A/N: The SVM is owned by Charlaine Harris. This story is being beta'd by FiniteAnarchy, who is brilliant. Are you reading Dead Memories? Things are really heating up there. In a figurative sense. It's still early January in her story. It's exciting, is the point I'm trying to make here.

Chapter 22 - Vampire to the Heel

I slept for barely an hour before Jason called me again, up and ready for work. I had no idea how he wasn't exhausted. If I had actually stopped and thought about it, it would have been easy to figure out. When he woke and realized that Hadley hadn't ever come home, he'd called me and made it my problem then gone right back to sleep.

Jason intended to stop by the hospital to see our grandmother on his way to work, as he had been doing the past couple of days when he dropped off Hadley.

"What should I tell Gran?" he asked, sounding apprehensive.

"Tell her the truth," I said groggily. "Tell her Hadley never came home last night."

"Be serious, Sookie."

"I am being serious, Jason. Feel free to omit the bit about how you ditched your cousin to go hang out with some woman last night, but we have to tell her Hadley is missing."

"Do you think that's a good idea? With her heart?"

"Do you think it's a good idea for her to find out later?" I countered. I'm sorry to admit I'm a practiced enough liar to recognize when it's a good time to do so and when it isn't. This would be a time when it wouldn't do to lie.

I could practically see Jason with his hand on the scruff of his neck in sulking resignation.

"Alright. I'll tell her. What time are you gonna be down here today?"

"I... Actually I don't think I will be coming down today," I replied, rubbing my eyes and glaring at the clock. I wanted Jason to leave me alone. I wanted to go back to sleep.

"What?"

"I need to stay around the house today. I might be down tonight, but I can't promise it. I'll make the phone calls about getting her car towed out this afternoon, and I'll call her to check in a little later."

"I thought you had off all week."

"I do."

"So why can't you come down?"

"Something's come up. It's personal."

"I'm telling Gran," he informed me, with the air of a tattletale.

"You do that, right after you tell her about Hadley. And you tell her I'll call her around lunchtime."

"I don't know what's gotten into you Sookie."

"What do you mean?"

"You're acting like..."

"What? Acting like you?" I fired back.

"Now you hold up..." he warned.

"That's all I ever do Jason Stackhouse is hold up! Now I was up 'til dawn, so I am going back to sleep. I will talk to you later. Don't call me again unless you find our cousin or something else goes wrong!"

With that, I disconnected. I tossed my phone back on the bed. It bounced once and I pulled the covers back over my head. I'd stolen the ugly afghan from the living room couch for in here, since my good blanket was currently serving as sunscreen. I was annoyed. They needed to invent a cellphone you could slam down, just for moments like that when someone really deserved getting hung up on with that emphatic gesture.

I woke up again around eleven to the sound of someone knocking at my door. It was Mr. Eric-Only-Likes-You-Cause-You-Have-Fairy-Blood, my bodyguard.

I thought it over quickly, unsure if Eric would be comfortable having Tray in the house while he was resting in quarters that were insecure at best. I figured if he had sent Tray to guard me, he would probably trust him enough to allow him inside.

I opened the door. Tray's expression faltered momentarily and it was only then that I realized I had fallen asleep in yesterday's clothes, my hair was a complete rat's nest, and I probably had mascara under my bloodshot eyes.

"Uh, morning," he stammered. "I didn't see you moving around, I was starting to worry you weren't here."

"I'm here," I said flatly.

"Rough night?"

"You could say that," I agreed, beckoning him inside.

Tray sat down at my kitchen table while I got a pot of coffee started and then excused myself to wash up. I took a long shower, and emerged feeling slightly more like a person. I dressed in a sweater and jeans, pretty much the same as I'd worn the day before. I thought about drying my hair too, but I didn't want to leave Tray alone any longer. I noticed my hand was healing up nicely, and didn't bother putting a new bandage back on. I was pleased to see that I was back to my normal fast healing. Probably a deal faster than normal, all things considered.

Tray had helped himself to a mug of coffee, and taken one down from the cabinet for me. I filled it and drank and felt my internal humanity meter bump up a few more notches.

"So, about yesterday," Tray said, turning around in his chair to look at me. I hadn't sat down with him, I was standing against the counter breathing in my Columbian Supreme.

