I dragged myself back to our duplex apartment sometime after three am. Once we'd given our statements to the police, we were free to go. Diantha left as soon as we got back home, to go goodness knows where to do goodness knows what. She told me she'd handle Desmond. But I wasn't stupid—this wouldn't be the end of it. I knew all manner of people would be knocking at my door or blowing up my phone by morning.
Before we'd spoken to the police, Diantha told me not to tell them who the girl was. And so I didn't. They'd work it out soon enough, she said. The human authorities were bound to make that link fairly quickly; Lydia Ryker wasn't a celebrity, but her last name would have people asking questions. The name Ryker was hard to forget these days. In fact, the President Alpha Lucas Ryker as a whole was hard to forget. In name. Demeanor. Rank. Terrifying-ness.
After the troublesome beginning to the were's reveal four years earlier (and somehow despite all their intra-pack divisiveness), the werewolves had formed their own government, one that would see to the interests of all two-natured in the United States. They appointed a President Alpha as their leader and figurehead. The human government was quick to recognize the post, mostly to stem the disquiet among supes and keep a lid on the rising inter-species tensions. I think the human government viewed it more as a token role than anything legitimate—but, boy, had they been wrong. The weres were tenacious and determined in a way that vampire groups hadn't been. They campaigned actively for were-rights and there was even a were senator elected to human government in California.
Times were a-changing. I, for one, was glad.
Mind you, I'd bet a kidney that there was nothing clean or democratic about the process to elect the President Alpha. I was sure they still fought like crazy for dominance behind closed doors. However, as it stood now, weres had their own governing body to represent their interests and maintain order within ranks, generally speaking. And at least their government was open and made sense, as opposed to the reclusive Vampire clans with their infighting and bloody takeovers.
Bloody. My mind wandered back to thoughts of the poor girl. The two puncture wounds on her neck. Her face, pale and gaunt. She'd been sucked dry. What was she doing living in New Orleans? Ryker was based out of Washington. How was it that his daughter lived here in Louisiana? And if she was drained… I swallowed at the thought. The Were President's daughter drained by a vampire? The consequences would not be good.
I washed my face, cleaned my teeth and managed to pull on my nightgown before reaching for my cell phone. I sent a single text: Free to talk?
I switched off the light and set the overhead fan on low, trying to shift the thick sticky heat inside my bedroom into something more manageable. I pulled the window open a gap and lay in bed, listening to the gentle trickling of the pool from the communal courtyard. Laying with my head turned to the side, I could see a handful of stars, somewhat muted by the city's light pollution.
When the call eventually came through, I answered on the first ring.
"There's trouble," I said. I'd long realized there was no use wasting time on phone etiquette with vampires. Especially three-thousand-year-old vampires.
There was a pause on the other line, followed by a brief throaty laugh, the sound which surprising me. "When isn't there," came Thalia's accented reply. "You are well?"
"Well enough," I said and sighed.
"Tell me."
I explained the evening's events to Thalia.
"You're sure it's her?" she asked.
"Yes. According to Diantha, at least."
"The authorities recognized her?"
"Doubtful. I'm sure they would've hauled us down to the station all night, had they known."
I heard movement on the other line. "This is good," she said.
"How? A young woman died tonight. Likely at the hands of a vampire."
"Anerrhíphthō kýbos."
"I beg your pardon?" Had she sneezed? Could vampires sneeze?
"The die has been cast, Sookie. Her death is out of our hands. We can only move forward with what have and what we know."
I pinched the bridge of my nose and fought off a beleaguered sigh. One year. "Okay. I'm just calling you as a heads up, seeing as you're Felipe's trusted guard and and right hand, or whatever. I thought y'all may want to know that the President Alpha's daughter was killed by a vampire in Felipe's kingdom."
There was silence. Even as I said it, I heard the mistake for what it was. I ought to be an impartial third party, not involved at all, but here I was giving the vampires a courtesy call. Surely this would come back to bite me on the butt.
"It would be common courtesy to thank me at this point," I said.
"I thank you."
"You're welcome." I was going to regret this, wasn't I?
"Felipe will place one of his trusted investigators in charge." She said it as if it was something I ought to take comfort in.
"That's what I'm afraid of."
"Explain to me, what does 'shoot shit' mean?"
I blinked. "Say what now?"
