A/N I'm sorry this has taken so long to finish. I'll move faster. I hope you enjoy it. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 15

By ten o'clock, the line to get into Fangtasia stretched down the street two blocks, and police had gathered to watch the eager claimants vie for a spot in the crowd. Some were getting rowdy as the night went on, and few early-birds left to make space for them.

Pam sauntered over to the stage from her post at the door, took off her pumps, and hopped up. She came over to Eric's throne, stood behind it slightly and leaned over to talk into his ear. Although the music thumped and droned at a volume Carly hated, she could still hear Pam's concerns.

"I'm not sure this is working. The cops are close to calling us a nuisance."

"Do you have suggestions?" Eric gestured into the space in front of the stage. "They all seem to be enjoying themselves." Dancers swayed and rocked on the dancefloor. Without much room to maneuver, they were more like a pulsing organism than a group of individuals.

"Change the music for a little while until the crowd thins out," Pam suggested. "Something different."

Eric waved her toward the sound system where one of their human employees stood guard, queuing up CD after CD. As the industrial dance track that seemed to have been playing for half an hour wound its way to a conclusion, the sparse sound of single guitar radiated around the room and an aging man began singing, slightly off rhythm. The dancers stopped, turned to one another, and moved toward the edges of the club. Within a half hour, space cleared to let in new patrons, and the dance music began again. Every ninety minutes or so, Eddie, the sound guy, put on something stubbornly undanceable, so the crowd slowly turned over and the line outside finally began to diminish.

Throughout the night, Carly sat at Eric's feet—the two of them still and impassive. Although Carly desperately wanted to talk with Eric about Godric's suspicion, that somehow, through a millennium and across northern Europe to Barbados and then on to Alabama, Russell Edgington had retained Eric's father's crown, that Godric planned to engineer Eric's coronation, either as monarch of Louisiana or of Mississippi, or somehow planned to abdicate in his favor. She restrained herself, leaving Eric to his thoughts, and keeping her own speculations—and her desire to eavesdrop on her lover's mind- tamped down.

And then she realized that she was still thinking on a human timescale. When Godric said he was preparing for Eric to be king, he could mean tomorrow or he could mean a hundred years from tomorrow, and all would be the same for a being who was over two thousand years old. And she would be right there by Eric's side, forever. Although the thought was exhilarating, it was also overwhelming.

Carly felt a sudden spike of emotion from the door—from Pam-amusement, joy, confusion, undercurrents of lust. Eric must have felt it too because he scooped Carly up from her pillow and bounded off the stage toward his progeny. Carly had been so out of it that she wasn't entirely certain where to look until her eyes focused on the gentleman straining to hear Pam speak—the elegantly coiffed and dressed Dr. Clovis Thibodeaux, the Seventh.

"Doctor!" Carly reached out toward him, but then retracted her hand before she embraced him. "What are you doing here? It's so late!"

"Last I checked," Clovis smiled sweetly and glanced at his watch, "it was approximately four and a half hours past my usual bedtime." He extended his hand toward Eric. "You must be the lucky man."

Eric took his hand and shook it warmly, combining it with an officious bow. "I am. Since these are not your usual hours, and I would guess this is not your usual scene, I presume you need to talk to Carly urgently."

"If you are able to, I'd like to talk with you both, if you don't mind."

Extending his arm toward the office, Eric invited the doctor into the back, leaving Carly behind long enough to give Pam a light swat on the arm.

"What the hell was that for?" Pam pulled her arm away. "What did I do?"

"Hands off. He's a nice man, Pam. He just lost his wife."

"It's entirely possible to be hot at seventy. Look at me—I'm over a hundred." Pam swung out her hip and returned her attention to the door. Carly had to run a little to catch up with the two men before they disappeared into the back hallway.

As they came into the office, Eric asked, "What can we do for you, Dr. Thibodeaux."

