Here's the first of today's chapters.
Kings and Queens
I weaved through the throng in the ballroom handing out drinks and taking in snatches of mental chatter. It wasn't much fun: the thoughts around me were bored, or bitchy, or imagining… Yeah, way too many images of how the donors mingling with the crowd wished to be bitten for me.
Quinn came over to say hi, resting his hand on the small of my back. I felt his need to... put his scent me. It was a twoey thing. He was unsettled and I leaned into him, smiling to reassure him. I could tell he wanted more, a kiss perhaps, but I reckoned that would be a little unprofessional. I patted his arm and said quietly, "Later, honey. I'm working."
He smiled ruefully. "Yeah, I know. You holding up?"
"Doing just fine."
No luck with Bardulf?
I gave him a brighter smile, shaking my head slightly.
Don't worry, he can't prove a thing. He squeezed my hand, and I caught something he didn't mean me to hear: If it comes to it, I'll take the fall for Andre. Keep her out of it.
I watched him walk away, praying it wouldn't come to that.
Sighing, I got back to scanning the crowd. The humans who were more than just fang-candy, the long-term 'companions' and various employees, they made for more interesting listening. One of the Missouri sheriffs had a particularly loud broadcaster with her, a muscle-bound guy who hated the suit he was wearing. He was watching Eric, who was talking with Bartlett Crowe.
Still as thick as thieves. Must tell Jacob.
Jacob was a vampire from Kansas, over in Zeus. Mr Muscles was spying. None of my business as long as he wasn't about to assassinate anyone. Vamps could spy on each other to their hearts content; it's what they did.
Hmm. The big blond turned his fortunes around quick. Didn't stay a lapdog for long.
I had to steady my tray. I didn't expect to see Freyda in his head, but there she was, in a beautiful red gown.
I thought about pulling back. Really I did, but I was curious about that lapdog comment. And Freyda, if I was honest. I got a whole series of images of her and Eric at some fancy hotel. Eric standing behind her, a silent shadow while she sat at a table. Eric at her elbow in a ballroom, with other vamps. Stan was there; a Zeus summit I guessed.
Eric looked more like a bodyguard than a husband.
I didn't know what to feel about that. Sadness, mostly. It was one thing to hear Eric had no power, another to see it.
I moved away, rubbing my temple. Geez, that guy broadcast louder than Amelia. Casting my mental net wide to scan a section of the crowd was hell on my concentration, even with vamps in the majority. I had already warned Geiszler I would need to pace myself. Pulling my shields tight, I took a break and watched the room.
What I saw was amusing. I was witnessing an honest-to-God marriage market.
Out of the fourteen states in Amun, only four had queens. They were holding court at their tables, the kings buzzing round them like bees round lilac. Well, except for Red Rita. Guess Arkansas was still a poor state no-one wanted. Alabama, newly appointed, was single. Minnesota would be up for grabs soon. Iowa, the fourth, was pale even for a vamp, with long raven black hair and a willowy figure. Widowed at Rhodes by the former Ohio's death, Bertolini had said she was an old hand, having been queen for forty odd years.
All three were attracting suitors. It was like watching lions mating on the Serengeti.
I kept track over the next hour. Illinois and Ohio both paid Iowa a lengthy visit. Illinois was a short, dapper vampire in an immaculate tux. He wasn't conventionally handsome at all, with a bulbous nose and a scowl, but he radiated masculinity and power. Ohio was tall and slim, with a gorgeous mop of blonde hair, a rugged jaw line and a ready smile I didn't trust, despite his good looks. Iowa received them both cordially, far as I could tell. Bartlett stopped at her table too, but that must have been politics. He was all set, marriage-wise.
Illinois must think he was hot stuff, because he also spent a spell at Alabama's table. So did Tennessee, and Kentucky. But Kentucky went to all the queens, so maybe he was just being a considerate host.
