"Higher, Aunt Sookie, higher!" the little girl squealed.
I did as she asked, pushing harder against her back so she swung higher into the air. Her long, straight dark hair fluttered behind her in a glossy stream. After three pushes, she was laughing delightedly, so I took a step over to push her friend instead. The two girls were exactly the same age, born mere days apart, but the dark-haired girl was almost twice the height of her blond cousin, who had a halo of loose ringlets. They weighed about the same though: where one was so slender she looked like she might break, the other was stocky and strong.
"Thanks, Aunt Sookie," the blond girl smiled, when I gave her a gentle push.
She was in the 'baby swing' - the one with a backrest and a chain that clipped across the front, so she couldn't fall out of it - but she was still scared of being pushed too high. Her cousin had no such fear, so after a couple of light pats on the blond girl's back, I went back to pushing her cousin again. The higher I pushed her, the harder they both laughed; the timid blond girl taking vicarious pleasure in her friend's adventures. That was their way.
It seemed weird that I couldn't remember their names, these two little girls. They were my kin, I could feel that: the blond girl a close relative; the dark-haired one a more distant cousin. It didn't even feel like I'd forgotten; it was like we'd never been introduced. But I knew everything about them: that they were best friends and practically inseparable; that they both preferred being outdoors in the sunlight to playing with dolls or any of the other standard 'girl' activities; that neither had a pet yet, although they were both pestering for one incessantly; that their Moms had developed a grudging acceptance of one another because their daughters were so close.
I gave the blond girl one more light push, and her friend a half-dozen more enthusiastic ones, so they were both swinging at their preferred height. Then I wandered over to their mothers, who were sitting at the picnic table a few yards away.
"She's so glad to see you," Claudine told me.
Claudine looked really well, and I told her so. Crystal, not so much. She was chain-smoking, as always, and even though it shouldn't make any difference here, the smoke somehow dulled her skin, settling dirtily in her hair and on her clothes. No wonder Claudine always sat at the far opposite end of the table; she was knitting her daughter an intricate lacy sweater from some sparkling gossamer yarn, and dirtying it with cigarette smoke would spoil all her beautiful work.
"I've missed you so much," I gushed to my cousin, sitting down beside her. "Both of you," I added, trying to include Crystal.
Crystal glared and rolled her eyes at me, taking another long drag on her cigarette. "About time you got here."
"Oh, she won't be staying," Claudine corrected. "She's needed elsewhere. Aren't you, Sookie?"
"I guess so." I didn't want to go, but I could feel something pulling me away from them.
"That way," Claudine gestured, as though she could sense it was time for me to leave, just as I could.
I hugged her, bid them both farewell, then started walking along the path Claudine had pointed to. It led away from this sunny lawn into the nearby woods, which quickly blocked the sun. I didn't like that.
When I reached the edge of the woods, I turned to wave goodbye to my two little nieces. I felt so sad to be leaving them - I could feel that I wouldn't see them again for a long time, and they'd both be adults by then - but that feeling of being pulled away from here was getting stronger by the second. I turned and stepped into the deep shadows, walking briskly.
About a hundred yards along the path, a wolf emerged from behind a tree, trotting directly toward me. He moved steadily, standing tall with his tail held straight out behind him, and as he came to walk beside me, I realized that I knew him.
"Hi, Tray," I greeted him, and he whined 'hello' right back.
How I knew it was him, I wasn't sure. I hadn't 'heard' a thing from anyone here, so far: every single mind was quiet to me. It was so wonderful, to be in a place where I was completely normal. I wanted to ignore the strong pull that was leading me away, but somehow I couldn't.
"Amelia misses you," I told him, but his attention was elsewhere.
I noticed then that he wasn't the only animal here: the shiny, beady eyes of a fox stared out of the deep forest shadows, and somehow, I could feel that this one meant me harm. When Tray froze in place, I did too, standing behind him. It was Debbie Pelt. She had hated me so much, even before I killed her, and I didn't think she'd let me pass. But Tray started snarling and edging towards her, still with the steady, tall movements of a confident wolf. Wolves could and did kill foxes, I knew that, but Debbie held her ground.
Then she was gone, taking off through the underbrush so quickly I could barely follow her. In a matter of seconds, she had disappeared. Tray seemed pleased. I was just relieved.
"I really have to go, don't I?" I asked him, feeling that pull away from here even more strongly now.
He stared at me for a moment, then nodded and started jogging ahead. I struggled to keep up, running behind him. Another wolf was watching us - stalking us - but Tray didn't seem concerned. I recognized this one, too: Jerry Falcon. I had seen him only twice before: once in Josephine's, and once in Alcide's hall closet, after Bubba killed him. I couldn't recall ever seeing him in wolf form before, and I barely saw a glance of him here and there as he silently followed us, but I was certain it was him. I was just about to call out to Tray, to tell him we're being followed and ask what we should do, when suddenly, we burst out of the woods, into another bright clearing.