"Hm?"

"I think I might have said something insensitive. I'm working for Eric, and, for you, and I work with you normally now. It's not my place to speculate on the nature of things between you and him. I'm sorry for making that comment."

I nodded. I'd known that was coming of course. He'd been steeling himself since I walked in the room, but I hadn't been about to make it easy for him.

"I accept your apology. I don't exactly understand the nature of my relationship with Eric myself, but you're right that it's not your place to speculate either."

He nodded his agreement. "We're okay then?"

"We're okay."

"So," he said, exhaling in relief. "What's on the agenda today? Back to Bon Temps?"

"No," I said. "I have some calls to make, but I'm hoping everything with the car can be done over the phone. I'm not leaving this house today."

"Okay. Everything alright?"

"Not really. My cousin's gone missing. Oh, and Eric's in the spare room, so don't open that door."

"He's here? Dead?"

I nodded again. "They got into a fight last night and it didn't go so well. He's hiding out. I guess they didn't think it was safe for him to go home."

"Damn. And your cousin's gone?"

"My brother called me up close to four when he realized she hadn't come home."

"Are they related? Were they fighting fairies?"

That was a terrifying thought.

"No. They were witches. Witches, and some of them were Weres. The vamps weren't expecting the two-natured part of that equation."

"Were witches? Last I heard the Shreveport Pack didn't even have a Shaman."

"They're not from here. They blew into town, made some demands of Eric...You know about the last brush they had with the coven around here... I guess he just wasn't going to hedge his bets. He wanted to take them out pronto."

"I didn't get the whole story, I just got the girl, Pam, I guess, out of that invisible building," he said, shaking his head.

"Right, well, it was the local coven that put her there. After that, as you can imagine, neither of them is feeling too kindly about negotiating with magic users."

It wasn't that I was fine with the vampires jumping straight to murder as a means of problem solving, but the truth was that I couldn't feel a lot of pity for these people. They had been playing with fire.

I finished my first cup of coffee and set about fixing some things for lunch. It was early yet, but I was hungry. I settled on ham and egg sandwiches, using up the rest of the Christmas ham between Tray and myself.

"Someone should probably let Colonel Flood know if there are strange Weres in Shreveport."

"I thought you weren't Pack," I said.

"I'm not, but I stay friendly. Something like this, he'd want to know. Weres coming in and trying to pick a fight with vamps, that could cause problems for his people."

"I'm not saying I don't agree, but I would ask that you wait until sundown and Eric wakes up to talk to him before you go making phone calls. Should only be about six hours."

"Alright," he agreed, reluctantly.

"And..." I began.

Tray looked surprised, as though I could not possibly have more bad news. Well, I did.

"They were using spells in the fight. So, when you talk to Eric, it'll be more like um, you'll talk, and he'll write down his responses."

"He can't talk?" Tray asked. It was like someone had just tickled him.

"It's not funny," I said sternly.

"Sorry, yeah. It's not funny."

We stared at each other for a moment. He was unable to conceal his smile, which triggered mine. I couldn't help it.

"Any other situation, and it might be... but his not being able to communicate with his people is a big problem. And Pam..."

I sobered again, instantly.

"God, I don't even know if she'll make it through the day. The place where she's at... you've seen it. If they find her, they won't have a problem getting in."

"Damn," Tray said again. He had his arms folded across his chest in a stance that would have been forbidding if it weren't for the way he was fidgeting with his elbow. He was thinking.

"I've got to make some phone calls," I said, not being entirely sure of where to start. "I don't suppose you know of a repair shop out by Bon Temps?" I chuckled weakly.

As it turned out, Tray did. A buddy of his owned a shop not far from Granger.

"I was gonna buy him out at one point," Tray confessed to me. "But then I got this job working for the vampire. It wouldn't have been bad; set my own hours, be my own boss, and I like working with engines, but what I'm doing now is more reliable income."

"And he's good, this guy? Your friend?"

"I can make the call if you like," he offered, and I took him up on it while I went to call Gran.

"Hi honey," she greeted warmly.

"Hey Gran, how are you holding up?"

"I'm feeling fine. Maybe not tip-top, but I'm ready to get out of this bed." She was grumbling, but with good nature.

"What do the doctors say?"

