Today's chapter is named after the song Crossroads. There are a few different versions of this song, but the one I am referring to is played by Cream.

The problem with being a vampiric business owner was that the technology you used to keep your business afloat could rarely accommodate a vampire's quick speed. For instance, Eric had broken more calculators than he could count since he'd been forced to open a business in Shreveport some decades ago. While computers had certainly come a long way since Fangtasia was a local video rental shop, the operating systems still couldn't keep up with how quickly he could type. Of course, even a typewriter couldn't deal with that speed, its arms having always gotten tangled as he wrote. At least a computer just lagged behind and skipped letters and even words, rather than breaking completely.

At the current moment Eric was at his desk, slim laptop open as he entered the numbers from the night before. He'd promised himself he'd hunt Lucifer when he awoke this evening, but there had been two problems with that course of action. For one, he had no idea how to track the man—he hadn't given Lucifer his blood and therefore couldn't feel him. More importantly though, whether he wanted to or not, Eric Northman had a business to run.

What had originally been punishment for him and Pam had become a lucrative business venture when the vampires had come out of the coffin a few years before. Fangtasia was the only vampire-catering club this far north of New Orleans, and he had clients coming in from northern Louisiana, Texas, and even as far north as Arkansas on any given night. The fangbangers flocked from all over, giving the vampires plenty of variety when it came to finding new lovers and consensual meals.

Life at Fangtasia was good.

Despite Eric's recent foul mood, he normally enjoyed Pam's company. But between his own hangups about a certain Sookie Stackhouse and Pam's refusal to be a proper maker to Tara, things were currently difficult between the two of them. They'd barely said two words to each other upon rising when the sun finally set, and Eric had sequestered himself in his office with work in order to avoid her needy stares and passive aggressive comments. He loved the woman but her constant hate for Sookie had always been a bone of contention between the two of them, and now it had grown impossible to deal with.

This, of course, had him thinking about Sookie while trying to balance his books. Both things made his mood bleak. After getting over the idea of chasing down Lucifer, he found himself wanting to take a quick trip down the back highways and arrive unannounced at Sookie Stackhouse's door. Would she turn him away, or would she invite him in?

Eric knew Sookie. She was ruled by her emotions. The amount of times she tried ending it with Bill the summer before was astronomical. She'd tell him they didn't work and then in the next minute take him back, and probably screwed the other vampire anywhere from the cemetery to his soaker tub in what had been his dilapidated mansion.

Ever since she'd returned from her mysterious fairy-trip and found out Bill had become the King of Louisiana—well, in vampire politics, anyway—she'd at least been able to say no to him consistently. But surely she would give Eric a few chances to change her mind like she'd done Bill when their relationship had first been fresh and on the rocks. But no. He shouldn't go begging her back. He was a vampire, damnit. With a thousand years of experience. A thousand years of lovers, both willing and sometimes unwilling. Well, they were always willing by the end.

He wouldn't stoop so low as to go crawling back to Bon Temps to see if she'd change her mind. If she was going to change her mind, she had to come to him. He had too much pride to debase himself that way. Even if he desperately wanted to.

His thoughts were at war inside his head, an argument with himself taking place that he feared he was slowly losing, when there was a knock on the office door. "Come in," he uttered the words with zero emotion. At least he still had control about his outward appearance and behaviour still.

The door cracked open and Pam peeked inside. When Eric lifted a hand and crooked two fingers, the door opened wider and she came in. She was dressed to the nines today, combining the popular fangbanger couture with what he assumed was Victorian era fashion. She had on ridiculous heels that gave her an additional three inches to her already tall height. Pink, of course. With a long pink gown that had plenty of layers. Anywhere lace peeked out though, it was decidedly black. And her corset was snugged just a bit too tight, even for Eric's tastes. She had finished her look with black jewelry, black sapphires glinting in the overhead fluorescent lighting.

He was pretty sure the outfit was for him, even if it was in her roundabout way. She knew he detested the pink. But he did appreciate the effect of the black lace against the softer shade. And he'd been the one to acquire those black sapphires for her. She was trying to appease him, but not enough that it seemed obvious. Even if it was obvious.

She moved into the office, looking unsure of herself and Eric wondered when that had become. Pamela Swynford du Beaufort wasn't a shy, worrisome creature. She grabbed life by the balls and twisted until it gave her what she wanted. She was strong and hotheaded and a hurricane in bed. Was she also dealing with an existential crisis, Eric wondered. Or was she just worrying about his existential crisis?