Missouri paid Iowa a visit too, but he was dismissed faster than I reckoned seemly. He went to pay his respects to Minnesota instead, but didn't get much of a look in there either. Michigan was hogging her, and Wisconsin wasn't hiding how pissed he was about him monopolising his wife.
I was passing by the Mississippi table on the way to refill my tray when Eric, who had obviously just finished talking to Russell, beckoned me over with two fingers.
Shit. I hadn't noticed him coming over to this side of the room. I plastered on a smile and tried to look like I was completely at ease as I went over.
"I have a message for you," he said, fishing a fancy phone out of his jacket and tapping the screen quicker than I could follow.
"From Pam?" I asked, hopeful. I set my empty tray down on the table.
"No. Rory."
He held the phone out, but I didn't take it, much less enthusiastic now I knew it was from. "What does it say? I'm busy."
He shrugged, looking faintly amused. "I didn't read it."
"Fine." I took the phone, aware of the many unblinking eyes around us. Quinn's especially, he was a few tables over, talking to Kentucky. "How do I..."
"Tap there." Eric moved closer and pointed, and as I went to touch the screen our fingers brushed.
Not accidentally.
Jerking the phone away, I glared up at him. He was crowding me and I was expecting the infuriating smirk that greeted me, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes.
Which were looking down at the phone, the phone I was cradling to me. In my left hand.
I felt a slow flush beginning, rising up my throat. Stepping back sharply to put some distance between us, I snapped my eyes down to the screen, willing the heat away. It wasn't that I was ashamed of the pretence – okay, maybe I was, a little – it was just that with Eric around I was wishing that ring meant more than it did for all the wrong reasons.
Especially when he was passing messages along from his … whatever Rory was to him.
The message was quite long.
Sookie, remember our philosophical musings on your porch steps? I can finally answer your question. :)
Lord, smileys. Was she five hundred or fifteen? I couldn't imagine what made her so sure I cared about a conversation from last year that I barely remembered.
I was privileged to witness a turning recently. All very hush-hush and I can't name names.
Of course. Vampires were big on privacy when it was theirs.
The 'aura' dims greatly during the process but never disappears. On rising, it had not altered as much as I expected. That should clarify the matter, I hope. Any other philosophical queries, let me know. ;) RK
Gee whiz, my life was complete. I rolled my eyes and handed the phone back to Eric, who glanced at it curiously.
"Philosophy. Impressive," he said. "You always did have hidden depths. So, you had a burning desire to find out if vampires retain their human essence. Worried about the state of our souls?" He was smirking again.
"Don't flatter yourself," I scoffed. "Whatever the heck she sees, animals have them too. It ain't a soul."
His eyes went distant, and when he spoke his voice was soft and deep.
"My people hunted with hounds. The dogs I kept were cunning, intelligent. Sentient, even. Who is to say they did not have souls?" His eyes focused on the present again, and he raised an eyebrow. "I am surprised you are dismissive of the notion, given your current… companion." He nodded towards Quinn.
I looked over and groaned internally. Quinn was watching us intently, ignoring Kentucky. Sometimes I wished he was more like a vampire, better at hiding his feelings.
"That's enough chitchat, Eric. I'm working here," I said, grabbing my tray.
Russell came up as I was turning away, and I heard him murmur, "A worthy riposte, Northman." These guys were just poster-children for interspecies harmony and understanding, weren't they? And I did mean children.
Walking quickly away, I saw Neb and the New Orleans sheriff coming towards me. Oskar walked straight past, but Neb stopped and nodded.
I bobbed my head. "Sheriff."
"Neb, please." His eyes crinkled. "Kentucky has been boasting about you."
"Has he now," I said warily.
"Yes. It is a great prize, you working for us again. Isaiah is crowing."
"Well, he shouldn't be," I said. "This is a one-off. I have no intention of working for y'all again."
He nodded. "You prefer shape-changers. As employers and bedmates."
