Morning rose and, bleary-eyed and long-faced, so did I. My sleep had been anything but sound, punctured by nightmares potent enough to wake me but not enough to remember. The December sun slipped in and out of view as the feathery clouds swayed low in the atmosphere. I watched the swirling heathers of white through my window framed by ice while I dressed. This was definitely a jeans and fuzzy sweater kind of day. Onto the routine.

Riley and Jennings sat at the kitchen table finishing their breakfasts—cereal for the fifteen-year-old and an Irish coffee for the near fifty-year-old, each of us claiming a late start for a different reason. Jennings' mind was a muddle of fading drunkenness and desperate focus not to replay the more sensual moments from last night's—or early this morning's—date. I thanked him for his diligence. I did my best to block him out, as well, and together we managed to preserve his status as a gentleman who doesn't kiss and tell (or show). I didn't have the heart to tell Jennings his perfect date had been one-hundred-percent manufactured. His return to Atlanta today couldn't come fast enough.

Riley was busy messing with her new phone. Her curly, dark hair bobbed with delight as she laughed at some video. Smiling still, she glanced up long enough to wish me good day and inform me that someone had broken the family photo, but she had already cleaned it up. Her focus pinged back to her water screen when, after a mental news flash to Jennings, I told her the truth about her most-prized possession.

"Riley!" Jennings chided loudly, after I'd relayed the most important details of the story. My son instantly regretted his scold, grasping at his hair. "I told you not to open the door for anyone, honey," he added more gingerly.

I looked to Riley. Her face was averted, her shoulders were shaking, and she offered me her phone with trembling voice and hand. "You can give it back to him, Grannie."

"Don't bother, sweetie. He can glamour without even glamouring." The memory of Eric's sapphire eyes dazzling me last night as he held my face rose up, as unannounced as the vampire himself. Jennings threw his puffy eyes my way.

"I would say, so," he muttered, blowing on his spiked coffee.

Riley's strangling hug, effuse with blubbering gratitude, spared me from the need to explain or dissemble. I patted her springy curls and shushed her, tacking on my bad news at the very end: for her own safety, she would need to go home—and take her phone into an Apple store to check for tracking software. I might trust Eric, but that trust had its limits. Disappointed, she nodded, and try as she might to hide it, I easily perceived that the loss of her phone would have been a far worse loss than the curtailment of a holiday break spent at my house.

Jennings and Riley left to their rooms to pack their suitcases—I think they might be in competition for the heaviest packer in our family. I poured myself a cup of too-strong coffee, nibbling on an old biscuit. Riley had propped the family photo against the salt and pepper shakers on the Lazy Susan, I flicked my finger at the wheel, spinning the photo around until the faces smeared into streaks of color, thinking about what I was going to do with one of those blended faces.

"Oh Gracie, whatever should I do with you?"

Preferring to act than to think, I bustled around the house sweeping and vacuuming, retrieving my hothouse, get-well bouquets from the porch (which had remained remarkably lush despite the dawn frost), and making a trip to the shed to inspect the devastation of a were-vampire battle. Everything appeared in order—better than that, the shed hadn't been this clean since before it had been a wood shop. Someone must have been mighty industrious; and that busy bee most likely non-human.

Riley and Jennings were packed and prepped to go by the time I hustled back into the house. A bit of an awkward moment happened on our way to load up the trunk, some of my gardener friends were in the driveway and climbing out of their cars. I had completely spaced sending an email to my club. Ducking my too-young face into the car, Jennings quickly read the situation and took care of it—informing my hoary-haired green thumbs that I had left on a trip to visit his sister Adele. One of my friends shot me a curious glance, but the others were distracted by how well my winter vines were growing and the bounty of my willow trees, as they groaned and settled back into their vehicles.

"You're going to have to pay the piper someday, mom," Jennings said as I revved the engine and pulled out of the drive.

"I will—just need some more credit to work with."

