Hunter assured me he could eat his food all by himself, 'like a big boy', but the plaster cast on his right arm made that a lot harder than usual. He knew he would try and ultimately fail - he'd seen it happen - but he still wouldn't accept any help. He struggled for a few minutes, his pancakes getting colder by the second, until Quinn finally stepped in and cut them into bite-size morsels, moving at shifter speed so he was done before my nephew could protest. He actually managed to surprise Hunter, by coming up with the idea and carrying it out in under a second, so there was no time for tantrums.
"Hey!" Hunter protested. "I can use a knife and fork."
Quinn just shrugged. "Yeah, and I can walk. Except when both my legs were broken, then I couldn't. I had plaster casts just like yours. Ask Aunt Sookie about it."
"You wanted to do sex with her. In the hospital bed. But you couldn't."
I could feel myself turning bright red, mortified that my almost-five year old nephew knew about that. Just when he'd managed to look like a normal child for ten whole minutes, he came out with something else he shouldn't have known; couldn't have known by any conventional means.
"I'm special," he reminded me, smiling across the table as he eavesdropped on my thoughts.
"Yes, you are," I agreed. Sometimes too special, I couldn't help adding, but he just ignored me.
As Hunter began shoveling pancake into this mouth, there was a knock on my front door: a loud, officious knock. I was surprised, but Quinn wasn't; he'd heard someone pull into my driveway a minute earlier. Three cars, in fact. I'd been too focused on Hunter to 'hear' him notice.
I sighed and got up, heading to the door to greet whoever it was. Quinn quickly scanned the kitchen, making sure Hunter would be safe there for a minute, then followed me along the hallway. He had reverted to the alert calm of a seasoned fighter, ready to deal with it if our visitor brought trouble.
They did.
When I opened the door, three people were standing on my porch: Andy Bellefleur; a uniformed police officer who I didn't recognize; and a woman about my age who seemed familiar, but I couldn't place her. Andy I knew well: he was a local detective who'd lived here in Bon Temps his whole life, just as I had. The other officer looked forty-ish, with a tall, lanky body, a small belly and dark hair, plus a mustache that was last fashionable about when he was in his teens. The woman was gorgeous, but hid it well. A frumpy outfit concealed her lithe figure; her long, glossy chestnut hair was pulled back in a ponytail; and glasses partly hid her emerald eyes. It was as though she wanted people to see past her incredible beauty and value her for more than that. I liked her immediately, feeling like I knew her somehow, even though I was sure I'd never seen her before.
All three were extremely tense, convinced they were about to see something terrible. My first thought was, Oh shit, they know about Debbie Pelt, but I caught no echo of that in their minds. Whatever they were concerned about, they thought it was happening that very moment.
I knew right away that I had to be as gracious as I could, to try and allay their suspicions. I was about to take Quinn's hand and 'tell' him as much, but he already knew; he had read from their body language what I read from their minds.
"Hi Andy," I greeted him, a little too brightly. "Come on in."
"Sookie," he smiled back, trying to hide how worried he was, then followed me as I ushered our visitors into the living room.
"You remember my boyfriend, John Quinn," I began the introductions.
"Good to see you again," Andy nooded. "This is Sergeant Fortier from Red River Parish, and this is Angela Barclay from Community Services in Natchitoches. Marc, Angela, this is Sookie Stackhouse, the woman y'all came to see."
We got our 'pleased to meetcha's and 'howdedoo's out of the way, shaking hands and greeting the new arrivals. They had come a long way to see us - Natchitoches was even further away than Red Ditch, and the woman's work day must've started early for her to be here now.
"Can I get y'all tea or coffee?" I offered, determined to be a good hostess. "I just juiced some oranges and I can do a few more if you'd like?"
There were uncomfortable head shakes all around; none of them were willing to accept my hospitality, which worried me.
It's OK, they'll change their minds, Hunter silently assured me, completely relaxed as he kept on eating in the kitchen. I wasn't sure whether he meant it about the drinks or something else, but I didn't have time to dwell on that right now.
"What can I do for y'all?" I asked.
