The gate to the cemetery creaked when Eric opened it. It hadn't even been locked. There were two more gates—one leading to Sookie's place and another leading toward the Compton estate—and Eric was fairly certain none of them had been locked in over a hundred years. He bowed low as he held the gate open for Lucifer, and the cheeky devil let a hand trail across Eric's shoulder before he stepped through and onto the well-kept dirt path that wound through the cemetery.
"Not my usual," Lucifer said as he paused to survey the tombstones dotting the well-manicured lawn, big oak trees covered in Spanish moss looming over everything. Here and there along the path were small streetlamps and the occasional bench to sit on. "But quaint."
The Bon Temps cemetery was more park than cemetery, now that Eric paused to appreciate it for the first time. He'd never actually wandered this cemetery much. It was simply a convenient shortcut to get from one house to the other. More often than not, he found himself being torn in both directions—to the King of Louisiana's estate and to Sookie's doorstep.
Why on earth had he brought Lucifer here?
But Lucifer was wandering down the path and Eric could do nothing more than follow him. When he caught up, he gestured to follow a path that led to the right and together they walked in step, dress shoes next to leather boots. The same stride though. It felt nice, walking next to someone just as tall as him. Just as strong and fast, too. He had been looking down at people and accommodating for them his entire existence. This was completely different and he liked it.
Now that they were in the cemetery, Eric wanted to get back to the reason they'd left Fangtasia. Lucifer had offered to spend more time getting to the bottom of Eric's question and had asked Eric if he'd like to help solve the mystery—do vampires have souls still?
But how did you start that conversation back up?
An idea coming to him, he stepped off the path and walked across the lawn, reading the inscriptions on each tombstone as they pass. Lucifer was behind him, mumbling about how he normally avoided places that reminded him of his dad. Eric found this highly amusing. It seemed the devil really had a strained relationship with his father. Of course, he was a fallen angel. The first case of teenage angst, perhaps?
Eric smiled to himself, trying to picture Lucifer young, fists on his hips, and yelling, "You can't tell me what to do!" The idea was entertaining, to say the least. Although he had a hard time picturing him younger. That five o'clock shadow really cemented the man into adulthood.
Eric stopped in front of a tombstone, shaking his head to rid himself of fantasy images of Lucifer. William Thomas Compton was etched across the grave marker, the dates showing that he had lived thirty years in the 1800s. Beloved husband. Brave soldier. It should also read whiny, depressed vampire.
Lucifer came up next to him, shoes soft in the grass. "Who are we looking at?" he asked, curious.
"Bill Compton," Eric said. "He is a vampire."
"A friend of yours?"
"I wouldn't quite say friend," Eric replied. He pointed to the right. Through the trees you could see a glow of light—Bill's old house had been turned into a fortress that pretended to be a mansion. Floodlights helped security make sure no unwanteds found their way onto the property—human, vampire or otherwise. "He lives just over there."
Lucifer chuckled at that. "He lives next door to his own empty grave? Now that's morbid for you."
"Yes, well . . . Bill Compton is special."
"Is that so?"
Eric nodded his head, looking at the filter of light coming through the low-hanging Spanish moss. "Bill Compton does not enjoy being a vampire. One of the few that fought for mainstreaming when True Blood gave us the possibility of coming out of the coffin. Oh, he wanted to mainstream—avoid drinking human blood—but he'd have happily remained in hiding the entire time."
Eric moved away from the gravestone, heading back to the path and toward one of the benches. "Bill was one of the few who did believe that we were damned; that we would suffer eternity when we found the true death. His maker is quite the opposite; perhaps how she raised him might have something to do with his self-loathing. I always scoffed at him. We are vampires. We are death in the night. Whether we are evil or not is pointless. It is what we are so why not just embrace it? Either that or meet the sun."
Lucifer nodded his head, seeming to understand Eric on that point.
"He's changed though," Eric said. "A lot happened last year. Now he's King of this state, and he's certainly gained a confidence and arrogance he's never had before." Eric paused. "Well, that's not entirely true. He was an arrogant ass when it came to Sookie last year." Eric scowled. "Sooke is mine," he mimicked, pegging a southern accent quite perfectly.
Lucifer smiled at that, hands on his knees as they sat on the bench together. "Who is Sookie?"
Eric sighed. "Sookie is a problem."
"Oh? What kind of problem?"
"The kind that I shouldn't waste my time on," Eric replied swiftly. "And yet I can't help but do so."
"Oh, do go on," Lucifer said. "This sounds familiar to me."