"Please," Clovis corrected as he pulled an envelope out of the breast pocket of his sports jacket, "call me Clovis. If anyone should be deferential, it is probably I." Clovis positioned his reading glasses and brought a photocopy out of the envelope. "I'm sorry, I tried to leave this til Monday, I was so excited, but also so horrified that I couldn't go to sleep, and I didn't think I could wait to share this. And since Aliya made the effort to drop it off—and I fibbed a little—I want to get it into your hands. I'd sleep better without the guilty conscience."

He handed the photocopied document over to Carly who unfolded the thick paper whose edges were covered in smudged photocopying ink. It looked like a copy made from an old microfilm machine. It had the scorched, over-exposed edges that one rarely saw now that so many records were digitized.

"Gone, but Never Forgotten," read the headline. The date, June 25, 1973, written in blue ink, in Aliya's bubbly script, ran across the side of the page, perpendicular to the text.

"Read it out loud so Eric can hear, Carly," Clovis encouraged.

"Okay," Carly obliged. "On every June 23 for the last four years, Mary Elizabeth Pecararo has awakened to an empty house, but she nevertheless starts the day by baking her grand-daughter's favorite cookies, cooking her son's favorite pasta, and mixing her daughter-in-law's favorite punch. And then she waits, just like she waited June 23, 1968, when she made dinner for her extended family to celebrate her oldest grand-daughter's confirmation. But when the crowd arrived, Vincent, Anne-Marie, and little Mary Dolores weren't with them. They never arrived. What should have been a celebration of family and faith turned into a desperate vigil for a missing family. They have never been found."

"She wasn't alone, Carly," Clovis added quickly. "She was with her parents. I think it's possible we have stumbled onto a killing field out there in Catahoula Parish."

"This is awful. Where did you get this?"

"Aliya found it at the public library! She went there after work today with her little sister. I told you she was sharp." Clovis smiled proudly.

"But you gave her Mary Dolores's name? I don't think it was even seven hours ago that you told me we couldn't identify her in good conscience."

He blanched slightly. "Well, I lied a little. I told her that you found a piece of fabric with the name Pecararo, and she searched the newspaper index and found it."

Carly shook her head back and forth. "That's more than a little lie, Clovis, that's an unscientific lie, a lie about evidence too." The probability of ink surviving for forty years in damp Louisiana mud and being legible enough to read was low.

"Any good Catholic school-girl would have her last name embroidered on the inside of her uniform! And who is to say that isn't what she was wearing! Embroidery would stay put and stay readable. And after so long, what are the chances of prosecution anyway." Clovis had anticipated her objection, but his face softened. "I just had to know something about what happened to her. I'm going to call the sheriff on Monday and ask them to do some surveying. Hell," he paused, "I'll go up there myself and look if I have to."

Eric finally spoke. "Where in Catahoula Parish?" Carly, there are some unsavory creatures up there.

Creatures? Shape-shifters?

Panthers…they have cousins not far from Monroe…inbred…not all bad…but most of them.

"I'll have to look at the file," Carly replied, "but it's rural."

"If you do decide to go, Doctor…"

"Please, Clovis!"

"Clovis," Eric corrected, "If you do decide to go, I would prefer that you let me and a few friends accompany you. I have connections with a construction firm who can mount flood lights on a four-wheel drive so that we'll be able to see, even at nighttime."

"Do you know something about this area of the state you're not telling me?"

Carly realized that Clovis was no fool and that he was inevitably going to reveal that she'd told him about Eric's responsibilities to vampires in Shreveport.

"Since Carly is looking particularly anxious, and more than a little guilty, right now," Eric chuckled and then reached over to her seat to squeeze her hand, "I think you already know something of my position. Is that the case?"

Carly smiled weakly at her lover. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told him anything.

It is fine, Carly, he is trustworthy. And quite a favorite of my friend in Baton Rouge. She fancies herself his protector, although she hasn't yet revealed herself to him.

"I shouldn't be hanging poor Carly out to dry like this, but, yes, she mentioned that you're a sheriff, as is," Clovis smiled, "my great-great-auntie, I hear!"

"Victoria told me your family story a few years ago. She asked me to repeat her condolences and looks forward to seeing you again soon."

"Thank you," Clovis looked away. "She sent a card when Charlotte died, but I didn't open it. I didn't open any of them. My daughter-in-law went through them. At the time, I presumed it was just civic-minded courtesy."