The main rail station, from where Jen would catch a train to the airport, was on the way to the restaurant. Riley was expected to pick up a shift as a busser to help fill the holiday and flu season gaps in employee no-shows. I pulled up to the station curb and hopped out, unloading my son's mammoth roller bag from the trunk. Jennings blew his niece a kiss goodbye and rushed to my side to assist with the kingly cargo.

He slapped his palm on the bag handle, gearing up to tell me something. His thoughts played more clearly now; the fog of his hangover had lifted. He stared at me a moment longer. In his mind, I heard the worry of a much older man and the fears of a child; the fears that monsters are real and come at night. "Mom," he begged, speaking as only one telepath can speak to another, "please take care of yourself. I can't lose you. I simply cannot." He kissed my forehead and I kissed his cheek. My son turned away from me. I had a sudden urge to chase after him, to reassure him that everything was going to be all right, but the rail station doors slid open for him, a car from behind honked its horn, and the opportunity passed. Jennings didn't glance back.

Riley and I drove from the station to the restaurant in a heavy kind of quiet. We parked and I debated for a moment to simply let her leave without going inside, but having said goodbye to Jennings, I wanted to try and patch things up with Neal. Or at least, to find a place to begin to repair the fracturing. I helped Riley carry in her bags and stuff them into the office that I knew so well, always that overflowing rush of remembrance. This would forever be Sam's office to me.

Melly came up to us as Riley and I exited into the narrow hallway. Her thoughts abuzz with anxiety and embarrassment. Those brown eyes, so like her daughters, refused to meet my gaze. Riley quickly hugged me, thanked me, and scurried away toward the kitchen. The young sense a conflict as well as the old. I was not looking for a fight, however; I was looking for peace.

"Let's get this over with Melly," I sighed.

"Neal isn't here." She fiddled with her hands. "He decided to take a trip to see Julianne last night."

"Out of the blue?"

Melly nodded. Neal—my famously rigid Neal? Spontaneity wasn't in his language, let alone his vocabulary. That Neal was on an impromptu road trip to his baby sister.

"He wanted to try and make amends with one of you."

Just then, Grace breezed through the back employee door. She paused when our eyes connected, ready to bolt right back outside, judging from the tenor of her thoughts. Something shifted in her mind, and she shrugged, kissing Melly hello and bestowing me with a brief hug. "No time," she explained, already halfway to the bar. "Need to grab a coke and head back to the grind. It's been crazy at work. By the way, I grabbed my things from your place Gran. Heading home this evening." This entire speech bled together as one messy, run-on sentence. Telepathic or not, it was clear as crystal she was avoiding me.

For now, it was just as well.

After swiping some fries from the kitchen and chowing them down in seconds, I drove home. When I stepped through the back door and closed it, I let out a long, overdue sigh. Alone. I glided my fingers along my walls, over my furniture, the familiar shapes and surfaces known to me since I had moved in with my Gran. It had cradled me during that dark period just after my parent's murders. It would shelter me again. Let those witches do their best work tomorrow night. I would be safe at home.

Tonight I had other plans. Sometime during my restive sleep and murky, menacing dreams, I had determined to return to Alex for some answers. I realized I would likely run into Freyda. Seeing Eric was all but guaranteed. For entirely different reasons, I would rather avoid both the Queen of Oklahoma and her Royal Consort. I assumed Eric had already conveyed to his wife all that I had shared with him last night, and all that had transpired the past two nights—including what new, unpredictable powers I possessed. Powers that could potentially bring down a vampire. That was a fact I must accept. But to accept something for what it was and to like accepting it are not the same thing.

Thinking of seeing Eric—again—stirred up about as many emotions as the oceans had fishes, slick, swerving things of every shape and shade and size. There had been a cosmic shift in our relationship, sensed more than seen, like the movement of the wind. He no longer claimed all the power; I could hurt him. Not that I wanted to—in general. And not really on command—would need to work on that.

Briefly I counted all the times I had "shined." Apart from that day holding Jen's hands, the sensation had grown out of anger. Maybe I could always summon it when vampires were near. Suddenly I smiled, in a not so sweet way.

