A/N: Happy Holidays!

Very special thanks to Mrskroy and rachel olsen-williams, who both have put up with me agonizing over this chapter for the better part of two months. Chapter name is an apropos song title and its artist.

"Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years

to understand that this, too, was a gift."

― Mary Oliver

xXxXxXxXx Present Day xXxXxXxXx

Dirt sprayed across the rectangled, oddly boxed in night sky as I struggled to shake the feeling not unlike waking bleary-eyed from a fitful sleep. I blinked, not once but twice, my bespeckled vision refocusing as several repeated images bled back into one another. It was an odd feeling – an off-putting one – and my mind groped haphazardly to place why it very much felt like déjà vu.

Because it is!

My mind screamed at me.

"Thalia!"

I hissed as I attempted to sit up from my horizontal position, finding the task not only difficult, but impossible.

What the hell?!

Each herky-jerky move underneath the heavy bundle I couldn't identify burned like a lit cigarette against my exposed flesh and I stifled the urge to cry out from the sensation. But thankfully I'd endured this sort of pain before, so I tamped it down with relative and unfortunate ease. Plus, I knew exactly where I was – the tree-line familiar and unique – which brought me a calm I couldn't explain, especially since that little tidbit of information didn't help me one lick. Quickly, I stilled, giving up my short-lived labors and letting out an exasperated huff as I finally admitted to myself my efforts were futile.

Did this debacle count as kid gloves for vampires? I really couldn't say.

But it felt like yes considering I was stuck at the bottom of a hole, and at the mercy of a crazed little vampire I didn't altogether trust.

"Thal-ia!"

I screeched again, and this time my voice cracked slightly, betraying how scared I really was – practically frozen by the icy bout of fear slushing torrentially through my veins.

What if it isn't Thalia?

A head suddenly popped into view, questioning brown eyes peering over the slanted edge of what I could only assume was meant to be my grave, bringing me a fleeting bit of relief.

"You wake? Good. Pam attack, Thalia bury 'til safe."

"No!" I shrieked loudly – so much so the echo resounded into the night – my depressive state evident and rich in my tone, "I want to go to Dallas, get all this over with. I can fix everything, if you just let me go to Dallas…"

"No!" she reverberated back in retort, her usually steely expression darkening without the slightest bit of softness – a frightening scowl tangling about her lips and reaching her eyes, "Northman need safe!" Eric, not Ezra; the distinction was not lost on me, "Thalia protect him. Always. One thousand years, you only thing he ask Thalia protect. Not fail now."

I would've been lying if I said her words hadn't excited me to some extent, despite my gloomy state.

But like it'd been every other time in my life, that elation was short-lived.

I'd never been one for small spaces.

Even as a child, they'd terrified me and made me feel trapped and powerless like a caged animal. Henry had thought it funny, often closing me in my closet to punish me for saying this or that, doing this or that – for being a disappointment. He had always laughed while I cried pitifully on the other side of the door and scraped my nails into bloodied nubs as I attempted to claw my way out.

I could hear him laughing now.

His menacing voice taunted me lowly, whispering in my ear.

Sucking in unsteadied breaths, I tried to calm the panic swelling through me, the short bursts of consuming dread threatening to drown me – consume me from the inside out. I felt a familiar tug in my mind and clamped down on the bond I shared with Ezra like a vice grip twisting on a workbench. More fervently than I ever had before. I slammed our connection closed, slipping a figurative deadbolt into place to lock it tight.

I could barely handle my own emotions right now, let alone his.

I needed to suffer through this alone.

What could've been minutes felt like decades and my mind began to run off with me, my imagination controlling every impulse and action. I thrashed again, this time violently, against what I assumed had to be barbed chains – the heavy, cutting objects making escape impossible. My hands twitched, anxious to claw at the pine box – gain my necessary freedom – shaking as much as they had room to when it started to feel like everything was getting smaller, like the walls were closing in.

Was I literally or figuratively losing space?

I really wasn't sure.

What I was getting pretty sure about was that I was going to die in here. My breaths were getting raspier, somehow less productive – and not just at sedating my cracking nerves. My head was starting to feel oddly light, swimming towards faint, like I was being deprived of oxygen – suffocating. But vampires don't need to breathe, I posited, wondering now if I had read those signs all wrong. It wasn't as if anyone had ever confirmed it for me outright. No, that doesn't make sense. Thalia buried me to protect me, not kill me.

But as my vision spotted, I realized it didn't have to make sense.

Because it was happening all the same.

Wheezing uncontrollably, fat tears began to escape my eyes, and my skin felt positively electric. Burning like fire, as if lava was coursing wildly through my veins. I thrashed again underneath the heavy chains that licked like razor blades against my exposed skin, scraping my nails down to the beds as I tried to tear through my wooden confines in one last ditch effort to escape. Pain be damned. Everything was spinning, violently and without measure.

It felt like my body was being engulfed by a white hot light.

Why did that feel familiar?

My mind raced with wishful thoughts about not wanting to be here, everything within me begging to be anywhere else. Dallas, I'd only wanted to go to Dallas – to fix all the bullshit I'd caused. Instead I was in a pine box that was literally my soon-to-be coffin. Everything became a foggy haze as I slipped closer to unconsciousness – or more likely towards the end, as far as I could tell.

I really didn't wanna die this way.

POP!

The noise caused my heart to lurch harshly in my chest before I started gasping and gulping down air by the gallon-full. The wind was suddenly whipping against my uncovered skin as I raked my hands through dank, wet earth. Water was sloshing to and fro maybe only a couple of feet away, birds warbling their sing-song tunes nearby.

I knew inherently I'd found my way back to White Rock Lake – again.

What the… hell!?

The sun shone in my squinting eyes, and I let loose a terrified howl – sending a small team of ducks into flight – scared as all get out that I was about to burn to a crisp. But I didn't. I just felt… warm. I blinked rapidly, still resting squarely on my back – the cool ground kissing against my black lycra zip-jacket and striped capris as I remained bathed in blinding sunlight. My eyes struggled to adjust to the brightness they'd been deprived of for so long. It felt unreal. It was unreal, another dream – it just had to be.