"I'm sure that is a piece of it." Eric added, "Of all of us, I think she has been most eager to reconcile with human society. I have rarely known as extroverted a vampire." Eric reached into his desk drawer and brought out a map of the state and opened it across Carly's lap after pulling his desk chair close to her. "This area of the state has many isolated communities, not unusual for Louisiana, but," he paused, "not all of these communities are entirely human."

"So these freaks who've rampaged all over the countryside really are werewolves?" Clovis grimaced slightly, and then added, "I still have friends in the state police. And they are all spreading stories. In some ways, it should be a weight off you vampires. You look so normal by comparison."

"Yes," Eric tapped the map, "but those in this area are panthers, a group that has dwindled down to a handful of families across the south. They've been dying off since the Civil War."

Clovis crossed his legs and took in a deep breath. "The bodies that Carly identified," he gestured to the paper Carly still held, "including little Mary Dolores, had knife marks on them. The adults had hundreds of them. They were turned into mincemeat."

"Many shape-shifters need to be trained to kill humans, even in their animal form, so sometimes adults 'prepare' the bodies."

As Eric described the practices of these murderous groups, Carly's stomach turned and she felt like she was going to vomit, even though she hadn't eaten any food recently. "Do you have to be so detailed, Eric?"

"I would have thought you have the stomach for this."

"No, Eric, I don't. I don't deal with squishy bits, and if I can avoid thinking about someone being carved up and made into a pie, I would prefer to avoid it."

Eric smiled slightly, "I'm sorry. I think that it is enough to say that I would prefer that Dr. Thibodeaux refrain from going out into the hunting grounds for this particular group of panthers. I also think that it would likely be a good idea to do some genealogical research on any Catahoula Parish officials before putting trust in them."

"That's a good point that I had not thought of, Eric." Clovis took back the newspaper clipping from Carly. "Would you be able to recognize the surnames?"

Eric nodded his head in a non-committal gesture. "I don't know if they would necessarily have consistent family names—shape-shifters have some," he paused, "reproductive constraints that complicate record keeping."

Clovis took back the news clipping and cleared his throat. "Well, I think their dietary habits are enough to keep me supplied with nightmares, so I will pass on this particular biology lesson, if you don't mind."

"Thankfully, it isn't that disgusting. Just socially complicated," Carly volunteered. "Can we get you a drink while you're here?"

As they left Eric's office, Clovis raised his voice to be heard over the music. "I think my tastes run more toward Waylon Jennings and Dolly Parton, so I think I'll head home."

When they reached the door, Eric directed the human bouncer to accompany Dr. Thibodeaux back to his car.

"Aw," Pam sighed, "why couldn't I keep him?"

"I can't believe he's your style, Pam," Carly teased. "He's solid, boring, and part of the backbone of Baton Rouge civil society."

"Haven't you seen my sweaters and golf clubs?" Pam raised her arm, dramatically resting her wrist against her forehead in a posture suggesting a particularly Victorian species of sorrow. "How will I ever be invited to join the Junior League if I don't marry a man like Dr. Clovis Thibodeaux, the seventh?"

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully with a steady rhythm: the club would fill, the music would change—Pam asked for "Islands in the Stream" to tease Carly that she hadn't done her duty by her friend to play matchmaker—and the crowd would thin, only to fill again with the new arrivals. The last customers left at 4am when the go-go dancers put their tops back on and recorded their tips, while Carly, Eric, and Pam went over the details of their visit to New Orleans and Jackson.

"You are acting sheriff, Pam," Eric instructed, "but call me right away if you need assistance. Thalia will be on-call as well."

"How long?" Pam asked without much emotion.

Carly imagined what was in store for them—a day in New Orleans, through which Eric would sleep, then off to Jackson, Mississippi, to take possession of the king's residence, to go through his collection, to purge his estate of the shimmering cloud of death that likely choked the air. She worried they might find prisoners still detained. What would they do with them if they found them? Stake them? Free them? Could they even be human?