"How do I shoot shit?"
"I… Uh." My brain stalled like an engine puttering out.
She mimicked a perfect American accent. "You should come 'round with the guys and shoot the shit."
I let out a laugh. "Oh, Thalia."
"Explain," she demanded.
"It means to hang out and talk. Like... to socialize. Not talk about anything in particular, just general conversation."
"Chit-chat."
I suppressed another laugh. That phrase she'd definitely learned from me. "Yeah, chit-chat."
"I'm relieved to hear." She paused. "English is full of foul idioms."
"I suppose so." I yawned.
"Sleep. We talk soon. Before your birthday." The line disconnected.
"Goodnight," I said, I suppose to myself since no one else was on the line. Not that it had been a good night. Oh no, it had been exactly the opposite, and I had a feeling that things were only going to get worse from here on out. I stared up at the fan which spun hypnotically above me. My vision lost focus and blurred. My eyelids felt like bricks. I had to sleep while I still had a chance. I closed my eyes and my brain dutifully complied.
•--•
Mr. Cataliades, my boss and mentor, woke me at exactly eight o'clock the next morning. Which wasn't obscenely early but still much earlier than I'd would've liked. Most nights when I had investigative work, I wouldn't due my in the office till at least noon. But Mr. C curtly informed me over the phone that I was needed no later than nine for an urgent meeting.
I skipped breakfast, managed a quick shower and to halfway blow dry my hair before giving up and weaving it back into a thick braid. I just didn't have the time. I hurriedly dressed and left the Belle Vue complex, locking the front door of my duplex apartment behind me. The moment I stepped over the threshold, the minds of the other occupants in the surrounding condos rose to regular volume, as if someone had suddenly turned the volume up on a television. I hastily erected some shields, dialing the volume back. Amelia's wards at work. They didn't completely mute the minds of the occupants around me, but somehow the wards dimmed the strength of them. Her witchcraft consultancy business sent a witch every week to revitalize them, and thank the Lord, the firm footed the bill. Apparently, this was a service she extended to Mr. Cataliades also, and as such, it extended to the purview of work expenses.
On the downlow, Amelia had once told me how much this service was worth, and the figure was obscene enough that I had snorted my coffee through my nose.
Speaking of coffee. I hopped off the streetcar on the stop nearest to work and ducked into the tiny cafe I'd come to love, Busy Bean. There was a larger coffee parlor around the corner, but it was forever overrun with office staff from the buildings nearby and the courts. This cafe was so tiny there was barely enough seating for three, but it pumped out coffee faster than you could say "Check, please", and good coffee, too.
"Double espresso, cream and sugar?" the barista behind the machine asked.
"Yes, please." I handed my travel cup over to him.
"I thought you were off this morning," said a voice from behind me.
I turned on my heel to see the handsome half-Korean prosecutor with whom I shared the coffee line most mornings. "Hi, Danny." I smiled. "I got called in for an early meeting."
"Just my luck," he replied with a dimpled smile.
I met Daniel, or Danny as he preferred, in the first few week at the firm. I'd had my head buried in some paperwork as I waited to meet a clerk outside court, and he'd walked right into me, spilling his coffee on my files—and my white shirt. Amelia told me this classified as a 'meet-cute'. But at the time I was furious. I had barely enough money to scrape together my work wardrobe as it was, and I was practically losing hair from anxiety over learning everything there was to know at work. So naturally, I bit his head off.
The horrified clerk practically dragged me away, freaking out that I'd pissed off one of New Orleans' most respected prosecutors. But the next morning, I arrived to work to find a gift card for 20 on my desk for Busy Bean, where we stood now. Next to the gift card was his own business card, with his personal number written in ballpoint pen on the back. I guess I'd made an impression.
"See the news? Pretty wild," he said.
I looked to the newspaper in his hand. President Alpha's Daughter Murdered in Vampire Slaying dominated the entire front page. My smile faded and a lead balloon promptly replaced the handful of butterflies in my stomach.
"You okay?" he asked, his dark brows pinching together with concern. "Did you know her?"
"Not really, no." I accepted the coffee from the barista and handed some cash over. "I have a feeling that I'll be getting to know her real well, though."
His tilted his head, his thoughts emanating confusion. "Sookie?"
"I've gotta go, sorry." I patted his arm and moved past him.