"Eric, that man you were speaking with yesterday is back again," Pam said, sounding uneasy. "He asked for you."

Eric snapped his laptop shut, a thrill at the thought rushing through him and completely jarring Sookie's face from his mind. "Lucifer is back?" he asked.

Pam suddenly moved forward, sinking down into one of the chairs across from his desk. "Eric, is this something to do with Sookie? Are you entertaining this man's delusions because you think you're damned?" She paused and gave him an imploring look. "That we're all damned?"

Eric leaned back in his chair. "I don't think he's delusional," he admitted to Pam, hoping being honest with her would help ease her mind. "I did ask if I have a soul and if I'm damned. And now that I've asked it, I am curious as to the answer."

The pained look on Pam's face had become familiar. "You never cared before if you were damned. You fucked and killed with zeal. What's happened to you? That stupid waitress has ruined you."

Eric scowled at Pam. "It isn't Sookie that's changed me," he replied. At least not directly.

"Bull shit," Pam spat back. "You weren't like this until she let you fuck her."

"I'd rather blame the witches," Eric said. "That Marnie Stonebrook took my memories away. What did you expect me to do when I couldn't remember who I was? Just remain a blank slate? I evolved with what I had. Fine. Sookie had a hand in how I changed. But she wasn't the one who cursed me."

"Goddamn witches," Pam muttered, clearly accepting Eric's answer.

"Don't you ever wonder though?" Eric asked suddenly. He wanted to go out into the club and find Lucifer, but at the same time he worried about what Lucifer was going to say.

Whether he liked admitting it or not, Pam was right. As of late, he'd begun worrying about what he'd become over the last thousand years. Having been a Viking, he hadn't exactly been pure when he was alive either. There was plenty of blood on his hands, before and after he'd been turned. But having been given a new conscious, so to speak, after the affair with the witches and under Sookie's protection, emotions bubbled up more often than they'd used to. It didn't help that Godric had had his own change of heart right before he'd sought out the true death.

He'd wanted to accept an integration of vampire and human societies. The older vampire had grown tired of the bloodshed between the two species. A man that had once been just as vicious as Eric, slaughtering humans in centuries past, had changed his way of thinking. And then, before he could actually show Eric why he'd completely changed, he'd willingly walked into the sun. Leaving Eric to ponder his words by himself. He'd cried that day; probably the first time he'd cried in over five hundred years.

Eric shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "No, this isn't Sookie's fault. She's just conveniently there to put the blame on."

Pam sighed. "Well, you've got the devil waiting on you out there. Please don't turn this into a pity party."

Eric snarled at Pam, but it wasn't real annoyance. Just a familiar response. "I will do as I please, Pam. And you will respect that."

Without any further comment, he stood from his desk and left the office, heading down the short hall toward the sound of the music and the promise of another night of interesting conversation with the devil himself. Pulling the door open resulted in Eric's stopping to feel the heat of the group of people dancing on the floor. There was a mass of fangbangers trying to start a mosh pit, with a single vampire in their midst. It was as if a wave of heat was emanating from them as their sweat mingled and their limbs tangled together. It was a busy night, apparently.

He found Lucifer sitting at a table alone, a whisky in hand as he watched the mass of humanity do its strange mating ritual. Today he was wearing a black suit, minus the vest and no tie. The top few buttons of his dress shirt were left open, revealing smooth skin beneath. The devil was a man with a meticulous self-care routine, Eric determined.

He slid into the seat across from Lucifer and was greeted with a genuinely warm smile. "Eric Northman, so we meet again."

"It's my bar," Eric scoffed. "That's hardly surprising."

"It's still a wonderful development, even if planned," Lucifer disagreed. He took a sip of his whisky and settled the glass on the scarred wooden table. "I've been up to visit dear old Dad, but wouldn't you know, he's simply not there." Lucifer's eyes suddenly clouded over, a look of pure frustration crossing his face.

Eric stared in astonishment as Lucifer grumbled under his breath, the word father being repeated multiple times, along with a few choice swear words thrown in. It suddenly dawned on Eric that Lucifer was referring to his literal father—to God. And he seemed none too pleased about the man—err, the deity. Eric could relate. His own maker had left him with morality problems unsolved, after all.

Lucifer's distant gaze finally settled back on Eric and a light—which was becoming familiar—seemed to light them up. "So vampires," Lucifer said, clearly not wanting to talk about Dear Old Dad.

Eric didn't say anything, just watched Lucifer and wondered what would come out of the other man's mouth next. He seemed to jump from topic to topic with the attention span of a small child—and the exuberance to match it.

