A/N: Hope you guys had a good holiday. I've been über busy writing my novel, got five chapters done. (That's a lot for me, being a procrastinating soccer-mom type.) I'm super psyched and hope that all of you check it out once my website is up and running.

Only a few more chapters to go. This thing is turning into an epic, I know, but the characters are so much fun to play with. After so many books and episodes, I really feel like I know them. Not much action in this chapter, but I wanted to establish a relationship between Sookie and Freyja before the final battle scene.

Chapter Sixteen

The rest of the gang popped up a few minutes later.

Once we'd all synchronized our watches and gassed up the Mystery Machine, we headed our separate ways for a while. Alcide had kindly offered, and was not at all forced, to take in Greta and Henrik while we waited for Dr. Ludwig's prognosis. Greta was still pretty messed up when they arrived, but Dr. Ludwig had seen me through some dark times and I had complete faith in her healing abilities. That's to say nothing of her bedside manner. Greta and the tiny doctor would get along famously.

Pam and Sorren went off to Shreveport in my car. They needed to check on Fangtasia and grab as many weapons as they could stuff in my trunk. They also planned on doing some recon on Victor's whereabouts. He'd been hanging around Shreveport more often over the past few months, rather than his home base of New Orleans, and that should have been a red flag to begin with. Eric thought he'd just been gloating, being a power-hunger bastard and all, but now we realized that he'd had other intentions from the beginning. I wondered if Philip DeCastro knew about his lieutenant's bloodlines. I stored that little tidbit away for a future visit with the kindly king of Nevada/Louisiana.

Bill went home and did his computer geek thing. He checked every database he could hack his way into, finding out anything he could about Marcus. Flights out of the Kalmar area, both commercial and private. Customs checkpoints, passport scans with all known aliases. Reservations at all of the local vampire-friendly hotels. Nothing came up. The longer we waited, the more likely we thought that Marcus was capable of going completely off radar, even under the watchful eyes of Bill Compton.

And then there was Freyja.

Eric assured us that she was on our side, but I didn't trust her further than I could throw her. Granted, she was very small and I might actually be able to throw her, but I still didn't trust her. I'd seen supes change sides more times than I could count. As far as I was concerned, she was behind enemy lines until proven otherwise. I just couldn't let Eric know that.

The way he looked at her made my heart sigh. For him, it was like watching her first steps, high school graduation, and getting married all at the same time. He had so much emotion running through him, he didn't know what to do with himself. He'd assumed the responsibility of watching over us, wouldn't let anyone else even get close to us. Yet when he found himself stumbling over his words and struggling to make conversation, he decided that the front porch was as good a look-out point as any. So I took over, just like a good step mamma should do.

It was a good thing she was real tall for her age and that I happened to be on the shorter side. My smallest clothes, the ones I saved in the back of my bottom drawer for when I lost those extra ten pounds, sort of fit her. They actually hung from her little body, but they would do the job until Dermot got back from Wal-Mart. Clearly unhappy in her outfit of pink terrycloth capris and a Little Miss Sunshine belly shirt, she glared at her reflection in my bedroom mirror. I looked away and pretended to make the bed so she wouldn't see me silently giggling.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" she asked, holding out the matching pink sweatshirt to the pants.

"Make do," I replied matter-of-factly. "Sorry it's not couture like you're used to, but Dermot will be back with something in your size soon." When I turned back around, I saw that the sweatshirt was hanging over her hands and half-way down her thighs. She caught my gaze in the mirror and I smiled like a nut job at her.

"This is unnecessary."

"What?"

"You, and this," she said, gesturing to the mirror, "And all the smiling."

"Oh, I'm always like this," I said with a dismissive wave of my hand. "You know, crazy Sookie. Besides, you're a guest. Well, you're more than that. You know that your father and I -"

"Don't call him that," she snapped.

"I didn't mean to offend you," I uttered quickly.

"No offense taken," she said, rolling the cuffs of the sweatshirt a few times. "My father died a thousand years ago, I've had time to adjust."

The sarcasm in her voice burned me, but I did my best to ignore it. I picked up my angel afghan from the bed and refolded it for the third time. "The man out on that porch might say differently."

"He can say whatever he wants. I call him Eric."

"Fine." I threw the afghan down with a plop. I took a breath and started again. "Anyway, Eric and I are together, which I'm sure you're well aware of." I waited for a response, but just got a blank stare reflected in the mirror. "So, that means that you are part of my family now, like it or not, and around here that comes with obligation."