I stiffened. "If you're about to tell me they're all scum, save your breath."
"I have not needed to save breath for a long time," he said, smiling briefly. He glanced past me, towards Eric and Russell. "Not all of us think poorly of the whole species. Those that do, have their reasons."
I mumbled, "Yeah. Being jackasses."
He looked at me for a moment, expressionless. "History teaches harsh lessons to those of us with long memories. Their prejudice is not unreasoned."
"But you don't think that way," I pointed out.
"I never lived in Europe."
He moved on then, ending our conversation abruplty. I frowned after him, wondering if I'd upset him or if he'd just lost the ability to interact in a normal human way. Three thousand years was a lot of nights. I shivered slightly, imagining how far those nights had taken him from human. Living that long was beyond me.
I'd had enough of being on display as Kentucky's telepathic trophy.
I moved over to the wall, out of the way, and began to experiment. Might as well work on my telepathy while I was getting paid for it, right? I practised locking onto one brain at a time, skipping from head to head, reading a little deeper than I had before.
It was routine stuff, until I stumbled across a mind that was vacant, empty of surface chatter. I slipped into it far too easily. Dangerously easy, like an iron trowel into a fairy.
Abruptly my senses distorted and I saw out of the stranger's eye, heard with their ears – full, complete immersion. I stiffened against the wall, feeling nauseous. Breathing deeply, I slammed my eyes shut which eased the confusing sensation of being in two places at once.
That had never happened before, and it was extremely disorientating.
Her – it was a woman – her mind was an open book, what there was of it still functioning. She was a hooker, paid to be here and she'd been glamoured to shut up. It had worked too well, silencing her mind as well as her tongue, and I'd been sucked into the vacuum.
She was standing with two vampires, towards the back of the room. Neither looked particularly important as I saw them through her eyes: a skinny guy in a shiny suit and a gal with buck teeth, mousy hair and freckles that stood out against her porcelain skin. They were standing either side of the woman, talking over her.
"Did you see Iowa snub Missouri?" said Shiny Suit gleefully. He seemed young; he wasn't hiding his emotions."His ass barely hit the chair before she sent him on his way."
"Iowa would never tie herself to his backwater state," Freckles said disdainfully. "Not when she can have Illinois."
"But will she get Illinois to herself?" Shiny Suit asked. "He spent just as long with Alabama."
Freckles looked puzzled. "What do you mean – to herself?"
Shiny suit leaned in and I could feel cold air brush the hooker's ear as he spoke. "Maybe Illinois will follow Louisiana's example. Marry two queens."
"Juggling Oklahoma and Alabama proved impossible." Freckles cracked a grin. "But Illinois has the balls to–"
With some effort, I pulled back into my own head and sagged against the wall. Intruding that deeply into another mind had been draining.
Two queens. What the hell? Eric had married two of them. Was that even...?
Utah. Ursula, our conversations about African tribes, Arab cultures. Polygamy. Maybe Bartlett and Russell weren't as settled I assumed.
An idea hit me like ice water: had Eric planned that all along? Marry Oklahoma, then Alabama, build an empire by–
A sharp pain broke in on that train of reasoning. The tray: I was clutching it to my chest, the rim digging into my palm. I let go and shook my hand out. My head was pounding. I needed a break. I walked briskly towards the nearest exit but my luck ran out.
Tennessee stepped into my path, that beautiful vamp hanging off his arm. "Yasmin," he said to her, a look passing between them. "This is the telepath I secured for Isaiah."
"Tennessee," I said tightly, barely nodding, desperate to escape. My pulse thudded in my ears.
"Now, now," he said patronisingly, smiling that smug smile. "Is that anyway to greet your king?"
"You're not my king," I snapped.
Shit. Quinn, Andre, the reason I was here. I needed to stay cool, see if Bardulf let something slip. I couldn't let Eric and his royal harem distract me.
