A.N.: I've been posting chapters two-at-a-time lately (not this time, unfortunately), and, according to my stats page, the visitor hits are lower for the first chapter of each of the two-chapter bundles. So, if you guys feel like you've missed a piece of the story, please check to make sure you haven't overlooked any chapters. And please enjoy this one. You guys are delightful.

. . . . .

"This is our gun. From the bar."

Pam lifts the little weapon over her shoulder as she says this, so Eric can have a better look from behind the bar. The gun almost looks smug to me, high in the air like that. I bite my lip, and Eric stops pacing – he's waiting for the microwave to heat something, I assume a bottle of Tru Blood – to eye the gun. Pam, meanwhile, raises her eyebrows at Sookie. "When did you get this? And why, for that matter?"

Sookie crosses her arms. She's sitting at a table with Bill, but his hands are bound by silver chains and hers are free. Which makes sense, of course – what can Sookie do? Run? Fight? "Oh, that? I got it from the eleven-year-old supposedly in your guys' care. She thought she had to stop me from leavin'. Apparently at all costs."

Pam and Eric both turn their attention to me long before Sookie finishes saying this. Me, sitting alone at my own table, where I planned to make myself invisible for as long as possible to avoid getting sent to my room. Thanks, Sookie.

I feel too guilty to actually be angry with her, though.

Eric's eyes say loud things. Not angry things, really. More like disbelieving things. And . . . okay, angry things. Which, for the record, I don't really understand.

But no one thinks this is something to discuss right now. Least of all, it seems, Russell Edgington. Russell Edgington, who murdered Eric's family. Russell Edgington, who wants to murder Eric. Russell Edgington, who has spent the past few minutes circling the rest of us like a lion circles prey he's not hungry enough to attack, yet – and this inside Eric's bar, Eric's home –

My home.

Russell Edgington. Who, having halted at Sookie's shoulder, now drawls to no one in particular, "That's all very frightening, and something must be done about the gun crisis in America, and I'll happily see to it, once I am in power. But that leads us back to the topic at hand, does it not? You know – that little thing you mentioned about fairies?"

That's right. Fairies. Because apparently they exist.

Edgington shifts a lovely crystal jar from his right hand to his left, as tender as a human might be with a baby. That jar – the thing that made his now tossed-aside leather bag so bulky – is filled to brim with something red. I couldn't figure out what it was at first. At first. It didn't take me long.

Once the jar is safely resituated, Edgington waves his newly freed hand at Sookie, but it's Eric he addresses. "You seriously expect me to believe she's fairy? A species extinct for millennia? If they ever existed at all? Don't you think I would have noticed if there were fairies bouncing around in the world?"

I hate to admit this, I do, but Edgington is sort of voicing my thoughts. Sookie, even with her face tight the way it is now, is pretty, like I would imagine a fairy to be, but . . . that's about all the fairylike qualities I can see. At least, fairylike qualities as I know them, from fairies I've seen in storybooks, and of course storybooks get things wrong all the time, but – Sookie has her hair in a ponytail, and she's wearing a tee shirt that says Bon Temps Softball, and she's a waitress from Louisiana. I just can't make those details match up with the word fairy.

Hiding one's true feelings, though – that might be something fairies are good at. If that's the case, I might be able to believe, at least a little more, that Sookie's a fairy. Right now, she scoffs at Russell like he's merely some rude man she has to listen to for a while, like her kidnapping is just an inconvenience and she wishes things would hurry along. But it's an act. She knows she's in danger, and her heart – and, therefore, a piece of mine – is cold with fear.

"I didn't say she was full fairy." Eric trails his fingers along the bar as he makes his way around it, his steps neither slow nor rushed. I can't tell how real it is, this air of ease he has. This confidence. "She's a fairy-human hybrid. Which helped save her from detection."