Eric sighed and his shoulders slumped. He looked down the path heading the other way. It was dark that way but he knew her house was just beyond the trees. In the back room there was an armoire and if you opened it you'd find the ladder down to the light-tight room he'd made for himself during the brief year he'd owned and renovated the place. It was there that he'd spent the long, lonely days by himself with nothing he could understand except Sookie Stackhouse. A waitress, a halfling fairy, a kind woman who had taken him in, tucked him in his hidey-hole, and told him she'd protect him. She had, too.
Innocent to his core, with no memories of the millennia of bloodshed and debauchery that had followed in Eric's wake, he'd fallen in love. He'd looked to Sookie for guidance and she'd shown him a new way of living. And he had been happy. He hadn't wanted to get his memories back. Everything she'd told him about who he had been told him he'd been bad. Downright despicable. Not worthy of her love.
He'd told her—he didn't want to gain his memories back if it meant losing her. He had wanted nothing more than to run away with her and start a new life somewhere else. Somewhere where no one knew them and life could be normal and wonderful. And she'd said no. She wanted him to have his memories back. That he wasn't Eric without them.
But she'd never loved him before he'd lost his memories.
Eric found himself retelling the events to Lucifer. The witch that had cursed him. The fear he'd felt. The joy he'd felt. Sookie zapping him with her mysterious fairy light and unintentionally breaking the curse. Everything about him had come roaring back—except he'd kept his memories and feelings from that brief week of joy with Sookie. It had changed him, irrevocably. While he was still able to be himself on the outside—for the most part, he acknowledged—on the inside that fear was still gnawing at him.
Not fear for his life. There were no witches gunning for him anymore. Instead, it was a more complex fear. Sookie had turned him away, even after she knew he was all of what she'd wanted—the old Eric and the new Eric combined. Was there something wrong with him? Was Sookie scared of the things Eric had done?
"I wouldn't blame her if she is," Eric said, as he finished dumping all of this on Lucifer. "Some of the things I've done, for revenge alone . . ." Eric trailed off, thinking about Russell Edginton and Talbot.
"Oh?" Lucifer asked. "What has the Viking done for revenge?"
"Oh, you know . . . The standard stuff. I killed a vampire's seven hundred year old lover—while having sex with him."
Lucifer gave a short, silent laugh but then sobered when he realized Eric was being serious.
"I regret killing Talbot in that he didn't deserve to die," Eric said. "I don't regret getting my revenge on Russell." Eric sneered but his fangs were neatly tucked away. This response was simply at the memory of the man who had done him wrong a thousand years before. "He killed my entire family because he wanted my father's crown. I found it in his mansion tucked away in a glass case, next to a dozen other trinkets he'd collected over the centuries."
"And getting the crown back wasn't enough?" Lucifer asked.
"No!" Eric growled out. "Of course not. He slaughtered my entire fucking family. I needed him to feel the same pain I felt."
"Did it make you feel better?" Lucifer asked.
"Yes," Eric replied immediately. But his heart clenched. "No. It fixed nothing. But I didn't feel that until now." Eric turned to Lucifer, an anguished look on his face. "That's the problem, you understand? I didn't feel these things before. And now I do. Sookie showed me emotions and I can't bury them anymore. I can't remember how." A tiny sob escaped him, and Eric became mortified.
He jumped up from the bench, putting a good distance between himself and Lucifer. He didn't want the devil seeing him cry. How fucking embarrassing. Eric's vision grew hazy for a moment, the tears coming anyway. He could see Lucifer standing from the bench through the tears, tugging at his suit jacket to straighten it. Eric turned away, gaining control of himself as he looked deep into the cemetery, looking anywhere but in the direction of Sookie Stackhouse's house.
He spun in surprise, teeth snaking out, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Lucifer had crossed the distance with ease, clear worry etched across his face. "It's okay," Lucifer said.
"Is it?" Eric asked, angry at himself as tears leaked out against his will. "If I'm not already in hell, as you say—isn't that where I'm going to end up? Or what if it's worse? What if my soul is just gone?"
"Your soul isn't gone, Eric," Lucifer soothed. His hand hit Eric's shoulder again, soft through the leather jacket.
"And how would you know?" Eric sneered, feeling ugly and acting the part.
"I'm the devil, dear, remember?" Lucifer said. "There are only so many ways a soul can cease to exist and they all involve angelic or demonic weapons."
A silence stretched out between them while Eric tried to regain his composure. He felt guilty for snapping at Lucifer—proof again that he'd changed. Would he go to hell for being an asshole to the prince of darkness? Why did this have to bother him so much?
