I'm back! I think you'll enjoy this chapter, but first, just in case you missed any of these cool things, some annoucements.
1. Fangbangers Anonymous has launched on wordpress. It's abolutely fab. It lists lots of great SVM/TB writers who are on wordpress or other sites, so you can find those hidden gems you may have missed. (Go there immediately. You will have hours of happy reading.)
2. You Want Blood Awards are open for nominations - Has it really been a year since last time? Wow, time flies.
3. If history is your bag, or even if it isn't, check out the entries in American Android's SVM/TB Historical Fanfiction Contest at area5bloodypen on wordpress. Voting is open. And keep an eye out for future contests there too, they're going to run every quarter.
Thank you to all the lovely, hardworking people in this fandom who donate their time and creativity to run things like these. They rock.
Now, on with the story...
Favours Owed, Bargains Made.
Facing Eric at the trial was excruciating.
Quinn was there, making things a hundred times more awkward. He would have come to my side but I didn't want that. I would not look weak. I would not show fear. Not of the Pythoness, not of anyone. I might feel it, but I sure as hell wouldn't show it.
And I would not be used in a way I didn't want: I'd made real sure that was worked into my contract with Kentucky.
I certainly wasn't comfortable forcing an unwilling witness to testify, not when I could hearthat witness thinking with resigned certainty that he'd be killed if he spoke up or kept quiet. Either way the shifter figured one lot of vamps or the other would hunt him down. He was worried about his family, how his wife would manage without him, not seeing his sons grow up.
All because he just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He had nothing to do with the vamps and their stupid fight, why should he and his family suffer for it? I was real pleased with myself when I came up with a way to spare him. Less pleased when I discovered he was a thief, but still, he didn't deserve to die for that.
I used the excuse of touching the witness to put me further from the judges. Further from a certain blond, whose presence made me distinctly uncomfortable. Even with the added distance, I was hyper-aware of every move Eric made. His gaze weighed heavy on me while I answered Iowa. When he spoke to me, I didn't meet his eyes, afraid of what mine might give away, afraid I'd give him an advantage.
Never let a predator catch the scent of blood.
I was as relieved as the shifter when his testimony was over and I could get out of there. I'd had one hell of a day. Finch, the fight with Quinn, seeing Eric with … I was still reeling from my reaction to that. Perplexed by it.
Oddly, it was something Rory had said that finally consoled me, much later, when I was alone in bed, staring at the dark ceiling and listening to Quinn's even breathing from the couch across the room. I whispered the words out loud like a magic charm.
"Jealousy isn't love. It isn't."
No, that green tide of fury must've come from a place of pride, that was the only explanation. It bruised a woman's ego to see an ex with a beautiful woman. Especially when you saw it in high-definition, with surround-sound, in all its sensory glory.
Pride, that's all it was.
…
I'd lain awake in the dark far too long to be up before Quinn. The smell of coffee woke me, and I opened my eyes to a breakfast tray. Coffee, pastries, and a bunch of white tulips.
"Morning babe," Quinn said softly as I sat up, pulling the covers around me. I had missed his warmth in the night, but I was holding firm. He was standing awkwardly beside the bed, already dressed, and he leaned over to put the tray in my lap, kissing the top of my head as he did. "The florist said white tulips were good apology flowers."
"For spring and new beginnings." I sighed. "Thank you. They're lovely, but I'm still mad. Flowers can't fix this."
"I know."
I busied myself with my coffee, picking at the pastries without really eating, leaving him hanging for a while. When I looked up his hangdog expression matched the sombre mood radiating off him. Sighing again I said, "What made you do it, Quinn?"
Sighing too, he sat on the end of the bed. "I don't know. Northman makes me crazy, always has." My fault. Shouldn't have let the guys ribbing me about him rile me up like that. "He just gets under my skin."
I could appreciate that. Eric had a way of getting under my skin too. "Give me some time to cool off, Quinn," I said. "What you did … It was disrespectful, you know?"
"Yes, I know. I just…" Can't lose this. Gotta fix it. He looked up, and his eyes were stormy. "I don't want to lose you."
He was trying to impress upon me through his thoughts that he cared for me, respected me. If actions spoke louder than words, thoughts fell somewhere in between and I wasn't ready to forget what he'd done, even if his mind was telling me it came from a place of insecurity. An insecurity I felt partly responsible for: in Quinn's eyes I'd already picked Eric over him once. On the surface he blamed Eric and his blood for that, but deep down he wondered if there was more to it.
I wished we were back in Memphis, away from the summit, away from … complications.