I mean, c'mon, I was an ex-half fairy turned vampire laying in grass staring up at the sun.

What the hell else was I supposed to think?

"AHHHHH! Oh my God! Harold, call 911!"

The panicked female voice grew closer to me with each syllable screamed until she was upon me, shadowing my figure with a deep line crevassed in her forehead – concern.

I peered up at the encroacher, remaining motionless except for my heaving chest.

I figured it'd prolly really freak her out if I wasn't breathing.

I threw my mental shields down instantly, horror gripping me tight as reality came crashing down on me. 'What's this world coming to?!' This was happening. 'Poor thing, she looks like death warmed over!' And was definitely not a dream. '… like that missing chick on the news a couple months ago.' Then I flashed back to my first night as vampire, to Jameson's exclamation about the Berzerker – how lucky Ezra was that I'd been presumed dead. Ironically, they'd hit that nail straight on the head. Even though my mind was racing – with my own thoughts in addition to those from the small crowd now gathering around me – I took a beat to appreciate the slight humor in my situation.

I was glad I'd never really gotten good at the whole being dead thing.

Because now it looked like I was gonna hafta play alive.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

'Poor thing, must've been a captive this whole time… looks like she hasn't seen a drop of sunshine in months. '

Sadly, she was much more right than wrong.

"I do apologize for the wait, Miss Harding. I know you've been through quite the ordeal and we're not trying to make it worse," Officer Totally Sincere soothed with a small earnest smile from behind her neat as a pin desk, fingers clacking away at her keyboard, "It's just that your lawyer gave us very explicit instructions earlier not to take your statement until he was present. His office isn't too far from here; I'm sure he'll be here soon."

I could only assume she was talking about the same lawyer who had managed to threaten the EMTs with a legal suit just seconds before they tried to take my pulse.

Saved from torches and pitchforks by a complete stranger.

Gladys, who was apparently Harold's wife, had insisted she wouldn't let me 'outta her sight' until someone took a good look at me from head-to-toe – despite my many protestations that I was fine. Everything had gone swimmingly at first. What was my name? Sookie Adele Harding. Did I know where I was? White Rock Lake. Each question was answered with relative ease as he flashed lights in my eyes and knocked a hammer-like tool against each knee. But then I saw the blue-gloved, uniformed man pull out a stethoscope, and I had practically filled to the brim with dread.

Because if I let him check me for a heartbeat, he'd quickly realize…

I. Didn't. Have. One.

Suddenly, a garbled, static-laced sound had screeched hurriedly through the CB radio. Panic had been rich in the speaker's tone, and the words just as urgent, if not bordering on frenzied. The guy had turned almost as pale as me before he jumped back and away like I'd burned him. He hadn't come within even a foot of me after that. I'd have been offended if I hadn't been so damn grateful.

The police had shown up about twelve minutes later to cart me away to the station.

So I could sit and wait with Officer Totally Sincere.

The moniker wasn't meant to be disrespectful. She was a nice enough lady. Full of smiles and twinkling, sympathy-filled eyes. But her name had escaped my attention at our introduction, and her name badge was now inconveniently tucked behind her long auburn hair. Which she had swept across her shoulders after pulling it down from a ponytail at my entrance. Covering her neck almost protectively like somehow she knew.

I mentally kicked at myself for reaching a whole new level of paranoia I'd never experienced before – of course, she didn't know I was a vampire!

Believe me, I would've been able to tell.

'Such a shame she couldn't keep down that glass of water. Must be so anxious and scared. God only knows how she escaped the Berzerker...'

Her thoughts were loud – almost abrasively so – and devoid of anything even remotely relating to the "V" word. If anything, her cheeriness mixed with concerned ramblings were giving me a headache I didn't know I was capable of getting. Could vampires take Excedrin? Only time would tell, having accepted two proffered pills only moments earlier. But I could say with certainty she didn't have a mean bone in her body or wish me one bit of harm, even if it couldn't be said of all the other boys in blue.

One in particular had been giving me the narrow, side-eye paired with a fresh scowl from across the precinct ever since I'd walked in.

Detective Jackass – apparently known to the rest of the world as Jax.

'What's Jax's problem? Why won't he stop glaring at her? She's a victim in all this…'

Clearly, he was not destined to become my biggest fan. Ditto, buddy. Because I most definitely wasn't going to be his either. I knew I should maybe care about his open display of suspicion – especially given the circumstances. But I'd never given two winks about anyone's opinions before, so I found it senseless to start now. A lifetime of uncaged Henry hate had left me with a skin thick as a rhino's, which was – at times like this – something I was begrudgingly grateful to have.

So even though Detective Jackass was obviously trying to distress me – to make me squirm nervously in my plastic-coated seat – it wasn't working, not one damn bit.

But it was impossible not to appraise him, even under the watch of his penetrating hazel eyes.

Not at all titanish and looming like Eric, Detective Jackass was chin-tuck-hug-tall in a way that demanded presence without appearing the slightest bit unapproachable. He was muscled like he routinely hit up the gym, but not so cut that he looked like he lived there. Mid-twenties at most, his face had an undeniably boyish charm to it despite its chiseled angles and his possibly permanently stern expression.

Admittedly, he was quite the mainstream hottie, a very handsome physical specimen, but he just didn't do it for me – glaring asshole or not.

Truthfully, only one man really did, one that was taken – one I couldn't ever have.

Guilt bubbled painfully in my gut as I remembered exactly why Thalia had buried me in the first place. I tried not to ascribe too much weight to her words, but she used them so rarely, which made them impossible to ignore. According to the little vampire, Eric had wanted to keep me safe. Not treat me with kid gloves, not placate me to appease Ezra. Heneeded me safe. Needed me. Me. Of course, in true Addy form I'd gone and done the exact opposite – almost died of asphyxiation – and then inadvertently exposed myself to potential dangers I couldn't even pretend to comprehend.

