Disclaimer: Charlaine Harris owns all.
Rated M for several reasons.
Chpt 15 Yellow Brick Rhodes
SPOV
"Rhodes." Pam drawls over the phone.
"As in they all lead to Rome?" I quip back.
"Very funny." How does she manage to sound so bored all the time? "We have a week to prepare, as you very well know, we must collaborate on your wardrobe."
I sigh.
"It is expensed." She reminds me. "As per your contract with Eric."
"Pam, I've still got all my suits and things from Dallas, what else could I possibly need?"
"You will be expected to attend certain functions with Eric, as his human, in addition to your duties as his and Her Majesty's asset."
"I bet he's looking forward to that." I mutter.
"I am sure he is. You will look stupendous and other vampire will be reminded of his superiority over them in all ways."
Go Pam. The Eric Northman Fan Club.
"Fine. No leather. No chains."
She laughs. Dryly. "Do not worry Sookie, I will ensure you are a credit to him in every possible way. Though you would look very fetching in leather and chains."
I bite back a laugh. Pam's taken up the sexual innuendo where Eric left off. She's got even less chance, I don't swing that way, but it's flattering nevertheless.
"When?"
"I will collect you tomorrow, an hour after first dark. You will trust me. I know how to make you look good."
"Are you saying I don't look good already?" I demand in mock offence.
"Good enough to eat." She responds, ending the call abruptly, as is her way.
Still smiling I put the receiver down and wander back to my dinner in the kitchen.
I've been looking forward to this Rhodes thing to be honest, a break from the monotony and my miserable thoughts. It's crazy, further exposure to vampires is probably the last thing I need, after all my life is safe and drama free right now, just how I always said I wanted it.
Sam said as much when I booked my week off but instead of making me feel nervous it just boosted my desire to go. Stubborn and stupid go hand in hand it seems . . . .
…..
Shopping was fun and not quite what I was expecting. Pam was known everywhere we went, not feared exactly, but treated with a degree of respect bordering on the obsequious. I was so busy trying to be polite and not laugh at all the fawning I lost track of how much money we were spending. I don't care how rich Eric is, he's going to have a fit when he gets the tab.
I properly lost control of her during the underwear phase of our expedition. I don't know how often she thinks we humans soil ourselves but I could pee myself laughing every day for the next month and not need to do the laundry. It's not that I have a problem with co-ordinating my underclothes, but necessity and lack of an appreciative audience have confined my previous lingerie shops to Wal-Mart. It's a crying shame really, I shall feel like a million dollars but no one else will ever know.
The evening dresses on the other hand.
Wow.
Apparently even a Bon Temps waitress can be transformed into a Hollywood siren with copious amounts of cash and the right personal shopper. She had me trying dresses I would have dismissed out of hand as sleazy. And they sure looked it on the hanger, but once on they were anything but, she actually managed to make me look classy, like a real Southern Belle rather than a poor relation wannabe.
…..
We travelled during the day, Alcide and I, the back of the private jet laden with the coffins of Eric, Pam and the two other vampires attending the Summit with us from Louisiana.
We were collected from the airport by a fleet Anubis Air minivans, the vampire movers of choice Alcide informed me. Security was tight. For all their superior strength and speed they're sitting ducks in the day time. That's a vulnerability that must sting and I feel a certain amount of responsibility for them, scanning the minds of the Anubis Air guys for the slightest hint of anything wrong. There's nothing, though they seem to have been on the end of a glamouring or two in their time. Is that why they're so focussed on their task? Does Anubis Air run a mass glamouring programme to ensure the safety of their clients? I'm not sure how to take that. An educational example of enlightened self-interest or the ultimate example of vampire manipulation?
I'm still pondering that when we pull up in front of the Pyramid of Giza Hotel, a masterpiece of tackiness I would never have imagined being built anywhere outside Las Vegas. But it does what it says on the tin, it's a towering triangular edifice of glass and steel, a pharaoh's resting place on steroids. Alcide and I exchange matching grins of amusement as we follow the coffins on gurneys into Reception.
Check-in is well organised chaos, teams of what I now recognise to be Weres marking us all down against myriad lists. Again I wander through the minds present looking for trouble but there are just too many, I can't tell between someone watching a thriller in the rooms upstairs or a potential homicidal maniac planning carnage in the lobby. In self-defence I put my shields back up, better take it one step at a time.
Finally we get our room keys and the hotel staff takes over moving the coffins and our luggage into the elevators. We're all on the same floor. Eric and I. Pam and the other two vampires in our party.
Alcide eyes me curiously as we're shown into my room first but I muster a confident smile. I'll be sleeping while Eric's up and about and vice versa, I have no reason to fear sharing a room with him. Travel rations and entertainment. Appearances to be kept up.
The porters wheel Eric's coffin into a secure side room and deposit my luggage in the main bedroom before withdrawing to take the others to their rooms and with an hour or so to kill before Eric rises I kick off my shoes and curl up on the couch to flick through the itinerary.
A Summit. I can't help being impressed, it sounds important, fancy little old me being a part of it. Well, on the periphery of it anyway. The meetings scheduled all have innocuous titles that nevertheless get me wondering what business will be conducted in them. The social stuff is more obvious and far less interesting . . . .
I yawn. Flying has tired me out, the fear I guess, Alcide's company was nowhere near as comforting as Eric's . . . .
EPOV
I survived. I was taking a calculated risk allowing the non-human and I to be left alone together, even though Hotel policy was to secure me alone in my room after check-in.
From the sound of her heartbeats she is asleep somewhere in the suite so I allow myself a leisurely shower before dressing for tonight's introductory drinks party. Of course most of us already know each other but we don't gather together that often and so a great deal of the business of the Summit will probably get done tonight. I can feel a tingle of anticipation at the thought but the sound of the non-human sighing and rolling over dampens it somewhat.