This was a day of rest. I ate some lunch, uprooted some weeds, and while reading a romance novel dozed off. The orange winter sun rays filtered into the cozy living room to lull me.

And then the damn phone woke me up five minutes later.

"Hello," I croaked.

"Is this Miss Stackhouse?"

I pulled the phone away and glared at it. "No," I said into the speaker.

"This isn't Miss Stackhouse?"

"Cookie what does Eric want?"

"His Excellency needs you to be available tonight, potentially."

"What do you mean like on-call?"

"Yes."

"Ah-uh. Well, as I'm not his employee, I'm going to say, no." He didn't need to know I was planning on visiting his son. I was about to hang up, when I added: "And no more paid escorts for my children—or new phones for my grandkids."

I grinned and looked at my phone. Cookie had already hung up. Again. I threw my phone onto the sofa and watched it bounce off the cushion and onto the floor. After about twenty minutes of tossing and turning on my sofa, I finally fell into that sweet spot again. And then someone rapped on my door.

"For the love of sweet Mother Almighty," I grumbled—spending so much time with my kids who had converted to the Mother Nature religion was starting to rub off. I flung open the door, scowling.

"Catch you at a bad time?"

Instantly my scowl shifted into a shy smile. "What's up, doc?"

Gile laughed, a sound as warm as his thoughts. "Just a friendly house call." His expert, supernatural eyes scanned me. "You look well, or I'd ask if you were suffering any lingering symptoms."

"Fit as a fiddle before a reel." I smiled, the sweet one this time. "You make house calls usually?"

"From time to time."

I waved him in, smoothing my sofa-head as I walked into the living room. I offered him a drink, which he declined. His tread fell soft as feathers behind me. I sat down on the lumpy love seat, and to my surprise, he was still in the entryway, his nose in the air. No wonder his footfalls had been slipper silent.

"Gile?" I asked, moving back towards him. "Something—"

He held up one of his large fingers, and his thoughts blasted loud and clear: "The house reeks of Northman. I guess he's been invited in?"

"It's not what you think."

As always when I answered people's thoughts and not their voices, a red panic flashed temporarily over their minds. This time I had also distracted my were friend enough to pause his smell-fest.

"Sorry, Gile. Normally I tune friends and family out, as a courtesy."

"I don't mind you reading me, Sookie. I don't have anything to hide." He smiled with closed lips. "So what do I think?"

"You think I invited him in. I didn't. He tricked my granddaughter, that's how he got an invite—which I have rescinded."

"That couldn't be," the were said.

"Why?"

Gile inhaled deeply. "Because he's still here."

Wait for it. Wait. The stunned silence ended. "I think there's some misunderstanding," I said. Frustration prickled my fingertips.

"I'm not judging you, but a little forthrightness would be appreciated."

"Gile, Eric is not in this house."

The were lifted his nose in the air again and sniffed. After a few more sniffs, he asked if I minded him investigating. "Go ahead." I opened wide my arms. Gile began rooting around the entry way, the hall, down into the office that used to be my childhood bedroom and later the entrance for the closet vampire hidey-hole. I followed after, arms folded, slowly walking heel to toe. When he opened the closet I told him he was wasting his time, when he removed the suitcases and printer paper that covered the hatch, I told him he was acting mighty strange. I moseyed on over to him, ready to tell him he owed me an apology, when I captured a peek of the inside of the hidey-hole and yelped. Gile dropped to his knees, and reaching into the underground space that these days was used only for decorations, withdrew a crystal decanter full of—

"Blood?"

"Northman's blood," the were said grimly. He saw the disgust on my face, and suddenly chuckled. I couldn't quite take the measure of him just then. Normally he was a loud broadcaster, especially as a were.

"You're acting a little funny, Gile," I confessed. "I know, a ripe thing for me to say, considering what you just uncovered. I swear. I had no idea Eric had done this."

This explained his thirst for TrueBlood last night. When had he ever not made time to feed directly from the corporeal tap? The vampire had obviously drained a pint of himself in my house—considering the decanter was my Gran's finest brandy container. What the ever-loving hell?

