A/N Thanks for the encouragement, it's great to know that someone is enjoying this. I said before it's my first time writing anything like this, so I hope I don't let anyone down. When I wrote the last chapter I wasn't sure whether to carry on or write a sequel, so I've opted to carry on. The next four chapters were written back to back, and they vary greatly in length and content so I hope they're okay.
Eric's Demons
Chapter Eighteen
Lazing back in the heavy armchair the huge vampire that was Eric Northman was restless. Tonight he wore only a simple black Tee shirt and jeans, lose enough for comfort, tight enough to show off his perfectly formed muscular body. Ever present at his side the wicked heavy blade that had so recently claimed the lives of dozens of Nephilim warriors. That some of them had escaped that night vexed the viking greatly, but try as they might they had so far found no trace of them.
Tonight Ulrich and Olaf had gone to continue the search, leaving Eric behind with Sookie, to protect her. He smiled at the idea, Sookie could protect them these days. That her new found powers, their use taught her by Eric's first true love, had not changed the little waitress was a mercy in itself.
She was still a pain in the ass, but how Eric loved her.
Sookie had gone shopping to one of the late night malls, refusing to let Eric come with her. She had just smiled knowingly, said he would enjoy the surprise. There was no danger she couldn't face on her own.
Eric Northman had been forced to back down, once she had that look in her eye, once her lip curled, once her stance said "You don't want to argue with this girl". So now he sat alone in the heavy armchair, in the house he had borrowed from the Magister. His own house was still a smoldering heap of rubble and ash, legacy of the first night the Nephilim had come to kill him.
The house itself was massive, a ten bedroom colonial mansion that had survived the ravages of civil war virtually unscathed. At one time there had been slaves or servants living in a further massive dwelling built nearby on the plantation, but that was now unoccupied, used only for the infrequent guests who stayed here from time to time.
Godric had loved this place, Eric remembered fondly the masquerades, the epic period parties. He felt sad that his maker would never see such delights again.
His melancholia was broken by a sharp rap at the front door, followed by a persistent ringing of the bell, someone really wanted to see him.
Setting the massive sword to one side, sure the Nephilim wouldn't knock when they returned, Eric's booted feet rang out loud against the polished wooden floor as he went to answer the door. Every few paces portraits of the great and good plantation owners and horse traders who had once owned this sprawling home looked benevolently down on him. Eric grinned to himself, thinking that the artists had probably been kinder to these long dead men and women than any photographer had been.
Opening the door, appreciating the cliche as it creaked forbiddingly on dry hinges, he was greeted by the sight of an odd looking stranger. Standing on the porch, illuminated by the oil lamps that burned at either end of the veranda was a man that Eric was sure he had never seen before.
He looked every bit the academic. He wore a tweed jacket and corduroy trousers which were both of greenish brown color, and were both worn at knees, elbows and cuffs. Shorter than Eric he was still tall enough at six feet, but was quite skinny and lanky for a man of that height. His hair was an unruly mop of curly brown, and on his pale skinned face he wore small round rimmed glasses.
"Ivan Esling," he introduced himself in a broad up state New York accent. Eric looked down at the offered right hand, declining to shake it.
"What can I do for you, Ivan, I'm busy," Eric asked. Busy doing nothing until Sookie got back, he thought.
"I wonder if I might impose on you, sir? I'm new to the area and need directions, and perhaps a few questions answered, if I might be so bold," the stranger was very formal, very polite.
Normally Eric Northman would not have wasted time with a stranger such as this, but he was bored, and something about this strange visitor intrigued him. He stepped aside, welcomed his visitor into the grand hallway of his temporary home.
"What can I do for you?" he asked, curious as to what might have brought anyone all the way out to the plantation at night.
"I think I'm lost," Ivan confessed, looking embarrassed.
Before he closed the door Eric looked out beyond the porch to see what was clearly a rental Ford parked on the hard standing. The back seat was full of suitcases, but there was no sign of further passengers. He could hear the regular clicking noises of the cooling engine.
"Come on through," Eric beckoned for his visitor to follow him to the kitchen. Sookie had left a pot of coffee on, so he offered his guest a cup.
Grateful Ivan took the hot cup in both hands, sat down at the large table. Eric looked at the cuts and scores, the gouges of hard use on the polished table top. He imagined over the years it had served as everything from butcher's block to delivery room as the generations of the long gone family had lived and died here.
"I'm very much in your debt," Ivan informed him as he tasted the strong coffee. He seemed to savor it, as a connoisseur would fine wine. To Eric it was nothing more than stewed too long, but the academic seemed to appreciate some finer point to the brew. If he noticed that his host never took a cup he was too polite to say.
"Where were you going?" Eric asked, sitting down opposite the man, watching as he sipped at the hot liquid.
"I've traveled down from New York, I was hoping to find the club they call Fangtasia. Perhaps you would be so kind as to direct me to it," he informed his host.
"Certainly, I know where it is, but why would a man such as yourself want to go there. Why would you have heard of it in New York?" Eric asked.
Ivan set the coffee down, leaned closer to Eric. In a conspiratorial voice he told him why he wanted to find the club, never suspecting that his gracious host was in fact it's owner.
"I'm a professor of history and humanitarian studies," he began. "Some of the students told me that they had heard of this place, this Fangtasia, I thought to check it out for myself."
"But of what interest is it to you, Ivan, what do you know of it that would bring you here to see it for yourself?" Eric was curious.
"The students claim that it is owned and staffed by vampires," he seemed outraged. "I wanted to see if that were true."
"It's true that there are vampires there, indeed I've seen them myself," Eric told him, "but why would that interest an academic such as yourself. Is it that you want to become one of them?"
Jumping to his feet Ivan was incensed.
"Never sir, I am a vampire hunter. It is an evil thing if these creatures are so openly flouting themselves. I would rather die than be one of them!"
"I'm sorry," he said, sitting down again, looking a little sheepish. "But it's just wrong, they are evil. Surely any God fearing man would rather be dead than be one of them. Between you and me I have come to hunt them, vile evil creatures."
"So you believe that any God fearing man would rather die?" Eric asked. "Do you fear God?"
Ivan Elsing looked at the large, well muscled, blonde haired, and suddenly fanged Eric and realized that he had made a terrible mistake.
Sookie arrived home around eleven, laden with bags of groceries, clothes, and who knew what else. Her handsome hero was waiting for her to take the bags, and follow her back into the house. As she talked animatedly about the mall, the night time shoppers, and the bargains she had found Eric tried very hard to feign interest. After a while she asked what he had been up to. He shrugged, claiming to have waited around all night for her.
Mostly Sookie tried not to read his mind, a power she had developed after her time learning with Nula, but Eric was such a bad liar that she couldn't help herself. Instead of getting a clear idea what he was hiding though she was met by his infantile effort not to think of the basement.
"What have you been doing down there?" she asked, "Is it a woman?"
Seeing that his charade was already lost Eric shrugged. He hated the fact that he couldn't hide anything from her.
"I had a visitor tonight, an academic. He's helping me do some research," he told her.
"Really, then what are you so guilty about?" she asked.
"I don't think he wanted to help me," Eric confessed. "It's his fault though, he's a vampire hunter, he claims that any God fearing man would rather die than become a vampire. I checked that he was God fearing first though!"