Hallow's book of spells contained nothing about restoring the victim's memory. When he had slammed the book shut in frustration and said this to Pam, she had only looked at him strangely and asked why the victim would want to remember time spent under a curse. Only a couple of weeks had passed, but still Pam seemed to skirt around him with an odd sort of deference – perhaps even suspicion. Of what, he didn't know. He had spent most nights in his office, having no patience for the usual parade of tourists and fangbangers. So many centuries of memories. Why should it bother him so much to lose a few days?
He had heard nothing from Sookie. Only she could tell him what had happened to him, but she seemed to have no intention of doing so. He wanted to know what he had done, what he had said. He wanted to know what he had felt. It was important; he knew that because of the empty pressure in his chest that had never gone away. It was the absence of something, a vacuum that she refused to fill.
And this newly arisen shit from Hot Rain…
He was leaning back in his desk chair, frowning up at the ceiling, when Pam strode in to tell him that Sookie wanted to see him. "On business," she stressed, cocking an eyebrow at him.
Business, of course. He would see her out in the bar. If he had her alone in his office, he might hold her skull between his hands and squeeze until she told him what he wanted – needed – to know. He might pin her to his desk and ask why she had fucked a false version of him, when he wanted her so desperately.
He sat down in a corner booth and watched her as she left the bar, where she'd been chatting with the new bartender, and approached him. She looked good. Her new coat was on her arm, and the sight of it pleased him, as did the nail polish she had evidently chosen to match it. He realized that the pressure was gone, replaced with a calm contentment. She was happy to see him.
He stood to meet her and lowered his head to kiss her cheek, breathing in the scent of her skin. "What pretty nail polish," he murmured as he drew back slowly.
She fought back a smile, but her happy blush gave her away. "Thank you," she said. "How you been doing?"
Did she really want to know that he was slowly going mad? Probably not. "Just fine," he told her, motioning to the booth.
She sat down, and he followed suit. "Had any trouble picking up the reins?" she asked as she laid her coat beside her and picked up her drink.
He shook his head. "Like riding a bicycle." To his surprise, he detected stirrings of lust in her. What was she thinking about? Remembering something he had lost, something she wouldn't share? "I did receive a call from Long Shadow's sire," he said conversationally. If he allowed his frustration and anger to get the better of him, she might never tell him the truth. "An American Indian whose name seems to be Hot Rain. I'm sure you remember Long Shadow."
"I was just thinking of him. What did Hot Rain want?"
He wanted to know why she had been thinking of Long Shadow, decided it could be because she had been speaking to the new bartender, and answered her question. "To let me know that though I had paid him the price set by the arbitrator, he didn't consider himself satisfied." He spit out the last word with all the disgust he felt.
"Did he want more money?" Sookie asked, frowning.
"I don't think so. He seemed to think financial recompense was not all he required. As far as I'm concerned, the matter is settled, and so is my little amnesia episode." He smiled. "The crisis is over, the witches are dead, and order is restored in my little piece of Louisiana. How have things been for you?" He was curious about her, and since they seemed to be having an actual conversation, he wanted to make it last. Before she remembered that she had come to him on business.
"Well, I'm here on business."
And there it was, apparently too pressing for her to talk to him for a minute longer about her own life. He swallowed his frustration. "What can I do for you, my Sookie?" The small endearment escaped his lips before he even realized he was saying it, but Sookie either missed it or ignored it.
"Sam wants to ask you for something."
Eric leaned back and regarded her for a moment. "And he sends you to ask for it. Is he very clever or very stupid?"
"Neither. He's very leg-broken," she said sharply. "That is to say, he got his leg broken last night. He got shot."
He leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the table. If another killer was in Bon Temps, there could be little doubt that Sookie would somehow become a target. She was a magnet for it. "How did this come about?"
"Sam and I were outside talking after work. It was just us, and it was so quiet." She swallowed shakily. "Arlene was just out of the parking lot. She went on home without knowing a thing. The new cook, Sweetie, she'd just left, too." Her eyes found his. "Someone shot him from the trees north of the parking lot."
Shot at him, or at you? "How close were you?"
"Oh, I was real close. I'd just turned to…" Her eyes were welling now as she remembered. "Then he was… There was blood all over…"
"What did you do?" he pressed.