Appearances are everything and I will have to spend a great deal more time with her over the next few days than I would like. I will have to touch her, further the charade that she and I are bonded. Thankfully no one will question my being cold toward her, they will all believe her to be just a human, but they will expect me to favour her and flaunt her. I shall be forced to defend her, such a beautiful and desirable woman. It will be tiresome but it is a responsibility I cannot shirk if the ruse is to be believed.
I am still deeply suspicious of her. I have uncovered nothing of her mysterious benefactor, the one who holds a blade over both my head and the Queen's. Nor anything material on Bill or his Maker, Lorena. It is unpleasant, this sensation of forces gathering against me I cannot see. And with the absence of any other to blame, I blame her.
Deciding against braiding my hair in the traditional way of my people I exit my room, wanting to ensure she is ready and appropriately attired before we head down to the party. I may not have wanted a human but I will not tolerate one making me look bad. Especially not her.
She is curled up on the couch, head tucked into her arms. Her severe grey skirt has ridden up, exposing the top of her stocking on one thigh and a thin strip of the soft tanned skin above it. It calls to me and I long to stroke a finger around it and feel the flesh pebble under my touch. Her scent is as clean and fresh as always, she almost glows in the lamplight.
She is beautiful and alluring, my death.
Yet even with her face partially covered I can see she is tired and drawn. I am aware of no reason for this from Pam's briefings and it irks me that I would even notice.
"Sookie!" Harshly I command her to wake.
"Eric?" She sighs, stretching instinctively and rolling onto her back. One arm flung over her head, the other automatically clutching at her blouse which has fallen open to reveal the tantalizing swell of her breast.
"You have a little over an hour to get ready." I snap at her. "We cannot be late. I will wait here."
Despite the fear that spices her blood she actually snarls softly at me as she struggles to gain her feet from the cloying embrace of the couch and smirking I back up to give her room.
She surveys me blearily for a moment before pulling herself together and stomping off to her room.
"Jerk." She mutters under her breath as she slams the door behind her.
Laughing quietly I heat myself a synthetic blood and settle down to wait.
SPOV
Introductory drinks. Dress one. A simple black silk sheath, falling to just above the knee, leaving my arms but little else bare. Silver, real silver jewellery, I assume Pam knows what she's doing, a wide necklace slung just below my throat and a matching bracelet on my left wrist. Ludicrously high heels and matching shiny black clutch. Hair twisted into the nape of my neck. Black eyeliner and clear lip gloss.
Even I know I don't look much like a waitress, or a vampire's pet.
Eric looks up as I open the door and his expression, frosty, plummets to arctic.
"Pam assured me this was acceptable." I huff defensively after a moment's uncomfortable silence.
"I did not voice a complaint." He points out, surging to his feet.
You didn't have to, your face said it all.
"Not slutty enough?" I enquire sweetly.
Oh, whoa, shut up Stackhouse. From arctic to drained in one easy mouth off.
"As you are aware there will be certain expectations of us over the next few days." He lectures as he paces. "You will keep your attitude and your feelings to yourself at all times or I will be forced to punish you."
"I know. Pam told me. I am not to embarrass her Master." Light sarcasm, appropriate I think.
"For the next few days I am your Master, do not forget it."
Urge to curtsey with flowery sarcasm balanced against the forbidding look on Eric's face.
"Okay." I respond meekly.
"I will not let any harm come to you."
"Okay?" Where did that come from?
"I have been told that Bill will be here this week."
"What?!"
"There is nothing wrong with your hearing. You will be safe. It is my responsibility."
"Eric . . . . if there's trouble, I meant what I said . . . . I'm not worth it . . . ."
Whoa. There is a degree of cold below arctic.
"Your spine is required Ms Stackhouse." He growls. "The rest is up to me."
…..
In silence we travel down in the lift.
The new Pam improved me and Mr Frosty, resplendent in his navy pinstripe suit and pale blue silk shirt, his black shoes even shiner than mine. The shirt is just open enough to expose the top planes of his chest, deliberate? Probably. Even I'm fantasising about delving a finger in there, the only other woman in the elevator is chanting in her head to stop from doing it. Ironically because she thinks she'll get in a catfight with me over it.
Despite the tension between Eric and I it's almost enough to make me smirk.
The doors sweep open and I start forward, jumping when Eric's cool hand settles lightly in the small of my back.
"I am your Master." He snarls as we proceed toward the high double doors of the Ballroom. "It should not come as a shock when I touch you."
"Well perhaps we should have practised." I snarl back.
Oh my big mouth. Before I can even blink he envelops me in his well-muscled arms, turning us and trapping me against the wall.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I hiss as he rubs himself all over me.
"Marking my territory."
"Couldn't you have done it in private?" I gasp, fruitlessly trying to wriggle away from him.
"Where would the fun have been in that?" He chuckles, old Eric coming out to play for a moment.
"Sheriff Northman?" A professional sounding voice interrupts.
Eric releases me and steps back, once again placing his hand on the small of my back, no jump from me this time, my stupid knees are still too busy shaking from his previous attentions.
"Quinn." Eric's greeting is even, neither pleased nor displeased to be interrupted.
"Are you going in?" The giant Were with arresting purple eyes enquires, flicking a glance from me to the doors.
"In a moment." Eric responds. "We are not yet ready."
. . . . bimbo . . . . floats out of the Were's head as he pulls the doors open dramatically, striding inside.
I'm all for scurrying in behind him, unnoticed, but apparently that doesn't work for Eric and after a count of three we make our own dramatic entrance.