Well, what else did you expect? You never do anything right – Henry's voice chided in my head.

I hated that he really wasn't ever wrong.

"Oh hon, here he is!" Who? Henry? Impossible. "Your lawyer, I mean."

Officer Totally Sincere enthused, clapping her hands together in an emotive show of happiness – yanking me away from my depressive thoughts – responding like an infant child who was just shown her icing-covered birthday cake.

I snapped my gaze away from Detective Jackass and over to the door. In the jamb stood a portly, salt-and-peppered haired man with a tight smile that made me somewhat uneasy. Wary. Mentally, I strained to find his thoughts, but Officer Totally Sincere's were just too loud to filter out. Aggravated, I rubbed at the phantom pain that shot through my temple – the sensation hitting in tandem with his judging gaze. Confidently adjusting the cuffs of his wool suit jacket, he looked me up and down like he was trying to discern if I was truly worth all of the trouble he'd already gone to.

From his unflinchingly vacant expression, I would've bet good money he'd decided NOPE.

But again, as always, I would've been wrong.

"If ANYONE has tried to interrogate or question this girl, there will be hell to pay!"

Right then, I could've been knocked over with a feather.

I didn't know who this guy was, but he'd gained a little bit of my trust in that moment – not much but an iota, for sure.

"N-no," Officer Totally Sincere stuttered apologetically, obviously surprised by his abrupt almost accusatory statement, "S-she's been left alone. I-I've been watching over her d-diligently."

I glanced a second look in his direction, after briefly swinging it over to Officer Totally Sincere, inexplicably worried about her sudden change in demeanor – her insecurities abundant in her stammering speech and wavering, hesitant tone. He looked naggingly familiar, and I knew I'd seen him before. But I couldn't place where or when – or why. It wasn't like anyone in the Harding clan had ever used a lawyer before.

Publicly, Henry was as squeaky clean as they came, keeping his nose outta anything that even smelled a whiff like trouble.

Privately, the same could not be said.

"I brought you a music player, Miss Harding," the still unidentified lawyer man said, his hand outstretched and offering me a Walkman that looked suspiciously like the one I'd owned when I'd been alive, "I thought you might appreciate a bit of normalcy during these turbulent times."

Hesitantly, I snapped my blue eyes to his dark grays, searching for his inner voicings. I came up frustratingly short. It was as if I was kicking against a brick wall – definitely blocked from getting in. It unnerved me, more than I was comfortable with, which quickly sent me into a tailspin. Flashes of the silent-minded, murderous fairy man infiltrated my thoughts, followed closely by memories of the aftermath – like a movie reel playing on flash forward. It jolted to an abrupt stop as the image of my recent burial site exploded into my mind – the one I'd popped out of.

I couldn't help but remember the first time I'd wielded magics like that – Ginny – or the terrifyingly tragic events by the shores of White Rock Lake that preceded it.

The fairy man had also initially pretended to be more friend than foe.

I shakily accepted the proffered player without uttering a single word of gratitude – consuming fear having replaced my usually Pavlovian urge to extend polite courtesies.

'Miss Harding, I will not let them find you," a gravelly, but tender voice uttered, unexpectedly infiltrating my mind, 'I will ensure at all costs that you are protected from any harm, and safe from the Fae.'

Almost involuntarily, I released out an audible sigh of relief, allowing my hackles to slip down as I threw my mental shields up high – like skyscraper high.

Holy shit, my so-called lawyer was also a freaking telepath!

I, for one, had not seen that coming.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"She is vampire and that is that, my ass…"

The short, elvish-looking doctor grumbled in a mocking tone as she poked and prodded at me without mercy like I was merely a walking-talking pin cushion.

She hadn't even bothered to introduce herself first.

Rude.

My demon lawyer, Mr. "Please call me Desmond" Cataliades, had excused himself a few minutes after we arrived here to place a business call, directing the little supernatural doctor to tread lightly in his absence. Apparently her definition of lightly was much different from mine – if her unrelentingly, surprisingly painful ministrations were any indication. In fact, I was beginning to think she was testing the limits of my patience – and stoicism – intentionally.

"Ouch!"

I exclaimed as she stuck me for what felt like the hundredth time in her quest to find a vein.

Seriously, was she even really a doctor?!

"You know, your pain tolerance is exceptionally high, girlie. Even for a vampire. Well… a partial one, I should say."

A lifetime of conditioning.

I thought darkly to myself, shrugging instead in response to the woman's words – from what I'd seen so far, the title of doctor didn't fit.

With a sudden and newfound ease, she successfully stabbed the needle into the crook of my elbow, attaching a small vessel to other side to collect some of my blood.

So she had been purposefully fucking with me.

What a jerk.

"Part-vampire?"

I asked with more than a hint of feigned incredulity in my voice, etching a deep furrow in my brow in an effort to uphold the pretense I wasn't exactly buying what she was selling.

Even though the answer was abundantly, almost perfectly clear.

Of course, I wasn't fully, 100% vampire.

"Tell me, Sookie…"

"Addy," I interrupted instantly, more than a bit annoyed she'd avoided answering my question, "I prefer to be called Addy."

"Tell me, Addy," she amended, pulling her circle-lensed glasses off her nose to wipe at nonexistent smudges, "When was the last time you had a live donor?"

A… what now?

"A what?"

I replied blankly, repeating my own thoughts as true confusion swept across my normally controlled expression.

What the hell was a live donor?

After sliding her spectacles back into place, the little doctor removed the needle from my arm, pressing a small ball of cotton against the small wound as it closed. Satisfied I'd healed, she swabbed the spot clean, completely ignoring my gaping expression. She snapped off her rubber gloves – first one and then the other – moving away to discard everything into a trash can marked for medical waste. After closing the red-colored lid, she turned back towards me and continued her strange inquisition.

"When was the last time you fed from a human being?"

Okay, so live donor equaled human; that made sense.

But also… gross!