"Sam had his cell phone in his pocket, thank God, and I held one hand over the hole in his leg, and I dialed 911 with the other."
Eric nodded at her with approval. "How is he?" He didn't actually care about the shifter, but it was the appropriate thing to ask, after all.
"Well… he's pretty good, all things considered. But of course, he's down for a while, and so much… so many odd things have been happening at the bar lately…" She seemed increasingly hesitant, and he knew that they were coming to the "business" that had brought her to him. "Our substitute bartender, he just can't handle it for more than a couple of nights. Terry's kind of… damaged."
"So what's Sam's request?" he asked, though he already knew.
"Sam wants to borrow a bartender from you until his leg heals."
He raised his forearms from the table to steeple his fingers, still watching her. "Why is he making this request to me instead of the packmaster of Shreveport?"
"Someone's gunning for the shifters and Weres in Bon Temps," she explained, speaking softly. "There--"
They were interrupted by a human who wanted Sookie's attention – a man who hovered beside their table for a moment and poked her, actually. "Hey, you."
Eric gritted his teeth. Any signal from Sookie, and this intruder would be out of the bar and lucky to be still alive.
She was clearly annoyed, but she turned to the man and smiled. Eric would know that forced smile anywhere. "I don't believe I know you.
The man glanced at Eric and squared his shoulders before addressing Sookie again. "You shouldn't be sitting with a vamp. Human girls shouldn't go with dead guys."
A growl died in Eric's throat as Sookie's hand slid smoothly across the table and rested over his. "You should go back over there to your friends, Dave," she said. She squeezed Eric's hand a little and pulled away again. "You don't want your mama to get a phone call about you being killed in a bar fight in Louisiana. Especially not in a vampire bar, right?"
"How'd you know my name?" the man asked, narrowing his eyes.
Eric smiled and shook his head. He liked people – especially women – who could take revenge with humor. Pam was a master at it.
"Doesn't make any difference, does it?" Sookie smiled coyly and looked up at the man from under her eyelashes.
"How'd you know about me?" the man asked again.
"I have x-ray vision. I can read your driver's license in your pants."
Eric looked at her, biting back a laugh, but she was careful to keep her eyes away from him. She wanted to laugh; he saw it in the tightness of her lips, as if a magnet was trying to pull back the corner of her mouth against her will.
The fucker still wasn't done. "Hey," he said with a wink, "can you see other stuff through my pants?"
"You're a lucky man, Dave," Sookie replied with the wickedest grin Eric had ever seen on her face. He wanted to kiss her senseless. "Now, I'm actually here to talk business with this guy, so if you'd excuse us…" She raised her eyebrows and nodded in the direction he'd come from.
"Okay," he said hastily. "Sorry, I…" He gave a nervous laugh.
"No problem at all." Again she signaled to him that he should get the hell away, and he finally did.
Eric watched the bastard leave, then cast his gaze over the entire bar, promising death to anyone who interrupted them again. "You were starting to tell me something when we were so rudely interrupted," he said, turning back to Sookie.
He leaned back slightly as a waitress gave Sookie a new drink. She took a sip and set the glass aside. "Yes." Her voice was still low and confidential. "Sam isn't the only shape-shifter who's been shot in Bon Temps lately. Calvin Norris was shot in the chest a few days ago. He's a werepanther. And Heather Kinman was shot before that." She sighed and shook her head. "Heather was just nineteen, a werefox."
A pack of injured animals with no bearing on the matter at hand. "I still don't see why this is interesting," he said frankly.
"Eric, she was killed." He raised an eyebrow, and Sookie looked exasperated. Why should she? A nineteen-year-old werefox had nothing to do with bartenders, however pitiable her death might be. "I'm trying to explain to you why Sam doesn't want to ask another shape-shifter or Were to step in to help. He thinks that might be putting him or her in danger. And there's just not a local human who's got the qualifications for the job, so he asked me to come to you."
Her flare of anger had stirred something in him, and once again he remembered that she had tasted his blood while his memory was lost. He kept his eyes very steadily on hers. "When I stayed at your house, Sookie…"
"Oh, Eric, give it a rest!"