"I can take care of myself," she said. "You underestimate me, like so many others."

"No," I said, stepping between the mirror and her reflection. "You can bet your bottom dollar that I'm the one person around here that will never underestimate you."

I stared right into her eyes, just in case she felt like questioning the fact that I can't be glamoured. She shifted under my gaze, just slightly, and I couldn't help but smile. She probably wanted to break me in two. I was off the menu, for now.

"Just as long as we understand each other," she said finally.

"Oh, we're clear as glass," I said. "Eric loves you. Now, neither one of you may have come to grips with the situation, and I get that. But it is what it is - he loves you because you're his daughter. It doesn't matter if you're both a thousand years old and it doesn't matter if we don't like each other. I love Eric and I would obviously do anything for him, so if that means playing hostess while we wait for your vamp daddy to show up and try to kill us all, then that's what I'm gonna do. And I'm gonna do it with a smile on my face." I picked up a pile of extra clothes and blankets and shoved it into her arms. Walking toward the door, I said over my shoulder, "Eric is waiting for us."

When I didn't hear her following me, I looked around and saw her standing there, staring down at her tiny feet. Her toenails were painted a delicate cream color. Her face was cast down and she was looking very much like a lonely little girl.

She sighed impatiently, like she was annoyed with her own emotions. "I don't know what to say to him. I've never...had a father."

I thought about it for a moment before I answered. "He wants to know you, that's all. He doesn't expect anything from you. Just be yourself."

She shook her head. "That's the last thing I should do."

"And why's that?"

"I don't know who to be."

I chewed my lip and nodded thoughtfully. It was yet to be determined whose side of the fence she was riding on, but I couldn't help feeling that if she was even willing to admit that, then she was probably riding for us. "...Marcus?" I asked.

"Marcus used me just like he uses everyone else," she replied quickly. "I have no disillusions of our relationship. He told me from the day I was turned that I served a purpose, nothing more."

"Oh."

She shrugged, and I could see her discomfort. "I think he cared a bit when I was a child, but he would just bring me gifts and then be off again, for months or years at a time. Sergius taught me how to hunt, and I had tutors until I was old enough to take care of myself. It was only recently that he took even a remote interest in me."

"That's terrible." I knew better than anybody what it was like to have a sucky childhood. I thought of Gran, who'd helped me through some dark times. How different would Freyja's life have been if she'd had someone to love her, even just a little bit? I couldn't even imagine what my life would've turned out like without Gran's special signature of tough southern love.

"Terrible? It was all I knew," she said. "I forgot my mother's face after a few decades. I woke up one night and just forgot my brother's name. Can you imagine that? My own twin."

"Gunnar," I said softly. The name was burned into my memory, just as everything was from that night.

Her eyes widened a bit with recognition and she smiled. "Gunnar," she repeated in a small voice. "Gunnar, and my mother was Svana." Then her faraway gaze pivoted to my direction and was replaced with a curious stare. "You look a bit like her actually."

"So I've been told."

She looked closely at my face, my hands. "How do you know all this?"

"Eric told me about you," I replied simply. "How he looked for you."

"Looked for me?"

"Yeah."

She scoffed. "Well, he didn't look very hard because I never went anywhere. I'm surprised he even remembered."

"Freyja, he's been searching for you for over seven hundred years," I admonished. "The first thing he did when Ocella released him was go back to look for you."

She stared at me for a moment, then shook her head. "Marcus told me that Eric never wanted to see me."

"Well, of course he would say that," I sighed, and by this point, I actually wanted to hug her but I kept that little impulse under wraps. "Marcus needed you to hate Eric, or how else could he have possibly pulled all this off?"

She didn't seem to hear me. "He told me that we would stay in Sweden, just in case Eric changed his mind and wanted to come for me. But he never came."

"Eric was there every chance he got. He has all kinds of stuff up in that hotel in Kalmar," I said. "I saw all of it - maps, journals, photographs. Before he left here last week, he told me that he needed to try to find you one last time. I think he knew something was on the horizon, like he felt it coming."

She looked at me but she was looking past me, her face devoid of all emotion. She was shocked, I could see that plain as her nose. I knew she was telling the truth in that instant. I knew what she was feeling was real, not just made up to play along with the game anymore. She really though that her father had willingly abandoned her. After feeling a thousand years of resentment and anger, what was next?

"Eric's not goin' anywhere," I said in a soothing, reassuring voice. "And neither am I. When this is all said and done, you two will be able to figure something out. He's not gonna let anything happen to you, trust me. If there's one thing you can count on , it's Eric's loyalty."