"Carly has to work Monday, so just through the weekend, although we will be staying in New Orleans for a more extended visit soon." Eric kissed Carly's forehead before asking, "When are you expected there?"

"I haven't confirmed, but soon enough." The team reinterring remains in New Orleans hadn't specified how long she needed to be there, but they were expecting her to work on that part of the grant before Thanksgiving.

Before they departed for New Orleans, Eric needed to return his car to his garage, and Carly needed to retrieve an overnight bag and her artifact camera. Carly still didn't understand how inheritance worked among vampires, but she expected that if Godric were right—that Edgington's house had some secret vault full of trophies—that Godric would want to complete a full inventory. She might as well put her cataloguing skills to use for her friend as she awaited his long-estranged daughter to engineer a kidnapping attempt on her. Without prompting or desire, the visions of Salome's ritual sacrifices swelled up from her belly and flooded her mind.

"Are you okay?" Eric squeezed her hand, relaying his concern and love to her.

"It's all so much. I keep thinking that Nora or one of her Renfields will jump out of the bushes and put a bag over my head." Carly stared out the window as the landscape raced by, aware that sunrise was only an hour and a half away.

"And if they did, wouldn't you just dissolve into smoke and come back to my arms?" Eric's voice was playful.

But his question reminded her of her true terror—what if they tried to harm him?

"Carly," Eric's voice deepened. "Do not be afraid for me. I've survived worthier adversaries." He laughed, "If Thalia didn't manage to kill me, then I sincerely doubt my sister's 'Renfield' as you call him, could manage it."

"You're trying to distract me with the promise of disclosure," Carly started to giggle. "You hit on her, didn't you?"

"Dear Thalia seems impervious to my charms…"

Carly kissed his hand and sighed. "You don't have to tell me, but thank you for getting my mind off of Nora and Salome."

Once Carly had retrieved everything she needed from the house, Eric reset the security alarm.

"The sun is coming, beloved." Eric picked her up so that her legs encircled him, closed his eyes, and whispered "Let's go to our New Orleans bed."

That simple directive was enough to hurtle them through a spinning vortex, flooded with light and wind, that transported them to their room in New Orleans.

"Better?" Carly asked quietly. "You seemed to be driving the car on that trip."

"Yes, much better." They kissed and quickly divested themselves of their clothes and crawled into bed. Languidly and without hurrying, they made love, comforting one another, until the sun rose and Eric stilled for the day. Carly drifted off beside him, falling into her facsimile of sleep.

When the birdsong, punctuated by the pounding of a woodpecker eager to attract a mate or puncture a hole in the post above her bower, grew so loud Carly couldn't ignore it any longer, she opened her eyes and found herself sandwiched between Eric's warm, breathing body, and the snoring, fuzzy snout of their white wolf. She lay still, watching Eric's chest rise and fall, watching his breath as it condensed in the cool air.

"He is lovely, isn't he?" The familiar voice came from a few inches behind her ear. She rolled over—reaching out her hand to catch the trickster's hat so she could unmask him.

But laughter came from the other side of the long-house. "Oh, valkyrie, you are so impertinent."

"Yes, I am impertinent." Carly sat up, drawing the heavy woolen blankets up around her bosom. "I still want to know how this works, and I want to know what you want from him."

"I enjoy watching him work on your ship. I'm fascinated that a nobleman would work so hard to develop such skill, but that seems to be his character, doesn't it? He sees no reason to do anything unless he can do it well." Odin's voice was back behind her ear, "And I just want to help him keep his promises."

The soft knocking awoke her, and she heard Melissa call through the door, "Carly, are you awake?"

Carly dragged the sheet off the bed and wound it around her so she could open the door a crack. "Hi, yes, Melissa, I'm awake. Let me just take a shower and get dressed."

"I'm sorry to wake you, but," Melissa stopped speaking and reached through the door to touch her hand, I really need your help…these women kind of freak me out a little…please. I wasn't expecting them so early. As clearly as if she was in her mind herself, Carly saw Octavia and a slight, very frail looking young woman beside her, sitting at the table in the solarium.