She was a fool if she thought he would let it go. If a man lost his right hand, he wouldn't stop searching for it until he found it. Those few days of lost time seemed just as vital. He looked away from her, trying to swallow as much of his anger as possible. "Someday I'll remember."
"Yes. Someday, I expect you will remember."
He heard the defeat in her voice and felt the sadness in her blood. The silence between them lingered as he tried to detect something, anything, more. He didn't give a fuck about the shifter's bar, but if he sent one of his people, it would ease Sookie's mind as well as give him a way to protect her. And keep an eye on her.
"Sam was clever to send you to ask me. I'll spare someone." He cast his eyes around to see who was there. Bubba wasn't, unfortunately. He would have been perfect. There was Charles, of course. An unknown commodity to an extent, but genial enough, and strong. Eric turned back to Sookie. "What if I send Charles?"
"Or Pam, or anyone else who can keep their temper."
"Charles is the least temperamental vampire I've ever met," he assured her, "though I confess I don't know him well. He's been working here only two weeks."
She shrugged. "You seem to be keeping him busy here."
"I can spare him." He raised an eyebrow at her, curious as to why she seemed hesitant for Charles to do the job.
"Um…" She glanced in the bartender's direction, then nodded. "Okey dokey."
"Here are the terms. Sam supplies unlimited blood for Charles and a secure place to stay." Preferably with you. "You might want to keep him in your house as you did me."
That ruffled her feathers. "And I might not! I'm not running any hostel for traveling vampires."
Is that what you were doing, Sookie? Just putting me up for a few nights like a stray dog? "Oh, of course, I forgot," he said stiffly. "But you were generously paid for my board."
"That was my brother's idea," she said, looking wounded. It pleased him that she took offense; it was evidence that his time with her had meant something. If only she would tell him what it had meant. "But he was absolutely right," she went on. "Why should I have put a vampire up in my house without getting paid?" She looked away. "After all, I needed the money."
"Is the fifty thousand already gone? Did Jason ask for a share of it?" If she needed more, he would give it to her. He couldn't think of anything he would deny her.
She raised her chin and pursed her lips. "None of your business."
He searched her eyes, allowed his gaze to wander over her mouth and a stray hair that wisped along her jaw. Back to her eyes. "I wish that I could read your mind as you can read the minds of others," he mused aloud. "I wish very much that I could know what was going on in your head. I wish I knew why I cared what's going on in that head." I wish you would tell me.
She only smiled. "I agree to the terms," she said briskly, steering him back to the business of her visit. "Free blood and lodging, though the lodging won't necessarily be with me. What about the money?"
"I'll take my payment in kind," he replied, returning her smile. "I like Sam owing me a favor."
"Okay, then," she said. She reached over to her coat and withdrew a cell phone from the pocket. He watched her as she pressed some keys and took a sip of her drink while she waited for an answer. "Sam? Hey, it's me. I just talked to Eric, and he's going to send a bartender." She paused, listening. "Yes. Yeah." Another sip. "You have to provide all the blood he needs, and he'll also need a place to stay. And um… you're gonna owe Eric a favor." The shifter agreed – not that he had any choice – and Eric heard him ask when Charles would be coming. "When can he come?" Sookie asked.
"Right now." Eric motioned to the waitress who had brought Sookie's drink. "Tell Charles to come here," he told her.
She went through the silly ritual of bowing and saluting that so amused the customers. "Yes, Master."
Charles wasted no time in obeying, and he bowed to Sookie before he gave his attention to Eric.
"This woman will tell you what to do," said Eric, nodding across the table at Sookie. "As long as she needs you, she is your master."
"No, Eric!" Sookie protested. "If you make him answerable to anyone, it should be Sam."
Some other time he could explain to her that vampires were never answerable to shifters or Weres. "Sam sent you," he told her firmly in a voice he rarely used with her. Usually he didn't mind when she argued; often he enjoyed it. But this was a point on which he would not give way. "I'm entrusting Charles' direction to you."
Charles looked back and forth between them, then said cheerily, "Let me get my coat, and I'll be ready any time it pleases you to leave." He gave her a theatrical bow and a wink before he left them alone again.
A new song came on the radio station, and Eric looked across the table at Sookie. "Will you dance?" he asked.