"But you must realize, Marcus is my maker."

"You mean, you have to do what he tells you to."

She nodded. "Yes. I don't have a choice."

"Eric understands all of that."

"But you don't trust me," she said.

My answer was immediate. "No, not yet. You haven't earned my trust."

She looked away from me and gingerly placed the bundle of clothes on top of my dresser, trying to hide her disappointment. I closed my eyes for just a moment. God help me, I was so tired. I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept, let alone not being woken up by those crazy dreams or tormented by Eric's ghostly call. It wasn't like me to say mean things, especially to someone who looked like an in-crisis adolescent.

"I know that's not really fair," I conceded after a long, uncomfortable moment. "But we'll figure it out somehow."

"Fair?" she asked. "That hardly matters now."

"Of course it does. Your feelings matter very much."

"That's not it." She looked at me and I saw a long bloody tear slowly slid over her porcelain cheekbone. "You will never trust me. I am never going to be your friend."

My eyebrows creased. "I wanna try."

"No!" Her words exploded between us and I took a step back out of sheer instinct. "You don't get it! I can't control anything I do. I had no choice, he made me do it."

I swallowed, trying to keep a nervous quake out of my voice. "Made you do what?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head a bit. "It seemed right," she whispered. "I was so mad at him for leaving me with Marcus for all those years."

"Freyja, what did you do?"

Another tear fell and dripped onto the wooden floor next to her bare foot. "I was the one that summoned you, not Eric."

I blinked. "...What?"

"Eric didn't call you out. I drained him every night and then called you myself."

If it had been a day or two earlier, or if I hadn't already been emotionally beat and left out to dry, I might have reacted differently to that sort of news. But my brain just couldn't take another round. "I don't know what to do with that information right now," I said flatly. Then, out of sheer curiosity, I asked, "How is that even possible?"

"You have a blood bond, we share a blood line," she said with a guilty shrug. "It just worked."

"Huh. I guess that's why Pam couldn't hear it," I mumbled.

Another shrug. She didn't give a rat's derriere about Pam.

"Does Eric know?" I asked. She quickly shook her head and I said, "Okay. Okay, good. Today isn't the day for that sort of news. We'll wait until Marcus gets here and see how this whole thing plays out -"

"You mean we'll wait until I decide whose side I'm on?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what I mean," I replied quickly, my patience suddenly drained. "If you're gonna turn your back on us, then there's no point in breaking his heart all over again. But if we all make it through this and you're still standing by his side, then you've got some explaining to do."

She nodded. "That's reasonable."

"Well, lucky for you, because I'm not feeling very reasonable right now," I said.

I heard the sounds of footsteps and rustling bags downstairs and just walked away from her. Dermot was back and I didn't care if she followed me or not. I went down to the kitchen and saw Claude carefully examining a pile of colorful clothes that had been dumped onto the table.

Dermot frowned at me. "Next time, you're doing the shopping."

"There probably won't be a next time," I grumbled, absently picking through the selection. He'd done okay, for a male, and for a faery.

"That's probably a good thing," Claude sighed, holding up a magenta tee shirt emblazed with glittery silver polka dots. "This is hideous. I weep for the future of this country if this is the sort of thing they dress their children in."

"You try finding something fashion forward at Wal-Mart," I said defensively. My own wardrobe was filled with lots of items I'd gotten at Wal-Mart, although I had to admit that I'd been doing a lot more shopping at the mall in Shreveport since my bank account had become full of Eric's I'm-a-terrible-boyfriend-please-buy-stuff-to-make-you-look-pretty money.

Claude picked up a pair of grey skinny jeans and I saw a black tee shirt under it. One glance and I immediately recognized the brooding couple on the front of it. I held it up and arched my eyebrows up to the ceiling. "Really, Dermot? A Twilight tee shirt?"

He smiled. "I thought it would be ironic."

"Ironic is not the word for it," Claude said, grabbing the shirt from me and holding it up to my chest. "Sad and misguided, maybe. And what does this guy use in his hair? I've got more hair than he does."

I laughed at them, and then we were all laughing. In the face of uncertain danger, we cracked up over a tee shirt. Claude sucked his cheeks in and held his long hair up over his head to form a poof, and Dermot and I fell on top of each other. It was unlike Claude to be so jovial, but sarcasm was right up his alley.

"Alright, shhh," I whispered as our giggles died down, throwing the shirt in Claude's face. "They'll hear us making fun. Dermot, did you get the True Blood?"