"It's okay, Melissa, I'll be there in a minute."

Anticipating "digging" through the palace in Jackson, Carly dressed comfortably in clothes that could handle dust and the repetition of bending and hauling and headed to the pool. When she arrived, Octavia and her protégé were seated in pool-side loungers, sipping their iced tea, while Melissa laid out stacks of papers on the table.

"There she is," Octavia announced as she stood. Immediately, Carly saw the family resemblance, although Octavia wore about thirty pounds more jewelry than Tracy probably owned. "I hope you don't mind too much."

"Mind?" Carly smiled as she approached to shake Octavia's hand. "Why would I mind? I'm grateful you and Godric have come to terms."

No, silly girl, Octavia answered silently, I'm here to talk to you. I need you to help Amelia make the transition. I still can't see how the New York witch did it.

"Oh!" So Octavia did know all about Maureen, except for how Maureen transformed from a witch into a vampire who retained her powers as a witch. "Octavia, it's a pleasure to meet you. I should have talked to Tracy before I left so I could give you a message."

"She knows how to find me!" Octavia turned to gesture to the young witch, "This is Amelia." As she began to rise, Octavia scolded her. "Save your energy honey."

"Really," Amelia protested, "I'm fine. I feel pretty good today." She reached out her hand to Carly, "It's nice to meet you."

As Carly touched her, Amelia seemed to light up, to shimmer, and Carly consumed a flash of energy so concentrated that she couldn't sort out its source. Amelia was drowning in death—sharp, heated—but not packed with emotion. More a fact than a haunting, the energy that Carly consumed transformed almost instantly back into life. Amelia took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. "What did you take from me?"

Before she let go, Carly searched Amelia's mind, trying to catch the details of the death that clustered around her, but they didn't come easily. Finally, an image of a red and white suited clown crept into the edge of the frame, and Carly felt the pin-prick of IV needles, the burn of chemotherapy drugs. And then she heard the weeping of grieving mothers, holding their toddlers' bodies, rocking them back and forth, even as they were still connected to morphine drips. Carly let go and replied, "Death. How long did you spend in the hospital?"

"Most of my childhood," Amelia laughed cynically. "That's not really true, but I was a frequent flyer. Multiply recurrent leukemia."

"I'm sorry." Carly smiled weakly and added, "I never know exactly what to say."

Amelia sat back down. "There's nothing really to say. I'm 24, it's back again, but my heart's failing. I'm tired of fighting it, but disinclined to die." After coughing, Amelia added, "Octavia has been great—It's probably been her magic keeping me alive the last eight years. But I guess even magic runs out the clock."

Moving a chair to sit close to the two women, Carly asked, "So how can I help?"

"I know that a witch has become a vampire, Carly, and I know that you've met her, and we need to know how it was done," Octavia laid out a map for their conversation. "Godric has promised that Amelia will make her transition tonight, and I don't wish to lose her. She may not look it to an untrained eye, but she's a powerhouse. But we need to know more about the New York woman."

"I dreamt about her," Amelia contributed and then coughed again. "Over and over again. I've seen her in my dreams since I was a kid, but I don't know her name."

"How did you know she was a witch and a vampire?"

Amelia shrugged. "How do we know anything in a dream? I just know."

"I never believed her, but when the doctors came back with the news about her heart," Octavia broke away and stared into space. "Well, I went looking for her, and found her, and her magicks are spectacular."

"But you don't know her name either?" After looking back and forth between the two women, and then over her shoulder at Melissa, who seemed to be organizing and reorganizing paperwork so that she didn't have to join them, she asked, "So why can't you find her name or her maker's name and contact her? Why all this subterfuge? Why involve Godric or me at all?"

Octavia waved her hand dismissively. "I don't meddle with vampires unless I have to. Only the Magister has ever seemed safe, and he wasn't talking. He denied it left and right. I knew you wouldn't lie to us."

"I'm guessing you'll get another chance to ask the Magister tonight."