The microwave beeps, as if crying for Eric to come back. Eric, with a glance, sends Pam to get whatever's ready and comes to Edgington's side. As Edgington squints at Sookie, Eric lowers his voice to the warm, easy whisper he uses to convince people to do what he wants. "She may very well be the last of her kind. Your only chance to walk in the sun."

What did Pam tell me about Sookie? Eric is giving Edgington another reason to want her. One that's even more compelling.

But . . . walking in the sun? I didn't know that was possible for any vampire, no matter what magic they had.

You also didn't know fairies were real.

Edgington turns on his heel, snubbing Eric. "Yeah, yeah, yeah . . ." No – pretending to snub Eric. But I don't think he means it. I catch a glimpse of his eyes before he wanders off, and they're not the eyes of a bored man, of a disinterested man. They're thoughtful eyes.

"Drink her blood," Eric says to his back. "You'll see."

"Now, that's just nuts!" Sookie looks from Eric to Edgington to Bill, but no one agrees with her. No one so much as responds, not even Bill. But Bill hasn't said anything since Eric pulled him in here. He's been clenching his jaw and, I suppose, listening – that's it.

I'm so sorry this is your life.

No, no. I shake Bill's voice out of my head.

Edgington gently rests his horrible jar on the bar. He slides his fingers along its side before returning to Eric, Sookie, and Bill. Pam, still by the microwave, eyes the jar with an absolutely blank expression. Sookie isn't the only one who's good at hiding how she really feels.

But, oh, Sookie is letting some emotion slip out now. She almost-yells, "Nothin' in my blood is a – supernatural sunscreen for y'all!" as Edgington takes the seat across from her. There's a bit of a tremble to her voice, but she's forceful, too, so the tremble is mostly smoothed out. "Why would you even think that?"

"Sookie, you're wrong," says Bill Compton. "What Eric says is true."

For a second, it seems like Bill's words have knocked Sookie's out of her. But then she finds one word, just one, and it's such a confused little word. "No . . ."

"I never told you." Bill is sorry, that's running through what he says like blood. But I still don't think Sookie understands what he's talking about (nor do I, really) – but, no, no, Sookie understands, she wouldn't have this dark, dizzying sensation I'm beginning to feel if she didn't understand. It's horror, but . . . it's more complicated than that. Betrayal. Yes, mainly that's it, it's betrayal, so – Sookie understands what Bill's saying. She just doesn't want to.

Pam places a black Fangtasia mug by Edgington's jar, and as Eric goes to retrieve it he says, "Bill's experienced it for himself," over his shoulder, to Edgington. He takes up the mug. It seems small in his hand.

"Oh, well that's reassuring." Edgington folds his fingers over his stomach, grinning at Bill. "A testimonial from the mendacious Mr. Compton!"

Eric carries the mug to Edgington . . . then past him. He sets the drink in front of me. It's chamomile tea, I can smell it, but this makes no sense, and I push my eyebrows together so Eric knows I'm confused. He smooths my hair. "I worry about you," he murmurs in Swedish. "You need to relax."

"A new beginning?" Sookie snaps at Bill, grabbing back my attention. "We'll start over?" She throws these words at him like rocks into windows, and I think . . . Well, amidst the spiraling betrayal feeling I'm getting from Sookie, there's a wave, a growing wave of simple pain. Heartbreak. And so I think those things – A new beginning, we'll start over – were things Sookie believed Bill wanted, maybe even promises he made to her. And now . . . now I guess Bill has crossed a line, a very important line. I'm not sure how or where, but it's happened.

Eric touches my shoulder, bringing me back to him. He nods at my tea, and I wrap my hands around the warm mug, lift it to my lips, and sip. Warm, yes, but not hot. It really should be hot. Obviously I don't say this, and Eric, apparently satisfied, returns to the others. Pam has come back to the little circle as well. She stands cross-armed over Sookie, almost like a bodyguard. Or, a prison guard. I suppose that's a more accurate comparison.

