly bit down and sucked his blood as well. Fire and lightening streamed through the circuit they created, and Carly ached for him, longed to be with him always, until suddenly she gasped.
"Carly," Eric stammered. "We have to stop, Carly."
Their mouths clasped against each other again, and Carly pulled at his hair. Fully dressed the two of them embraced and kissed and bit each other gently, until a pounding drew them back into the outside world.
Eric shifted position, put Carly down on the couch, and went for the door. As Carly pulled herself together, she realized that the front of her blouse was covered in blood, and her pants were soaked, if not with blood than something else that she never thought would be near her.
From outside the office door, she heard, "Mr. Northman, a pleasure, as always, although we seem to find ourselves in unique circumstances." The voice from the corridor was warm, commanding, clipped in the same way as a skilled politician's might be.
"Yes, Magister." Eric replied. "I certainly hope that they shall be unique."
"The queen tells me you've taken a human companion."
"Yes, Magister."
"I didn't take you as the sentimental kind, Mr. Northman. You've always been one of the most rational of our species that I've encountered."
"It's not sentiment, Magister."
"If you start going on about love, Mr. Northman, you will have destroyed my faith in vampires. I might as well meet the sun at dawn."
"No, sir. She is smart, and useful, tastes delicious, and will become a fine vampire when I tire of her humanity."
"Do I get the pleasure of meeting her, Mr. Northman?"
"To what purpose, Magister?"
"Simply to satisfy my curiosity, Mr. Northman. I've always found your Pamela intriguing, although tiresome, so I would like to see what has caught your eye in this one, since I don't know what could have brought you to transform Pam."
Carly heard silence.
"I just fed upon her, so she might be weak."
"Northman, you know that my purpose is to enforce our laws. You should have no fear of me. If the issue of the monarchy were up to me, you would be king, you know that. I actually respect you. I simply tolerate your whore queen. Please don't think of the two of us as having the same motives."
Carly waited for Eric to open the door. Once it cracked, she moved forward into the growing gap and waited to be presented.
Instead of the grand personage she expected to possess the commanding voice, a small, slightly weaselly face, Iberian or Slavic, perhaps, met hers.
"May I, Mr. Northman?" The less than majestic Magister extended his hand toward Carly as he spoke to Eric.
"You may greet mine as you'd like, Magister. She is mine, however, and bonded to me."
"Of course, Eric Northman." The Magister clasped her hand gently, brought it to his dry, cold lips, and brushed them with a superficial kiss. "Ravishing beauty, Northman. And if she's as bright as you say, quite a catch." The Magister dropped her hand and then said, "Where are these vampires you wish for me to examine?"
"In the basement, Magister."
"Have they been tortured tonight?"
"No, sir." Eric cleared his throat slightly and gestured toward Carly. "Magister, may she witness your interrogation?"
"Do they speak willingly?"
"Yes, sir."
"If it will be bloodless, I see no reason why. I assume you will glamour anything unseemly from her."
"Of course, sir."
The Magister clapped his hands together and said, "Let us begin, then, Northman."
The three of them moved to the basement door, and Eric knocked and kicked at it a number of times, until Pam opened the door.
As they descended the steps, Pam whispered to Eric, "Do you want her to see this, Eric?"
"Everything will be all right, Pam."
The Magister moved toward Christophe first. "Northman, I need slightly more light."
Eric hit a switch that illuminated the center of the basement.
"Incredible." The Magister circled Christophe. "I almost didn't believe you when you said you had Christophe the artist in your custody. I thought it almost certain that you intended some joke. But here you are," the Magister laughed. "Northman, why didn't you just kill him as everyone thought you did in Amsterdam."
"I considered it, Magister. But you will want to hear his story, along with Esther's and Alan's."
The Magister turned to look at Alan. "I don't know you."
"I'm undocumented, sir." Alan looked at the floor as he said it.
"Who is your maker?" The Magister demanded in a voice as commanding as any Carly had ever heard. "Tell me, Alan. Who is your maker?"
"My maker's name is E-" Alan began to whimper.
"The inability to name one's maker seems epidemic these days," the Magister said cynically. "I just dispatched another undocumented vampire with the same disorder and no one knew her origin. Since she'd also been selling her blood—blasphemy-and prostituting herself to humans—repulsive-I put her down. Just out of pity, really."
"May I speak," Esther asked.
"Yes, of course." The Magister practically beamed. "It will be even better if you have something worthwhile to say. Do you know this vampire?"
"Yes, the two of us share a maker—with Christophe."
"Well, well, well..."
"Edgar Martin is our maker. And I would hazard that he also made the vampire you just destroyed, Magister, since those two things are among the acts he commands his progeny to commit so that we might enrich him."
"And if you were commanded to do such things, why did he not also command your silence?" The Magister pushed at her chest with the tip of a walking stick.
Eric interrupted. "Magister, if I may. I told you my human was bright. She's assisted me in interrogating these vampires. It was she who determined that Edgar had commanded Esther to be silent, but did so before he killed her."
"Is that true, human?"
Carly nearly beamed with pride, "Yes, sir."
The Magister neared her, and Eric stepped between them, instinctively.
"Down, Northman. I just want to ask her how."
Carly tried to figure out how she could describe what she'd done without actually admitting that she'd most likely glamoured a vampire into forgetting her maker's command, as well as her own death.
"I've studied meditation, sir, so I helped to guide her to the point where Edgar demanded her silence, and then we figured out that she could overcome the order, since he gave it when she was still human."
"Interesting." The Magister smiled. "Perhaps we need to turn more Tibetans. The Dalai Lama seems quite the pleasant man. Perhaps he would be interested in immortality."
"Perhaps, Magister." Eric concurred.
The Magister asked Esther to describe her own experiences and to describe what she'd witnessed of Christophe's and Alan's. Now that she could speak, Esther kept going, naming names of prominent humans—celebrities and politicians—who attended Edgar's events (long before the Great Revelation) or who regularly received blood from his undocumented underlings. According to Esther, Edgar was most likely responsible for the bulk of 'V' trafficking in New York and Los Angeles, since he'd installed at least one older progeny in both cities. She also shared perhaps the most shocking detail of all, at least to Carly's ears.
"For about twenty years now, he's had Christophe produce forgeries of major paintings that have been stolen."
"Really?"
The Magister turned to Christophe to seek some kind of affirmation. "What can you tell me about Edgar?"
"He's my maker, Magister. I'm one of many progeny, and he likes to play with us." Christophe spoke slowly and quietly.
"Did he ask you to paint forgeries?"
"Yes."
"Christophe," the Magister came right up to him, and they stood eye to eye, "can you say 'he asked me to paint forgeries'?"
"No."
"Can you answer my questions if I supply the information in them?"
"Yes, Magister."
"Did he ask you to find major buyers for vampire blood in the Shreveport area?"
"Yes."
"Did he demand that you give him your art so that he could present it as his own?"
"Yes."
"Well, then, Northman, I'm satisfied." The Magister clapped loudly. "I will go to ground here in Shreveport, and then we will apprehend Edgar Martin tomorrow and dispense his punishment."
"And his co-conspirators?" Carly couldn't believe she'd spoken up.
"Sweet human," the Magister said with more than a little condescension. "Other than taking a cut of the money, which she'd do no matter what, the queen is guilty of no more, at this point, than poor taste in companions and in interior design."
The Magister walked up to Eric and summoned him closer with a twitch of his finger. "If, Northman, she seems to do differently, I am to be notified immediately."
"Yes, Magister, although wouldn't that be treason?"
"As I said, I like you better. I always have."
"Thank you, Magister."
Capture
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