I regretted coming. I'd woken old hurts in Quinn, and being around Eric was stirring up my own unsettling emotions, even if that was only wounded pride.
But pride was a sin and praying to the Good Lord to save mine at a vampire trial must've offended the big guy upstairs, because someone sure decided I needed my nose rubbed in my failings.
…
Convincing myself long hours and stress contributed to my wild emotions of the night before, I started the morning in a calmer mood. Everything went smoothly until I popped into the cafeteria late morning for a quick caffeine fix. Balancing my purse, a coffee and the pecan pie that I was treating myself to to make up for the breakfast I had hardly touched, I scanned the room for a seat. The place was packed with folks breakfasting, all on vamp hours. But there was a space…
Next to Serena. Who saw me and waved.
Gritting my teeth behind my smile, I sat opposite her and groaned internally when I saw her plate was nowhere near clean. She was there for the duration.
"Miss Stackhouse, isn't it?" she said, taking a neat bite of her pancakes.
"Sookie," I said automatically. Damn my Southern manners. Well, in for a penny. Might as well do a little digging. It stuck in my craw that she'd been 'gifted' to Eric and who knows who else. Too darn close to Franklin passing Tara on to Mickey. Bill passing me onto Eric, come to that. We were human beings, not property.
A little wary of what I might see, I focused on her mind and asked, "Is Serena your real name?"
"It's my name when I work for Russell," she said, smiling. When I'm away from the hospital.
Was she a nurse? She watched me doctoring my coffee – I was suddenly in the mood for cream and plenty of sugar – and she waited until I'd finished to offer: "If you have any questions, ask away."
Oh, I'd get answers alright. Find out if Russell forced her into doing what she did for him. I wouldn't put anything past him at this point – any esteem I had for Russell Edgington disappeared about the time I realised he'd deliberately set me up to read her mind. And by this point I was sure Russell didn't give a fig about me working for him.
Maybe I could help her. Although I wasn't sure how: if she'd been glamoured she mightn't think anything was wrong herself. Keep my tone polite I asked, "How long have you been working for vampires?"
"Three, four years. Only for Russell, I can't speak to the rest. I gather you're freelance?" Russell said Kentucky wasn't the first vampire to hire her.
"Something like that." Her thoughts about Russell were warm, friendly. Like they'd been last night. It made me suspicious, but I still couldn't detect any signs of glamour.
"You provide security?" When I nodded she added, "Strange."
"What, because I'm a woman?" I blurted out.
"No, no. That Russell asked me to talk to you, not one of his guards. Although, now you mention it, maybe that's because I'm a woman. All his guards are men." She smiled warmly. "Very good-looking men, naturally."
I found myself smiling back. "He sure likes to be surrounded by pretty things, doesn't he?" I said. I took a sip of my coffee, watching her.
She puzzled me. She had a presence, a quiet dignity that made her more than a beautiful ornament. She didn't act like a … Well, like a whore. That's how she thought of it herself though, being paid to service vamps of Russell's choosing. Not that she'd objected to his choosing Eric.
And Eric had sure seemed to appreciate her company. More than once, too – I'd caught from her that it wasn't the first time they'd bumped uglies. I wondered if he'd put in a request. She wasn't his usual blonde, that was for sure. She couldn't look more different to me: tall, slim, dark-skinned. We were chalk and cheese.
Like Mark and Miriam. Hadn't I thought Pam had the hots for Mark precisely because he didn't remind her of her loss?
No, no. That was a ridiculous idea. Eric had Rory, and goodness knows how many donors at home. Variety was probably a spice vampires craved in their love lives, being so long-lived and all. Nothing to do with me.
Bringing myself back to the conversation I said, "Russell's second is a woman, isn't she?"
"Betty Joe? Yes." Not so pretty to look at that one, but she's efficient. She took a mouthful, chewing slowly. Maybe Russell wanted me to speak to her because she has other priorities, like me. She swallowed and said encouragingly, "Russell is very flexible about scheduling, you know. Always tells me well in advance, very accepting when I turn him down. He knows my day job comes first."
That sounded … not at all like what I expected."What do you do, if you don't mind me asking?"
She hesitated. Doesn't know my real name, it's okay. "I'm a surgeon. Reconstructive."
"Oh. Wow." That explained the hospital scene I'd picked up from her last night. That bite was awful messy. And I did know her real name now: Ruth Abraham.
She was watching me over her coffee cup, looking amused. "Surprised?"