"No, that is too late," Octavia shook her head and then added silently. "If she made extensive preparations, we need to go home and get what we need before we rendezvous back here to go to Jackson. I'm still not entirely certain why Godric wants me there. He'll have Mabel Jaworski with him. She did the sealing ritual with the demon…" Octavia folded her arms. "I prefer to stay on my own territory if possible. But if my presence is the cost of Amelia's transition to vampire, I am willing to pay it."

Amelia looked plaintively at Carly. "Please, will you help us?"

"You have to – " Carly waved her hands for a second trying to find the right word, "exsanguinate yourself magically. Marcus can't bite you or, I think, drink your blood at all. But I won't be able to tell you for certain until the sun goes down in NY, and I'm able to reach her. She said it was an accident—that she didn't think that she would be able to hold onto her power." She wrinkled her nose a little, "I don't even really understand what you can do."

Amelia volunteered, "We live on that seam between worlds, so we see things, hear things, and we can cast spells." The young woman pointed to her mentor, "Octavia specializes in love spells, but she'll never admit it."

"Hush, child," Octavia chastised her, but then smiled, "And binding spells, binding people to the truth."

"That sounds painful," Carly replied.

"It can be, but it can be more painful to be bound to falsehood."

Carly shrugged, "I guess so." They sat there for a few minutes, the only sounds the pool pump that recirculated water and Melissa sorting through papers. "Okay, I gave you a piece of information, now you owe me."

"Owe?" Octavia raised her eyebrow. "I haven't drawn up a bargain with you, Carly. I've asked for your help and you gave it."

"Then professional courtesy," Carly corrected. "What is the connection between witches and fairies?"

Octavia shrugged her shoulder. "Sometimes they find their way into a family and their magic dilutes, gets mixed up with human magic. My family has some distant fairy ancestry, but with my complexion, people are perfectly comfortable attributing my skills to Mama Laveau. Her Frenchman was part fairy. I suppose if you go back far enough, the LeBlancs are distant cousins—but just about everyone in New Orleans is a distant cousin." Octavia laughed brightly, "Or slept with a distant cousin!"

"And you, Amelia?"

"I was born in California—so no idea where it comes from, but things started catching fire when I was little. Knives flying too."

"Excuse me?" Carly chuckled a little until Melissa's squeal silenced her.

Amelia raised her hand and caught a table knife that had flown out of the buffet station next to the small service kitchen. "So I guess that's what I'll do. I never really expected I'd have to cut my own throat, but it's better than wasting away and dragging an oxygen tank around for the next six months." Amelia shifted in her seat. "I'm mainly worried about the hunger—I know it can be bad. I don't want to hurt anyone." She stared at her mentor and added, "You don't need to hide it from me, Octavia. I know that I can't see you or the sisters for a long time—if ever again."

Octavia patted her hand. "It will be all right, sugar. I'm sure it will be all right. And you'll be back to us before you know it."

Carly realized that the papers weren't shifting anymore and turned her attention to Melissa. "Are you okay, Melissa?"

"I guess so…" Carly…I'm really frightened of them…and I know it's dumb…but it feels like they look right through me…I can't bring myself to look at them…

Rubbing her face to diffuse her frustration, Carly went through all the things in Melissa's life that had changed in the past few weeks: relocation to New Orleans, an abortive relationship with a 2000 year old vampire that then became her boss, acquaintance with other vampires, a were-bear, a demon, a valkyrie, and a fairy. But it seemed that witches sent her over the edge—a plump, middle-aged black woman in a caftan and huge beads and a girl who looked as if she'd blow away in a strong wind.

"Melissa," Carly ordered, "come sit. We have to get this straightened out."

Timidly, Melissa came over and grasped hold of the back of a chair, keeping the furniture between her and the two witches.

"Sit."

"Okay," Melissa was shaking, looking down at her feet, and then she started crying. "Oh god, I'm so sorry. This is so embarrassing."

"Melissa, dear girl, am I really that frightening?" Octavia asked gently, her voice light and lyrical. "I'm a friend to Godric. I don't mean anyone any harm."

"But," Melissa started and then stopped quickly, "but, can't you put curses on people?"