This clearing was different to the one where I met Claudine, Crystal and my young nieces. The place where they spent their days could pass for any regular neighborhood park, with an overgrown lawn, basic play equipment and seating, plus a few odd plants left mostly to their own devices. This park didn't belong in any neighborhood I'd ever lived, and even the wealthiest areas of New Orleans didn't have public parks like this, although some of the fanciest private gardens (which I'd only glanced through the gaps in high fences) were similar, albeit smaller. This garden was carefully planned, landscaped and tended, with at least one full-time gardener: plants didn't trim themselves into those smooth, elegant shapes.
I heard that gloppy, popping sound shifters make when they change form and spun on my heel, just in time to see Tray finish transforming.
He was, of course, completely naked, but seeing people naked just didn't bother me as much as it used to. Being mated to a shifter had changed my ideas about nudity; Quinn felt no more naked in bare human skin than he did with a full pelt of tiger fur, and wearing boxers around the house felt like more than enough concession to human customs, to him. He had this theory that most human anxiety was caused by over-use of clothes: people hid their figures and only saw airbrushed media images of what bare bodies were 'meant' to look like, so even people with fantastic bodies thought themselves freakishly ugly - especially women. (For men, all that anxiety was concentrated on the groin, so the size, shape and performance of those parts were vital to the human male ego.) There was no danger of my boyfriend over-using clothes: he would strip off at any excuse. I couldn't say I minded seeing him almost-naked so much of the time.
Among the many benefits of my mate's frequent nudity, it made it much easier not to stare at other naked people: Tray was tall and barrel-chested, and if I'd been in the midst of one of my usual sexual droughts, it would've been hard not to drool at all that bare male flesh... but compared to Quinn, he was nothing to stare at. (Sorry, Amelia, I thought to myself.) So my mind stayed almost entirely on the subject at hand.
"This is as far as I can take you," Tray told me.
"Oh," I complained. "We have to say goodbye here?"
"Yeah, I'm not so welcome in these parts."
I nodded, somehow knowing that was true. "Thank you," I whispered, "for everything." Then I threw my arms around him, squeezing him tight.
Behind me, a woman cleared her throat loudly for effect. Somehow, she still sounded delicate and refined as she did.
I pulled away from Tray and turn around to see...
"Sophie-Anne," I whispered, then realized how disrespectful I was being. "Your Majesty," I added, curtsying awkwardly.
She laughed daintily. "No need for that here."
She was even more gorgeous now, if such a thing were possible. Her hair and makeup were perfect as ever, her evening gown was elegant (but as always, looked too grown-up for her early-teen body), her fur wrap was like something Marilyn Monroe would wear, and she had sparkling jewels on her neck, wrists and ears... but she also looked less pale. Rosy, even. If it weren't so ridiculous, I'd think she almost looked alive.
That feeling that I was being pulled away became even stronger. "I have to go somewhere," I told her dumbly.
"Yes, you do," she agreed. "I'll take you. I don't usually trouble myself to welcome new arrivals, but in this case..." She turned and offered me her elbow, as though she expected me to walk with her, my arm linked with hers.
I looked over my shoulder to say goodbye, but Tray was already gone. "Bye, Tray," I called out anyway, and somewhere in the woods, I heard a long howl in response.
I turned back to Sophie-Anne and took her arm to be polite. "Oh, you're so warm!" I exclaimed.
"Yes, it's different here," she smiled, showing partly-extended fangs. "I can walk in the sun, too."
I somehow hadn't noticed before, but it was daytime, and we were outside, and even standing in full sunlight, she was fine.
"Wow," I breathed. "That must be so great, feeling the sun on your skin again."
She shrugged. "It doesn't nourish me like it does you."
We walked a while longer, the path winding between tall hedges that hid most of the garden. It wasn't until we were halfway down the hill that there were any openings in those hedges. I peeked in when I could, glimpsing various manicured tableaux as we wandered past. There were people everywhere in this garden: sitting on benches, crouching to smell flowers, walking arm-in-arm on the paths.
"I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you," Sophie-Anne told me, and for a moment, I felt anxious. She didn't seem angry, though. "You brought the bomb right to my room. Of course, Andre is even more to blame, trying to bond you to him as he did. I punish him for that. He was pledged to me, even before I brought him over, but he got himself killed for you instead. But your loyalty only waned after he harmed you, and I supposed you thought I ordered it, so that is forgivable."
I wasn't sure what to say about that, so I just nodded, but that didn't make her happy. It was almost like she wanted my approval. OK, this is getting weird, I thought to myself. For the first time, I wondered where I was, and why everyone else here seemed to be... well, dead.
"Your tiger won't be punished for killing him," she added. "Andre committed a blood offense against you, so Quinn had the right to avenge it."
"Thank you," I smiled, and at last she smiled back.
We walked on in companionable silence. At the next gap in the hedge, standing with her arms crossed over her chest, was Lorena. I shrank away from her, suddenly very thankful that Sophie-Anne was between the two of us.