She seemed hesitant as she looked out at the empty floor, but then she looked back at him and nodded. "Thank you."
He left his side of the booth and offered her his hand as she stood to join him. He led her out onto the floor a few steps, then took her waist in his free hand. Her white sweater was soft, and the sliver of skin between it and the top of her jeans was even softer. Her hair smelled good, as it usually did, and for one happy, distracted minute, he imagined her in the shower. All those smells rising up around her naked body in the steam…
She was happy in his arms. Though she seemed very deliberately to be avoiding eye contact, her blood could not lie to him. The song was much too short. He didn't want to let her go quite yet, and he didn't.
"Holding you seems very familiar, Sookie." Tell me about when I held you. Let me have that back.
She flushed, still not meeting his eyes, and pulled her hand out of his. "You wish." She backed away slightly. "By the way, have you ever run across a kind of mean-looking vampire named Mickey?"
In a flash her hand was in his again, though he loosened his grip when she cried out. He knew about Mickey, oh, yes. "He was in here last week. Where have you seen Mickey?" If the bastard laid a finger on Sookie, he would not be around to rise another night.
"In Merlotte's." Her eyes were wide with surprise and worry. "What's the deal?"
"What was he doing?" Eric pressed, ignoring her question for the moment.
Sookie shrugged. "Drinking Red Stuff and sitting at a table with my friend Tara. You know, you saw her at Club Dead in Jackson?"
Yes, he remembered Club Dead. He remembered the stake in her side. He remembered her dance with Tara. "When I saw her, she was under the protection of Franklin Mott."
"Well, they were dating," Sookie explained. "I can't understand why he'd let her go out with Mickey. I hoped maybe Mickey was just there as her bodyguard or something." He stood still, watching her intently as she walked back to the booth to get her coat. She returned to him with the coat draped over one arm. "So what's the bottom line on this guy?"
Eric laid a hand on her shoulder and willed her to listen to him for once. "Stay away from him," he said, emphasizing each word. "Don't talk to him. Don't cross him. And don't try to help your friend Tara. When he was here, Mickey talked mostly to Charles." Eric glanced at the bartender, then returned his intent gaze to Sookie. "Charles tells me he is a rogue. He's capable of…" Raping you, torturing you, draining you, killing you. "Things that are barbarous. Don't go around Tara." She raised her empty palms in a silent question. "He'll do things the rest of us won't."
"I can't just ignore her situation," Sookie protested with the headstrong virtue that could be the death of her. "I don't have so many friends that I can afford to let one go down the drain."
Better her than you. "If she's involved with Mickey, she's just meat on the hoof." He knew it was callous. He knew she wouldn't like it. But maybe it would make her think. He took her coat and held it up as she turned and slid both arms through the sleeves. Seeing her in it gave him pleasure. As she closed the front, he massaged her shoulders, craving any contact with her. Again she moved away from him. She turned around to face him, and he smiled down at her. "It fits well."
She nodded. "You got my thank-you note?"
"Of course." Eric, thank you so much for the coat. It's really beautiful, and I love it. "Very, ah… seemly." He wished she hadn't sent one at all. "I still wonder…" he said slowly, keeping his eyes on hers, "why your old coat had bloodstains on it." Her eyes flew up to meet his, and he felt her panic. "What did we do, Sookie? And to whom?" Did I kill Debbie Pelt? Did you?
"It was chicken blood. I killed a chicken and cooked it."
He had to smile. At least her lie was entertaining. "Sookie, Sookie." He shook his head at her, still smiling. "My bullshit meter is reading that as a false."
She stared at him a second, speechless, then gave in to laughter. But no further answer was forthcoming. "Goodbye, Eric," she said, shoving her hands into her coat pockets. "And thanks for the bartender."
He leaned to kiss her cheek as he had done before; perhaps his body would start to remember what his mind couldn't. "Drive safely and stay away from Mickey. I need to find out why he's in my territory." He glanced up at Charles, who was waiting for Sookie by the door. He was doubly glad now that Charles was going with her; Charles knew Mickey by sight. "Call me if you have any problems with Charles."
She smiled and nodded, but he knew as well as she did that she wouldn't abandon her friend. This was a woman who safe-guarded mentally damaged vampires in her home.
