"A private concert by Elvis Presley," Victor repeated. Even over the phone, Eric could hear the other vampire working to keep his voice level and nonchalant.

He smiled at the wall across from his desk. "That's right, though he is called Bubba now. Tomorrow night at Fangtasia."

"And I alone am invited?"

"You are the guest of honor, naturally, but we assumed that you would be bringing a select group of associates to enjoy the evening's events with you. My wife and Pam and a few of Fangtasia's better employees will be there as well." There was a heavy silence. "Should we expect you?"

After a few more seconds of silence, Victor said, "I would be delighted."

Eric made a few more calls to selected subjects, then laid his phone aside and leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head. Victor would be gone after tomorrow, leaving only one more thorn in his side: Oklahoma.

He decided to sleep at the bar, and it was close to dawn when he heard keys at the back door. It could only be Pam, and sure enough, she was the one who stepped through. If she was surprised to see him there, she didn't say anything. Nor did he remark on her blood-streaked face.

"I'm going to turn her tomorrow," Pam said at last, moments before they went to their rest. "Miriam."

Eric nodded. Victor had forbidden it, but Victor would be gone.

He was awakened by a loud crashing sound. In less than a second, he was awake and standing before the source of the noise: Pam had swept an entire shelf of souvenir shot glasses to the floor.

"What the fuck..." he muttered, staring at the glinting shards of glass strewn across the stock room floor. He looked up at Pam, his fangs still extended in expectation of a fight.

"She died," Pam said. His child's voice was usually laced with ennui or dry with sarcasm, but he couldn't remember another time when it had sounded lifeless. She held up her phone and lowered her arm again. "A few hours ago."

"Mr. Northman?" came a worried female voice from the other side of the office door. This was followed by loud, insistent knocking. "You okay in there, Mr. Northman?"

Before he could say anything to Pam, she slipped into the office bathroom. He heard the lock click into place. He glanced once more at the pile of glass on the floor and went to admit the employee who was knocking. Her knuckles were poised in midair, ready to knock again, when he pulled the door open.

"No one is hurt," he assured her, "but there is a mess to be cleaned. Go and get someone to help you."

She nodded in reply, eyes wide, and scampered off into the bar. Eric left the door open.

When Mustapha reported for duty a short time later, Eric was glad to see that his small friend Warren had come along with him as he sometimes did. He remembered Sookie telling him that Warren had been in the Army.

"Are you a good marksman?" Eric asked the smaller man, ignoring the baffled look that the usually impassive Mustapha was giving him.

It had struck him that they needed a sniper to take down anyone who tried to escape. After all, it would not do to have someone report everything to Felipe... wherever the hell he was. A few minutes of negotiation later, Eric had a sniper and Warren had a sizable check to deposit in the morning. That done, Eric told Mustapha to get in touch with Bill and make sure that everything with Bubba was going smoothly.

Pam remained in the bathroom as business increased and the first few conspirators arrived. At one point, Eric heard the shower running. When she finally emerged from the back, she looked like her old self. Eric observed that only someone who knew her as he did would be able to notice the dullness of her eyes.

Sookie arrived right on schedule, delicious in a picnic dress and sandals. It was still so odd, so uncomfortable, to feel no trace of her in his blood. Even so, he knew what question would be foremost in her mind, and he answered it.

"He accepted the invitation. He was uneasy, but he couldn't resist. I told him he was welcome to bring as many of his own people as he wished so that they could share the experience."

"That was the only way to do it," she said, nodding.

"I think you're right," Pam agreed. It was the first thing she had said since Eric found her with the broken shot glasses at her feet. "I think he'll bring only a few because he'll want to show us how confident he is."

Mustapha knocked, and Eric flicked two fingers to permit him in. "Bill and Bubba are making a stop in the alley two blocks over," the Were informed him.

"What for?" Eric asked with a bewildered frown.

"Ah..." Mustapha cleared his throat. "Something about cats."

Eric allowed himself only a smile where normally he might indulge in a hearty laugh. "But he's cheerful? In a good mood?"

"Yes, Eric. He's happy as a minister on Easter Sunday." Eric assumed that was good. "Bill took him for a drive in an antique car, then horseback riding, and then to the alley. They should be here right on time. I told Bill I'd call him when Victor arrived."

Eric nodded in approval. Mustapha had so far proven himself efficient and reliable in every way.

Sookie had taken a chair across from the desk, on which Pam was still perched. The three of them might have talked were it not for the presence of Thalia, Maxwell, and Mustapha, not to mention the steady noise of the bar. Eric opened his laptop and started a game of Solitaire. It bored him, so he leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the corner of his desk.

"So... Mustapha, how's Warren doing? What's he up to lately?" Sookie asked, breaking the long silence.

"Warren, he's outside the club on the roof of the Bed, Bath & Beyond," the Were told her.

"What for?"

"He's a shooter."

Sookie turned, puzzled, from Mustapha to Eric, questioning him with her eyes.

"We refined your idea a bit," Eric explained. "Anyone gets out the door, Warren will take care of them."

He noticed that Sookie's attention had wandered from him to Pam. "Pam?" she asked softly, rising from her chair and moving closer.

Pam turned her head away from Sookie, allowing Eric a glimpse of her face. She had shed her tears, he knew, but her face was still drawn with grief. He had every faith that Pam would channel that grief into anger and ferocity when the time came.

Outside in the bar, the gong sounded to indicate that closing time was near. Sookie, who was still paused between her chair and Pam, turned and strolled out of the office. Without Sookie and her social graces, the office was quiet again. Thalia slipped into downtime, sparing them briefly from her sour expressions.

"Thalia, Maxwell," he said eventually, "go out and help with the arrangements." They obeyed without a word. "And Mustapha, check the back of the bar and make sure that no customers or stragglers remain." When they were alone, he stood and walked around the desk to face Pam. "Are you up for this?" he asked.

She raised her head and narrowed her eyes. "Don't insult me," she replied.

He smiled.

When Mustapha entered the office again some time later, he informed Eric that the perimeter was secure and that everyone had arrived except Bill and Bubba. Everything was in place, then. Eric turned to Pam, and they nodded at each other. She hopped off the desk and followed him out into the bar.

Eric spotted Sookie across the room, stirring the ice in her empty glass. He went to her and spun her bar stool around so that she faced him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and she responded by leaning against him. Her hair smelled good.

"I wish you didn't have to be here," he told her quietly.

They stayed that way, still and close to each other, while the others in the bar waited along with them. The calm before the storm. The humans heard the cars pull up outside a few seconds after the vampires did. Eric felt Sookie's body tense, and he straightened and stepped back from her.

Pam slipped off her bar stool and shook her hair back from her smiling face. "Showtime," she said.

Hi, everybody! Long time no see, huh? I know this is short, but I wanted to go ahead and post it so y'all would know that the show will go on now that we have Deadlocked.

I felt kind of rusty while I wrote this, but hopefully by the next chapter I'll feel more comfortable poking around in Eric's head. I'm pretty sure Deadlocked will demand a LOT of thought, though... Very difficult book, Eric-wise. *gulp*

I'm not planning to continue "Back from the Dead." I sort of lost my inspiration for it.