"Sookie," Andy shifted uncomfortably, "there's been an, uh, allegation made, that you and your boyfriend, uh, kidnapped a child from a hospital last night. Now I've known you a long time and I don't think you'd do that, but -"
"I most certainly would not, Andy Bellefleur," I chided. "If you're talking about my nephew Hunter -"
"The child isn't really your nephew though, is he Miss Stackhouse?" Sergeant Fortier asked, in an accent that was slow and drawled, even for the South.
"No, he's technically my second cousin," I admitted, "but his Mom was an only child and I didn't have a sister, so we were real close when we were growing up. I'm his only living relative on his Mom's side except my brother Jason, and Jason's not so great with kids, so I try to be there for him when he needs me. He doesn't understand second cousins yet, so he calls me his aunt."
"You're related to him?" the social worker asked, sounding surprised.
"Of course!" I exclaimed. "I wouldn't just take home a stranger's kid, even if a doctor asked me to. He's Hadley's son, Andy."
Andy was surprised as well, then. "Hadley had a son? I heard she was a vampire." His tone of voice made it clear what he thought of that.
I sighed loudly. "Hadley sure did live an interesting life, God rest her soul. She got married and had Hunter, but got divorced a while later. She was made into a vampire like you heard, and then another vampire killed her. It happened a year or so back."
"Sure is a pity," Andy commiserated. "She was real pretty, your cousin. Hadley was Sookie's first cousin," he explained to the others. "She and Sookie were like sisters when they were young. You weren't so close as teenagers though, were you?"
"No, when she got into drugs and boys we didn't have so much in common no more," I confirmed primly, crossing my arms over my chest.
"That's all very nice," Sergeant Fortier interrupted, not meaning it, "but you can't just take a child from the hospital without asking and -"
"That's not what happened," Quinn stopped him, his voice so cool it raised hairs on everyone's arms - including mine. "If you're going to come here making accusations, you should check whether there's any substance to them first. Dr. Patel sent him here because he was too scared to sleep in the hospital, and he needed rest for his arm to start healing. Sookie's his family and the doctor knows her, so he entrusted Hunter to our care for the night. Would you rather the kid had a sleepless night in a place that terrifies him?"
"He's the child you asked me about," Andy muttered, finally putting all the pieces together. I 'heard' that he'd been asked along simply because it was protocol, this being his Parish, but the other officer hadn't told him what was going on, so he was figuring it out at the same time I was.
I nodded.
"Sookie told me about Hunter's situation weeks ago," Andy told the out-of-towners. "Didn't tell me his name, but she asked my advice. I told her to take him to hospital each time his Dad hurt him, so your office would get called in to help him."
"You're the mystery woman who's been taking him to hospital?" the woman asked, surprised again. "You look nothing like her."
"I disguised myself as well as I could," I explained. "Wore a wig, glasses, different clothes... I didn't want Hunter's Dad finding out I took his son to hospital each time I checked in and found him beat up. Last time I saw him, he threatened to shoot me." Sure, that was only last night, but they didn't need to know that. "I hear he's gonna be in jail for a while, so I don't have to worry about him coming after me now?"
They ignored my question, but I 'heard' from Sergeant Fortier that Remy would likely be going to a mental hospital, not jail. The police still figured someone who claimed his son's arm turned into a tiger's paw was probably hallucinating, which was good for us.
"Red Ditch is over an hour's drive away," the women marveled. "How often do you check on him?"
"As often as I can. I'm all he's got, on his Mom's side. If I don't take care of him... well, y'all know what's been happening to him."
The social worker was starting to warm to Quinn and I, but Sergeant Fortier just tried to steer us back to the task at hand.
"If you have the child here, we'll just be takin' him back to Red Ditch and Angela can decide who's best to care for him now. Where is he?"
"He's in the kitchen," I told him, "but he's still eating his -"
As soon as I said it, the Sergeant started walking towards the hallway, not sure where the kitchen was but determined to find Hunter as quickly as possible, so he could drive back to Red Ditch and get some 'real' police work done instead. (And then knock off early to go hunting.)
In an instant, Quinn was in the doorway, blocking his path.
"I know I can't stop you dragging that poor kid back to the fuckers who broke his arm last night," my boyfriend growled, "but if you have any decency at all, let the child finish his damn breakfast before you go hauling him out of here."
He was giving the police officer a look that would make any sensible person run and hide, but the Sergeant stubbornly stood his ground.