"Never!" I exclaimed with disgust, crinkling my nose like I'd be assaulted by a noxious smell to punctuate the depth of my distaste for the idea, "I don't really get very hungry anyways, but I don't think I could handle biting someone. I was bitten once..."

"Twice," she corrected me, illustrating herself by holding up two fingers. The middle, then the pointer each curled down as she expounded on her statement, "Once when Northman tried to turn you and again when Godric succeeded."

Had there been any color in my face, surely it would have drained right out.

"But my blood is poisonous…"

I whispered not so much to the nosy doctor, but to myself, shocked to think I'd prolly done to Ezra what Pam had said I'd done to Eric – almost killed him, and he'd never even mentioned it.

All the anger I'd held for Ezra melted away in that instant.

I bit back the urge to cry as shame threatened to envelope me, wrap me up, and swallow me whole.

"Was."

The doctor woman retorted, offering me no context to chew on, which simultaneously vaulted me out of my spiraling descent towards depression and back into the present.

"Was poisonous."

She expounded as she shook a clear vial that held my blood now mixed with an unknown liquid, clearly amused by my unmasked scowl.

She was really starting to piss me off.

Usually it took so much more than this to push my buttons, but I was exhausted – usually during this time of day I'd be dead to the world, sleeping.

"Not IS. Was. Ugh! We have gotten off track…"

"Yes, a twig and some ash… Yes, then rebury everything…" Mr. Cataliades confirmed to whoever was on the other side of the phone as he waltzed back into the white-walled room with a pleased smirk grabbing at his otherwise hard expression, "That should do it for now… Yes, this must be completed before nightfall… Yes, and call me once you have finished… Thank you. Goodbye."

He flipped the device closed and quickly stowed it in his pocket, striding across the small room to take the chair placed next to the exam table I was sitting on.

Once Mr. Cataliades and I had left the police station, I'd remembered exactly where I knew him from.

He was the man on the plane who'd shown me kindness, only hours before I'd died.

"Doctor Ludwig," so she did have a name – I had been starting to doubt it, "how is she?"

Numb mostly.

But in fairness, I was having a crazy-ass day.

"Physically?" Ludwig asked plainly, enunciating each syllable – but not slowly – earning a small nod of his head, "She is fascinating…" The awe in her tone could not be ignored, but I hated it all the same – I was a person, not a case study, "She is dead mostly, but also alive in some respects, AND she has restraint comparable to a being thousands upon thousands of years old. Honestly, I've never seen, or even heard of, anyone quite like her."

"But you said you had unearthed a long-buried case concerning another hybrid!"

Mr. Cataliades clipped out sharply, irritation rife in his tone, as he stood up with his arms aggressively crossed against his chest and tapped his wing-tipped shoe expectantly against the linoleum tiled floor.

Another hybrid… wait, there was someone else out there like me?

Suddenly, I was nothing but ears, leaning forward as if I might miss something otherwise – curious and alert as all get out to learn more.

"The police will expect you to give a statement – about where you have been and what happened to you during the time you were missing."

Mr. Cataliades explained calmly, his cool demeanor belied only by his white-knuckled grip on the jet-black leather steering wheel of his midnight blue Cadillac sedan.

I stifled the urge to yawn in response.

I'd managed to sleep through the night, but this whole "being awake during the day" thing was obviously taking its toll on me – taxing to say the least.

I hoped it'd become less so with time.

"The humans," he continued, having previously elaborated on the invisible line drawn between the human and supernatural world, "have been led to believe a serial killer called the Berzerker is to blame. The evidence they have accumulated against him is irrefutable, iron-clad – the bloody shirt all but clinched it. The entire cover-up was actually quite easy to orchestrate… for once."

Eric's cornflower blue shirt.

The one that I took out of the hospital trash can and shoved under my mattress.

I thumbed absentmindedly at the bottom of my light grey tank top, drinking in his words as they washed over me – lie; he was asking me to flat-out lie.

And for some reason, it was bothering me – more than I would've ever expected.

I didn't know why.

I lied all the time, before I'd died as well as after. As naturally as breathing. Without a second thought, or a backwards glance. It'd never been something that tugged hard at my guilt strings, but now… now I felt like it was shifty and wrong, like I'd be taking it all one step too far.

Did I not deserve to be punished for my crimes?

For killing Ginny?

"No," Mr. Cataliades answered sternly, giving voice to my unasked questions without glancing even momentarily in my direction – he was driving, after all, "You should not be punished under the humans' notion of the law," he paused, pinching his nose in consternation, "But do not mistake this pretense for absolution or an official pardon, Miss Harding – you will have a court to answer to. Just not this one."

He'd been doing a lot of mind-slipping during the past twenty-four hours.

The tables had really been flipped on me, and I didn't like it one bit.

"If you would be more honest and open, as I have been, I would not be so intrusive."

He explained after unapologetically committing the same infraction once again, invading my thoughts without even a fleeting one of his own available to me, like a vault locked up tight – like I'd always been.

I felt like an enormous hypocrite.

But surprisingly, I was okay with that revelation.

"Surely, you can see the futility in any efforts to be this secretive, Miss Harding," Mr. Cataliades gritted out exasperatedly, huffing out a small but emotion-filled breath as he flipped on the car's blinker and took a right turn, "Please. Talk. To. Me."

"I don't know what to say."

I shrugged, curling my jeaned legs up in the seat and into my chest, wrapping my arms around my knees almost protectively.

And I really didn't.

Unlike Dr. Ludwig's annoyingly unilluminating theories about hybrids, Mr. Cataliades – who apparently was my grandfather's demonic best friend, and my godfather – had been a veritable fountain of information, sharing everything he knew with me this morning. A brief history of my Fae ancestry. The origin of my apparently demonic gift. Why I'd been put up for adoption, and how he'd found me so quickly after I'd popped into the sun. Police scanners, infinitely useful for lawyers – even those of his caliber apparently. He'd been an open book, and I'd listened with rapt attention. Once he'd finished, I was speechless, barely unable to form coherent thoughts – let alone questions or words.