"A little." And I hadn't hid it well. I cleared my throat, embarrassed by my assumption she was a nurse, feeling I'd been measured and found wanting. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. "I guess I didn't think a surgeon would be … doing what you do for Russell."
"Yes, not what you'd expect from a blood whore." I winced, and she shrugged. "It is what it is. You haven't had dealings with many … donors?" Seems more sheltered than judgemental. She can't have worked around vamps that long.
"No, can't say as I have." Beyond checking they weren't a danger, I didn't really linger in their minds.
"There's more to us than the job. Actually, for me it's more like a hobby. A very enjoyable hobby." She smiled and I braced myself for images of Eric, but it was a wild romp with that female vamp from the hospital scene she was remembering.
Blushing, I cleared my throat again. "I guess that's your choice. Isn't it?" I put enough uncertainty into my voice that she understood.
"Yes. My choice. An unusual one, perhaps." She added, not unkindly, "One you hadn't imagined someone making freely."
"No, I guess I hadn't." I knew I wouldn't chose it. Having sex with strangers on demand would make me beyond miserable. I just … needed more control after what my great-uncle did to me. But different strokes suited different folks, and Serena certainly enjoyed her 'hobby' from what I'd seen in her head.
"It works for me," she said. "I enjoy it and it helps me unwind, my day job is very stressful. I have a busy life, with no time for a relationship, but I have … physical needs. You understand?" She looked at me for my reaction, unashamed.
"Yeah. I get that," I said, surprised to find I admired her honesty, her blunt ownership of her sexuality. Whatever got her rocks off, I guessed. She wasn't being forced or hurtin' anyone else, far as I could see. "You're a red-blooded woman, and vamps are a … physical bunch."
"And I'm bisexual. Vampires are accepting of that."
"Yes, they're certainly not prejudiced there. That's one thing to be said for them."
There was a lull in conversation while she ate and I toyed with my pie. Still curious I asked, "How did you meet Russell?"
"One of his pretty boys owes his face to me. I do a little cosmetic work on the side, it pays well. So when there was … an accident, one of Russell's vampires came to me for help. I agreed, as long as I wasn't heavily glamoured."
"And they stuck to that?"
She smiled. "Yes, I needed my mind intact to function as a surgeon. And I was willing to work for them again, should the occasion arise. So I was valuable beyond my body and blood, Russell saw that. Although I have allowed him to glamour me to secrecy over my assignments for him. Like a confidentiality cause."
That obviously didn't cover her thoughts, or I'd have been spared the details of her … assignment with Eric. "What sort of surgery you do, apart from makin' pretty boys prettier?"
"Facial reconstruction mostly. The clinic I work at treats people with no insurance, charity cases." I saw a crowded waiting room, a woman with a burn on her face, a child with a birthmark. "It doesn't pay well, but the cosmetic work makes up the shortfall."
"That's good of you." I could see how passionate she was about it, and that she needed that extra money. To repay … loans? It was hard to judge her age. She could be fresh out of medical school, that was real expensive. Maybe that's why she was moonlighting for Russell. "I guess the extra work for Russell helps too."
"Oh, that's my mad-money. For frivolous things like dresses and holidays. I can meet my responsibilities without it." I saw an older woman then, a gaggle of dusty children, somewhere hot. Her family? She thought about sending them money. Africa somewhere. Oh, she was supporting a whole mess of cousins and siblings out there. That's where her money was going.
She wasn't at all what I'd expected. Fascinated, I asked, "How d'you get into surgery?"
"Oh, that is a long story that starts a continent away." She looked at me shrewdly. "And I can tell when I'm being pumped for information, you know."
"I... Sorry. Bad habit." That had been verging on nosy.
"I suppose working in security makes one suspicious." Staring at me intently, she wondering how easily I could track down her real identity, and if she'd made a mistake talking about herself. She considered asking Russell to make sure I didn't expose her. "My employers are not terribly open-minded, Sookie. They would disapprove of what I do for Russell, as much for my association with vampires as the nature of the work."
"I understand. I won't make trouble for you, I promise."
Whatever she saw in my eyes reassured her, and she nodded, deciding to give me the benefit of the doubt. We fell into silence as she finished up her food and I drank my coffee, toying with my pie, thinking about Quinn.
"Is there some reason you don't want to work for Russell?" she asked eventually, wiping her mouth with a napkin.
I sighed. "It's not Russell. It's... I haven't had the best experiences with vampires."
"Hence your question about choice." She sighed too. "I know what they are, Sookie. And how … casually they treat most humans. But I prefer to be around them. Especially the older ones." She smiled, sadly this time, and I felt an old, dulled grief from her. "I too, live with the pain of never going home, of knowing those I love consider me a monster."