I sip more tea. Maybe it's okay that it's not hot. I like the taste of chamomile, and I can drink more in one gulp when the tea's not hot.

Bill leans forward, straining against the chains binding his hands behind him. He's not being aggressive, though, he's not trying to escape. He's trying to be heard. Only not by Sookie, like I might have guessed. No, it's Edgington who Bill focuses on. "I can't force you to believe me. You'll have to see for yourself."

And that . . . that was off.

Not off because Bill loves Sookie too much to give her up. I truly don't know if that's true or not. No, what Bill said, it was off, it felt off the way lies feel off when I hear them. Like someone is trying to press a puzzle piece into me, but it won't fit. What Bill said couldn't really be a lie, not in any way I can think of, but . . . somehow, he wasn't genuine. Somehow, he's deceiving – trying to deceive – Edgington.

But what about –

Eric has taken the chair beside Edgington, and the second our eyes meet – his were already on me – he shakes his head, barely and just once. That's all I need, and I rest against the back of my chair and drink more tea, because things are okay. Eric knows what's going on with Bill, even if I don't. And really, that means this is probably a good thing, doesn't it? Whatever is happening, whatever's going on with Bill – Eric probably has a plan, and Bill is doing his part. They did come inside a couple minutes after Sookie and Edgington, and Edgington said that was because they'd gotten in a bit of a tussle in the parking lot, but maybe they just wanted him to think that. That would be very much like Eric.

Sookie's eyes are shining the way eyes only shine when they're about to overflow, so my kind-of-happy feelings about Bill and Eric possibly having a plan dissolve pretty quickly. "Why are you doin' this to me?" she says to Bill.

"We've tried fightin' him. We'll never win. If he develops a taste for your blood, he may let you live." Bill sounds earnest, and he looks sad, but he still feels off. Oh, yes, he's playing a part.

But Sookie, Sookie doesn't know that. And a tear slips down her cheek. "Bill, please . . ."

Bill doesn't reply this time. He casts his eyes down.

Eric turns to Edgington, who has a small smile on his face. "So?"

Edgington pops an eyebrow. "I'm intrigued."

And Eric smiles, too. "Excellent."

"I hate you!" Sookie shouts suddenly, violently, at Bill Compton, absolutely flooding me with thick, awful emotions. She doesn't mean that, not totally, this flood is much more complex than hate, but I'm not sure Bill can see that. There's definitely a bit more truth to it, admittedly, when she turns and screams at Eric and Edgington, "I hate you all!" It's still complex, though, what I get from that scream. Still complex, and still awful.

But Eric and Edgington don't seem to notice Sookie. They're still doing business. "On one condition," Edgington is saying.

"Whatever you like."

Edgington jerks his head at Sookie and tells my guardian, "You go first."

And Eric, still smiling, says, "I'd love to."

. . . . .

I don't think much of it when, not too much time later, Eric says I need to go into the back. Really, I'm surprised he's allowed me to stay in the bar for as long as he has. I slide from my chair and reach for my empty mug, because I'm supposed to clean up after myself, but Eric gets it for me. He sets it on the bar as we leave the room. I don't look at Sookie on our way out. Eric and I, we leave her to her anger and her bad boyfriend – the one who pitied me – and to silent Pam and Edgington's taunting questions about if Sookie is hiding fairy wings or a wand.

None of this is fair to her. I hate this for her.

But Eric is more important than Sookie.

We walk to my room. No, we don't. We get close, but Eric stops outside his office instead. "Come, let's go in here."

This is strange, but not bad-strange. Fine-strange. Yes, perfectly fine-strange, and I walk inside the office and flop onto the couch, giggling at the way it bounces me. Then I see the pieces of phone cord lying on the floor by the desk and giggle some more. I point to them as Eric closes the door.

"Bill tied me up, but I got free by chewing through the cords. I knew I could, because Beowulf used to do that, remember?"