"When are we going to have that lunch?" he called after me as I left the café.
"One of these days!" I called, and I was off, marching as quickly as I could toward the office. Danny Sullivan was a catch—sweet, handsome, confident—but unfortunately human. Lunch would never happen. I was resigned to sticking to our morning flirtations in line for coffee. No chance of disappointment that way.
Aubrey shot me an alarmed look from behind the reception desk when I walked in the front doors. She stood and held out the candy jar, urging me to take a sucker and hurry up to my desk. Desmond had been the first to arrive to the office that morning and was not in a good mood. Everyone in the bullpen was on edge, their heads down, speaking in hushed whispers. I skipped the elevator—too slow—and took the glass stairs two at a time up to the second level. On the upper floor, where my desk was situated, it was dead silent among the staff, though their gazes darted nervously towards the main conference room where the blinds had been pulled shut. There were several minds waiting inside the conference room but none were my part-demon boss. I beelined for my desk and stowed my purse in the bottom drawer.
In my office, Sookie.
I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders.
Inside his office, Mr. Cataliades was seated behind his mahogany desk, looking older than I'd ever seen him. His bright red and blue tie sat off-kilter, his expression suitably grim. Diantha was perched on the corner of his desk, with a fresh outfit on, although I didn't hear her come home last night. Even her usual jaunty expression was dimmer than I was used to seeing.
"The FBI and the President Alpha are waiting in the conference room to talk to you both." The lead balloon in my stomach transformed into a one-ton anvil. I sank into the chair opposite him.
"They want to know what you were doing there, Sookie. And how it was that you were both first to arrive at the scene, though initially being out on the street. A witness claims they saw you running to the apartments yelling about a murder before they heard any commotion from the apartment itself."
I let out a shaky breath.
"Have you told them anything yet?" I asked.
"I advised that I am not in the position to speak on your behalf until I've actually spoken to you." His gaze warmed slightly with sympathy, but it did nothing to help the sick feeling in my stomach.
"What do I tell them?"
"Nothing incriminating," said Diantha, and Mr. C actually chuckled.
"This isn't funny," I said. I eyed the wastepaper basket. I might just vomit.
"Tell them the truth," said Mr. C. "You were working in the area on behalf of the firm when your attention was roused."
"My attention?" I thought back to Agent Lattesta and Agent Weiss from the FBI. The grief they'd given me after the Rhodes bombing. The rounds of pointed questioning trying to get me to admit to my telepathy.
"Let me handle that aspect of the questioning, shall we?" After all, we have some hidden tricks up our sleeve. I can guide you through the questions. I took a sip of my coffee, but it curdled on my tongue. I placed it on the desk.
"Fine."
"Now, take me through every moment of what happened last night again. What you did. Who you saw. The order in which everything happened."
President Alpha Lucas Ryker sat at the head of the conference table; a spot normally reserved for whichever senior lawyer was conducting the meeting. His broad hands were spread wide and clasped the corners of the table, knuckles white like he might decide at any moment to just snap the pesky thing in two. His eyes flashed and his nostrils flared as we approached.
He stood then, and I resisted the temptation to back away in fear. He was wide and tall like Alcide. I knew from the media that Ryker was a wolf in his were-form too. But while Alcide had the rough and tumble look of an NFL linebacker, Ryker had the form and musculature of a creature designed to tear apart his prey. The President Alpha was all predator.
"This is them?" he asked, his voice low like a rumble.
We sat down at furthest end of the table from him, and Mr. Cataliades introduced us.
I bowed my head respectfully, and I felt the strength of his gaze penetrating the top of my scalp. When I looked back up, a set of familiar eyes caught mine. FBI Agent Sara Weiss. I quickly schooled my shocked features. You had to be freaking kidding me. Thankfully there was no sign of Lattesta. Instead, a different partner sat by her side. A younger, fresh-faced agent who looked on blandly, but internally was brimming with excitement at the prospect of working his first high profile case.
"My daughter was murdered last night. If you wish to live another day, you'll tell me exactly how you both are involved," Ryker growled. I remained silent at Mr. C's internal prompting, and from my side I saw the pointed look my boss shot toward the agents.
Agent Weiss cleared her throat and kindly rephrased: "We understand you've already provided the local police with a statement, but we wish to go through it with you both again. We have some additional questions."