Octavia began to laugh lightly and threw her head back. "Well, I could, but only if I never wanted a loaf of bread to rise, or if I wanted my cats hit by cars, or to never go out into the street on a clear day. Or if I wanted my house to flood with every rain. A curse goes in two directions, my friend. Out to its victim, but back onto the one who curses, even if she does it for someone else."

"My aunt," Melissa shook her head violently, "my aunt said she was studying witchcraft, and got angry and put a curse on my mom…that's when…"

"When your dad started to hit her?" Carly finished the thought for her.

Melissa nodded. "And my aunt wound up in the state hospital. She died."

"Oh honey," Octavia reached across the table and took Melissa's hand before she could snatch it away, "I'm sorry. Real witches heal and protect. Sometimes cruel words come true, but that doesn't mean they're witchcraft and that they are a curse. Did the violence end when your aunt died?"

Melissa squeaked, "No…it hasn't really. Well, dad hasn't done anything lately. Mom said he's been good to her and hasn't been drinking since I've been here."

Carly wondered if Godric or one of his court had paid him a visit.

"Well, a witch's magic ends when she dies." Octavia looked over at Amelia sorrowfully. "At least, that's the way that it's been."

"Vampires aren't really dead," Carly suggested. "If they were, they'd shimmer when I looked at them."

Octavia stood up with a little effort. "We'll head back to my house and get some things together. Melissa, should we expect to stay one night or two?"

Wiping away the last of her tears, Melissa said, "I think you should only bring one night's worth, but I think Amelia should bring more-at least a week's worth of clothes. Godric told me that Marcus will be in charge of the Jackson palace."

"Who's taking his job here?"

"Nakamura," Melissa took a deep breath. "He isn't quite as kind as Marcus, but he might soften up." Godric plans to remake him, Carly. Before Sookie comes to stay.

Once Octavia and Amelia departed, Carly hovered around Melissa. "What's all the paperwork?"

"I've drafted the ad or invitation letter two or three times." Melissa tapped the stack furthest to her left. "But I don't even know where we would start with an advertisement. After I thought about it longer, it seemed like a bad idea to advertise." Melissa shook her head. "The more I think about the details, and the risks, the less it actually sounds like a good idea."

"But you already have donors here now. Where are they from?" Carly remembered the four donors she'd encountered so far.

"They either came with Godric from Dallas or came from the king's palace in Austin."

Carly hadn't even considered that as a possibility. She knew that Jimmy had followed Godric to New Orleans. It was so hard to remember that Godric had been so depressed, so dejected, yet still surrounded by others when he lived in Dallas.

"But six donors aren't going to be enough," Melissa shook her head again before adding, "so I've got to get this figured out."

"Six?"

"Counting me and Jason." Melissa tapped on another set of papers. "And these are all the furniture quotes, the architectural measurements, carpet descriptions—there are samples in boxes in the garage."

"Wait," Carly interrupted. "Jason is going to be a donor?"

Melissa shrugged. "He volunteered and said that if I was a donor he should be a donor. I think he's still just hitting on me. Godric hasn't asked him to yet. He even seems a little reluctant to, probably because he doesn't want Sookie to get her dander up." Melissa picked up one final set of papers. "And these are Godric's instructions for the remaining renovations here and the plan for his first big…." Melissa stopped suddenly and turned away from Carly.

"Don't worry, Melissa," Carly laughed. "It's my birthday party, isn't it?"

"God damn it…" Melissa hung her head. "I really didn't mean to ruin it for you, Carly."

"I don't think he intended it to be a surprise." Carly felt a knot in her stomach. "Is there a guest list?"

"Yes," Melissa squeaked. "It's got those horrible women from Illinois on it, if you're going to ask about them."

"No, I was actually going to ask if Sookie was on it, because if she is, it might get more complicated than he hopes."

Melissa scanned the list—all four pages. "Oh my god, Carly, she's not. Neither are Adele or Jason. Oh man, she's going to really hate that, isn't she?"

"I think that might be the 'slight' that Godric mentioned to me." Carly closed her eyes and shook her head. Why couldn't Salome try to kill her 18 days before her birthday rather than afterward? So inconsiderate.