"Well they don't even say hello, I'll tell you that. It's just in and out and tests and..."

I let Gran go on, straining to keep my attention focused on what she was saying. I felt awful that she was stuck there all day with no one to talk to, though it did seem like she'd developed a good rapport with the nurses, if not the doctors. It was mostly her talking for a good fifteen minutes before I had the chance to tell her that a friend of mine was going to see about her car.

"A friend of yours?" she asked.

"From work," I clarified. Cause Lord knows as well as Gran that I don't actually have any real friends.

It wasn't a time for the poor-me's. Some things in life are simply true, and this is one of them. I know too much about things I can't say anything about to have any human friends. I'd managed to hold on to a couple through high school, other misfits like me. Then I'd gone off to college, and they hadn't. I'd moved to Shreveport, and they hadn't, and here I was. The best girlfriend I'd had growing up, Tara Thornton, had sent me a Christmas card last week. It was currently adorning my kitchen cabinet with the others. That was what we had these days. Among the supes, well, I'd basically have to out myself to gain entrée into any of those establishments, and that was just not possible.

Gran worries about my being alone; about my being lonely. It's not just my lack of boyfriends that she has in mind.

"Brenda?" she asked. Persistent woman.

"No, a new guy. Tray Dawson. He's over today helping me take care of some things at the house."

"Yes, Jason said you wouldn't be down today. He was pretty put out about it."

"Yeah," I said regretfully. In the face, or voice, of Gran, I did feel ashamed about how I'd talked to him earlier. "I wasn't too nice to him this morning," I admitted.

"He told me Hadley didn't come home last night."

"Apparently not," I said. "I'm worried, Gran."

"She'll be back," Gran said with singular confidence. "She didn't come home just to leave again."

"Gran, what if something happened to her?" I needed her to brace herself.

"What could happen to her?"

The worst. "Anything," I answered helplessly.

"She'll be back," Gran said again, firmly, and I let it go.

We spoke for a while longer. I apologized again that I couldn't make it down there today and she forgave me out of hand. She never once asked me what was keeping me away. She really was too good a woman.

I got off the phone and returned to Tray and he let me know that his friend would get the car towed out to the shop this evening and I could call for an estimate tomorrow. I thanked him, and then tried to move on to the next problem.

There wasn't a damn thing I could do about Hadley. We could try going to the bar. Tray was willing to go and shift to see if he could smell anything. The problems with that were severalfold. A giant wolf in a busy parking lot during the lunch rush would draw lots of attention from the many humans whose many smells had likely obscured any trace of Hadley anyway. I was determined not to leave Eric unattended in the house, and I was equally resolved to stick with Tray. I was afraid. There was no point in denying it. I wasn't about to do something foolish; not today. We were stuck here until Eric woke up. What would we do if we found traces of fairy, or even of Were, at the bar anyway? We would know, but then what?

What I wouldn't give to borrow Gran's rose-colored glasses.

After the tense and ultimately fruitless discussion of Hadley, I was desperate to find something that I could do to try to make matters better. Any matters at all would do really, I wasn't about to be picky. I found myself unmaking my bed and washing my sheets just so I could feel like I had a handle on something. I would have to call Jason at some point in time. I couldn't stay on the outs with him. I did need him to pick up the slack, to tend to Gran, not only tonight but in the coming days and weeks.

I realized after the pillowcases were safely in the dryer that there was something I could do, or at least something I could look in to. I called information and got the phone number for the Genuine Magic Shop in New Orleans that Holly had suggested to get the wards installed at Jason's house, and Gran's. After a few rings, a cheerful voice answered.

"Hi there," I said. "I'm calling to inquire about magical warding for my property, and I have some questions about spells."

"The Genuine Magic Shop specializes in occult supplies and does in-house tarot card readings in the heart of the French Quarter," the voice replied, like it was reading an advertisement.

"Okay. That's good to know. Um, I was referred to you by a friend of mine who suggested that you might be able to help me with-"

"We at the Genuine Magic Shop offer a variety of instructional books on all manner of mystical lore," the voice interrupted.

I frowned. "Is there some kind of secret password I'm supposed to say here?"

"Is there anything else I can help you with today?"

"Abracadabra, Please-and-Thank-you?" I tried, frustrated.