"You live in my state," Bardulf said coolly. "But I understand. Dealing with royalty can be so… intimidating for a mortal." He glanced pointedly over my shoulder and I just knew he was looking at Eric. He turned to his companion. "She fled Louisiana to escape him, you know."
Why the hell was Eric the topic of every damn conversation today? I said defiantly, "My leaving Louisiana had nothing to do with Eric."
"Oh, but you were quite happy to stay under Felipe. What else are we to conclude?"
Yasmin's lip curled. "Northman is a brute, a savage. I imagine being king has made his arrogance ten times worse. No wonder she took the first opportunity to escape."
I bristled at her rudeness, talking over me like I was no better than a… a… glamoured hooker, but I kept my mouth shut. Leaping to Eric's defence would just give them more ammunition.
"Of course, Northman takes what he wants," Bardulf drawled, nodding in agreement. "But I hear he's moved on to greener pastures than our Ms Stackhouse."
"Another telepath?" Yasmin asked casually. They were both watching me intently. I slapped on a crazy grin, wondering how the heck to steer the conversation the way I wanted.
"A healer, the delicious Miss Kingfisher," he said. "Apparently she and Eric shared a very steamy tango back in August."
I knew immediately that he wasn't lying. The asshole was far too pleased with himself.
"Really?" Yasmin said. She seemed very interested in that snippet. "Is she here?"
"No. She is rumoured to be … too tasty, if you get my drift." Bardulf chuckled. "He's keeping the new lass to himself."
Everybody still thought Rory was a fairy, then. My cheeks were starting to ache, and I prayed I wasn't enduring this for nothing, that he would let something useful slip.
Yasmin smiled. "That explains Northman's interest in her."
"Oh, Eric will toss her aside when something better comes along, I'm sure," Tennessee drawled, eyes boring into mine. "He always does. No woman holds his attention for long."
I knew an attempt to rile me when I heard one. I stood tall, using all my years of experience to hide my annoyance. Son of a bitch wasn't getting a rise out of me.
"Yes," Yasmin said disdainfully. "It is his way."
"Come along, my dear," Bardulf said, stroking her arm. "Alabama is free. I want to introduce you."
It was a relief to see the back of them. I made it to the service corridor, dropped my tray noisily on a table, and took refuge in the restroom. My hands shook with frustration as I locked the cubicle. I just needed a minute to think, to breathe. I leaned my forehead against the cool door for a moment.
Something was niggling at me.
Not that jerk, Bardulf. Earlier. Those two no-account vamps, talking about Eric, Freyda, and this second wife, Alabama.
Something was wrong with that picture. In fact, now I had some peace, I was sure I remembered a clause in Bartlett and Russell's vows forbidding them from taking other spouses.
Her wife.
Where had I heard that?
Thalia. A year ago. In my house, after Eric collapsed. When I asked who... Oh shit. I groaned quietly. When I asked who carved him into pieces.
I had completely forgotten that. Having two wives clearly hadn't ended well for Eric. And Thalia said her wife. Freyda's wife. An odd way to put it.
Why not Eric's wife?
There was definitely more to that situation than Shiny Suit and Freckles knew, but damned if I could work it out, and sitting in a cubicle wasn't the place to find answers. Especially when I was here to neutralise our Andre problem, not puzzle over Eric's past. Feeling guilty for wasting an opportunity to get something out of Bardulf, I flicked the lock open and went over to the sinks, washed my hands, tidied my hair and nodded firmly at my reflection. Back to work, Stackhouse.
Quinn was pacing outside. One quick tiger-sized step and I was buried in a tight embrace.
"You okay? What the hell did Bardulf say to you?"
"I'm fine," I said into his chest, suppressing a sigh. I appreciated the support, and the hug, but I'd just fixed my hair and he was messing it up.
He pulled back and eyed me. "You sure?
"Bardulf was pushing my buttons. Nothing new. We should get back."