Gile carefully put the decanter on the closet floor, stood up, and stepped right in front of me. I could smell a combination of mint, pine and crisp cotton wafting from him, and his were closeness excited me, my body responding to the heat.

"So what do I really owe for the pleasure of your company?" I asked, fanning myself.

The doctor looked down at the warm brown mitts he had for hands. "I am well aware that I've only known you for a short while—and my pops warned me to steer clear, but I came here to see how you were doing, and frankly, needed to know something." Those green pinwheels turned my way. "If you were interested in getting back together with your ex-husband."

Not what I had expected, if I expected anything. "I take it you didn't mean Sam?"

"Right. A crazy thing for me to think, as the husband you lost, is the man you care for. Consider me friend for the foreseeable future, but," he tugged at my hair, "when you're ready, know I'm vying to be at the front of the line."

I mumbled thanks or something, perhaps my relief was apparent. This was a tender conversation for a more tender time. Right now, my blood boiled over, well, blood. Gile fixed back up the closet and brought the decanter into my kitchen, permitting me to stew in silence. He had taken a longer and late lunch to pay this call and couldn't stay. Hesitating, he pecked me on the cheek, his lips hot as summer, and saw himself to the door.

For maybe a half hour, I sat at my table and glared at the decanter of blood. The loudest, most-grossed out part of me yelled to dump the contents down the drain and shout good riddance! There was, however, a calmer part of me that stayed my hand. This, and not my charming self, must be the real reason Eric had expended so much trouble to worm his way into my house. Dump? Keep? Dump? Keep? With too many mysteries and not nearly enough answers, the careful Sookie won out. I placed the decanter back into the hidey-hole—adding one more question to my list.

The violet hues of twilight shortly colored the sky. A quick supper, a quick freshen up and a traffic-lite trip into Shreveport had me pulling into Gile's clinic parking lot with the moon still strung inches above the dark horizon. I checked my face in the rearview before walking into the clinic. Pushing open the doors, Gile was pleasantly the first person I saw, as he was on his way out.

"Sookie," the were exclaimed, "long time no see. What are you doing here?"

"After this afternoon's adventure, I came to see Alex," I said, without a real greeting. Surprise bordered by caution crossed the were's mind. "How's he doing?"

Gile blessed me with his toothy smile. "Doctor-patient confidentially Sookie. I'm sorry I can't say."

"Oh, right. Of course," I backtracked, bouncing on my toes. "Do you know if he's accepting visitors?"

"I reckon for a purdy lady like you," he said in an exaggerated southern drawl, conjuring images of magnolia trees and hoop skirts, his own mind nursing a hope that I had more interest in him than his vampire patient. I wished that it was that way too, but as much as I enjoyed the were, I needed Alex's explanations. I'd rather see him alone first.

"Is Eric here too?"

"Northman and his wife—didn't realize he had one— left here about ten minutes ago, so I'm assuming Alex is up for some company for a short while." Gile's handsome features folded with concern. "Would you like me to stay? He is strapped in, of course—and the night nurse has other vampiric subduing tools."

I'd very much like to see those tools, but instead I assured Gile that I would be fine. If Eric and Freyda had already come and gone, or if they were merely on the cusp of a return, I wanted to take full advantage of their absence. Reluctantly, Gile departed out the doors and I advanced down the hall. I waved at the night nurse, as I drew abreast of Alex's door. A two-inch crack stood between the frame and the knob, and I peeked into the room. The vampire rested in a half upright position, his eyes closed, and the same IVs and tubes shooting out from his person.

"While you don't require an invitation, if it will make you more at ease, I'm happy to extend you one." I tensed at his blandly delivered words, my heart pumping loudly. When I made no reply, he opened his eyes, immediately rolling his strange gaze toward me. The coloring of his whites and irises were the same as yesterday—a pale pink encircling a disco blue.

"I had hoped you would come."

"Why?" I asked, almost as an accusation.

"Because it means you trust me enough to return."