"What happened to you?" I asked softly. I could see some of it, but I didn't understand the language being shouted, just the ache she felt at the memory.
"I grew up in in rural Ethiopia. Not the most … liberated of places. My mother found me with another girl. I was fourteen, I didn't know the words for what we did, not until my mother spat them in my face. In my country, such behaviour was taboo, punished. My mother sent for a man from another village. He was going to steal me away, make me his wife."
"By force," I said. I was tearing up at the things I could see in her head. I didn't know what to say.
"My aunt–" Her voice caught, but her dignity held. "It is only because of her that I escaped. The other girl did not."
"What happened to her?" I whispered.
"She died at nineteen. In childbirth, her fourth in as many years. I found that out much later."
Her mind was full of her, her first love, a stony grave she could only imagine, never visit. I reached for her hand across the table and said thickly, "I'm so sorry."
She reached over with her other hand and patted mine. "That place is a long way from here," she said gently, as if it was me that needed comforting.
Maybe it was. She let my hand go and I took it back, wiping away a tear, my mind full of Lafayette, the struggle he had growing up, his terrible death. I said sadly, "People are so cruel."
"Yes, yes they are. That is why I sleep with vampires. They are strong, they will not be hurt because of my choices." I cannot live with that again.
With great dignity, she folded her napkin and tidied her plate. "Have a good day, Sookie."
I left my pie unfinished, all appetite gone. The humbling encounter with Serena played on my mind for the rest of the morning. Her childhood, the struggles she'd overcome, it all made my problems seem so small.
…
Halfway through a visit to housekeeping, my phone rang. I ignored it until I finished checking the staff that were around, looking at the text only when I was on the way out the door.
Niall. A terse message telling, not asking, me to meet him at a restaurant three blocks away as soon as I could. I cussed under my breath.
"Whatsup?" Diantha asked appearing at my elbow.
I showed her the message and huffed. "Niall thinks he can just snap his fingers and I have to come running."
She shrugged. "Better go. Almost time for yer break anyway, right? Want me to square it with Geiszler?"
"No. I'll do that." I went to talk to my boss, whose objections melted the second he heard Niall's name. Diantha had a rental, so she drove and I texted Quinn from the car. We were supposed to meet up for a late lunch. He was manning the Special Events table at the trade fair, which was open specially for the local twoeys that afternoon, as a gesture of goodwill. Quinn was hoping to drum up some business.
Something came up. Rain-check on lunch? I sent him.
Sure. You ok? I couldn't tell from his short reply, but I figured he was pissed and worried.
Yes, fine. Speak later.
I was both regretful and relieved to break our lunch date. It would have been awkward; I wasn't ready to forgive him yet, despite his contrition.
The restaurant was classy. The maître d' who walked us in was thinking snobby thoughts about Diantha's clothes, not that Diantha would give a rat's ass for her opinion. Mine passed muster: I was wearing heels and a smart pant suit. A black one, matching my mood when I saw who was sitting with Niall.
Daisy Riverstone.
The witch from Tyler, East Texas. The one I met when Lattesta kidnapped me.
She was wearing a pale blue tunic top gathered with a wide tan leather belt, over soft buckskin pants and boots. Her hair, streaked with a touch more grey than before, hung loose down her back and her tan was deeper now, her cheekbones more prominent. She'd lost weight, too much. Same steady hazel eyes though, same deep wisdom behind them, so I reckoned her ancestors were still in there with her. Reading her was just asking for trouble, so I refrained.
Niall was as dapper as ever in a dark plum velvet suit. He smiled warmly. "Sookie, it is good to see you."
"Hello Niall," I said. He stood and kissed my cheek, making me a little less annoyed with him, but not much. I sat down, Diantha taking the seat besides me.
"Shall we eat first?" he said, eyeing me. "Yes, I see that would be best." He waved a waiter over.
"Sookie Stackhouse," Daisy said. "You look better than the last time we met."
"Daisy Riverstone," I returned mockingly. "You don't."
Smiling with her eyes but not her lips, she said, "The warrior's heart still beats within you."
Niall cleared his throat, and looked pointedly at me, as if I was a misbehaving child. Taking the hint, I put on my sweetest smile and held my tongue while he ordered.
Halfway through my delicious chicken parmesan I realised what a good strategist Niall was. I was ravenous; I'd hardly eaten all day. Vamp hours really messed up a girl's meal schedule. I glanced up and saw that Daisy had hardly touched her salad.