After Sookie left, Pam came to him with a pink "Missed Call" slip from Hot Rain. He crumpled it and threw it in the trash to join the others.
The next night he called Charles. "I trust all is going well so far," he said, not bothering with a greeting.
"Yes. Mr. Merlotte has provided me with blood, and though my sleeping quarters are uncomfortable, I--"
Eric growled low in his throat. "You aren't staying at Sookie's house?"
"She didn't want that. I was there when she told Sam. Was I supposed to stay at her house?"
"That is what I prefer, yes," Eric told him, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. Sookie had never made it easy to take care of her. "I want you to speak to the shifter and tell him that the arrangement isn't satisfactory." He paused while he decided how much to tell Charles. "I'm sure you must know that I didn't agree to this because I have any interest in helping Sam Merlotte."
A brief silence. "I suspected as much, sir," Charles finally replied.
"You remember Mickey, the vampire you told me about?"
"Yes."
"He has been seen in Bon Temps, and I don't want him anywhere near Sookie. I don't want her harmed in any way. So much as a papercut, and I will hold you personally responsible. You will, of course, be paid. Is that understood?"
"Understood, Mr. Northman. I will not allow any harm to come to your woman. You have my word."
He considered correcting Charles and explaining that Sookie was not yet his woman, but that seemed pointless. If the Englishman with his stilted gallantry thought of Sookie in this way, he would probably protect her all the more.
* * *
He was putting in a merchandise order when the fairy called. It had fallen on Pam to answer the phone because Eric had no interest in talking to Hot Rain, so it was she who opened his office door and told him to pick up the call from Claudine.
"Claudine?" he repeated.
Pam laid her manicured fingers over the receiver. "A fairy who knows Sookie. You met her while you were… you met her."
He frowned and picked up the phone on his desk. "Eric Northman." How did Sookie know a fairy?
"Good evening to you, Mr. Northman. Still as gorgeous as ever?"
"I certainly hope so. Tell me why you are calling."
"I think you should know that I had to save Sookie Stackhouse from a fire at her house last night," the fairy woman said. "I'm telling you this because there was a vampire staying there with her. I assume he was placed there to guard her. Am I wrong?"
"No. What were you doing there?"
Claudine gave an airy laugh. "Oh, that's nothing to concern yourself with, Sheriff. But I do suggest that you speak to Sookie's bodyguard. Good night!" She hung up on him before he could ask anything else.
Fucking pirate. Eric slammed the phone down, opened his office door to signal to Pam that he was leaving, and flew out. Rather than tempering his rage, the time it took to fly to Bon Temps only exacerbated it. When he landed at Merlotte's, he was furious. He barely glanced at Sookie when he entered. Charles was behind the bar, flirting with a fat woman in a too-tight dress.
"A word," Eric hissed through his already-extended fangs.
Charles straightened and moved away from his customer. "Master?"
"Where the fuck were you last night when she almost got burned alive? I was told that a fairy had to save her. A fairy, for fuck's sake."
"I – I was in the yard, sir. I ran out to catch the person who set the fire." Charles smiled slightly to show that his fangs were out as well. "And I did. I caught him and killed him."
"Perhaps you could tell me what purpose that would have served if my… if Sookie had died?"
"She was questioned by some investigators yesterday."
"What does that have to do with--"
"Hi, Eric!" came Sookie's voice from beside him. He didn't look at her, keeping his eyes narrowed on Charles. "How you doing?" she asked with feigned lightness. He felt her anxiety. "Is there anything I can help you with?"
He finally looked at her and was relieved to see that she seemed unharmed. "Yes. I need to talk to you, too."
"Then why don't you come with me? I was just going to step out back to take a break." She laid her hand on his arm, and he followed her outside, still seething. He was going to ask her if she had been hurt in any way, but she went on the attack. "You better not be about to tell me what to do. I've had enough of that for one day, and Bill's in here with a woman, and I lost my kitchen. I'm in a bad mood."
You're in a bad mood? "I care nothing about your mood," he snapped. "I pay Charles Twining to watch you and keep you safe, and who hauls you out of the fire? A fairy." He poured all of his disgust into the word. "While Charles is out in the yard, killing the fire setter rather than saving his hostess' life." He took a few paces back from her. "Stupid Englishman!"