I heard the nurse shuffle some papers on her station counter top and glanced behind me. She hummed show-tunes and smacked her lips with chewing gum. I better pray I could access my powers if need be. Quickly I slid myself through the door and sat down on the chair I had used yesterday evening.

"Do you trust me though, Alex?" I thought of Grace. I wanted answers about her, but I was afraid to ask. My courage failed me when it came to uncovering her truth. I was choosing to uncover my own first. "I told Eric what you'd said."

"Yes, he was displeased with me while he fed me his blood tonight." Alex stared at the ceiling. "I should not have put you in that position. I should not have asked you to lie to my Maker."

"Why did you lie to him?"

"I was trying to protect him. Foolishly I believed that I could protect him. The one good to come of the severing of our bond was my ability to lie to him. I thought that his ignorance would ensure his diminished involvement." Those eyes glowed back at me. "We don't have much time. My Queen and my Maker will come back at any moment."

"Aren't you over keeping secrets?"

"From my Maker—yes."

It was there, hanging in the air. Neither of us needed to voice it. We were of the same mind.

"Why tell me anything?" Why me at all, I wanted to scream.

"Because all our lives depend on it."

"Yeah. You said that yesterday." I rubbed my eyes. "Who are you referring to when you say all?"

"All supernatural creatures."

Okay. No biggie there. Finger on brow, I stared at him like he had gone mad—and maybe he had. His next words sealed the deal.

"I am a genius, Mrs. Merlotte. Not to boast."

I nodded at him, unable to see where he was going. "Kinda picked up on the fact that you're smart."

"In addition to being an incredibly powerful and well-funded witch, the coven leader behind this is as intelligent as I am. Intelligence like ours can be isolating."

Sure. I'd seen Good Will Hunting a million times as a teenager. (Oddly, Alex resembled Will, a blonde, dead version.) I had a more pressing question, "If you know her so well, why can't you expose her?"

Now it was the vampire's turn to look at me like I was mad—or maybe just clueless. "There are more ways to bind one's tongue than to steal one's memories, especially for a witch." Alex continued where he had left off: "The coven leader visited me from time to time during my abduction. Fed me enough to string my life along. She confided in me. Heavy lies the crown and all. I became a kind of sounding board for her. She knew of my specialty as a human and wanted to pick my brain."

"What's your specialty? Or was?"

"Is works. I still conduct research. I am a quantitative super-transpecies geneticist—I study the supernatural genome. I actually met my Master at an academic conference at the University of Oklahoma. I was a keynote speaker, and he was the main donor."

Guess no app was involved.

"So what do a supernatural scientist and a brainiac witch have to talk about?" My question sounded like the opening of a bad joke. Alex answered me without hesitation, his rattling voice a steady hum of tired determination. He was unlike any vampire I had met—unlike any human, too.

"In my research, I hypothesize that all the magic we cannot define or duplicate is nothing more than science we cannot comprehend. It is an issue of semantics. This witch agrees. We as sentient supernatural species share as much in our DNA with each other and with humans as lynxs do with tigers and as tigers do with tabbies. If we could somehow decode our own bodies, we could unlock the mysteries of creation itself—we could connect the genome, between all supernaturals."

I had to work to keep my attention on Alex, despite the fevered glow of his eyes. Academia wasn't really a touchstone for me. But maybe I could try school. I envisioned being surrounded by an unending stream of frat boy brains and let the dream die there. Alex noticed my distraction.

"I am getting ahead of myself." His wrinkled face calmed. "We are multiple scientific discoveries away from even understanding, let alone connecting the requisite dots. This witch believes she has found a short cut. Through magic, à la nature." He chuckled at that, mumbling to my bewilderment, "No pun intended."

"And how do I figure into this?" A swell of trepidation moved over my body, spreading out from my core.

"A valid question." He stopped suddenly—grimacing in agony, balling his fists. The seizure of pain passed. It was the first one he had experienced since I had started talking to him. He closed his eyes for a moment and wheezed on: "You are utterly unique, Mrs. Merlotte. Utterly unique." He examined me with a shadow of pain in his expression, not as a lover but as a scientist. "You are human. You are Fae—now more of each than before—I know the witch is very pleased by your change."