Hm. She didn't seem the type to diet. Niall, on the other hand, was tasting everything on his plate with the air of a man conducting an experiment of uncertain success. Diantha looked up from her almost finished spaghetti and meatballs and winked at me, so I dug right back in. After the last tasty morsel, I sat back and asked, "So, what's up Niall?"
He made a tiny gesture, and the noise of cutlery scraping and other conversations all faded as if someone had pressed a universal remote. "Daisy needs your assistance," he said.
I eyed the witch. "Uh-huh. I have an arrangement with Special Events. You need to go through them to hire me."
"I'm not hiring you, I'm calling in a favour."
"What favour? If this is about Lattesta, I told you who he was and what he was doing, sniffing around y'all. We're even."
She shook her head. "He was getting nowhere fast before you showed up. And I made him forget all about you. You owe me."
I saw Niall crumple his napkin out of the corner of my eyes. "Ladies," he said, his voice velvet politeness over sharp irritation. "If I might have a word with Sookie, alone."
Oh-oh. He was pulling rank on me.
Daisy got up to leave. I cast an appealing glance at Diantha but Niall nodded curtly at her. Shrugging she got up and followed Daisy in the direction of the restrooms.
"This one of those things I have to learn about your world, isn't it?" I said, before he could start in on me.
"Yes, it is. You are a Brigant, however dilute your blood. We honour our debts, Sookie." His face was stern and proud, the Prince not the grandfather speaking.
"I didn't ask her to wipe Lattesta's memory," I muttered.
He stared at me for a moment. "Yet you benefited from it. She did you a great favour. You will hear her out."
I glared at him. "Fine. But you and me need to have a talk about you screenin' my mail."
He raised an eyebrow. "Screening?"
"You only let Mr Cataliades write to me because you needed Diantha's help."
"Did Diantha tell you this?" he asked suspiciously.
"Nope. Worked it out myself." With a little help from a certain demon lawyer. "You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours – that's how it works, right?"
His mouth curled into a crooked smile. "You are a fast learner. And a worthy granddaughter."
"Well, that's real nice of you to say, but I don't appreciate you cutting me off from folk who are my friends like that."
He shrugged. "It is my right as your protector, as the head of your line. I do these things in your interests."
Just another high-handed asshole, I thought sourly. "Well, I don't like it."
"You are free to contact any … friends that you wish." He didn't sound happy about admitting that, and even less happy about what he said next. "I apologise. It seems I did not protect you from the FBI as well as I hoped."
I said dryly, "I don't suppose that makes you indebted to Daisy in my place."
"No, it does not." He smiled. "You think like a fairy."
I held back from rolling my eyes. Honouring your debts was a matter of family pride, but trying to stick someone else with them got me a pat on the head. Go figure. Fairy morality was as flexible and tricky as their relationship with the truth.
When the others returned, I listened as politely as I could to Daisy's story.
Turned out things had gotten too hot in Texas for her and her friends in Houston, the vigilantes. Daisy and her fella, the big werewolf with hands like spades, had been laying low in New Mexico. Up until they had a big fight and Hector, that was his name, disappeared some six months back. Hector was the reason Daisy got involved with Tooth 'n Claw in the first place, he hated the Chosen.
Then a body turned up in the desert last week.
"Human, not enough left to tell more after the coyotes had finished with him." Daisy glared at her plate for a moment. "Hector's scent was in the area. The local coven did a reconstruction. It didn't show the killer, but I knew the dead man. He was Chosen."
"So…" I said. "You think your boyfriend murdered this man." Something told me she wasn't exactly gutted about the killing part of that.
She looked up, face hard. "Yes. I told him to wait, that it was too risky. But Hector was still very angry. He coached Little League in Houston. He knew the boy that died in the house fire. He saw the bodies."
"Oh." I scrunched my eyes closed for a second, warding off the horror. "So what is it you want me to do, exactly?"
"New Mexico is here tonight, with some of his jaguars, the ones Hector was friendly with. They will not tell me where he went, what he planned. But you can find out."
"Okay," I said cautiously. "I can do that."
"Hector thirsts for blood." She looked me right in the eyes. "I encouraged him to walk this path. I need to find him, before–"
"He kills anyone else," I finished grimly.
"Before he gets caught," she corrected.
…
"Why do I always get tangled up in this shit?" I asked plaintively.
Looking over her shoulder as she reversed into the tight parking bay under the hotel, Diantha shrugged awkwardly. "Wrongplacewrongtime."