It'd all been incredibly overwhelming.

Expectedly so.

Not just because of the subject matter, but because no one had ever been so forthcoming with me. I'd almost always had to use the gift of my telepathy to get to the bottom of things. It'd become almost a crutch, the thing I leaned on to tell me what was truth and what was lies – especially those of omission.

Because everyone lied.

Everyone hid things deep inside themselves like me.

"You are correct, Miss Harding," Mr. Cataliades mused, breaking me from my internal ramblings just as he began to look back to reverse into a parking spot – our destination apparently upon us, "People do not disclose their personal histories with everyone they meet. Nor should they. Trust should not be freely given. But what I want you to consider is why you choose not to give it to anyone, including those who desperately try to earn it. Why you are actively choosing to suffer alone."

Huh, I had never thought about it that way, which in turn gave me a great measure of pause.

Once again, Mr. Cataliades had rendered me speechless.

"And please, Miss Harding, call me Desmond."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"You're free to go, Miss Harding."

The words of the Dallas supernatural council – which was apparently a thing, despite how ludicrous it had sounded to me at first blush – echoed on repeat in my mind as I pulled out all of the necessary ingredients from the fridge.

Everything in the past couple of weeks had been so surreal, like I'd been living in a fever dream.

That moment had simply been more of the same.

After my meeting with the human authorities, Desmond's hand clutched tightly in mine – a surprisingly grounding experience – he'd driven us back to his home, insisting I stay with him until everything calmed down. Truthfully, I didn't know where else I could've gone anyways. I had no idea how to contact Ezra, and the door connecting us in my head was still irritatingly wedged shut. I considered hot-footing it back to Louisiana – or trying that popping thing again, maybe – because Eric could definitely help me find him. But from what Desmond had said I couldn't exactly disappear right away without causing a stir.

So until things cooled off I was stuck playing human.

It hadn't really been a heavy lift.

"You're free to go, Miss Harding."

I cracked an egg against a small gray ceramic bowl, discarding the shell into the sink after emptying its contents. Whisking the whites and yolks with a bit of milk, I mused back on the meeting, guilt roiling in my gut as memories swarmed my thoughts. I'd thought that I deserved to pay for my crimes, for killing my sister Ginny. But apparently everyone else had a different take on what'd happened.

Even Detective Ryan Jax, who – by his own admission – had originally been squared against me.

We were friends now, but he'd still started out as a jackass.

"But I did it!" I'd screamed, bloody tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as Desmond deliberately squeezed my hand, asking me not to continue– I ignored his silent plea, "I killed my sister." Ginny. "It's my fault! I should be in trouble! It's all my fault!"

I hadn't wanted any absolution.

So I'd opted for a "self-preservation be damned" approach instead.

"I am sorry that you feel that way, Miss Harding," Detective Jax had responded gently, his expression softening exponentially as he offered me a pitying smile, "but from even your own accounts, this tragedy was unavoidable – inevitable, in fact. There was nothing you could've done."

Nothing I could've done.

Gosh, how I'd wanted to believe that.

"Nothing? You're sure?"

I'd squeaked out, suddenly feeling small but also the tiniest bit hopeful – all but itching in the moment to slough off the guilt blanket that had been wrapped around me so tightly for so long.

"Miss Harding, unless you stabbed yourself in New Orleans, which was the catalyzing event that set this whole thing into motion, you are not to blame. Even if your fairy powers had not been ignited, your adoptive father still would've snapped. If anything, you are very lucky to be alive. Thank the Gods, your vampire brother was there to give you blood. Otherwise, you would certainly be dead – truly dead – as well."

I couldn't argue with that sort of logic – Henry had always been a powder keg ready to explode.

So I guess I really did need to thank God for Eric.

Words I'd never expected to say.

"You know you cannot eat that, Miss Harding," Desmond chided me lightly, dragging me back into the here and now, as he stepped from the living room into his kitchen space, a cold cup of coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other, "Like your other attempts, it will go to waste."

I frowned slightly, stilling the whisk in the bowl. I hated to throw out perfectly good food, but I'd been desperately needing the calm that cooking seemed to bring me.

"I dunno. Maybe the good detective will eat them…"

"Your cooking, kid? Not likely," Jax interrupted playfully, nodding his good morning to Desmond as he entered through the house's back door – using the key he'd been given – before reaching out to muss up my loose tresses, "Last time, your eggs were so overcooked it felt like I was chewing on a rubberband…"

"But a yummy-tasting rubberband, right?"

I razzed him back with an overdramatic eye roll, flinging a bit of the whisked mixture at him after he poked me puckishly in the side.

Desmond loudly tsked in mock disapproval, not-so-secretly pleased at our display – his now-open thoughts signaling how happy it made him to see me at ease.

Smiling like I wasn't just a dead girl walking around and playing alive – like I'd almost forgotten that fact.

It was amazing how much had changed after just a few short weeks.

The Dallas supernatural council had agreed that the details of my specific brand of otherness should be kept under wraps. She can't just disappear again without rousing suspicion.So until I went back to the night – where vampires did their own thing, society-wise… surprise surprise – Detective Jax was on sabbatical leave, acting as my protective detail so the council could keep eyes on me, while Desmond had been appointed as my temporary legal guardian. I'd been all but ordered to stick around for the next month and change – until I turned eighteen in late June.

Did vampires even celebrate birthdays?

I guessed, like so many other things, I was going to find out the hard way.

"Okay, but seriously…"

I feigned stubbornness, pouring the eggy mixture into the already hot pan before placing my hands on my fuzzy pajama-covered hips and glaring with all my might first at Jax, then Desmond – earning a booming laugh in response from both men.

"Which one of you is going to risk life and limb…" I paused for dramatic effect, making a show of ignoring the now bubbling heap of yellow goo, "to taste-test these damn eggs?"

"Have you ever manipulated my emotions?"

I asked Jax pointedly, curious to learn not only more about his gift, but if he'd been the actual cause of my carefree attitude as of late.