Mr. C looked to me and gave me my internal cue. "Prior to last night, I have never met, seen or been involved with your daughter, sir," I said.
"Ditto," Diantha chimed in.
"How did you come to be at the apartment complex?" Ryker growled.
"Sookie is an employee of this firm and was visiting the complex to undertake some out-of-hours work, as per her job description," said Mr. C.
"With due respect, I believe the President Alpha is asking your employee, Mr. Cataliades," said Weiss. Three gazes of varying intensity pinned me in place from across the table.
"It's true," I said. "I do some investigative work as part of my role within the firm."
"For Mr. Cataliades?" asked Weiss.
"No, last night I was doing some work Ms. Latour, another attorney here." My investigative work was on a purely case-by-case basis and at my complete discretion. Mr. C knew I didn't particularly like putting my quirk to use unless I truly wished to. I'd drawn a firm line in the sand right from the beginning that I wouldn't be sticking my nose in any supe business outside of my role as paralegal. So if I chose to do the odd bit of investigating it was mostly for Ms. Latour or her associates, who dealt with the majority of the human caseload in the firm.
"Who were you investigating?"
"I'm afraid that's privileged information," Mr. C cut in.
With a little internal prompting from Mr. C, I answered, "No one who is connected to the victim, to my knowledge. I'm working on a divorce proceeding."
"And why were you there?" Weiss asked Diantha.
"Sookieismyfriend. Welivetogether. Iwasbored."
"Excuse me?"
Diantha repeated herself, this time slow enough for an unconscious drunk to understand.
"Have you left the state at any time in the last nine months?" the younger agent asked.
"No." Where did that come from? Weiss shot her partner an annoyed look before continuing the questioning.
"How long have you been in New Orleans?"
"I'm sorry, what does this have to do with last night's murder?"
"Answer the question," Weiss commanded.
"For over a year. I've only left a handful of times to go back to Bon Temps."
Weiss nodded and recorded something on her note pad. I looked across to Ryker, his dark gaze flashed in response to mine.
"I'm so sorry about your daughter," I said trying to hold his gaze just as firmly as he did mine. It wasn't easy.
"You work for vampires," he growled. "I find it hard you have nothing to do with this."
"I worked for them in the past. No longer." I tried not to let my irritation show. No doubt Weiss had shared that tidbit with him prior to this interview.
"Can you explain how you arrived at the apartment of the deceased?" asked the young agent. I swallowed as the focus of all three intensified.
"By foot," Diantha supplied helpfully.
"How did you know which apartment was hers?"
"Followed the sound of the screaming lady?" Diantha said.
"A witness reports you both running to the apartment complex before a scream was heard and has quoted as seeing you saying 'There's been a murder' or words to that effect. Care to explain?" Weiss tapped her pen against her notepad. Her manner and her mind all spoke the same thing: gotcha.
"I didn't kill her," I shot back and mentally cringed at Mr. C's internal chastisement.
"A vampire did," Diantha said.
"Don't say anything," Mr. C said, cutting her off. "It's not for us to speculate."
"What's to speculate?" Diantha replied. "Clearly a vampire resided there with her. Light-tight shutters on the windows. Empty bottles of Tru Blood on the counter. Men's clothes strewn around."
"What…?" I shifted in my seat to look at Diantha. I hadn't noticed any of those details the night before.
"What?" she said and shrugged. "I'm observant."
"If you're not involved with vampires then how did you know she was dead?" Ryker asked, standing once more and leaning across the table like he was ready to leap at me. The tendons in his neck rippled with restraint.
Mr. C pulled a document from his folder and slid it towards Ryker.
"What is that?" asked Weiss.
Ryker snatched it up before Weiss could see, his eyes darting back and forth across the page.
"Out," he ordered. My trembling legs complied instantly, and I stood. When a man like that says jump, you don't bother waiting to ask how high.
Mr. C grabbed my shoulder and gently pushed me back into my seat with a softly spoken, "Not you."
"What does the document say?" Weiss asked.
"Out!" roared Ryker. The young agent practically ran, but Weiss eyed us all suspiciously.
"Understand that interfering with and obstructing a federal investigation is a felony offence." She collected her notebook and deliberately left her seat out without pushing it in. I felt like informing her that interfering with a pissed off werewolf looking for blood was a fast way to end up dead.