The phone clicked. Rude! I called back immediately.

The same voice answered. "Genuine Magic Shop, how can I help you?"

"Hi, listen, I'm sorry. I think I said the wrong thing. My friend Holly Cleary told me I might be able to speak to someone there about spell-"

"The Genuine Magic Shop does not take kindly to prank calls. Have a blessed day."

Click.

What a witc...a bitc... a jerk!

I stared at the phone in frustration before glancing at Tray. From his seat at the table, he'd probably heard enough to get the gist.

"Hung up?"

"She thought I was prank calling her."

"They probably get a lot of that," Tray excused. I wasn't in the mood. I wasn't sure how to proceed here. How do you give your supernatural bona fides over the phone?

I dialed the number again.

"Genuine Magic Shop," the same voice responded, sounding irritated.

"This is Sookie Stackhouse calling on behalf of Eric Northman the Vampire Sheriff of Area Five. My sponsor is Desmond Cataliades, and if I'm speaking to a witch who works for the supes in New Orleans, then you know who he is. Now I want to speak to your boss. Please."

I deflated slightly as I finished, but I'd gone in swinging. It had the desired effect.

The voice was nearly quavering when it requested that I, "Please hold."

"Who's Desmond Cataliades?" Tray asked.

I put my hand over the receiver as I muttered in response, "The Queen's demon lawyer."

He let out a low whistle and I didn't respond because a deep alto voice rumbled across the line. It was a black woman, and her name was Octavia Fant. I always thought it was weird that I could tell the color of someone's skin just by hearing their voice, but it's not just me. It's been studied. A tip of the hat to the linguistics courses I'd taken, there. Initially I'd thought those classes were an odd requirement, considering my field, until I realized that the evolution of language is just another way of tracking the history of any given culture. This woman was speaking resonantly from the creole culture unique to New Orleans. Was I talking to a real live voodoo queen?

Unlike the lesser witch whose duties included phone answering, this woman was not intimidated when I name-dropped Eric and Mr. C, but she was a great deal more communicative.

We talked about my options, and Eric's. Since he had killed the spellcaster (I'd said she was "definitely unavailable," and left the witch to fill in that blank), getting his magic undone was apparently a lot more complicated. I was careful to ask my questions as hypothetical, doing my best to give the impression that some vampire in Eric's retinue had been afflicted. It was probably bad enough that I'd told Tray. Eric wouldn't want strangers knowing, and besides, I didn't know the woman on the other end of the line from Eve. She seemed to know her stuff though. She certainly talked the talk.

As for the wards, Holly had definitely pointed me in the right direction. Apparently they have several different packages on offer for their supe clientèle, but she listened as I discussed my needs and then assured me that they would be able to help with "most of that." Since I live far away, I'd have to pay for transportation for the person who came to set them up, in addition to their usual fees. It would be money well spent.

I had a lot to do once we hung up. The bottom line was that we needed to go to New Orleans, tonight. As I packed up a bag for myself I called Mr. Cataliades.

"Miss Stackhouse, it is a pleasure to hear from you. I have been meaning to call to thank you for the lovely basket that you sent to the office."

"I'm glad you liked it," I smiled.

"And I understand there have been, ah, many happenings there of late. I trust you are well?"

"I am. There's a lot, yes. I'm sure you know about Hadley and the fire. Do you know about Wallace?"

"I have heard something about that, yes."

Of course he had. Mr. Cataliades is a man of information. He hadn't known about Hadley's vanishing, which was too recent, and he hadn't heard a thing about these Were-witches. That didn't really surprise me, since the only way he would have found out is if someone had informed the Queen, and it appeared that Eric and Pam had believed they could handle this locally. It just goes to show that even with a combined twelve-hundred years of existence, they could still be (ahem) dead wrong, sometimes.

Like everyone else I'd spoken to about this, I was careful to warn Cataliades about the delicacy of this matter, but I trust him more than practically anyone I know, so I wasn't too worried that he'd spill the beans to his employer. I asked him where the vamps stayed down there since it was pretty clear after talking to Octavia that we'd be down for at least a night. I'd worry about explaining all these plans to Eric when he woke up.