"I do." Eric lowers beside me. "In particular, I remember a certain little girl frantically searching the house for a cord that might work with my computer before I noticed the cord I had was mysteriously split in two."

I sit up, wrap my arms around his arm, and rest my head against him. "I didn't want you to be angry with Beowulf."

"I know."

"Or with me."

"I know." He strokes my hair.

You had something to talk about, Annika. Didn't you?

Yes. Of course. Of course, of course. I trace a seam along Eric's jacket. "Bill was . . ." I don't know the right word, though, I don't know the right word, it's not lying, but I don't know, I don't know . . .

Eric knows, though, naturally he knows. "Yes, you sensed that, didn't you? And from a one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old vampire. One would almost think you're extremely gifted and powerful, wouldn't they?"

I giggle again, again, because he's told me that I'm gifted and powerful – or at least that I will be powerful – plenty of times in my life. Eric's joking, and I love it when Eric jokes.

"Gifted and powerful and beautiful and so, so smart," Eric says, and I smile, and smile, and then stop smiling.

Something isn't right.

No . . . no. Something isn't right. Something isn't right, something isn't . . . Is it?

Gifted and powerful and beautiful and so, so smart.

I pull back from Eric, first with just my head but then I pull back my arms, too, I pull them back from Eric's arm even though I don't want to, and I move my whole body back on the couch. My body – it feels light, like I have too much air inside of me, why do I feel like this? Eric frowns, and he should, because something isn't right.

Why? What?

Gifted and powerful and beautiful and so, so smart.

Eric . . . Eric has called me all of those things, he has called me all of those things multiple times. But . . . but . . .

Think – why can't you think?

. . . but never like that, never all at once, and never for no good reason, never just because, never when he's busy with serious things like Russell Edgington and real-life fairies and walking in the sun, busy with giving a woman I know he cares about to an evil vampire, no, no, Eric wouldn't just say all of those things out of nowhereat a time like this, so why . . . ?

THINK!

I touch my head. "I can't . . ."

"Annie?"

"Something's wrong."

"No, little one. Listen to me –"

"Yes, something's wrong, I feel like . . ." What do I feel like? It's a sensation I know, this . . . slowness, this fog, I know it, it's . . . It's like when I take a pill. It's like, yes, it's just like when I take a pill, it's a fog, a cushion over my thoughts and feelings, just like when I take a pill, only stronger, and I haven't taken any pills today, have I? No. Eric asked if I wanted to this morning while I was looking at rabbits, floppy-eared rabbits like my Beowulf, and I said no and he didn't make me take one. Yes. That happened. No pills, not a one. All I've done for anxiety today is all of those natural things, like looking at Beowulf rabbits. The rabbits, and the healthy eating, and the exercise, and the chamomile, but no pills, and I had chamomile later, too, I had chamomile just minutes ago, and is this . . .?

No, no, you little fool, chamomile doesn't cause fog like this, chamomile is natural, it's gentle, it's a natural, gentle anxiety-reliever, that's why Eric gave it to you, but it doesn't cause fog like this, and Eric – ERIC GAVE YOU THE TEA.

"The tea . . ."

ERIC GAVE YOU THE TEA.

Eric gave me the tea. He made the tea, him and Pam, and at such a strange time, too. They made me tea, chamomile tea, and it was too cool but that meant I could drink it in big gulps, and I did, because I like the taste of chamomile, and now there's fog. All this fog. Like the fog from a pill.

I get to my feet, I get to my feet as fury bubbles inside of me, but – damn it, damn it, the fury is so far away, only it isn't, it's here, it just feels far away, it feels like I can't even reach my own emotions because –

"You put a pill in my tea!"

"Annie, I need you to listen to me –" Eric's hand touches my hand and I pull away.

"You put a pill in my tea!"

"No, dear, I put two pills in your tea. And I will tell you why, just sit down and listen to . . . Sit down so we can talk."