"You're a friend of the Longtooth pack of Shreveport," Ryker stated once both feds had vacated the room.
"Yes, sir."
"You've acted as shaman for them."
"Yes, sir. Just the once."
"And you're a direct descendent of Prince Brigant."
"Yes, sir." I swallowed back my fear before it could swallow me whole. I hadn't been sure what was written on the page, but clearly Mr. C was pulling out all the stops. It made me very, very nervous.
Ryker sighed and let his head drop in order to run his broad hands through his graying hair. The change in demeanor was vast. For a brief moment, he was no longer the terrifying werewolf trying to intimidate.
"How did you come to be there?" he asked, softly this time, levelling his gaze my way.
I looked to Mr. C who regarded me openly without any internal offerings of advice. Alrighty then. It would up to me in how I chose to respond.
"What I said was true," I began, uncrossing my legs and shifting my seat a little closer to the table. "I was investigating something, which as far as I know, is a completely unrelated matter." I shot once last glance to Desmond who gave a slight nod. "I'm a telepath. I heard the thoughts of the cleaner as she found your daughter. I was running toward the direction of those thoughts when she screamed."
Ryker nodded, finally accepting my answer. "Telepath. Shaman makes sense, then. So mind-reading was the nature of your dealings with vampires?"
"Yes, sir. Well, for the most part. I can't actually hear the thoughts of vampires, and twoeys are more difficult." The last words came bitterly as I recalled the flirtatious werewolf from the Dogwood bar who was undoubtedly behind Felipe's arson. "At one point in time, I also had more personal relations with vampires." I struggled with how exactly to word this.
"She was once married and bonded to Eric Northman, a former sheriff of a northern Lousiana area," Mr. C supplied oh-so helpfully. I forced myself to say nothing. Ryker's brows raised though he offered no verbal observation to that fact.
"I have zero professional dealings with vampires now," I finally added.
"And personal?"
"A couple friendships." Pam. Thalia. That was about it. "Though neither of my vampire friends resides here in this city."
I swallowed hard as I recalled how easily I'd phoned Thalia to inform her of the murder. I hadn't even stopped to consider how that would make me look to the weres.
"Describe the nature of your previous work for them."
"I worked for them in a consulting capacity. Helping them with problems or assisting them at certain events."
"Even though you can't read the thoughts of vampires?"
"Their humans provide information just fine."
"King Felipe de Castro is currently enroute to New Orleans and is meeting me tonight," Ryker said. "The feds have their forensics teams processing the scene, but I have my best trackers there assisting them."
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, alarm bells now ringing inside my head. And it wasn't just for the fact that Felipe Decastro was currently enroute to my fine state. Oh no… It was how open Ryker was being by sharing the information with me. Why? I was just a witness. A nobody. I could see he believed I had nothing to do with his daughter's death. It came off in in waves amongst the quagmire of his red, swirling anguish. Yet here he was confiding details to me.
And just like last night when I recognized the timbre of the cleaner's thoughts before she articulated them, I recognized exactly where this was going.
Damn it all to hell.
"I wish to retain your counsel, Mr. Cataliades. And as such, I will make use of your firm's investigator."
Mr. Cataliades cleared his throat and gave Ryker what I considered to be his level best lawyer stare. "Sookie's investigative work, though under the purview of the firm's concern, is chosen by her on a case-by-case basis."
Ryker turned his dark gaze to me. Christ on a cracker. It was like someone sitting on my chest.
"My workload is already very full," I said meekly.
"Name your price." Oh no, I wasn't falling for this again. Working for Queen Freyda was the last time I'd ever be foolish enough to let money tempt me.
"Lydia's live-in vampire boyfriend clearly did it. Why do you need Sookie?" Diantha said, and I could've kissed her.
Ryker didn't answer. It was a good question. Why did he need me? In fact, why did the feds need to be involved if it was an open and shut case of vampire draining? Or at least according to what Mr. C had indicated to Diantha and I before this meeting.
I consciously forced my whirling thoughts to relax and honed in on the younger FBI agent outside. He was sitting out on the chaise in the waiting area reviewing case notes. I listened for a brief moment before my heart skipped several dozen beats. Oh, no…
"Because something big about this doesn't add up, and the President Alpha wants to prevent a war."