Hi all, thanks for your comments. Firstly, I have a busy Easter planned, so I may be late with next week's update. I'll try my best.
Now, these chapters are shorter because I needed to swap POVs. But as you all like long chapters, today we'll get two - one of each!
Well, here goes. Summit time.
Louisville
A cheerful voice called down the hotel corridor, "Wait up, Sookie."
I turned round, key-card in hand, and smiled. "Diantha. What are you doing here?"
"You got a minute?" she asked catching up to me. She was wearing cherry red boots, orange and blue striped leggings and a sequinned green top under a denim jacket. Her hair, astonishingly for her, was plain black. Guess black went with anything.
"Sure, come on in," I said, waving her into our room. Quinn and I had arrived a full two days before the summit so I could scan as many of the staff as possible before the vamps arrived. Because that's how those suitcase bombs made it inside the Gizeh: the Fellowship infiltrated the staff. This time, if I came across any hotel workers I couldn't read I wouldn't ignore it, that was for damn sure.
"I'm here to watch yer back," Diantha said. "Can I look round yer room?"
"Oh, sure."
"Niall arranged it with Uncle," she called over her shoulder as she had a good nosy around, even ducking into the bathroom for a look-see. She came back out, pulling a letter out of her jacket. "And I gotta deliver this."
I put my purse down and reached out gingerly, eyeing the off-white envelope for signs it was made of something other than wood-pulp.
Diantha waved it encouragingly. "S'okay. Niall gave permission."
"Thanks." Taking it, I recognised Mr Cataliades' elegant copperplate with relief. As far as I knew demons didn't skin their enemies for paper, not that … Then I registered what she said. "He needed Niall's permission?"
"Yeah. Niall's kinda yer supe guardian, now you got no husband. Everyone's gotta go through him."
Oh, that buffer thing... Wait. Niall was screening my mail? First, what the hell? Second, nice of him to tell me. And why was Mr Cataliades writing to me?
"Isn't your uncle coming to the summit?" I asked, frowning at the envelope.
She shook her head. "He retired. From the vamp stuff anyway. Says he's getting old."
Shoot. I'd been looking forward to seeing him.
Diantha asked for my schedule. I gave her a rough idea of my itinerary, but the nature of the work meant things would be fluid so we exchanged cell phone numbers. She promised to stay in the background; she'd already cleared it with hotel security.
"Catch yer later," she called, waving cheerfully as she left.
I sat down on the couch. The envelope felt waxy, and heavier than it should. Magic, I guessed. I tore it open.
...
Dearest God-daughter,
These words are spelled for your eyes only, for my protection as much as yours.
I fear I have not fulfilled my promise to Fintan. By accepting Niall's protection you have drawn yourself further into our world, my dear, and it is my fault you are ill-equipped for it. I foolishly went along with your desire to play human these last few years, and thus failed to instruct you in our ways.
You are doubtless very fond of Niall, so it may be unpleasant to learn that Fintan had a stormy relationship with his father and did not trust him. Fintan did not want Niall in your life.
I do not claim to know Niall's intentions, and I believe he loves you in his way, but I suggest that you do not take him at face value. Niall is a complicated being, with many ties and responsibilities. Bear in mind that he may not always act in your interests.
I cannot be more specific in a letter, nor can I initiate further contact.
Be careful God-daughter,
Desmond
P.S. I am quite sure Eric Northman had no plans, as you obviously suspected when last we spoke, to claim you as an asset. He gave you his unconditional protection. Whilst vampires do, when it suits them, go back on their word, Northman does not do so without a compelling reason.
…
As I read the last word, the letter flared hot in my hand. Startled, I dropped the sheet of paper on the coffee table. Blowing on my fingertips, I watched as the ink flared a dull red before fading completely.
Mission Impossible, demon-style. Wow.
Okay, already. I got it. I'd been a prize bitch, misjudging Eric the way I had. He wasn't the villain of the piece here.
He wasn't the hero either.
I got the hidden message too: I could get in touch with Mr Cataliades but he couldn't contact me. I thought his radio silence for last six months meant he'd been relieved to hand the reins over to Niall, to be honest. That I'd been more of a duty than a friend, and he'd had no time for me in his busy schedule.
Now I felt guilty for thinking that, and irritated as all get out with Niall. What happened to not interfering in my life? We were getting on so well.
I don't know why I was disappointed. You think I'd be used to tight-lipped supes by now. It was like they all had some goddamn don't-ask-don't-tell code. Which was all very well if you had a clue what was going unsaid; it hadn't occurred to me to ask if Niall's 'protection' extended to screening my calls and mail.