It wasn't the time to explain exactly what Bardulf had needled me with. Mentioning Eric would only set Quinn off, and I was determined to minimise the tension.
…
The opening finished at three in the morning, and, not being a vamp, I was in sore need of sleep by the time I clocked off, after a debriefing with Geiszler.
Quinn was feeling mighty amorous when I got back to our room, but I claimed exhaustion, which wasn't far off the mark. I was also disheartened; I hadn't discovered anything useful about the Andre situation. And, although he didn't say so out loud, I knew what was behind Quinn's enthusiasm. My chat with Eric at the opening ceremony had unsettled him, stirring up ghosts from Rhodes we hadn't quite laid to rest.
Despite the late night, I woke up early. Quinn was sound asleep, snuffling quietly. I showered and threw on some sweats, and he still hadn't stirred, so I left him to it. I wasn't going far, only three rooms over. I knocked softly on Diantha's door until her sleepy voice called an answer.
She opened the door a minute later, in mismatched pyjamas – green plaid bottoms and a lurid pink top with cartoon hearts. Half-demons suffered bed hair like the rest of us I was glad to see, unless she was trying out a very messy punk look. Not impossible with Diantha.
She yawned, stretching her mouth inhumanly wide, displaying too many pointed teeth for my comfort. "Watcha doing up so early, Sookie?"
"Sorry to wake you. I need to ask you something."
"Yeah? C'mon in."
She ushered me inside and sat cross-legged on the end of her bed. Her room was much smaller than ours. I sat gingerly on the edge of the only chair, wary of disturbing the pile of clothing thrown haphazardly on it.
"Fire away," she said, rubbing her eyes.
"I heard something last night. About Eric."
"Yeah?" She squinted at me. "Is he planning something I need to know about?"
"No. Nothing like that. It's… I heard that Freyda and Alabama got married."
"Yeah, they got hitched. Few years ago, big news. You been living under a rock, Sook?"
Sure seemed like it. "How? I thought vamps could only marry once."
"Yeah, if they're both royalty they can't marry another royal. Doesn't matter with a consort though."
"Oh." And Eric was only a consort, so… "Freyda married again. After she married Eric."
"Yeah."
Greedy bitch was my first response, but I kept that to myself. My second was to ask cautiously, "Was it Eric's idea?"
She opened her mouth and then closed it, looking distinctly uncomfortable. The hiss from her mind got louder for a moment, startling me.
"What's wrong?" I asked, alarmed.
"Binding spell. Can't talk about Uncle's legal work."
"Oh. Right. Sorry I asked." I made to get up, but she waved me back.
"Holdyerhorses. I can probably tell yer something..." She closed her eyes for a second, her tongue caught between her teeth as if she was doing a particularly tricky maths problem. "Nadia Al-Kahina – that's Alabama, the one that's dead. Took her name from a famous warrior queen, that's how arrogant she was. Eric and her, they had history. Didn't get on."
That was the understatement of the century if this bitch Nadia was the one who tortured Eric. I shivered, remembering the state he'd been in. If Freyda marrying her had been Eric's idea – and, strangely, at this point I would've felt better if it was – it sure hadn't gone to plan.
"So," I said slowly. "You don't think it was Eric's idea."
"Couldn't possibly say," Diantha said, nodding slightly.
My heart sank. Another marriage Eric didn't have much say in.
I thanked Diantha and went back to our room where I watched cartoons with the sound turned down until Quinn began to stir, those images of Eric with Freyda playing on my mind as I wondered for the first time in a long time how miserable he'd been in Oklahoma.
...
Footnotes:
If you like to know who I'm casting: Illinois is Harvey Keitel (as Mr Wolfe from Pulp Fiction, nobody messes with him.) Ohio is a young Robert Redford or perhaps Owen Wilson. Kentucky is an older Jeff Bridges. Iowa is Katie McGrath. And Zola of Alabama is, appropriately enough, Queen Latifah.