"Blood in the Quarter is the vampire hotel in the city, but you would be very conspicuous staying there. Both you, and the Sheriff. If I may suggest, perhaps a light-tight room in a regular hotel. Maybe even outside the city. In Metairie, or out by the airport."

"That sounds like a good idea," I agreed.

"I am known to have them, now and again," he said. I smiled again.

"Perhaps we can meet tomorrow during the day, if I'm still in town?" I asked.

"Unfortunately, I find I am inundated with work this week. The Queen seems to have settled on Arkansas, and we've begun negotiating a preliminary proposal contract."

Mr. Cataliades suggested instead that I might see "the girls" tomorrow, referring to Gladiola and Diantha, and that thought sounded just as good. I'd make sure to pack their Christmas presents. After we hung up, I looked online and found a small guest house in Mandeville that offered a room suitable for a vampire's day-rest. It was on the other side of Lake Pontchartrain, north of the city. It wouldn't offer the security of a place like Blood in the Quarter. This was a major part of the appeal of such establishments where the vamps were concerned, but the obscurity of the place would serve us just as well. Definitely a good call by Mr. C.

When I called Jason, still at work, it was clear he had not forgotten our earlier spat. Okay, my earlier bitchiness - even if he did deserve it. He's my brother and he knows exactly how and when to push my buttons. Since I'd spent the afternoon gaining purpose and direction, I felt a lot better. I had a lot of problems, but at least a couple of them were lined up to be solved. I told him about the car before I told him I was going out of town for the night.

He started to get indignant about that but I wasn't going to let him get me riled up again, so I told him flatly that I'd spoken to Gran, that I'd have my cellphone, and that if Hadley didn't turn up by this evening, he should file a report with the police. He didn't like that. He would have wanted me to do it, but he agreed that he would and would keep in touch with me. Once again I was grateful that even if responsibility didn't come naturally to Jason, he could be shown the way. I remained at a loss for how to look for her via supernatural means. Oh! Maybe the witches in New Orleans could track Hadley the way the Were-witches here were tracking Pam? I'd call Jason once I knew he was home and ask him to look around for her hairbrush. It was worth a shot.

When I returned to the front of the house, I saw that Tray had flipped on the lights in the kitchen and living room, the latter being where he was at the moment. The television was on the news and the volume was barely audible to me. I guess he's got more sensitive ears. He was watching Judge Judy. I glanced at the screen for a moment and I could just tell by the look on her face that she was about to cut someone down to size. I don't have a whole lot of opportunity to watch daytime television, but when I do, I usually try to find this program. That woman is great.

I felt the presence of Eric's mind sort of come into being in the bedroom just as I finished remaking my bed. The sun was still setting and the sky was that hazy mix of purple and orange. It was pretty enough, as sunsets tend to be, but it wasn't the time of year nor the right kind of weather for something truly spectacular. I found myself pitying Eric for being unable to come out and see it nonetheless. It only took a few minutes for the golden light to fade, and at that point I went and knocked on the door and called out that I was leaving his clothes outside, and informed him, unnecessarily, that Tray was here.

I sort of hovered near the door with a new pad and pen. What I wanted to know, immediately, was if Pam was alright, and I figured I had better fill him in before we talked to the Were. He cracked the door open and beckoned to me, and once again I was forced to endure his glorious nudity. Thankfully, for my nerves at least, he covered up quickly, nodding an affirmative when I asked if he could sense Pam and shaking his head when I asked if he had any indication she was in peril.

Before zipping and buttoning his jeans he took the time to write.

They will be waiting to scry her at full dark. She will wait a time and then contact us. I will write you what to say to her. Tell me about today.

I did, as briefly and succinctly as possible. He was not happy about our plan, evidenced by his concerned expressions, shaking of his head, and writing out:

This is a bad idea.

"You got a better one?" I fired back. "You're going to have your people hunt down the witches and then what? You killed the one who left you speechless and it didn't seem to cure you."

I thought maybe when I woke

He'd scribbled the last. There was quite a variance in his handwriting; some of it was neat, and some barely legible. It actually surprised me that he would have messy handwriting at all. He'd had literally centuries of depending on handwritten communication. I would have thought that amount of practice would make him consistently good. I guess it was being influenced by the speed at which he wrote. It was probably a fair gauge of his emotional state, come to that. Huh. Maybe I can 'read' something more from this vampire after all.