"I wouldn't normally feed him this late," I babbled nervously. "I know you're supposed to keep kids on a regular schedule and all. But he only woke up an hour ago, less than that even, and he's got a broken arm and I thought he might need the rest to heal. That's what you're supposed to do, isn't it, Miss Barclay? You're with child protection, right? We're supposed to let him sleep more when he's sick or injured, I mean if he wants to sleep more, aren't we? That's what my Mom and Dad and then my Gran did when I was growing up and I always felt better after I had enough sleep... That is the right thing to do, isn't it?"
"It is," she confirmed, impressed by Quinn's protectiveness and my concern for taking good care of Hunter.
Quinn and Sergeant Fortier were still facing off in the doorway, glaring at one another, and Andy wasn't sure whose side to take.
"I'm just here to make sure the kid's OK," the officer insisted, which was a lie; he was here to take Hunter back to Red Ditch, no matter what.
"He's fine," Quinn replied tightly. "Sookie, why don't you take Ms. Barclay out back to see Hunter, so she can check for herself that he's OK. She's the one who's responsible for making sure he's looked after, right?"
Sergeant Fortier glared at Quinn as he took a few steps away from the door, but he was secretly glad for the excuse to back down. He had initially figured Quinn for the kind of brawling hick he could amply handle, but now... some sensible intuition told him not to get into a fight here. Something told him Quinn wasn't someone to mess with; that if you threatened anyone he cared about, you wouldn't walk away from it. I was glad he'd finally figured that out.
"The kitchen's right this way, Miss Barclay," I told the woman, starting towards the doorway as Quinn moved aside so we could walk through.
"Please, call me Angela," she replied, having warmed to Quinn and I enough to want to be on first-name terms.
I smiled nervously as I led her down the hall. "I only made him pancakes as a treat, I didn't have the right cereal for him 'cos I didn't expect him to be here today, but after what happened last night... I thought he deserved something nice."
We arrived in the kitchen then, and I 'heard' that she was impressed by what she saw. Hunter was still sitting at the table, his pancakes almost finished now. We had improvised a booster seat for him with a cushion from the living room, and I found some child-size cutlery in the store room under the house. He was neatly dressed, except for the maple syrup he'd managed to drip on his top as he ate. A coloring book and some pencils were on the table next to him - I used them to keep him quiet after he got tired of 'helping' me make pancakes - and the juicer on the bench told her we really had made him orange juice to go with his unhealthy breakfast. Apart from the plaster cast on his arm, which she knew wasn't our doing, he was the picture of a well-cared-for child, to her eyes.
"Hello, Hunter," she greeted him. "My name's Angela, and I came to make sure you're OK here with your Aunt Sookie."
"No, you didn't," he grumbled. "You came to take me away. I want to stay here."
She was surprised to hear that, but just figured he was perceptive. She'd seen a lot of kids who had to grow up fast to survive their home life, and immediately put Hunter in that category. "Well, if your Aunt's taking good care of you, and you want to spend time with her, I can make sure you still see her," she offered.
He understood what she was saying - that he'd be somewhere else most of the time - and just glared at her.
"Is there anything you need, Hunter?" she asked, trying a different approach. "Is there anything I can get for you?"
"No."
"Did you have a good sleep last night?"
"Yes."
"Your pancakes look yummy. Are they good?"
"Yes."
"How's your arm feeling this morning?"
"Fine. Aunt Sookie gave me medicine."
"Just Tylenol," I clarified. "Dr. Patel told me to give him Tylenol if it hurt and he seemed uncomfortable..."
She knew she wasn't getting anywhere with Hunter, so she turned to face me again.
"You're doing fine," she said warmly, impressed by the effort Quinn and I had made to care for the child.
"Thanks." I finally managed a genuine smile, tears in my eyes. "He's safe here. I promise you, he's safe here."
She nodded, knowing instinctively that what I said was true.
It was only then that I noticed her brain patterns weren't exactly like a regular human's; that she, too, was something out of the ordinary. Alone in a room with Hunter and I, something akin to 'spidey sense' was tingling in her brain, telling her we were all alike in some way.
She's fae too, Hunter told me silently. Her grandma's a more-ee-ad. A really old one.
I didn't know what that was.
A tree fairy. For mulberry trees.
"Hunter, will you be OK here for a few minutes more?" I asked, to fill the silence. "You've got your coloring book, do you want anything else?"
