A/N I'm really sorry not to have been able to update for a while as I've been away, but thanks for your continuing support and encouragement! x

Chapter 15

How, Pam wondered, can a vampire be unable to drive in the dark? And how, specifically, could a vampire ascend to the throne of Louisiana and be unable to drive in the dark? It seemed to her to be a mark of such shameful feebleness that she was amazed - fundamentally, and on a daily basis – that Bill could even tie his shoe laces and leave his house, let alone govern the state. Then again, she mused as she nudged the limo over a hundred on the clear New Orleans freeway, her boss' peculiar vehicular night-blindness did have its advantages.

'Slow down!' Franklin whined from the back. 'The fuel warning light's on, for one thing, if you hadn't noticed.'

Pam rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to tell this ridiculous figure of a vampire sheriff to simply fuck right off, but Bill gave her a sharp, reprimanding glance.

'He's right. We want to get to Edgington's without mishap, whether that be a minor encounter with the law or a highway pile-up. And I think there's a garage about a kilometre away, so make sure you pull in.'

Pam took the corner into the garage forecourt just a little too fast, deliberately, and relished the sheriff's nervous squeal. As she stalked towards the kiosk, she prayed they stocked Tru Blood. She hadn't been able to stomach drinking that synthetic travesty at Fangtasia and that had been all that was on offer. To think, Eric Northman's bar reduced to kowtowing to the Authority's latest PR fad: 'Drink no human! Spread no fear!' Shit and fucking kittens, virtually every human that had walked into Fangtasia in Eric's day had been desperate to open their veins according to their particular sexual predilection. It was all consensual; dark and edgy at times, no doubt, but Eric would never have tolerated blood abuse on his premises. Pam was making a supreme effort to control her hunger and her rage as she strolled, a picture of genteel femininity, up to the check-out. The familiar squat little red bottles were lined up in the fridge behind the attendant. Thank the little infant Jesus and all the fucking saints.

Pam was about to speak when she caught, in the corner of her eye, a face on the TV screen above the kiosk. A blonde woman was smiling to camera holding a yellow beach ball. It was a photo, a slightly blurred image but recognisable to Pam without her having to read the caption beneath. Sookie Stackhouse. The shot switched to a local reporter stationed outside a nondescript, run-down apartment block. The caption now read: Jackson Avenue, Shreveport.

'Police were alerted to the disappearance of Miss Stackhouse by her employer, Mr Sam Merlotte, when she failed to turn up for her shift at Merlotte's Bar in Bon Temps. Mr Merlotte claimed that the waitress had been in a highly anxious and distracted state at his bar the previous day and had been in a rush to leave. Miss Stackhouse is believed to have dated a vampire by the name of Bill Compton who caused an incident at Merlotte's recently when, according to witnesses, a rowdy group of men were disrespectful to the missing woman. Police have searched the home of Miss Stackhouse, which is on the top floor of the apartment block behind me. There is evidence of disturbance. The apartment directly below her home is also empty of any occupant and shows evidence of a struggle. The door to that property, police say, had been forced open, as had Miss Stackhouse's. Police have not been able to establish who is the tenant of that property and they have put out an urgent appeal for information.'

'Uh, can I help you?' The cashier was eying Pam with increasing irritation. She promptly paid for the fuel and entirely forgot to order any Tru Blood, as she realised almost as soon as she walked out of the kiosk. She couldn't go back in; Bill might get antsy and come over. The last thing she needed was that infatuated wreck spotting the face of his former lover on the TV news: Sookie Stackhouse, missing presumed...whatever. She smoothed her face into a well-practiced expression of passive neutrality and slipped back into the driver's seat.

'Filled up and ready to go,' she murmured as she pulled out of the garage and set off at a heady pace, impervious to Franklin's whines and Bill's impatient, angry stares.

Russell flicked off the TV as his gate security buzzed that the king and his two staff were on the approach to the house. This was quite a turn-up. A man-hunt over two parishes for Bill Compton's delectable former human lover? He'd have to play this to his advantage somehow; no doubt this was behind the king's surprising venture to New Orleans. Some spark of trouble with a pack of hounds was hardly likely to shift him out of his backwater, but that slut was apparently worth the head of his queen... hurriedly, the sheriff took the photograph of Sophie-Anne off his desk and put it in his drawer.

'Your majesty, please be seated, what an honour to have the pleasure of your company. If only you'd given us more notice, we could have prepared something quite extraordinary for your evening meal – there's a quarter in the city where Talbot found the most luscious Bolivian boy...'

'Russell. Do I really need to tell you that Tru Blood will be all that we require?'

'Oh of course! And it's just Talbot, you know, he's young... at my age, one barely needs to feed at all. TAAAALBOT! Where the hell is he anyway...?'

'Please, Russell, if we can get down to business?'

'Yeeees, sir. Well. I assume this has something to do with your former lover?'

Pam glanced anxiously at Bill, who looked irritated and not a little offended. 'Sookie Stackhouse is only marginal to this affair and I want her kept out of it. This is between ourselves and the weres. There are no humans involved, even the humans on my own staff are unaware of our visit to you. Humans are always the weakest link.'

Russell raised his eyebrows and gave a slow smile. Jesus, thought Pam. He knows. She'd heard the hum of the TV as they'd walked through the front door. He knows the human is missing.

'Indeed, sir. I admire your discretion. What I don't understand is why you think you have anything to fear from this city's were pack. Their numbers are depleted. And thanks to your extraordinary assistant here, they have lost their most vicious attack dog. Indeed, judging by what you told me yesterday, this vampire could quite easily finish the rest of them off single-handedly if they returned to bon Temps.' Russell smiled at Pam. If only he had her on side...

'But it isn't just the new Orleans pack, sheriff. You know very well there is an unusual degree of unity amongst Louisiana weres. If this was any other state, I doubt I'd be troubling you tonight but Marcus commands a good deal of loyalty state-wide. Indeed, it pains me to say it but that were commands more loyalty amongst his kind than I do amongst mine. You know full well how many Louisiana vampires would be only too delighted to an exploit a feud between the monarchy and the weres. What is at issue here, Russell, is peace in my kingdom and not some scrap with a disgruntled pack of dogs in Area 2.'

'I see. You are right, sir, and it was not my inttention to question your judgement. I will gladly smooth your way with the pack; I will visit Marcus before the night is out if you give me the details of your proposal. Now, ah, your refreshments. Where is Talbot? He's addicted to The Golden Girls, you know. That's where he'll be. Glued to that shit.' Russell sauntered out to his kitchen and opened three bottles of Tru Blood. No point in warming it. He pulled three small plastic packets out of a drawer and into each bottle he poured one quarter of a gram of powdered silver.

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