Fingers-crossed, I hoped he wasn't.

Being content for once was nice – different.

Desmond had left for work shortly after almost choking on some unfortunately inedible eggs, leaving Jax and I with the house to ourselves. Having no desire to traipse around town, just like I hadn't most other days – fearful of becoming too well known – had left us here, in Desmond's theatre room sprawled out on his black leather sectional couch. The television was on, some talk show flashing between camera views in the background, but the volume low enough to be considered on mute.

I'd decided this otherwise boring moment, brought to us by daytime TV, could be used to chat about something I had a particular interest in.

Like how far-reaching Jax's empathic powers really were.

"I've tried," He admitted honestly with a shrug, not ashamed to own up to it, "But despite being easy to read, you're tough to influence, kid. I'm betting it's that hard head of yours."

He gently knocked on the top of my noggin, clucking with his tongue to imitate the sound of struck wood, trying to prove his point.

I couldn't help but think it prolly had more to do with my securely built telepathic shields, reinforced more recently by the drills Desmond had been putting me through, but I held my tongue.

Jax didn't know, on top of everything else, I'd also been blessed with the gift of reading minds.

In fact, since losing my family, no one other than Desmond did.

My godfather and I had agreed – without even the pretense of debate between us – that it'd be best to play that particular card close to the vest, especially during the council proceedings. He'd been quick to explain that supernaturals, much like human beings, were mighty touchy – vampires especially – about having their private thoughts invaded. Even though I'd normally consider what he'd said to be a broad stroke assumption, unfair to apply to a whole population, I didn't even bother to argue with him.

Because it made perfect sense, since I really hated being listened in on, too.

I relied on that particular power less and less each day – it just seemed like the right thing to do.

"Orrrrrr…"

I elongated the word like it was saltwater taffy, veritably pulling it apart in the air with my fingers.

"Maaayyybbbee… you're just not very good at it."

"Better watch that smart mouth of yours, kid," Jax teased with an impish glean in his hazel eyes, tickling at the soles of my bare feet – making me jerk my legs back as I burst out laughing, "My dad may have been human, but my mom was a succ-u-bus," I rolled my eyes, pretending to be unimpressed by his over-annunciation, "Us cambion demons knowhow to throw down."

Bring. It. On.

I thought challengingly as I willed my feelings to mirror the same.

Without warning, a plush cushion came flying at my face, and I blurred off the couch to avoid the soft blow. Jax's Cheshire cat smile was a mile wide as he grabbed another pillow and flung it at my form. I caught it with ease, returning the throw at vamp speed – hitting him dead center in the chest. Thank goodness, he's supernaturally strong, too. Then he fell back onto the sofa in mock defeat, feigning grievous injury as I giggled with unbridled delight.

I still wasn't sure if he'd been entirely truthful about not being able to affect my emotions.

But being happy felt so good, I couldn't have cared less either way.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Is it okay if I use the account to buy some more music?"

I inquired curiously as I reached into the fridge to grab a bag of my red liquid dinner – finding myself a little peckish for the first time in days.

I rarely ate every day, which I'd been told by Dr. Ludwig was weird for a vampire my age.

Normally, it took a couple of millennia to learn that kind of appetite control.

"Miss Harding, as I have told you time and time again, that money is yours, and yours alone," Desmond reminded me gently – knowing I'd never fully accepted it as my own – before continuing, "You do not need my permission to spend it. I know it made you uncomfortable, accepting the life insurance payout at all, but I wish you would see it like I do – as a form of restitution for what your adopted father did to you," I winced and began to rub absentmindedly at my clothed arms – so he back-tracked, "Legally, that money belonged to you, so now it is yours."

He'd explained it this way before, when he'd asked me to sign the necessary documents to help expedite the settlement process.

I hadn't agreed with the logic a month ago any more than I did now.

"I don't want freakin' blood money..."

I grumbled to myself resignedly, letting my utterance descrescendo into a whisper as I wiped off the corners of my mouth and placed the half-full container back on the top shelf of the fridge.

Thinking of Henry always made me feel sick to my stomach.

Maybe that would never change.

"Addy…"

Desmond chided warningly, casting me a parental-looking glare, his thoughts awash with a mix of disgust and sadness – vehemently disagreeing with my chosen turn of phrase.

"Ready for our run, kid?"

Oh my gosh, he had such perfect timing.

Saved by the Jax.

'We will continue this later, Miss Harding.'

"Yep."

I answered the both of them, adding a little cheekiness by popping the 'p' for effect as I mentally shoved Desmond hard enough to force him out of my mind – a little trick I'd gotten quite good at.

Of course, the demon lawyer wanted to finish pleading his case.

He always did.

"Brought you something, kid. Sorta like an early birthday present."

Jax declared as we jogged down the cemented path around White Rock Lake, holding out his two closed hands awkwardly towards me – one of which was curled around the something.

I eyed both carefully, avoiding the temptation to ruin the surprise – especially since he was so excited about it that he was giving me my gift two weeks early – by mind-slipping on him.

Apart from Desmond, I tried hard not to listen in on anyone anymore.

"Ummmm… this one."

I selected, tapping his left hand to emphasize my choice, which opened face-up to reveal his empty palm.

Damn.

His other hand unfisted, and I spied an object that while beautifully crafted – obviously handmade – was completely foreign to me. I was stumped as all get out – what the hell was it? But I was also incredibly interested in the intricate circled arc-like moon and star pattern carved into the bottom.

A unique blend of day and night – like me.

I loved it.

Jax slowed to a walk and started to tease me a little, obviously using his empathic powers to pick up on my otherwise expertly hidden confusion.

"It's a wax seal stamp, silly! Don't even try to tell me you've never sent someone snail mail. I'm not that much older than you!"

"Who the hell am I gonna write, Jax?" I laughed, taking the item and admiring it, trailing my finger over each indention, "I barely know like five people, let alone where any of them live."

My mind filled with thoughts of Ezra, followed closely by that stupid freaking door.

I'd been wrenching at it off and on for weeks to no avail.