Stupid supes, stupid rules. Well, I knew now.
I supposed I should be grateful Niall sent someone to keep me safe. Huh. I'd bet my bottom dollar Mr Cataliades made a bargain with Niall to allow that letter in exchange for loaning Diantha out, favours being the currency of most supe interactions.
I huffed out an exasperated breath, and looked at the clock. Quinn was checking out the function rooms and I had my first meeting with hotel security.
Ten minutes later I was checking my hair in the mirror. Satisfied I looked every inch the professional, I headed out. The hotel was gorgeous. Real stunning, a historic building. Human owned, somewhat unexpectedly, but a supe company owned by Kentucky was providing security for the summit, and I understood Kentucky was taking a fat slice of the profits from the bookings too.
In the elevator my mind wandered to my initial discussion with him.
"Once the summit begins," Kentucky had said, "I want you visible. A canary in a coal mine, singing prettily to prove the air is clean."
I'd held back a snort: he hadn't needed air, clean or otherwise, for centuries. And I couldn't sing. I reckoned he was just eager to show me off, let the other vamps know he had hired – for that read: could afford – a telepath.
"Mr Gold," I replied. "With all due respect, if folks recognise me they'll take precautions, be on their guard."
"Your presence will act as a deterrent."
I stuck to my guns. "I would be more use behind the scenes." And safer.
Kentucky's beady eyes shrunk further. He was displeased. "No, you must be seen."
I tried another tack. "Discovering the Rhodes bomb plot was pure luck. I'm a blunt tool to catch one person in a crowd. " Sure, I could scan a group, looking for an anxious or angry mind, but it was too tiring to do continuously. And the less Kentucky knew about how I operated, the better.
"You caught that were-bitch in Houston."
"Again, luck. I could easily miss something if I'm distracted, which is more likely if I'm out in the open."
"Miss Stackhouse, with all due respect to your talents, I have an excellent security team. You provide an extra layer, you are not essential."
Message: do as I ask, or you're fired.
We compromised in the end. The security team would know who I was, but I would work undercover, mingling with the unwitting hotel staff as anything from a waitress to an events planner like Quinn. In 'disguise' – a somewhat loose concept to vampires – basically I'd dress different. It might work, most folks saw the uniform not the person in it.
The head of security was waiting for me in the lobby.
Conrad Geiszler was a harried, skinny guy of medium height and years. His firm handshake came with a memory of Kentucky telling him, quite forcefully, to listen to me. Geiszler resented being told how to do his job.
Geiszler was a twoey, a werefox as it happened, so he knew what I could do. One less stumbling block, but I was also blonde and curvy, with no security training. He didn't think I'd add much to his team, but he did as Kentucky asked: introduced me to them, and showed me the security hub with its bank of monitors and plans of the hotel.
It wasn't until I asked some questions that he began to have any confidence in me. Did the close-circuit cameras have blind spots? Were the staff entrances as well-guarded as the public ones? Where did deliveries come in, were they checked? That kind of thing.
For my part, I was relieved that the loopholes from Rhodes had been closed. All luggage came in with its owner, or was thoroughly searched.
For his part, Geiszler was real impressed with me. That put a spring in my step, and I met my honey for lunch in a real cheerful mood.
The next eight hours were a gruelling whirl of faces and minds, but I cleared most of the staff. I found a few light-fingered waiters sneaking tips from their co-workers (boy, did I shop them fast, remembering when my tips kept the lights on at the farmhouse) and a chambermaid with a fetish for stealing underwear. Gross, but not a threat. If anyone had slipped by me, I was confident Geiszler was thorough enough to catch them. And his team was one hundred percent trustworthy. He had me check them first.
I was exhausted that night. Kentucky had bumped Quinn up to a nicer, bigger room when I'd agreed to come, and I slept like a baby on the king-sized bed, snuggled up against Quinn who was equally pooped. The next day was busy. Kentucky's hired donors arrived in the morning. Checking them was... an experience. They were all quite willing, I'll say that much.
Those travelling in coffins and breathing members of the delegations started to arrive that afternoon, so I was in the lobby acting as one of the facilitators when Quinn found me. A slim middle-aged woman hovered behind him, checking her blackberry. Her black pant suit matched her black hair and her black-framed glasses.
"Hey, babe. You got a minute?" Quinn asked, kissing my cheek.
"For you, sure."
He grinned. "Good to know, but it's not for me. This is Elaine Randall." My contact at the Caucus. She's important. "She'd like a quick word."