"Damn straight," I muttered. Just like the poor shifter at the trial last night. No wonder I empathised with him.
Quinn was waiting at the entrance, forehead set in worried wrinkles. Once we'd cleared security he said, "Hey. You okay? I heard you left the building."
"Yep," I said, taking his arm to steer him somewhere quieter.
The wrinkles deepened. "Babe," he said softly. "You need to wash that scent off before sunset."
I groaned. "Thanks, I meant to do it at the restaurant, but..."
"I'da reminded yer before the vamps rose," Diantha said cheerfully, and I realised she'd followed us. Lord, she was sneaky. And nosy.
"Give us a minute will you?" I said.
"Sure, but you're due back soon."
"Won't be a sec."
Quinn and I ducked around a corner and I explained what had happened.
He was not surprised to hear New Mexico was arriving. "I'll come with you. Frannie called. Timas is here too," he said, his face darkening. "And I want a word with him."
Looking out for his sister was great and all, but I sure hoped he wasn't going to stir up more trouble. I gave him a chaste peck on the cheek, and went to wash my face where Niall had kissed me. I'd been gone long enough over my break that I was cringing inside when I walked back into the hub, but Geiszler didn't lay into me for being late, still too awed that I'd had a personal summons from Niall.
Guess name-dropping an ex-prince was good for something.
So began another spell of prowling the corridors and the back rooms, checking minds for treachery.
A short while later I was called to the eighth floor – where Maude and her husband Wisconsin were quartered – because someone had been seen behaving suspiciously. For some reason Wisconsin's guards were big beefy humans with guns, not twoeys, and they objected to letting Diantha past because she didn't have security id. They weren't the sharpest tools in the tool shed, and I could see we'd get nowhere arguing with them, so I told her to take off.
I already had an idea I was wasting my time up there. Turned out I was right: it was just a Minnesota secretary sneaking into the room of a Wisconsin lawyer for a little fun off the clock. Sneaking because they didn't want the guards or either of their vampire bosses finding out they were having a fling. The secretary was mighty embarrassed when I came a-knockin'.
So was I. She was tied up. Literally. I'd never seen so much rope on one woman. It sure didn't look comfortable to me, but she wasn't complaining.
Guess hotel workers saw that sort of thing all the time.
Explaining to the guards that it was all perfectly innocent was frustrating too. It took a while to penetrate their thick skulls. By the time I radioed Geiszler, I was waiting on the elevator, tapping my foot impatiently.
"Problem on eight is resolved. I repeat resolved," I said. "On my way."
"A-okay. Expect you in ten," he said as the elevator arrived and I stepped forwards without looking, bumping into a woman getting out.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," we both said automatically, sidestepping around each other.
It was such a little thing. We'd touched, briefly, and I got a real clear image: a pair of shoes that she wished were hers.
Red shoes, on feet belonging to a maid who'd just riden the elevator with her. I knew it was a maid, because the image I got came dressed in the right uniform. The maid's hair colour, face, even skin colour – those details were blurry. Only the uniform had registered.
A uniform red shoes were not part of.
By the time I'd reasoned that far, the elevator was closing and I was alone inside. Operating on a hunch, I hit the button for the sixth floor. There'd been another person riding the elevator in her memory, and him I knew. He was one of Russell's Weres. I ducked out on their floor real quick and asked the two guards by the elevator if they'd seen a maid when their colleague got out.
They looked at each other and said no. So she'd gotten off below their floor.
They told me something else too, unwittingly. They were already alert when the elevator opened. They'd heard it coming.
Now, the main wing had two corridors. The little side lobby for the elevators and the main stairwell was near the corner where those two corridor met, and the lobby opened straight onto the longer of the two. No doors. So anybody in either corridor, especially anyone with extra-sensitive hearing, would hear the elevator ping as it arrived. Might even hear it before that.
Acting on instinct again, I turned my radio to silent and took the stairs. My heels clacked on the hard floor of the landing, so I slipped them off, clutching them under my arm as I hurried down two flights of stairs. I would just check one more floor, then I'd radio Geiszler, get him to check the camera in the elevator, see where she got off.
I cast ahead with my mind. No-one was in the side lobby, so I opened the door quietly and slipped out there. I couldn't see down the corridors, or be seen, but I could sure as hell use my telepathy to tell who was around: there were voids in the light-tight rooms, but no breathers about, even in the rooms. It was mostly traders on this floor, which explained the absence of detectable minds – they must be downstairs at the trade fair.
All except one.