I told him again about the woman I'd spoken with, Octavia. I told him I would go with him to see her, and read her mind, and the minds of any of her helpers, and make sure they weren't going to harm him. I would have offered to let him wear the pendant if it wasn't made of silver. I would wear it, just to be safe. I told him that if I caught the slightest whiff of bad intentions coming from the witches I would inform him immediately, and I would say nothing in protest if he chose to kill them all in a blind rage frenzy and glut himself on their blood.

Apparently even vampire men need coddling from time to time.

He could feel my amusement, and possibly my exasperation.

You are making a joke.

"Yes, I'm making a joke. A bad joke. I wouldn't want you to really do that. These are people who do regular business with the supes down in New Orleans. I was referred to them by a Wiccan who hardly gets a bad thought in her head about anyone. I talked to this Fant woman for almost an hour while you were dead for the day, and I feel like if anyone can help, it's her. I really believe this is the best option we have for getting you back to rights as quickly as possible."

He reached out, fingertips brushing down my arm as his hand came up only slightly off his mark. He squeezed my hand in what I presumed to be acknowledgment of my sincerity. It was only in subtle gestures like that since he'd been awake that I was reminded of the fact that he was without his sight. When I spoke, his eyes were trained on me. When I moved, his head turned towards me. I was tempted to make faces at him, just to see if he'd notice, but it wasn't the time. He still wasn't sold. He was writing again.

We will capture the witches who did this and make them reverse it.

"I think there are a lot of if's in that statement. If you can catch them, if they would be willing," I paused, knowing exactly what he had in mind to make them do it. "You've killed some of them already and their leader, so they know they will die regardless. What is to compel them to give in to you before they do?"

That they die more quickly.

I felt myself pale as the words appeared, so straightforward. I swallowed hard.

"That method will still take time. The priority is getting you cured. Take the revenge out of the equation. That... you can deal with that later," I finished.

When he did not respond again right away, I knew he'd agreed. Still holding my hand, he lifted my arm and nuzzled it in what was becoming a familiar way. I heard his fang snick out in the quiet room and he looked over at me as if in question. Maybe I would have let him, simply to make him feel better, if he hadn't just reminded me of his darker nature. I certainly wasn't feeling sexy at the moment. I started to pull away.

"I'll warm you up a bottle," I said gently. "I have a long drive ahead of us. I can't be tired."

He nodded reluctantly and pressed his lips against my wrist before releasing my hand, then he took up the paper and pen again and began to write his instructions for Pam.

"Oh, and Tray's out here waiting for a word with you. He knows about the muteness. He wants to tell Flood about the Were-witches. I made him wait until you could have your say before calling."

He nodded again and I found myself leaning over to kiss the top of his head where he sat on the bed before leaving to heat up the blood. It seemed like a natural gesture to me as I did it, but once I stood in the kitchen I had to wonder if maybe I'd offended him, treating him like a baby. He hadn't even looked up from his writing.

Eric didn't have a conversation with Tray. He handed him a list of things he wanted to convey to Colonel Flood and the Shreveport Weres and then sat down with his blood to continue writing to Pam. Tray read it over quickly, didn't have any questions, and then headed off for the night. Before he left, I took his phone number and told him I'd call him when we were back, if we would need him to resume guarding me for the rest of the week. He was a good guy. I hoped for his sake that he didn't get drawn in to any response the Shreveport Pack might make to this incursion on their territory.

Eric had several tasks for Pam to accomplish, and I certainly hoped she had someone to delegate to. She was, after all, actively on the run. She had indeed stolen a car the night before, and had left it in the parking lot of a shopping center, intact. It would be found. She was a very considerate larcenist. Pam was also a step ahead of Eric, having already confirmed that all of the vampires who had been at the fight last night, except for Gerald, who was finally dead, had risen. No one had been attacked during the daylight hours. That was very good. Notice had to be posted that Fangtasia would not be opening tonight, and Eric's other businesses would need to be checked up on. Eric had given Colonel Flood Pam's contact information, since he obviously couldn't take any calls.