"Oh, sure. Pleased to meet you, Ms Randall." I smiled and she shook my hand firmly, all business and thinking about a whole bunch of schedules, meetings and to-do lists. The feel of her mind reminded me of Sam. A true shifter, I reckoned.
"Call me Elaine," she said in a flat northern accent. "This won't take long, I know you're busy."
"Okay, babe? I've got to get back."
"Sure, I'll see you later." I gave Quinn a kiss goodbye, and heard Elaine mentally roll her eyes.
I found us a quiet corner of the lobby and we sat down. "How can I help you, Elaine?"
"I'm here with some colleagues from the Caucus, for a meeting with the more progressive monarchs in Amun. You know they want to work with us?"
"Sure." I nodded confidently. 'Caucus meeting, 9 p.m. Adelphi Room' was scrawled in green pen on a bulletin board in the security hub. That was as much as I knew, though.
"Good. What can you tell me about Eric Northman?"
I blinked. "Um…"
"I'm familiar with the others, but he's new. An unknown. Any pointers would be very helpful." She looked at me expectantly.
"I… I'm not sure I'm the best person to ask."
She smiled, firmly. "I do my homework, Miss Stackhouse. You were close to him."
"Not recently." I wondered if Quinn knew what she was going to ask. At a loss for what to say, I stalled her with a question. "What exactly is the meeting about?"
"A co-operation agreement. Something similar to the one that covers Zeus, but I doubt Amun will be so united. Northman spoke in favour of that."
He did? "I don't know anything about that, ma'am."
"Of course." Oklahoma. Don't mention it. "I want an insight into the vampire, not his politics. What's his personal attitude to twoeys?"
"He's …"
"Be frank, Miss Stackhouse. It's important."
"He's not real trusting of y'all."
She wasn't surprised, but she wasn't pleased either. "Not an uncommon attitude. Will his prejudice get in the way?"
"If a deal will benefit him, no. He's pragmatic."
"I hear he's a real hard-ass too. Ruthless."
"If he's betrayed, yes."
"Aren't they all?" Hypocrites. Back-stab each other at the drop of a hat, but someone screws them over and heads gotta roll.
"I guess." Mr Cataliades' letter at the back of my mind, I felt hadn't quite done Eric justice. So I added, "But if Eric gives his word, he keeps it."
She stared at me for a second, making sure I meant it. High praise from an ex-wife. "Thank you, Sookie."
Shaking my head, I went back to work. That had to be the strangest conversation so far today.
…
The closer it got to sunset, the more hectic it got. I managed to grab a bathroom break about five. Crossing the lobby on the way back to my post, someone called my name.
The werewolf from Tulsa. "Oh, hi. David…?"
"Jephson," he finished, smiling. "But David is just fine."
"Is anything I can help you with, David?"
"Nope, just saying hi. Spoke to Geiszler already. Guess you're here with Quinn."
"Uh-huh." I tried to recall the morning briefing. Nope, I'd remember if Oklahoma was mentioned. "I didn't know Isabel was coming."
"She's not, far as I know. I'm here with Louisiana." Head of his daytime security.
That, he sent straight at me. I didn't react; I had a great poker face. "Oh?"
He cocked his head. "No love lost for the ex, huh?"
Maybe not such a great poker face. I wasn't pleased. "You know about that."
"Gotta know the boss's business," he said shrugging. And then he thought of a standing on a lawn in front of a mansion, its fancy entrance lit by soft pre-dawn light as Eric stepped outside, dripping blood and gore, eyes feral and fangs down.
I flinched slightly, before I could stop myself.
"Rumour's true then," he said, faded eyes shrewd. "You can read twoeys like an open book."
"Can if you aim it right at me," I said, exasperated with him and myself. "You were testing me."
"Yes, ma'am. Just doing my job. You understand?"
"Yeah, I guess." He did feel a little sorry about it.
A Middle-Eastern looking man came over from the desk to join us. Demon, from the buzz of his mind, but he was tall and slim, not round and padded like Mr Cataliades. He had mid-length dark hair and a neat goatee. Quite handsome, in his well-fitting dark jeans and a snug chocolate-brown sweater. I reckoned he was Mr C's replacement, and all at once I missed his friendly face.
The replacement smiled politely at me, and said something quiet to Jephson, who nodded and said, "This is Sookie Stackhouse. Sookie, meet Eric's lawyer, Sebastian Mithradates."
"Pleased to met you," he said, bright hazel eyes scrutinising me from underneath his dark eyebrows.
"You too," I said with less warmth. He didn't offer to shake hands, and I wondered if he was a telepath too, or just knew that touch enhanced it.