Dermot grabbed another bag from the floor put it onto the table with a clink. Three six packs of O negative. Eric wouldn't go for that at all, but maybe Freyja wasn't as picky over her blood types. "That was more embarrassing to buy than the clothes," he mumbled.

"Right, 'cause everyone was judging you?" I asked, rolling my eyes. "Bad faery."

Claude chuckled and Dermot just scowled at me. I shoved one of the cartons at Dermot with a smile and nodded toward the fridge. It was then that I heard a creak on the floor boards behind me. Freyja was standing there, watching us. The other two quickly busied themselves, emptying the other shopping bags and putting away the various groceries and cat food. Which left me, holding the fake blood.

"Is that for me?" she asked incredulously.

"I thought you could try it," I said. "I wasn't sure what brand you liked, but True Blood is pretty popular around here."

She warily eyed the cardboard encased bottles. "I've never had synthetic."

"Oh," I said. Spoiled was the first word that came to mind. "Well, no time like the present. You must be awfully hungry by now."

She eyed Claude over my shoulder, who was bending into the fridge, his admittedly lovely ass pointed toward us in all its toned glory. "Famished," she sighed.

"Don't even think about it," I hissed, and her eyes snapped back to me. I knew my cousin must've smelled good to her, being that she was staring at him like he was a walking Happy Meal, but I had to draw a line somewhere.

I hustled over to the microwave and popped a bottle in for fifteen seconds. She didn't seem to actually want it, so I shoved it into her hand with a smile. Cautiously lifting it up, she took a sniff and quickly scrunched her nose up, disgusted.

"Bottoms up," I sang with a toothy grin.

She glowered at me as she tipped back the bottle and swallowed down a large swig. Cringing like she was in pain, she gulped hard and let out a loud gasp. "Eeeewww. That's revolting!"

I shrugged innocently. "Yeah, well, it's fake blood. How tasty could it be?"

"You can't possibly expect me to drink this."

"Yes, I can," I said. "Unless you can find a willing donor, that's how vamps around here survive without ending up in jail."

"And Eric drinks this?"

My smile quickly faded and I looked away with a sigh. I tried not to think too much about what or who Eric drank when I wasn't around, because he certainly wasn't drinking True Blood.

"Only when I have to."

Eric stood in the doorway of the kitchen, not far from Freyja. We shared a glance, a fleeting smile. Just being in the same room with him again was a tiny little thrill. We hadn't be able to do more than share that brief kiss on the front porch and the desire to touch him was actually driving me batty. I could tell from the smoking vibes Eric was sending my way that the feeling was mutual. I couldn't help it. Seeing him with the short hair was still a shock, like I was suddenly in love with Eric's sexy doppelganger.

He reached out and took the bottle from Freyja, checking the label and frowning a bit. "Sookie is right, of course. You'll have to sustain yourself on synthetic when fresh is unavailable."

"I'm not drinking that, it tastes like dirty kronor."

Eric smiled and placed the bottle onto the table. "You're right, it does."

"Eric, she's gotta drink something," I insisted. "And there's no way you're taking her to Fangtasia, not with Victor running around God knows where."

He turned his gaze and challenged me with nothing but a flash in his eyes. "Are you volunteering?"

"No." I was no longer threatened by his Bela Lugosi eyes.

"Well then, we need to find some real blood for her, for both of us. Synthetic will not uphold during a battle, and I can't take anymore from you so soon." In a quieter voice, he added, "You know this, Sookie."

"Yes, I know that, Eric," I sighed back, knowing full well that everyone had heard what he'd said anyway. "But unless you plan on glamouring one of my neighbors or calling for take-out, I'm out of ideas."

Then Claude stepped in between us. "I may have a solution."

I gasped and opened my mouth to protest, but he held his hand up. "No, not that. I have a client or two at the club who might be willing to...help the cause."

I noticed Dermot quickly turn his eyes and stare suspiciously at Claude, yet he said nothing. "Whadya mean?" I asked.

"Everyone knows who you are, cousin. Who you're with." He shrugged, as if it were nothing. "Offers have been made."

"Fae?" Freyja asked, excitement suddenly building in her voice.

"Don't get your hopes up, none of them look like me," he said, flipping his glossy hair out of his eyes. "There's some business I need to take care of before it gets too late. If you promise to keep your fangs to yourself, you can come along."

"Why are you being nice to me?" she asked warily.

"Yeah," I said immediately. Claude was an opportunist, and that was putting it nicely. Good Samaritan was not on his resume. I looked back to Dermot again, but he seemed as confused as the rest of us.