After all the administrative work had been taken care of, Eric's people would actually need to track down the witches. The initial plan would be to select somewhere for the vampires to meet and lie in wait, while Pam served as the bait. When the witches honed in on her, it would be an ambush. With any luck they would be able to capture the attackers, and from there, track down the rest of the witches.

It wasn't a bad plan, all things considered. Choosing the ground on which the battle was staged would give the vampires the upper hand. If by chance they were to be overwhelmed again, then the terrain advantage should provide them with the opportunity to retreat to safety.

Pam approved of our going to seek out a more immediate cure to Eric's spell damage. I could tell that made Eric angry. I think he had anticipated her relying on him for the fight, but she hadn't. She had assumed he would be absent anyway. As the primary target, his blindness left him doubly vulnerable. I knew he understood this rationally, but it clearly pissed him off to be counted out. He went very rigid in his seat, his face very hard, as she and I talked around him. I wasn't sure if she could feel what I was seeing, but we closed the conversation speaking very carefully.

Eric wanted to meet her before we left for New Orleans. Evidently there were some things he didn't feel comfortable having me communicate by proxy.

"This is a bad idea," I stated, throwing back his own words from earlier. "The whole point of him, of you," I turned away from the phone and spoke to Eric directly. "being here is a safety measure. It's too dangerous. This is just like when there's a national emergency. The president and the vice president never go to the same location."

Eric wasn't having it. He had conceded all that he meant to concede this evening when he agreed to come to New Orleans. He locked down.

We came up with a location to meet just north of the city. Hopefully that would also throw them off. If the witches happened to catch us there, they would think we were heading north.

I was already packed for an overnight trip, and Eric didn't have any possessions beyond his billfold and keys. I asked him if he wanted to stop home to get anything.

"It might be safe to go now, if they're tracking Pam."

I'm sure it's too dangerous.

He underlined the words with slashing motions that spoke his disgust. They were a little lopsided and ran across the letters. I guess it is possible to be sarcastic in mere text. To be fair, I also had his sour expression to go off of.

I heated some blood for Pam and wrapped the bottles in a towel. It would probably be lukewarm by the time we reached her, but that was better than cold. She hadn't had time to stop for dinner.

We arrived at the designated meeting place, a public park, just as a man was leaving with his dog, and about five minutes ahead of Pam. Eric was furiously writing out last-minute instructions for her that I figured were probably unnecessary. Pam was coming across as extremely competent in this so far. She'd been quick thinking, had secured everyone's safety, especially her master's, and was now organizing a shrewd offensive. Pam is probably underutilized in her daily life.

Pam arrived in an old powder blue station wagon, clearly another "loaner" of some sort. She'd come across a change of clothes as well. It was too hard for me to tell if they were her own.

"Flood's meeting me here," she said without delay as she joined us. We were standing outside. We'd be sitting for long enough. I handed over her blood, which was still warm-ish, and she nodded gratefully, immediately gulping down one bottle and then the second in rapid succession. It reminded me of an athlete, carbo-loading for extra energy before a big game. Possibly that was the only way she could stomach the tepid substance.

I excused myself so they could have their one-sided colloquy. It was too bad Eric couldn't talk. I didn't see how we'd converse in the car for the long drive, as it's not like I could look away from the road for long moments at a time to read any notes he wrote, and not like I would really be able to read them in the dark, anyway.

I remembered to call Jason and ask him after Hadley's hairbrush. I was grateful to find him at home and not out gallivanting.

"Whaddya need it for?" he asked, as he went to search. That caught me up short.

"I thought maybe someone could find her if I had it," I answered, distracted.

"What, like a bloodhound?"

"Yeah, something like that. Listen Jason, call me back if you find it okay? It might be she's got it in her purse anyway."

I could smell magic. It had clung to Eric, faintly. I'd noticed it last night after he'd got out of the shower and still smelled not quite like himself. The spells were present on him; just shy of tangible but there. It was easy enough to ignore. This was like that smell, fainter, but...more. I hung up on Jason for the second time today and pushed my mind out even as I walked quickly over to Eric and Pam, nearly colliding with them as searched outward with my whole attention.

"Magic," I hissed, "all around." They both drew up to attention. There was a very thin fog lying low on the ground all around us. That's not abnormal just after dark when the air is cooling down, but this fog was abnormal. I was certain. "Keep clear of the fog," I whispered.