"What's she doing here?" I squeaked.
The Queen laughed lightly. "You know exactly what she's doing here," she told me. "You are the one who sent her here, no?"
I nodded very slightly, because it seemed rude not to answer.
Lorena started moving towards me, but with a look, Sophie-Anne stopped her. We walked past unharmed, Lorena glaring at me. For a long while afterward, I glanced over my shoulder nervously, expecting that Lorena would follow us. If she did, I didn't see her.
We turned off the first path onto another, which led through a rose garden Gran would have loved: it extended as far as I could see, with every kind of rose set amongst low knots of hedging. There were arches decked in big, loose roses; fragrant white roses set on high straight stems bordering the path; low rambling roses growing around their feet; and bushes of every size, shape and color set amongst the plantings. Thinking of Gran made me sad.
"Why isn't she here?" I wondered aloud. "My Gran... she's dead, too."
"Oh, only Supes come here," my unlikely companion told me.
I nodded sadly, hoping that wherever Gran was, the roses were even more beautiful there.
At last, we turned another corner and Sophie-Anne announced, "Here we are."
We were facing a wall. It had one of those weird wooden cut-out things on it, that was meant to look like an archway leading through it, but that was all. I spun around to work out where I was, and too late, I realized I was surrounded by vampires. Clancy. Longshadow. Charles Twining. Sigebert, standing protectively behind Sophie-Anne. Chow.
Chow? I thought to myself. What's he doing here? "It's not my fault," I blurted out to him. "It's not my fault you're here."
He shook his head at me. "You're the one who got us all talking. Vampires don't fight alongside shifters and witches, when you're not around. Without you, it would've been Eric here, not me."
"He will be here soon enough," grinned Sigebert, but in his strong accent it sounded more like, evil be here zoon enuff .
"Don't hurt him!" I begged. "Please, don't-"
"He won't," Sophie-Anne cut me off. "The twins have been waiting for a worthy sparring partner. They're glad to see your Viking again."
"He's coming here?" I asked tearfully. "He's going to-"
"I'm already here, lover," Eric whispered in my ear, his arms wrapping around me from behind.
"We're together again," I smiled, leaning back against him.
"For the moment," he replied, inhaling deeply with his nose in my hair, "but we are almost out of time." Then he turned me to face him. He whispered something in the long-dead language he sometimes spoke when we were intimate, and I just knew he was saying he loved me.
"I love you too," I whispered back.
He kissed me passionately, and I kissed him back with equal fervor. I'd forgotten how great he was at this, and it was wonderful to be reminded. But he broke away from my lips abruptly, his movements suddenly urgent.
"Goodbye, lover," he told me. "Make the most of my gift. I don't want to see you again for a very long time."
"What?" I begged, tears already stinging my eyes. "No, please, don't-"
He silenced me with another kiss, and I gave myself over to it entirely, wrapping my arms around him so he couldn't leave me. But somehow, he still did, slipping through my arms as though he'd melted away.
I was somewhere else now, and it was dark. I was lying on my back, and my limbs felt weird, as though they'd been bent into shapes they wouldn't naturally assume. With a few small, agonizing movements, I straightened them out, and they started to knit back together. Then I was coughing desperately, struggling to bring air into my lungs. My mouth was full of something gritty, something ashy tasting. With effort, I managed to turn my head to the side and cough it all out, stirring up a cloud of dust as I did.
As I spat out the last of the revolting, dirt-like substance, I tasted something else in my mouth; a taste I would recognize anywhere.
Blood.
Eric's blood.
I willed myself to move, and slowly, one of my arms began to respond. I groped blindly, feeling dust and denim and t-shirt fabric, then hair.
Long hair.
"Eric?" I croaked, but my voice wasn't coming out right. My throat hurt, but I couldn't seem to care about that. "Eric?" I repeated.
I tangled my fingers in his hair, but when I tugged on it gently to tell him I was here, it came away in my hand.
I couldn't breath. My heart was like a brick in my chest and my lungs felt so tight they wouldn't move. I willed there to be light, and there was, but I scrunched my eyes closed for a moment, hoping, praying...
Then, slowly, I opened them.
There was dust all around me, and I recognized that dust: vampire dust. My breath came in short, sharp gulps, faster and faster. The dust was partly contained by jeans, boots, a t-shirt... but plenty of people wore clothes like that, I told myself. Women, even, not just men.
But the long, blond hair in my hand... I knew that hair. Knew the feel of it, and the color (so similar to my own)... Eric's hair. The rest was in a pool amongst the dust, above the jeans and t-shirt, and for a moment, I refused to process what I was seeing.
"No," I sobbed. "No-no-no-no-nonono."
I struggled for breath as tears clouded my vision, and then I saw the wooden chair leg piercing the t-shirt. It all clicked together in my mind: Eric was dead. He had died saving my life, giving me blood, bringing me back. His wrist had turned to dust as I sucked on it...
I started screaming, and then abruptly, I was somewhere else again.