"Just go with it," Claude grumbled, picking up the skinny jeans and a black velour hoodie. He tossed them in Freyja's direction and walked past all of us. Grabbing his keys from the bowl in the foyer, he called out, "I'll be in the car."

There was a brisk knock on the door just as Claude swung it open. Bill stood there, having changed out of his combat gear and back into his go-to khakis and Henley. Upon seeing Claude, who must've smelled like a filet mignon, Bill stiffened in the doorway. The fae and vamps in my life had learned to coexist, begrudgingly.

Claude breezed past him, calling out a familiar greeting. "Vampire Bill."

"Claude," he nodded.

"Come on in, Bill," I heaved wearily. It was starting to look like I would never get a free moment with Eric. The two of us would either start fighting again, or I'd be hosting every supe within a five mile radius right there in my kitchen before the end of the night.

Bill scanned the unlikely gathering before him and smiled curtly. Looking to Eric, he asked, "May I speak freely?"

In unison, we all looked to Freyja. We must've seemed like a bizarre dysfunctional family to an outsider. She was no exception. She rolled her eyes and walked away, stomping up every single step. She would still be able to hear what we said, of course, but didn't bother hiding the fact that she was still feeling resentful over our mistrust. The bathroom door slammed shut and Bill launched right into it.

"Marcus is on his way. He'll be in New Orleans in ten hours."

I felt like the Tin Man, my heart thumped so loudly in my chest. Just the mention of his name had me scuttling closer to Eric's side. He wrapped his steely arm around my shoulder and gave me a gentle squeeze. It was a very girly thing to do, and I'm normally not proud of my damsel moments. Yet I snuggled into in his chest none the less.

"How do we know this?" Eric asked.

"Pam and Sorren coerced it out of Heidi," Bill replied. "She said that Victor is making all types of arrangements. They'll be staying at Victors complex through the day tomorrow and -"

"And then showing up here as soon as the sun goes down," I interjected. "Is he a flyer?"

"Yes, but Victor and Sergius are not," Eric said. "They'll have to travel by car."

"Heidi knows too much," I said after a second of thought. Something about this didn't mesh.

"I agree," Bill nodded.

"Victor would never have told Heidi that sort of information if he didn't already assume we'd find out," Eric said.

"So either it's a complete lie..." Bill started.

"Or Marcus wanted us to know he's coming," I said. "He's flaunting it in our faces, like he's daring us to hang around or something."

"He wants us be prepared." Eric's voice was flat. He wandered away and began to slowly pace up and down the hallway runner. We all fell in behind him as he said, "You denied him of the fight he was ready for. You've dealt a strong blow to his ego, Sookie."

I frowned, slapping my hands onto my hips. "I wasn't really thinking of it that way."

"It doesn't matter," Bill said. "His honor has been besmirched."

I looked to Eric, and all he did was frown. Shaking my head, I exclaimed, "You'd all be dead right now. You're aware of that, right?"

Dermot was in front of me then. He took my hands into his and smiled kindly, patiently. "What's done is done, niece. Let it go and don't think on it again. You have much ahead of you right now."

"Dermot," I sighed, "I really appreciate everything you've done for me the past few days, but I need to recharge my batteries right now, okay? Save the pep talk for later."

"Not later. Now, Sookie."

My eyebrows arched, curious despite my bitter mood and physical exhaustion. Dermot was certainly acting a bit odd, now that I looked at him and thought about it.

"Niall left me with instructions. I'm to teach you how to fight like a fae."

Bill smirked, and looked at Eric with a get-a-load-of-this-guy grin. "Fight like a fae?"

Dermott smiled at me again, but this time it was a swaggering grin. It could have been my brother looking at me instead. He cupped his hands together and braced them against his chest, facing out. A white light began to swirl around his fingers and after a few seconds, it gathered into a softball sized mass. He then forced his hands forward and the ball ignited into a flowing bunch of blue and yellow sparks. It zinged past me and hit Bill in the shoulder, knocking him over onto his ass with a loud thump.

My jaw dropped. Eric and I both looked at Bill, who began to move and groan after a few seconds. We turned our eyes back to Dermott, who stood there looking as innocent as a choir boy. Eric let out a loud chuckle, fraternally smacking Dermott on the shoulder.

"Let's start with power orbs, shall we?"

Review, review! Hit that button and give Momma some sugar! I'd also love some ideas for my next fan fic, if you have any you'd like to share. Right now I'm thinking of Vampire Diaries or Castle. Whadya think?