I shivered, the swelling expanding to my limbs. "This witch knows me?"

"She has seen you, and you have seen her." The swelling continued and so did Alex. "You have born the blood children of a pure shifter—the original form of all weres, that much we do know of the genome. All weres descend from true shapeshifters. You are blessed by the blood of a demon."

I frowned at that. The number of people who knew about my relationship with my demon godfather was extremely limited—amid those who still lived, it was entirely a family matter. Alex had paused at my dismayed expression—observant. Too observant. "And of course," he gravelly pressed on, "you were once blood bound to a vampire. Within one individual, you, lies the entire natural and supernatural world of creatures. Your blood is a cocktail of us all. This witch has searched for someone like you her entire life."

I shivered again, the swelling had now liquified into an icy river within my veins. As far from fire as elements exist. Possible terrifying scenarios flickered in my mind, glazed in cheap, kitch, movie tropes: virgin sacrifices in crowded woods (I guess that one was out for me), phantoms rising from their graves, prom queens with spinning heads. Alex stared at me, utterly oblivious to the reality horror show buzzing through my brain.

"What does the Winter Solstice have to do with all this?" I asked tiredly.

"It marks the death of the natural world."

"Clearly, I'm not a genius," I admitted. "I still don't know what any of that means."

"There are things you need to understand, that you must figure out for yourself. I cannot speak of them. But I can say this—whatever is done by magic can be undone by magic, and whatever is broken by magic, can be unbroken."

"Okay," I said. "That sounds mighty logical."

"It is not logic. It is magic. Mrs. Merlotte, you are full of life. Yesterday when I saw you shine—it was as if I was being touched by the very spark that formed the universe." Alex's eyes glinted in the dim light as opal under sunlight. "Light and darkness. Death and creation. Fire and ice."

I waited for more. Nada. Maybe geniuses really did think in a different way, as if the rest of the world spoke pig Latin and they spoke the real deal Latin. Or maybe it was all he could say because he'd been cursed.

"So did you tell Eric all of this? Will you?"

"I haven't even told you all of this."

"I know," I sighed, unsure if I could hear more nonsense about opposites. He was two shades shy of plagiarizing Dr. Seuss.

"You seem to have forgotten what the objective was from the start," Alex inclined his chair, almost leaning forward, "that I was meant to kill you."

I hadn't forgotten. That's not something a person forgets. "Why all the cloak and dagger? If the solstice is so important and if she's such a powerful witch—"

"I was a target as much as you, Mrs. Merlotte."

"You disappeared weeks ago. Sam was weeks ago. So why am I still alive?" I asked, the cold numbness cracking as my fury rose. "And my husband not?"

"That is the most pertinent question you have asked thus far." He drummed his fingers on the arms of his hover-chair, with the same beat as Eric had last night. "Because I wasn't sent to kill you that night. I was sent to kidnap you. Sam got caught up in it instead."

The mounting confusion in me slowed its ascent. Alex had spoken my husband's name. He had not referred to him as shifter, or even Mr. Merlotte. Sam's murderer had allowed him to become a full person, just in speaking his name.

"How did Sam die, then? I thought you had—"

"I said nothing about killing you then. The only reason the attempt was made at that time was because I was in Louisiana. You were always meant to be preserved for the winter solstice."

"So why you?"

"You know why."

"Me." I flipped around and saw the tall silhouette of Eric framed in the doorway. He was not alone. Pam flanked him on one side, and on his other, her pixie blond sister Karin the Slaughterer.

Freyda was no where to be seen. I guess this was a Blondes Only meeting.

Note: Life is speeding up but I know me. If I don't push through and keep feverishly updating, this story will fall by the wayside of other stories. (I write in a different fandom, too.) Answers are a coming, and in one more chapter...the winter solstice. love your thoughts and reviews. Happy Friday!