"It's time to go," said Pam, but she was too late.

"Were!" I yelled needlessly as the creature came barreling out of the darkness, directly towards the three of us. There was another mind hovering at some distance in the same direction, almost beyond my sense. The witch was holding back to weave the magic while the Were did the work of brute force.

Eric whirled, arms flailing, and on instinct I ducked. I watched as he caught the creature on its flank as it leapt toward Pam, halting its forward progress and hurling it back as if it had been struck by a steel turnstile. The wolf landed sprawled but was quickly on its feet again and now it was growling, circling.

Pam hurled the empty bottle still in her hand at the wolf, catching it squarely in its massive head as she dropped to a fighting crouch. He shook off the blow as if it had been no more than a buzzing fly that landed. Eric's was a sideways stance, putting his ear to the beast. His fangs were out. I'm sure Pam's were, too.

"Only two. Another witch far back the same way he came from," I whispered.

Pam took a step forward, shifting slightly to the side. Eric's hand found my shoulder and he gave me a short sharp shove backward. I think he was trying to keep me out of the way, but I wasn't expecting it, and it may not have been aimed exactly where it ought to have been. I stumbled, and the Were charged, trying to shoot through the hole between Eric and Pam, right towards me, the obvious weak link.

I scrabbled backward on my butt, not making more than a few inches' progress. Pam launched herself toward it, catching it by the scruff of the neck and careening sideways. They tumbled to the side and came down hard with Pam on top of it. The Were was snapping at Eric and the fog was encroaching, creating a killing ring; the bounds of which we dared not cross. I had no idea the effects of the magic being worked. I struggled to focus on the distant mind of the spell weaving witch but she - I could at least tell it was a she - was blocking me out. I heard Eric let out a sharp gasp that probably would have been a roar.

Apart from the Were's snarling and the scuffle of feet or fur on concrete it was absolutely quiet. I'd expect a fight to the death to be louder than this; more clamor, more shouting. This was positively eerie.

I heard a ripping sound and realized the Were had gotten hold of Eric's pants leg. Pam was still struggling to hold it to the ground. The contact the wolf made with Eric's legs seemed to have been enough to give Eric a sense of the creature's position and reach, even sightless, and I watched as he drove a fist directly into snapping jaws.

Suddenly the wolf started to buck wildly, and Pam was shifting on top of it, nearly thrown off. It looked like the thing was devouring Eric's arm, hand first, but I knew that wasn't the case. He'd driven a fist straight down the creature's throat and was choking it from the inside. Blood was streaming from the creature's mouth and running down its chest, further darkening its greyish pelt. With a final burst of strength the wolf began to throw its head from side to side trying to dislodge Eric's hand. Instead, Eric withdrew in a flash and caught the animal by its jaw, holding it in his iron grip as the creature thrashed a final time, breaking its own neck. It went limp without so much as a whimper.

The witch must have sensed her companion's imminent demise, because the next time I checked, she was gone, the fog evaporating into the night.

I was pointing in the direction I had last sensed her, my eyes unable to break away from the form of the wolf who was shifting back into a man. He had a hole in his throat. My stomach roiled. Pam dashed away with vampire speed while Eric stood, bloody, over the corpse.

The pale glow of silvery blue light coming from the nearest lamppost made the blood look black and his skin glow even more than it normally did, to my eyes. He looked every bit the angel and the demon in that moment. Not the real ones, of course, but the ones from stories.

I sat there on the ground until I heard a car approaching, the sound wrenching me out of my stupor. I scrambled to my feet and stood beside Eric, pulling at his arm so we both could turn away from the corpse.

"Two Weres, apprehensive, but not hostile. Male and female. Flood, I think, and someone else," I informed Eric. He drew his fangs in.

Pam reappeared then, empty handed as I knew she would be. She was at my side in a flash.

"It's time for you two to get on the road. Eric, I'll call later."

I nodded, fully ready to leave. Eric let me lead him to the car and we headed south.

A/N: When I apologize for being bad about replying to reviews, people tend to assure me it is okay - but I wished to say a humble thank you to those of you who take the time to leave your comments regardless. It gets tricky when you are speculating, though I love that. Especially when you're wrong. I rub my fingertips together and grin maniacally. It's quite a sight.