"I've never met a vampire before this," Lucifer admitted. "There are probably plenty of them in L.A., but none ever walked into Lux, and I most certainly never sought them out. Even still, I suspect the population is a far cry from here in Louisiana. Is this like a mecca of some sort?"

"One could say that," Eric agreed. "Some author wrote a book not too long ago. It turned into a series. And the vampires, well . . . they lived in New Orleans, of course."

"Fiction or non-fiction?" Lucifer asked. "Is it something I might have read?"

"Does it matter if it was fiction or not? Whether vampires were already there before it was published or if they flocked there after hardly matters. A disproportionate amount of vampires lives in Louisiana now. Making it a great place to start a business."

Lucifer grinned at that. "I suspect California would do well with a bar like this though." He looked around at the dancing people dressed like goths and punks. The décor was minimal, the chairs on the stage being the center of attention. "Although perhaps a bit more polished."

Eric shrugged. "It's worked fine for me here."

"Well, as we all know, Tinseltown likes things to be shiny."

Eric chuckled at that.

"But yes, I didn't return tonight to talk about businesses and bars. I've come back with unfortunately no news at all. Dad isn't around—unsurprising in the last few millennia I'd say—so I wasn't able to get you any answers from upstairs. But your question, your desire, it's kept me intrigued all day."

Lucifer paused to knock back the rest of his drink, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed it down. With the click of glass on wood, he leaned forward over the table, eyes riveted on Eric's own. "I want to know the answer now, regardless of how much work it takes. Do you indeed have a soul?" A hand reached out, warm fingers brushing the top of Eric's cold hand before drawing back again. "You've been alive for a thousand years, yes? Clearly you've done things that might warrant your arrival in hell eventually. You clearly feel emotions, and despite your trying to have a change of heart last night, it's clear something is bothering you."

Eric scowled at Lucifer, "I don't feel emotions," he tried to growl, but even he had to admit there wasn't as much conviction in that statement as there had been just the year before.

Lucifer waved a hand in dismissal. "Scowl all you want, Viking, you've clearly got emotions. Why even scowl otherwise?"

Eric retracts his fangs at that, clearly embarrassed. Damn it, what was with this man?

"So if you've been dead for a thousand years, does that mean you still maintain your soul? Or is it somewhere else? Perhaps it's upstairs, but I must admit I met many a Viking down below. So if your soul isn't in hell or in heaven—did it disappear?"

"Or do I still have it."

Lucifer nodded. "Indeed. That is the question, isn't it? This isn't something I've much given thought to before—when do the souls arrive to me in hell? It's not like I know if a soul has been a vampire before arriving or not. We don't exactly have a questionnaire when you walk through the door." His eyebrows shot up after he said that. "Although that's certainly a fun possibility to implement."

Lucifer grew silent again, thoughts racing behind those ever-energetic brown eyes of his. Eric stayed silent, watching and wondering. He found himself deciding he liked being called Viking by Lucifer. Normally, people would call him vampire or worse yet, fanger. But he hadn't been referred to using his heritage in a long time. And when Lucifer said it, with a musical accent to it, Eric felt special.

How utterly stupid was that?

He was thinking like Sookie now, not just thinking about her.

Lucifer finally came back to the present. "Viking, would you like to help me figure out your problem? I want to solve this, but I'm going to need another person to knock ideas against." He grew solemn for a moment. "And I'm not going back to L.A. to ask for that help."

There was an entire unspoken conversation in that final statement and Eric wondered what that was about. Perhaps he and Lucifer weren't all that different—if he had to guess, he'd bet there was a woman involved who didn't accept him for what he was. "I'll help," Eric agreed. "It's my desire, after all."

Lucifer grinned and straightened, his foot sliding across the floor under the table to hit Eric's accidentally. "I was hoping you'd say that. I don't suppose we could retire somewhere more private to discuss things? You've a lovely bar and all, but it is a bit loud and distracting."

"Sure," Eric agreed, standing from the table to square his shoulders at his full height.

He was surprised to find himself looking directly into Lucifer's eyes when he stood up as well, the devil being what seemed to be his exact height. He was so used to looking down at everyone. Perhaps spending time with Lucifer would be good for him. Certainly good for his posture anyway.

Perhaps by the end of the night, he'd have a taste of the man, too.

He gestured for Lucifer to lead the way and followed the devil out of Fangtasia, his eyes on the man's behind and the thought of the man's blood on his mind.