Talking Order
It never occurred to Eric to ring Bill.
Not out of naiveté of the communication revolution that everybody in this century was forever wasting their time over; he was just not all that enamoured of telephones. An exchange stripped of its context, of physical and olfactory cues, and which the other party could cut short by simply hanging up: it was far too egalitarian for his liking.
Text messaging, on the other hand, was close enough to the old fashion of summons to be acceptable.
I ENJOYED MEETING YOUR FRIEND. BRING HER TO THE CLUB TOMORROW.
There was no reply, but then he hadn't expected one. After all, there was nothing in his message that could be interpreted as a question.
'News from Bill's neck of the woods,' Pam informed Eric the following night, leaning an arm on the back of his chair to speak directly in his ear. 'Arson. There were four bodies, three of which look to be Malcolm and his nest. They were caught in their coffins.'
Eric's head turned slowly and Pam saw that his fangs were half extended in anger.
'The fourth?' he demanded.
'Unidentified as yet,' she said, 'but they think it's human.'
'Then Bill has no excuses for being late.' Eric was pulling out his cell phone. 'Who would have thought, such a small country town could house so much drama?' he said, in a voice as cold as granite and utterly devoid of humour.
Pam knew what that tone meant: whoever was responsible was going to die. The thought of retribution pleased her. The three earlier murders in Bon Temps had not been great cause for concern because it was obvious that no vampire had killed the women. But now with the same number of casualties from Eric's jurisdiction, however much he detested Malcolm personally, it had become a vampire matter.
Human laws or no human laws, any mortal that dared to attack one of their kind in daylight deserved no better than to be hunted down. Too many had already lost their lives in the last two years; entire courts in the Old Countries had been captured by silver, burned, or staked. They could not let the same happen here.
Over Eric's shoulder, she read the text he was inputting.
CONSIDER THE LAST AN ORDER, NOT A REQUEST. AND WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THE KILLING OF OLD FRIENDS FROM MONROE?
'Do you want me to call him?' she offered, knowing Eric's habit of avoiding phone conversations.
'Perhaps later. If he continues to be stubborn,' he retorted.
The night after that, Eric left the club after changing out of his working clothes and letting Pam know where he was going. In his car, he sent Bill a third message. He was not in the habit of repeating himself.
I NEED A WORD WITH YOU.
It was possible that Bill would detect the unwritten: SINCE YOU INSISTED ON BEING UNOBLIGING, I AM COMING OVER. RIGHT NOW. It was no weight on Eric's mind, however, if Bill neglected to mind the subtext just as he did the text. In his area, Eric had right of entry in any vampire's home.
He switched off Corvette's engine just off Hummingbird Road and walked the rest of the way, passing the Stackhouse residence. Silence from that quarter; Eric found that he was disappointed, then discarded the thought.
Bill's house, too, was empty. Remembering that the last living owner had been an old man, Eric did not bother looking for the spare key anywhere above waist height, and after a few seconds' search, he located it under a smooth stone next to the porch steps. Once he was inside, he locked the front door again and placed the key in his pocket.
Let Bill wonder how he had gotten in.
He plugged earbuds into his ears and went upstairs to explore, humming to himself.
THE END
30 October 2008