Jax sighed, raking his hand through his short auburn hair, hazel eyes glistening and serious, as his expression morphed into one of heartrending sadness.

"Well, kid, I was hoping you'd write to me… you know, once this whole bodyguard thing is over."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"It was never my aim to cause harm."

As I stomped towards him, each pounding step sending tremors through the living room's wooden floors, I snorted my derision at his pathetic attempts to placate me.

Suuurrre, it wasn't your intention.

Asshole.

"You keep saying that like it makes everything all better! I swear, this is EXACTLY why they say the road to hell is paved with good intentions! BECAUSE IT IS!"

If I could've screamed any louder, I would have.

As it was, my vocal cords were aching, on fire from overuse as liquefied rage snaked wildly through my veins – the morning sun's heavy glare doing the opposite of bringing me calm.

It'd been roughly five weeks since Thalia chained and buried me in the swamps of Louisiana. Thirty-seven days and around eleven hours, to be a little more precise – although I hadn't been actively keeping track of the minutes or seconds. No, I'd been too happy, and too distracted to focus so intently on how much time had passed, but it mattered now. More than anything else in the whole freaking world.

Because that was exactly long Ezra had been suffering.

How long he must've believed I was truly dead.

I could've kicked myself for being so stupid, for trusting Desmond every time he told me he hadn't been able to locate Ezra, or convinced me not to go off looking on my own. For believing him when he'd said that vampires were so tight-lipped – a trait I'd unfortunately witnessed firsthand – that hunting down my maker would be akin to trying to locate someone who was in witness protection. For buying his whole bullshit "but I will not stop until we find him" spiel hook, line, and sinker.

That fucking liar.

I didn't really curse much, having been taught a distaste for it while growing up.

But some fucking situations – like this one – practically demanded the use of expletives, as far as I was concerned. I was fuming, almost literally seeing red – my fangs on display and my fingers curled into claws almost outside my own volition. Never in my life had I let fury overtake me – the emotion was foreign and new. I felt possessed, like a wildly angrier version of myself had pushed my more rational self aside and stepped in to all but breathe fire at the irritatingly apologetic-looking demon standing before me.

The same one who'd sheepishly admitted to staging my previous coffin to look like a supernatural crime scene after I'd accused him of lying about Ezra.

After Jax had managed to track down my reportedly mourning maker with relative ease.

Another pre-birthday surprise.

"Confessing your sins because you got caught red-handed doesn't count as being honest!" I snarled at a deafening volume, repeating words I had yelled at him earlier as the memory swept through my mind, "When were you going to fucking tell me?!"

His pitiful, ashamed expression told me everything.

The answer was never.

"In my defense, I had no idea your maker could not feel you..." Desmond mumbled unrepentantly, turning my crimson-tinged vision opaque, testing the tenuous limits of my present control – how DARE he imply this clusterfuck was MY fault, "That is not normal, not usually how it works…"

I lunged at him then, something violent and almost beastly inside me howling for his blood.

Taking charge of me, life and limb, splintering my mind into sharp pieces.

Sometimes – it was hard to describe clearly – the world decelerated from its usual pace, veritably screeching to an uneasy halt. Perhaps from spinning too fast. It mimicked what I'd seen over a thousand times in movies while the main character watched the scene unfold in slow-mo.

This was one of those moments for me.

Thankfully.

I caught myself in mid-air as a buzzing sound vibrated through me. It shot from my head to my toes, dousing me like a cold-water bath. It grabbed me, extinguishing the licking flames, pulling me back from the brink of what was surely about to become destruction. I backed away from Desmond – hands thrown up to deter him from any advancements, choking on air and shaking not from rage, but shock.

Ezra.

The door had been blown wide open, and I could feel him again.

"Shit, kid. God, this is all my fault. I'm so sorry. I was just trying to do something nice for you…"

I cut off Jax's rambling, but genuinely sincere, apology by placing my hand on his trembling one, hoping he'd understand I didn't blame him in the slightest for Desmond's trespasses.

If anything, he'd done me a great service.

The best thing possible really.

"You're helping me get my maker back," I smiled at him, lifting from my seated position to find my feet – discarding the coffee I'd been pretending to drink in the nearest bin, "You can't even imagine how much that means to me…"

Letting go of my misdirected anger against Ezra had been easy once I'd started to forgive myself for what happened to Ginny.

I was beyond excited to see him, to be with my best friend again.

I'd left Desmond's after packing up the few things I'd acquired during my time in the sun. He'd brooked no argument, aware anything he said would definitely fall on deaf ears. I'd called Jax, who had met me at the backdoor, and – even though its weight had posed no difficulties for me – instantly shouldered the bag I'd been carrying.

Emotionally, he'd done much the same.

Everything was always easier with Jax around.

"So… what's the plan?"

Jax asked me curiously, head cocked to the side, as we moved towards the coffee shop's exit – the door jingling when pushed open.

I couldn't help it, my grin was wide and wicked.

"Well… first," I explained, as I pulled myself up into the passenger side of his black SUV, "we're going to need to purchase some letter-sealing wax and notecards."

Yes, I had all intents to actually spend the night with Ezra once the sun went down.

But I also needed to pop over to the Area Five Court to deliver a letter.

"You're nervous, kid."

Jax stated plainly, taking my hand into his and squeezing it gently as we sat next to Ginny's grave hours later waiting for the sun to set.

I'd considered going to the address Jax had unearthed, but decided against it when he admitted it was most likely the location of the Area Court – a fact that gave me pause. King Jameson. Was that threat truly gone? I'd hoped so, given how much time had passed. But I didn't know, and I really didn't want to find out the hard way that it wasn't.

"Ezra and I didn't exactly part on good terms. The last things I said to him were awful."

I explained guiltily, aware that I'd barely summed up the issues that had existed between me and my maker.

That I'd only touched the tip of the iceberg.

We'd had so many secrets and lies of omission between us – how were we supposed to overcome that?