"Well, we'd best get along," said Jephson. "See you around, Miss Stackhouse."
I watched them leave, feeling uneasy.
Eric wasn't here yet but he was already casting a long shadow over my day.
…
It had been a while since I'd been in a large gathering of vamps and I got a little edgy as sunset approached. But my nerves didn't last.
Soon I was about ready to stake Minnesota.
Maude was the most annoying queen I'd ever met, a real diva. She was small and delicate, with shoulder-length dark hair, and big dark eyes. And French – or so I assumed. It was certainly her language of choice for cussing. Which she did plenty of when she heard Red Rita checking in. Maude was insulted: her rooms were on the eighth floor, one higher than Red Rita and thus further from the action.
No-one was going to swap with her, the place was fully booked. As I'd told her three times, but she was still pitching a hissy fit. Her demands were relentless. First, her rooms weren't spacious enough, then that they were too near the elevators. Then it was the towels, the sheets, the wifi access. You name it, it wasn't to her exacting standards.
How on earth had Pam put up with her? I wished Pam were here instead, a healthy dose of her dry humour was just what I needed.
Thinking of the child must have summoned the maker: that was when I ran straight into Eric, literally.
Eric, larger than life and looking as gorgeous as Eric always looked.
Thankfully he didn't stay in the lobby to quibble over the thread count of his sheets like Maude. It was difficult enough concentrating on all minds coming and going without Eric around.
…
Kentucky made a speech at the opening ceremony. Quinn was up on the stage with him, looking rather delicious in a navy suit. I was in a waitress uniform, serving drinks. Like old times.
Except Merlotte's never served champagne with a strawberry. Or fancy blood cocktails.
Kentucky was going all out to impress his peers. Trying too hard, I reckoned, looking round the room. This crowd would see right through him. No-one looked poor, that was for damn sure: more designer gowns than the Oscars. Vamps and their pride.
The ballroom was sumptuous. Light from the chandeliers glittered off the gilt on the moulding, and shone in the mirrors. Each of the fourteen states in Amun had a designated table – dressed in crisp deep red linen, guess somebody anticipated bloodstains – and I didn't envy whoever made the seating plan.
Wouldn't do to snub anyone in this crowd.
While Kentucky preached profits and prosperity, I circled the edge of the room, reading the wait staff and the humans the vamps had brought. Not that I wasn't watching the vamps too. Sure, Kentucky had hired me primarily for human threats, but the kings and queens I was supposedly protecting were a far more likely source of trouble to my mind.
That's why I'd done my research before I arrived.
I had Quinn give me a run-down of the changes since Rhodes: Ohio, who'd been killed in the bombing, had been replaced by one of his former sheriffs. Missouri survived, barely, and his child had taken over for a couple years while he recovered, which he'd done physically, but politically – not so much. After that mysterious trial in Dallas, Alabama had a new queen, Zola, and Red Rita was queen of Arkansas in her own right, not as Felipe's lackey. I reckoned Eric had something to do with that, but tactfully I hadn't asked Quinn anything about him.
That was all Quinn knew. He'd been out of the undead loop a while, and work rarely took him to the northern states.
So, before we left Memphis, I'd collared Bertolini at the office one night and asked him. He'd commended my initiative, and said he'd planned to let me know the lay of the land. Mind you, he hadn't been in America long, so he didn't know all the history and machinations behind the current situation, but he'd known more than Quinn.
First off, he told me Illinois had been king as long as Russell, a full century. Illinois was a big hitter economically, along with his neighbours: Iowa, Ohio, and Bartlett in Indiana.
Guess that explained why they were all seated up front tonight, near the stage.
But Bertolini hadn't stuck to economics. Gesticulating and slipping into his affable uncle persona, the Italian vamp had relished dishing the dirt on the fangs behind the fancy suits and designer dresses.
For instance, Maude of Minnesota, whose table I was approaching.
Her marriage to Wisconsin had barely five years to run and she was already shopping for a new husband – that was the driving force behind a running spat between Wisconsin and Michigan. Having the larger state, Michigan had more clout, and rumour had it Maude was tempted to switch her allegiance to him. I reckoned that explained the occasion in Rhodes when I saw Wisconsin with his arm round Maude. A strangely human gesture, given vamps didn't usually touch. He'd been staking his claim.
I had, eventually, made sense of Maude's Oscar-worthy performance in the lobby. She'd hung around making a scene until both kings arrived. The rivals for her affections fell over themselves to 'rescue' her from the horrors of an inadequate supply of towels. There wasn't much to choose between the two kings in looks, or sense, if you asked me.