A twoey mind, swirling with anticipation, feverish with adrenaline. At the far end of the long corridor, outside the executive suite.
Where were the guards? There should be guards stationed there, twoey guards. Putting my shoes down on the floor, I peeped round the corner. I ducked back quickly.
Shit.
First thing I saw was a trail of discarded clothes and shoes, leading towards me. No sign of the guards, dead or alive, in human-shape or wolf.
Second thing: Red Shoes had wheeled her room service cart right up to the suite door, bold as brass and definitely up to mischief. She was working on the lock, back to me. Why the hell was nobody raising the alarm?
I glanced at the cameras opposite the elevators. A cable dangled from the ceiling, ripped loose.
Oh.
With the camera out Geiszler would send someone to investigate, but until they got here I was it. I crouched low, and risked another look. Red Shoes was still busy. She had long black hair, slicked back in a tight ponytail and secured by one of those embossed leather doohickies, the kind you hold in place with a wooden pin. I could see it against her hair.
Wooden.
A small wooden stake.
I felt her pulse of excitement as the door unlocked. She made to slip inside, tugging the cart awkwardly after her, and I sensed she was going to glance over her shoulder before she did. Ducking back just in time, I clamped my hand over my mouth, stifling a gasp.
My heart lurched, leaden in my chest. A cold sweat began to prickle between my shoulder blades, on the nape of my neck.
Shitshitshit.
For the second time in as many days I'd plunged into a woman's mind and found it full of Eric.
Eric, who'd been at the back of my mind too. Ever since I spoke to Russell's wolves. Since I ran down to this floor, his floor. Since I sensed Red Shoes outside his door. Yes, I knew which suite he was in. Bite me. It was my business to know where the all the royals were.
Red Shoes had been sent to kill him. And she was thinking: In and out. Ninety seconds, two minutes tops.
Shitshitshit.
No time. No time to fetch vamps were dead for the day. No-one else was around. It was down to me.
As soon as I heard the door click shut behind her, I was up and moving, fast and quiet, my stocking feet landing lightly on carpet as I flew down the corridor, praying the sound-proofing was as good as the hotel advertised, praying she'd left the door unlocked for a fast getaway.
I slowed as I reached the suite. There were four voids inside, one in each room. I prayed one of them wouldn't wink out of existence in the next two minutes. The woman was over to the left, where the biggest bedroom was.
All of the bedrooms had their own keypad lock. State of the art, Kentucky had boasted, programmable with a code of the guest's choosing. Couldn't be forced or cracked.
The last line of defence between the murderous bitch and her target.
Before I could even begin praying it would hold, I heard her thinking numbers as she typed, reading them off a screen in her hand. Shit. She had the code.
No time.
I turned the handle slowly, eased the door open and stepped inside the suite, with no plan beyond a steely determination to stop her, and nothing to tip things in my favour beyond surprise.
One lone lamp lit the central lounge. She was opening the bedroom door, her cart abandoned beside it, reaching up with one hand to pull that handy mini-stake from her hair.
"No!" I yelled, launching myself across the room.
Everything slowed down.
Her head whipped round, and our eyes met briefly as her hand rose in defensive, clenched tight around the wooden pin.
Such a small piece of wood, to end a thousand years.
For a moment, one joyous moment, I thought she was about to charge me. I had enough time to take in wide almond eyes, an Asian complexion, red lips contorted in a snarl. Then she whirled round and leapt into the dark room behind her, towards the bed.
She was faster than me. Even at full tilt, I only made the doorway in the time it took her to leap across the room and land on her target, straddling the unmoving body in the middle of the bed.
The sheet was draped over it head to toe. Like a shroud, my mind supplied unhelpfully.
Her arms were swinging up, her hands clasped around the wood. As they began their downward plunge, I yelled again, something incoherent and anguished.
…
There was a rush of motion, a blur so fast it barely registered.
Next I knew, Neb was standing at the foot of the empty bed, half-naked, his hand around the assassin's throat. Her feet dangled in mid-air, kicking wildly.
"Neb," I gasped, wrapping my arms around my heaving chest as I sagged against the door. It was okay. No ash. No stake in the heart. No Eric.
The woman scrabbled at the hand round her throat, her movements slowing. She went limp.
"Miss Stackhouse," Neb said calmly as he moved towards me, into the light.
He was naked except for a belted white … skirt? Kilt? And a necklace. One hell of a necklace. A heavy golden collar, carved with symbols, with a jewelled scarab the size of a goose egg dangling from the centre. Looked like it belonged on a mummy.