Sookie cocked her head to the side and looked at him with confusion. "He's supposed to be here as a favor to Sam," she said slowly. "He's supposed to be here helping Sam out."
"Like I give a damn about a shifter," Eric scoffed. Are you really that blind? You can't be that blind. "There's something about you." He focused his eyes on hers as if he could see through them to her mind. "There is something I am almost on the verge of knowing about you, and it's under my skin, this feeling that something happened while I was cursed, something I should know about." He stepped close to her again and laid his hands on her shoulders. "Did we have sex, Sookie?" he asked, searching her face. "But I can't think that was it, or it alone. Something happened. Your coat was ruined with brain tissue. Did I kill someone, Sookie? Is that it?" Realization suddenly set in. "You're protecting me from what I did while I was cursed?" I don't care if I killed someone. I don't want protection from what I did. I don't want protection from what I felt or what I said.
She swallowed hard and stared up at him. "Eric, you did not kill anyone at my house that night." She started to say more, but she pressed her lips together and looked away.
"You have to tell me what happened," he said softly, almost pleading now. "I hate not knowing what I did." He slid his hands from her shoulders to her arms and drew her a little closer to him. "I've had a life longer than you can even imagine, and I remember every second of it, except for those days I spent with you."
"I can't make you remember. I can only tell you that you stayed with me for several days, and then Pam came to get you."
"I wish I could get in your head and get the truth out of you. You've had my blood. I can tell you're concealing things from me." Why, Sookie? She was shaking her head, refusing to acknowledge what he was saying to her – what he was asking of her. "I wish I knew who's trying to kill you." He frowned. "And I hear you had a visit from some private detectives. What did they want of you?" Were they looking for Debbie Pelt, the woman I – you – we killed?
"Who told you that?" she demanded, her eyes flashing.
He ignored her question. "Is this something to do with the woman who's missing, that bitch the Were loved so much?" Her face betrayed nothing, but her blood was telling him that he was on the right track. "Are you protecting him? If I didn't kill her, did he?" He tightened his grip on her arms without even realizing it. "Did she die in front of us?"
"Listen, you're hurting me!" she said, trying to shake him loose. "Let go!"
He eased his hold on her. "Tell me now." He knew as well as she did that he couldn't force his will on her. That he would never do it. But if she would allow herself to see his desperation…
There were tears shining in her eyes now. "You were so sweet when you didn't know who you were."
His hands fell away from her shoulders as he absorbed this. All I want is to know how I was, for fuck's sake! Now you throw it in my face while you still refuse to tell me? He gritted his teeth against the flood of anger that nearly overpowered him. Finally, he forced a smile. "Sweet?" he repeated.
She nodded and smiled, though her tears rather ruined the intended effect. "Very. We gossiped like old buddies," she said wistfully. Oh, Sookie, tell me... "You were scared and alone," she went on, "and you liked to talk to me." I have always liked to talk to you. You are the one who tries to avoid talking to me. "It was… fun having you around."
"Fun. I'm not fun now?"
"No, Eric," she sighed. "You're too busy being…" She waved her hand to indicate his person. "Yourself."
No being, human or vampire, could hurt him the way she could. It was this power she held over him that he found himself both hating and embracing. He brushed aside the insult, hoping that she would reveal more about their time together. "Is myself so bad?" he asked gently. "Many women seem to think not." That was an understatement. But she wasn't "many women." She was the only woman.
She smiled a little. "I'm sure they do."
Before he could reply, Sam Merlotte emerged from the building, limping with the help of his cane. "Sookie, are you all right?" he asked.
"Shifter, she doesn't need your assistance." Eric tore his eyes away from Sookie to look at Sam, who was regarding him silently. As much as he looked down on the animals, he had to acknowledge that Sam had a polite dignity that deserved respect. "I was rude," he admitted. "I'm on your premises. I'll be gone." He turned back to Sookie, who was wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "Sookie, we haven't finished this conversation, but I see this isn't the time or place."
She nodded. "I'll see you," she murmured.
He flew straight up into the air and returned to Fangtasia, where Pam was waiting in his office. Her raised eyebrows asked a question that he ignored.