"Blocks," he told me, pointing across the room at the old toy chest Quinn had carried up from the store room. None of us had opened it yet, but Hunter projected an image to show me where the blocks were, and when I opened the trunk, he was right.
I put the bag of blocks on the table next to him and kissed him on the forehead. "Just yell if you need anything."
He ignored me, already pulling the blocks from their cloth bag as best he could with one hand.
"Where did he sleep last night?" Angela asked as we stepped back into the hallway.
"Just in here." I pushed open the door to the spare room. "I'm sorry it's so messy, he's only been up an hour and I haven't had time to help him make his bed yet. I know it's far too girly for him, if he's here much I'll paint some of the furniture, maybe even buy him some new stuff... it was my room when I was a kid, that's why it's so pink. John and I sleep just across there," I pointed at the door on the other side of the hall, "so he can call out to us if he needs anything at night. They're supposed to sleep alone by his age, aren't they?"
She nodded, smiling broadly at me. She was more than satisfied with what she saw; apparently to Child Protective Services, seeing that a child had a clean, fully-furnished room all to themselves - even a small, overly girly one like mine - looked like luxury. They saw children with so much less every day.
She was surprised to see a bag of his clothes and toys sitting on the floor, though. "Has he stayed here before?" she asked, wondering how we found time to drive to Red Ditch and back to get them in the twelve hours he'd been in our care.
"My boyfriend went for a drive this morning," I told her, mentally reaching out to be sure Quinn overheard what I said. He did.
It wasn't technically a lie: he did go for a drive that morning, to get a bag of oranges for juice for our breakfast. Well, and more condoms... we kept running out, for some reason. There was no need to drive to Red Ditch and back though; I just teleported over, packed the things Hunter needed and came right back. It took all of ten minutes. I wasn't a great liar though, so if we needed to concoct a story to keep them happy, I hoped Quinn would come up with something better than I could.
She sensed there was more to the story than I was telling, and gave me a curious look.
"He bought some oranges for juice for breakfast on the way back," I volunteered, hoping that would satisfy her, but she just kept looking at me expectantly. She was used to people telling her everything, and she knew I hadn't yet. "He had to get more condoms, too," I finally whispered, turning bright red.
She just nodded then, satisfied she had the whole story. The 'safe sex' part was actually a plus in her eyes; one more in a long list. She saw a child who was fed, clothed and housed to a far higher standard than most she visited, and that told her the information she'd been given about us simply wasn't correct. She could see that Hunter was relaxed and happy here, that we were doing our best to care for him, and that Quinn was extremely protective of him.
"You're doing fine, Miss Stackhouse," she reassured me.
"Sookie, please," I insisted. "I'm doing the best I can. I haven't cared for a child full-time before but I've babysat plenty, and John raised his sister after his Dad died and his Mom went to hospital, so he knows a lot more about caring for kids than I do. If there's anything we could do better though, we just want to make sure he's safe and happy and healthy, so please tell us if we're not doing something right."
"Sookie," she touched my arm gently to ease my nerves, "you have nothing to worry about. You and your boyfriend are doing well. If Hunter stays here we'll check in regularly to make sure he's OK, but from what I've just seen, I'm not worried about him. You both care about him a lot, I can see that."
"We just want him to be safe," I told her, tears springing to my eyes.
"That's what we all want."
It felt like we had reached an understanding, so she and I went back into the living room.
"He's fine," she announced as soon as we walked in, mostly directing the comment to Sergeant Fortier. "He's well rested, he's wearing clean clothes, they made him pancakes and fresh juice for breakfast as a treat, he's got a coloring book and a whole chest of toys to play with. He has a room to himself, and it's clean and well furnished. I don't think the information you were given is entirely accurate."
"Were you planning to have him stay here, Miss Stackhouse?" the Sergeant asked, wondering why we were so well equipped for a child.
"We knew it might come to that," I admitted, "what with his Dad's problems and all. There didn't seem to be anyone else helping him. But we didn't go buy anything, if that's what you mean. The toys and stuff belonged to my brother and I, mostly. They've been in the store room under the house so they're a little dusty, but they still work fine."
"Her boyfriend drove to Red Ditch and back this morning to make sure Hunter has clean clothes," Angela added.