"From everything you've told me," Jax soothed confidently – which really had been just about everything, "Your maker cares very deeply for you. You've got nothing to worry about."

Another light squeeze, this time accompanied by a small smile.

"I hope you're right."

I professed quietly, as my anxieties ratcheted up – the sun beginning to dip below the horizon – and threw my mental shields down to let the connection I shared with Ezra swamp into my mind.

I'd only blocked him out – with great care in an effort to avoid past mistakes – to save him any wall-crawling moments in case he happened to wake before twilight.

According to Jax, Godric – my Ezra – was over two thousand years old – so that was apparently a real possibility.

There was still so much I needed to learn about him.

"I know I'm right, kid. Trust me," squeeze – then he winked impishly, earning a double eye roll from me, "I've got a seventh sense for these kinds of things."

"Oh, a seventh sense?"

I taunted back playfully as darkness descended around us – the stars coming out to play and twinkle in the midnight blue sky.

It'd been so long since I'd been out at night I'd almost forgotten how beautiful it was.

"He's coming."

I whispered ominously, as I felt Ezra quickly closing the distance between us after tugging at our tie – surprise, hurt, shock, and elation traveling across it without measure.

Not minutes later, he landed with a resounding boom in front of us.

He'd obviously flown here, risked exposure to get to me.

"Sookie," Ezra breathed out like my name was a solemn prayer, his expression a mix of awe and incredulity, "You are here, in the flesh. Thank the Gods, you were not delivered the true death."

My heart broke then, bloody tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

They fell freely as I rose to my feet, dropping Jax's hand.

"No," I agreed through my sobs, throwing my arms about his neck – a hug he returned willingly with glee ringing through our small bond, "I'm not pushing up daisies."

I couldn't remember if I'd taught him that particular idiom.

But his soft chuckle told me I had.

"I must tell Eric post-haste." Ezra mused contemplatively, pulling back from my tight embrace to thumb away the fat tears dripping down my cheeks. "He will be… unburdened," the word seemed carefully chosen, "by the news that you have not passed."

"She sent him a letter earlier."

Jax chimed in hesitantly, not because he was jealous, but because he was trying to make his presence known – visibly uncomfortable at bearing to witness our emotional reunion.

Ezra whipped his phone out of his linen pants, still holding me close as if I'd disappear if he let go of me.

I heard the ringtone cycle not once, but twice.

"Broder," Ezra effused in another language, not waiting for a salutation – although undeniably happy, "det finns inga tusenskönor!" He paused, then repeated himself, "Det finns inga tusenskönor!"

Okay, I hadn't missed this.

Being locked out of conversations.

"Läs ditt brev!"

Without ceremony, Ezra ended the call – no goodbye or anything.

That reminded me what exactly I'd be going back to.

Suddenly, I felt very Harding-like, as if I'd been mentally launched back in time, and my breath caught in my throat. I stifled the urge to let it escape. The overwhelming inclination to revert back to bad habits, to protect myself through silence became palpable – noxious in the air. As I uncurled myself from Ezra's cool form, his curiosity swam through me, and like an overdeveloped reflex, I threw my shields up high.

It was too much, too soon.

I'd only just learned how to be open, to climb outta my mind.

But now it was like I found myself at the foot of Mount Everest, staring up at the summit.

Jax gently pulled me towards him then, and placed his hands squarely on my shoulders, bidding me to gaze into his hazel orbs.

"Hey, it's okay. It's okay," he soothed reassuringly, rubbing his hands up and down my arms as I closed my eyes and let out a heavy breath, "Just start small, kid. No one's asking you to boil the ocean."

Baby steps, small bites, one piece at a time…

Okay, I could do this.

"Ezra," I whispered shakily – my nerves lit with electricity – as I stepped away from Jax and reached my hand out to take my maker's before walking us over to stand in front of my sister's final resting place, "This grave belongs to my sister… Ginny."

Ginny.

My heart lurched painfully in my chest; those pangs had never gotten any easier.

"She died… the day I turned you? Is that why you…"

Ezra murmured somberly, as he reverently traced over the carved dates using his free hand – the look in his brown eyes far-off, but full of sadness.

"Tried to kill myself? Yes. No. Sort of? Ugh, I'm going about this all wrong."

I openly chided myself, releasing his hand to sit cross-legged in the short grass – to ground myself physically and mentally before I chickened out.

Because this was the hardest part, ripping off the metaphorical band-aid.

Releasing the lock on Pandora's Box.

I couldn't start anywhere else; it HAD to be here.

Ezra sunk down on my left, so Jax swiftly took the spot on my right, nudging my shoulder as he grasped my hand in his – squeezing again. "Go on, kid. I promise it'll be ok." Baby steps, small bites, one piece at a time… I took a steeling breath, willing myself to admit out loud something I'd never said before. Something maybe I needed to hear as well.

"H-henry – m-my adopted father…"

God, it was almost impossible to get the words out.

I was practically choking on them.

"It is okay, Sookie," Ezra soothed supportively, tenderly stroking at the back of my free hand – the one that I'd dug uneasily into the soil, "You do not owe me your secrets. Just know when you are ready, I will be here to receive them."

I hated that I couldn't seem to say it outright, not yet.

Maybe someday, just not today.

"I want to tell you a story," I said without wavering this time, unwilling to avoid the conversation simply because Ezra'd given me an easy out – baby steps, small bites, one piece at a time, "about the last time I ever broke a plate..."

Progress.

That felt like progress.

A/N: I'm going to ask that no one be too hard on Addy for not taking a bigger step here on her road to recovery. She's got 17 years of conditioning to overcome, so really she's made huge strides.

As a survivor of childhood abuse myself, I can tell you one of the hardest things to do is admit to yourself (and others) that your parent – someone who was supposed to love and protect you – actually abused you, and even though you were told you deserved it, you didn't. Because no one does.

Okay, so heavy stuff over. Thanks for reading, and Happy Holidays!

Google Translations:

Det finns inga tusenskönor = There are no daisies

Läs ditt brev = Read your letter