"You . . ." I press both hands to my head. "I'm so . . . Ugh, I'm so slow!"

I feel him tug at my shirt. "Come here."

"No." I try to shake him off, and I can't, but I try. "No – You gave me – Why would you give me – No, let me go, I'm mad at you!"

"I know you are, and I don't blame you." He's pulled me in front of him, close to him, his hands on my forearms which are by my head because that's where I threw them when I tried to get away. I shake them again now, except they don't move because Eric is holding them and Eric is stronger, so much stronger than me.

So slow . . .

"I'm sorry, Annie, I know you don't like this. But I needed you to take the pills, and I knew you wouldn't want to. Not you, my strong, stubborn girl, who would rather suffer than relax if suffering means she might be helpful to me."

My hands are in his hands and on his knees now. They shouldn't be, I know that. They should still be in the air, or I should be across the room, whatever, but I shouldn't be like this, with my hands in his hands and on his knees. I'm too angry for that. Only the anger is so hard to feel, inside of me but somehow still far away, and I like it when Eric holds my hand.

"I don't understand," comes my little voice.

"Sweetheart. It's almost dawn. Edgington and I are going to drink from Sookie, and then we're going to walk in the sun, and I – I am going do something drastic. Something to defeat Edgington once and for all . . . It may make you feel a lot. Too much. I wanted to ease your burden as much as I could. I wanted to protect you as much as I could. That's why I gave you the pills. And that's why I brought you in here."

Brought me in –? No, no. Go back more. Edgington, defeating Edgington. With something drastic.

"What are you going to do? In the sun?"

"Nothing I'm not willing to."

"Eric, what are you going to do? Why do you need to protect me, what are you protecting me from? What's are you – what's . . .?"

Eric's eyes – I love Eric's eyes. I used to pretend they were mine, or, I suppose, that mine were his. I used to pretend that when I was little but not so little that I couldn't understand that children sometimes had their father's eyes, and I so, so wanted Eric to be my father, I wanted that more than anything. But his eyes hurt me now. They don't mean to, they don't do it viciously, it's the opposite – they're sharing. They hurt me because they hurt.

". . . Eric, please, what's going on?"

He takes my head in his hands, and I sort of jerk it away, but I don't want to fight, really, not even on principle, so my head stays in his hands and he brushes hair from my eyes and no, I don't fight. "Those times I took you outside to watch the storms approaching, and I told you to be brave . . . I never once thought I was making you brave. It's very important you understand that. You were born brave, Annika, it's a part of you. I was only trying to make you see it."

His eyes . . . Oh, Eric's eyes hurt. Every other feeling is buried and muffled, but not that, not that pain, somehow, and I take a handful of his shirt and say, "Don't leave me."

Eric pulls me into him. Wraps me up. I wrap him up, too, and sigh into his neck, so relieved, because everything is okay now. I love him and everything is okay.

Eric pulls my arms from his neck and separates us.

"No." I grab his shirt again. "No, don't leave me. Please."

He kisses my forehead. "Be a good girl," he says in Swedish. "And be brave."

"No – no –"

His shirt is gone and he's on his feet and he's walking to the door –

"Eric!"

– and then he's through the door, Eric is through the door and it's closed behind him and it's wrong because I'm still in here, and I hear the latch slide into place, and I almost go to the door just to try it, just to twist the knob and push and pull and maybe bang the wood and scream, but instead I curl up on the couch in the place where Eric was. I dig my hands into my hair and get small, so small.

I hurt. I'm afraid, and I hurt, and I don't know why, no, I don't know why, but I know it could be worse, I know it would be worse if Eric hadn't given me that tea, I know because I can peer into myself like someone looking over the edge of a cliff into the roaring sea far, far below, and I can see all the monsters from here and I'm grateful not to be close enough for them to touch me.

But when I'm done peering into myself like someone looking over the edge of a cliff, I look forward instead, and I see a storm coming.