Quinn just smiled and nodded, as though that story were true.
"This really isn't anything like the place they described," Sergeant Fortier conceded.
He was reasonably convinced this wasn't a house where a child was being abused, simply because it was spotless, had everything he thought a house ought to have, and all the repairs had been done. He didn't think Quinn and I looked like child abusers, either: we were both neatly groomed, and wore clothes that looked both new and reasonably expensive. I almost wanted to take him aside and lecture him about that, since I'd 'heard' about well-dressed people with neat houses hurting kids just as often as untidy people. I knew I couldn't, though; his prejudices were working in our favor, and for the sake of Hunter's safety, that was a good thing.
"Sookie's real good with children," Andy informed everyone, and I could feel James' influence in what he said. "She's been babysitting 'round here for years and everyone's kids have been fine. I'm sure her nephew's safe with her." James glamored him a few weeks ago, at my request, but added some extras of his own. I was grateful for that now.
"Neither of us would ever hurt Hunter," Quinn confirmed. "Anyone who says otherwise is lying to you."
Our three visitors exchanged a few glances then, considering the possibility they'd been misled.
"What exactly am I supposed to have done?" I asked nervously. "You said someone accused me of kidnapping Hunter?"
Sergeant Fortier was wavering on how much to tell us. If it was a police matter, he had to tell us exactly what allegations had been made, but also had to protect the identity of the people who made them, because they were potentially state witnesses. But if it was a family matter - and it was looking more and more like a family matter, to him - he knew it had more chance of being resolved peacefully if he told us which of our distant relations had sent him here, but kept exactly what they said about us to himself.
I gave him the slightest push in the direction of telling me who was making the claims, since I'd already 'heard' most of what he'd been told was happening here, and Angela's eyes snapped to mine - she felt the telepathic contact I'd just made with him, even though she wasn't sure quite what I'd done or how.
"The child's grandparents are making a fuss," Sergeant Fortier told me. "They said you kidnapped him, that he doesn't want to be here, that he's being neglected and possibly abused... I think they just want the child in their care, so they said what it took to get us out here."
"Remy's parents," I confirmed, and he nodded.
"NO!" Hunter yelled, wrapping himself around Quinn's leg. "Please don't send me to Grammy and Pops. Please."
None of us had heard him follow us up the hallway into the lounge room, not even Quinn, so we were all surprised to see him there. Quinn recovered first, scooping Hunter up and holding him to his side. I stepped a little closer, to rub Hunter's back.
"Why don't you want to go to your grandparents?" Quinn asked him. "You seem real scared, did something bad happen there?"
Hunter turned shy all of a sudden, burying his face against Quinn's chest as he nodded.
"Sweetie," I murmured in his ear, "you need to be brave and tell us what happened, OK?"
I could feel that his fear of his grandparents was genuine, but he was also playing out the reactions he knew would be most convincing to our visitors. He had seen all the different ways he might mention it, and he knew that the harder it seemed for him to tell anyone, the more likely they would be to believe him. So he kept thinking about what his grandparents would do if they heard him talking to us now, and trembled in genuine terror.
"It's OK," I added, still rubbing his back. "You're safe here. You can tell us why you're frightened, nobody will tell your grandparents what you said." I looked around the room and Angela nodded immediately, then eventually Sergeant Fortier did, too.
Hunter still wouldn't say anything, not sure how to explain why he was so frightened. He couldn't just say he'd seen his future with his grandparents and he was miserable; he knew that wouldn't make it possible for him to stay with us. Finally, he figured out how to handle this.
"I'll only tell you," he insisted, looking at Angela. "It's a secret."
She hesitated for a moment, then walked over and stood beside him, so he could whisper in her ear. He knew that Quinn would hear exactly what he said, and that I'd 'hear' it too, but he wasn't concerned about us knowing. We knew about his gifts and protected him.
"Pops is like Daddy," Hunter whispered in her ear. "Your work has a file. From when he was little. Stephanie knows about it."
Angela stared at him in shock, wondering how he knew any of that.
"Can you make a phone call and check your records?" Quinn suggested gently.
She nodded, told both police officers she had to call the office and went outside. They finally let me bring them some sweet tea, and we all waited tensely to find out whether Hunter would be dragged back to his grandparents, literally kicking and screaming.