Maude was still courting drama now I noticed, playing the two suitors off each other: Wisconsin was watching her as she looked lingeringly over at Michigan.
Vamps and their games.
While Bertolini was in an expansive mood, I had slipped in a question about Isabel getting Oklahoma. Apparently, Stan and Russell, and consequently Bartlett too, had a hand in removing Freyda. Permanently. Bertolini had intimated Isabel's coronation was a surprise. If Texas was going to promote anyone it should have been his loyal second Joseph, who'd nursed the state while Stan recovered from Rhodes. But Joseph had disappeared, Bertolini didn't know why or how, and Stan had been tight-lipped about it. I figured Joseph was finally dead.
For vampires true death often came swift and secret.
Bertolini had hinted that what went down in Oklahoma was a big deal, that Alabama (the previous one) was mixed up in it, and the new king of Louisiana. He'd wait for me to ask more, but I hadn't, figuring I knew enough to join the dots. I didn't need details, and I certainly didn't want to know Eric's part in it.
Or for Quinn to get wind I'd been asking after him either. He was antsy enough about me being here, and I wouldn't put it past Bertolini to let that one drop – he liked gossiping a little too much.
I knew seeing Eric was unavoidable, but I planned to stay out of his way for Quinn's sake. No point in stirring up trouble where there was none. Which was why I was working the left side of the room. Eric was over on the right, in a suit, looking positively GQ cover-worthy.
I examined the rest of Louisiana group, discreetly. Neb was there, and four other vamps besides Eric. A short Asian guy in a suit, long hair tied back, Japanese maybe. I didn't know the next two either – a swarthy male, tall and thin; a dark-haired woman – but I recognised the last: medium height, dark brown hair, brown eyes, and much more handsome than Amelia's mental image.
Oskar Ashwyn, lately of New York, now Sheriff of New Orleans.
I guessed Bill was out of favour, I'd half expected to see him and found myself surprisingly indifferent to his absence. David Jephson was nowhere to be seen either, but I'd spotted Eric's lawyer earlier, downstairs in the bar. With the other lawyers, having their own opening ceremony with whisky and a lot of dry lawyer talk.
Russell Edgington smiled at me as I neared the Mississippi table. I was mildly astonished to see a woman amongst Russell's pretty boys, but I supposed she fitted in, aesthetically speaking. She was very striking, slim and graceful, with ebony skin and close-cropped hair. Easy on the eye. She refused the champagne I offered. She was bored, thinking about the steak dinner she'd had and how it would do her more good than iron tablets.
Donor. Gotcha.
Tennessee's table was next. As I approached it I caught Quinn's eye, up on the stage, and gave him a reassuring smile.
Bardulf was wearing a perfectly tailored tux. On his left was a lady vamp wearing a soft charcoal grey dress that reached the floor. She had long black hair, paled olive skin, striking brown eyes and one of those symmetrical faces with lovely arched eyebrows. In short, she was beautiful. Tennessee's hard-faced sidekick Clarabel sat on his right, in a poorly chosen coral dress that didn't flatter her boyish figure. Two male vamps, pretty enough to earn a seat at Russell's table, sat next to her, and two human women, equally lovely, made up the table.
I stayed near them as long as I could, but I didn't pick up anything useful, even though one of the humans seemed to be Bardulf's assistant rather than a donor. Damn. I really needed to find out Bardulf's game plan.
I caught Quinn's eye again and shook my head slightly. He kept his face open and serious, but sent me a swell of frustration and gratitude. Sighing internally, I moved on.
Alabama's table was towards the back of the room, like Eric's. I guessed that meant they hadn't earned their place yet. I was surprised to see Thalia sitting with the new queen. Thalia, of course, ignored me. The queen herself was African, full figured and watchful. Serious. I would be too, in her shoes. Quinn said Zola was a clan outsider, from Moshup. I wondered if she'd last any longer than Felipe.
Diantha was hanging around in the service corridor when I ducked out there to refill my tray. She was dressed, inconspicuously for her, in a dark pant suit. I realised that was why her hair was black too, so she would blend in.
"You see Thalia in there?" I asked quietly. "What's she doing with Alabama?"
Diantha shrugged. "Heard she had a falling out with Pam a while back, left Louisiana."
"Can't have. She was in Bon Temps over the holidays."
"Yeah?" She bared sharp little teeth. "Thalia's always been a law unto herself."
Well, that was a mystery, like I needed another one to solve. I went back into the ballroom and found the speech was done. Folks were getting up, beginning to move around.