A three thousand year-old Egyptian vampire was close enough, I reckoned. It suited him.
A titter escaped me. Neb gave me a sharp look as he carried the would-be assassin past me like she weighed nothing, and that scolding glance broke the dam. I bent double, giggling uncontrollably, hysteria bubbling up, taking the adrenaline and fear with it.
Until I caught sight of a pair of shoes, tossed carelessly in the corner. Shoes too big for Neb's slight frame. Straightening up and wiping my eyes, I looked at the bed, with its sheet thrown aside. A rumpled bed, in a room I recognised, from Serena's memories.
I walked out into the lounge and Neb looked up from binding the woman's hands. I said flatly, "That's Eric's room."
"Yes." He stood up and the lamp behind him cast his face in shadow. He stared at me intently, brown eyes devoid of intelligence, deep, unfathomable wells of darkness.
Predator! my instincts screamed. I was suddenly and painfully aware that I was alone, in a room where I shouldn't be, facing a very old vampire.
His voice devoid of emotion Neb asked, "Why are you here?"
I resisted the urge to run, to panic. I licked my lips, my mouth dry. "Neb, look, I didn't have anything to do with–"
He stepped closer, eyes glittering darkly in the dim light. "I know. You were trying to stop her. You yelled."
I gasped. "You heard that?"
"Yes, I was awake," he said absently. "You cried out in fear. For a vampire. Or was it one vampire in particular?"
"How are you awake?" I countered, not acknowledging his question. "It's three hours before sunset."
He tapped the collar. "This is old. And powerful. Like me."
Like him indeed. I swallowed. "You were waiting for her. You knew she was coming."
"Yes. We were warned."
"Who warned you?"
"Hm. You are flashing," he said waving at my belt.
I looked down. My radio was blinking madly. Shit. I was overdue calling in.
"Where are you?" Geiszler barked over the static as soon as I picked up.
"Code red," I answered. That meant a breach. "Camera down on five."
"There is? Fuck."
Shit, he didn't know. Someone must have diverted the feed. "By the elevators," I replied, eyes on Neb, who was watching me placidly. He seemed more himself now, less threatening. I added, "Louisiana's guards are gone too."
"Anyone moving up there that shouldn't be?" Geiszler asked.
Neb put his finger to his lips and shook his head. The assassin was definitely not moving, now or for a while, so I guessed I could go along with it.
"No," I said, wincing at the tiny white lie. I could hear Geiszler barking instructions, on the move himself.
"Stay put," he ordered. "Don't move from those elevators, you hear? Team's on its way. ETA five, repeat five minutes."
"Yessir," I signed off.
Damn. Now I was knee-deep in shit. If Quinn heard I'd confronted an assassin alone, he'd have a fit.
But it was worse than that.
Some of the security guys hung out with Quinn. In fact, I think he'd asked a couple of them to look out for me. It had been them he was thinking of that morning, ribbing him about Eric. So Quinn would hear about it if I was found in Eric's rooms. Lord knew how he'd react if he knew it was Eric I'd rushed to protect.
I was heading for a major freak out about that myself.
Jealousy I could account for, the urgent need to save Eric's life… Was something I couldn't afford to think about right now. I had to go, the security team couldn't find me here.
There was just one loose end. A big blond one. I eyed Neb. "I don't suppose you could forget I was ever here?"
"Is it Eric you wish to hide this from, or your tiger?" he asked, face smooth again, cool marble.
With a sigh I admitted, "Both."
"I will have to tell Eric."
Well, that just wouldn't do. Eric would find a way to tell Quinn, to gloat, I just knew it. I narrowed my eyes. "I know what that necklace can do. How about I keep your secret, you keep mine?"
"I cannot. Eric will know you were here." He tapped his nose.
Damn, damn, damn.
"But there is a way round that," he said thoughtfully. "Come back, interrogate the assassin for me. That will explain your scent."
I looked at the unconscious woman, and groaned. "Fine. But I need to leave right now. Wait – won't the twoey guards notice?"
"I doubt it," he said, smiling faintly. "Only Jephson will come in here. Intercept him, and all will be well. He won't know you came running to the rescue. I will keep your secret."
"Right. Okay." I hustled to the door, pausing with my hand on the knob. "Where is Eric anyway?"
"Across the hall in a coffin. And quite unhappy about it." He smiled fully then, his eyes warm, and I got a glimpse of the man he'd been underneath the weight of his millennia. "I thought I might have to knock him out."
I cracked a smile despite myself. "Yeah, he hates slumming it in those things."