"It's fine," Lucifer said quietly. His hand lifted, and for a moment the world seemed to stand still as Lucifer's thumb wiped away the tears under Eric's left eye. He stared in shock, the trail of heat under his eye searing a memory into him he'd carry with him always. There was that light in Lucifer's eyes again; the kind that told Eric he was worth something to somebody. But how could that be when he'd only know the man for a few brief hours in total? And how could he even be deserving when Sookie had cast him away?
"I do not believe you are damned for eternity, Viking," Lucifer said quietly. "I see the remorse and pain in you." A tiny quirk of a smile appeared. "I actually understand you far better than you know."
The next moment, Lucifer did the most intimate thing Eric had seen in a long time. He studied his thumb, Eric's bloody tears on it, and then brought those blood tears to his lips. And then the glistening red was gone, passed over Lucifer's tongue and burned down the man's throat to leave an unbreakable bond between the two men. Eric gaped, unsure if he should tell Lucifer what he'd just done—giving Eric access to the man's strongest emotions going forward.
Before he could make a decision, Lucifer was breaking away—and changing the subject while he was at it.
"I never understood how the humans could screw up the image of an angel so bad," Lucifer said, the tone of his voice light as he moved across the grass toward a tombstone that had a fat cherub hovering above the engraved names.
"Just look at this, will you?" Lucifer asked, glancing back at Eric while he gestured at the naked baby with wings. "Do I look like this?" He was feigning affront, trying to put Eric in a better mood. The vampire's chest clenched at the idea and he stifled a small laugh as he wiped the remaining tears from his face.
A devil with a sense of compassion.
"Viking, look at these wings." Eric came closer and studied the cement angel that Lucifer seemed to take such issue with. "Those aren't angel wings. They're pigeon wings, for Dad's sake!"
Eric laughed at the last comment, finding it hilarious that Lucifer took the lord's name in vain by simply calling God dad. It was hilarious and it broke Eric's dour mood.
"It looks like an angel to me," Eric said, scrutinizing the cherub.
Lucifer made a scoffing noise, the almost silent release of air summing up his mock disgust. "You would, Viking. You never believed in angels so how would you know?"
"Then what would an angel look like?" Eric teased.
Lucifer squared himself off across from Eric and gestured at himself, as if it were obvious.
"I thought you were the devil," Eric kidded, finding himself grateful for Lucifer's antics. It was a great distraction from the fact that he'd been near to bawling just moments before.
"I'm only the prince of darkness because I'm forced to be," Lucifer said seriously. "It's my job, Viking, not who I am. I am not the Devil, I am an angel who rules hell."
Eric grinned at the man to let him know he was teasing, and Lucifer's shoulders seemed to sag in relief. Eric pointed at the cherub. "So those aren't angel wings?"
"Bloody hell, no. Just look at how ridiculous they are. And the chubby little child? Not an angel at all. What were they going for? Innocence? I assure you, children are not innocent. Neither are angels, for that matter."
Eric cocked his head to the side, his gaze darting between the tombstone and the devil. "So what do angel wings look like?"
"Well, they're majestic, of course. Large enough to use. And not bloody pigeon wings."
Eric cocked an eyebrow, wondering how far Lucifer would take this game. The thing was, the man truly was worked up. Eric could feel a high mix of exhilaration, outrage, and amusement rolling off the man in waves. Eric still hadn't processed that the man had symbolically kissed away his tears, tying the two of them together—but he was certainly enjoying the results. Titillating. That's what Lucifer's emotions felt like.
No wonder the man's eyes were almost always alight with some kind of mischief. Did he always feel like this?
"Can you prove to me these aren't what angel wings look like?" he asked, feigning disbelief.
"Don't believe me, Viking?" Lucifer asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Want to see a real angel's wings, do you?"
Eric squared his feet and crossed his own arms, mimicking Lucifer. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm asking."
"Well then," Lucifer muttered almost to himself. "The things I do to prove myself on this realm."
Lucifer shook his arms out and seemed to try to get comfortable. And then he focused his gaze on Eric. "Stand back, Viking. And prepare to look upon a wondrous sight."
A flash of self righteous indignity clutched at Eric's chest—Lucifer's emotions, not his—and then Lucifer delivered what he promised.
Aaaaand that's where I'm going to leave off for the next few days. We'll be driving across the country for three days straight, so I don't expect to get a whole lot of writing in. Sorry. Not sorry. ;)