Flying into Dallas at night was a surreal experience. My first ever trip on a plane had been to Dallas, though that had been during the daytime, and I'd been so nervous then that I could barely stand to look out the window. I was a different girl back then. It was a different lifetime ago.

Don't get me wrong, I still got jitters when taking-off, but we circled the city before landing at DFW, and it was just about the prettiest view I'd ever seen. The arterial roads glowed—luminous orange snakes winding through a landscape of white twinkling dwellings. The Bank of America building was particularly dazzling with its edges lined in bright green, fluorescent tubing like a gleaming stalagmite.

Back at the check-in counter at the New Orleans airport, Eric had managed to upgrade our seats so the three of us had the front row—he'd grumbled something about refusing to travel in cattle class and needing the extra leg room. Amelia and I didn't make a peep; he footed the bill for an upgrade for all three of us. Eric took the aisle seat, still managing to spread his legs out into the way of the flight attendants, seemingly only as an opportunity to flirt with them. Amelia took the middle seat and lucky me had the window.

We collected our baggage and took a cab to the center of the city. A suite had been booked for us in the Dallas Virgin hotel; one that was specifically reserved for supes. Four bedrooms opened into a spacious and modern central lounge and kitchen area. The architecture and styling reminded me of something from the Jetsons. Eric said that ever since Richard Branson had been turned, he was focusing on catering to vampire clientele with all the modern creature comforts. Among many fancy features, the bedrooms were installed with an auto-system that closed the window shutters and bolted the bedrooms doors at sunrise. Though thankfully, the valet who showed us to our room disabled the systems in both mine and Amelia's rooms.

Eric left almost immediately to go check-in with Stan, as was vampire custom for entering a new state, and so Amelia and I agreed we had no choice but to live it up. We ordered room service dessert. Amelia chose a sinful chocolate cake with coffee mousse, and I stepped outside my comfort zone with a chocolate and bourbon brûlée. We sprawled on the thick Persian rug in lounge area with our plates of sin and ordered a cheesy rom-com on the pay-per-view.

"So, are you gonna dish?" she asked.

"I'm not sharing," I quipped and pulled my plate closer to me. "Kidding, here have a try."

"I mean about Danny."

"You're like a dog with a bone." She'd been hassling me on the plane too. The fact Eric had been absorbed for most of the flight either flirting with the attendants or working on his laptop had only somewhat lightened the embarrassment.

"Yes. I am." She still stole a mouthful of my brûlée. "Oh my god," she said, moaning from around the fork in her mouth. "So good."

"I rather you tell me what you know about the witch situation up here. What are we getting ourselves into?"

"Fine, I'll answer," she said and swirled her fork in the air for emphasis. "But tit for tat. I answer one of your questions and you answer one of mine."

"Fine," I said but not unhappily. I was jonesing for some girl-talk. It had been an age since I'd been in a new relationship; I was eager to gush. "I start. What are we getting ourselves into up here?"

"Well, there was a reason for this trip being so short notice."

"Ye-es," I said drawing out the word.

"There's a big ritual they celebrate here in July. Basically, all the witches in the area come together, there's lots of anointing and a big bonfire, chanting, a sacrificial bull."

"They kill a bull?"

"Yes."

"Holy crap. Like, with a knife or what?"

"Yes, there's a knife, but you're missing the point. Every witch in the area has to attend. It's non-negotiable. So, our girl, Veronica Williams will be there. Hence, we are here chasing her down."

Veronica Williams—the witch who was in two places at once. At a scene of a car crash while also across town murdering her lover. She was potentially our only lead into figuring out what the heck was going on. If there was any connection to Lydia's murder in New Orleans and other cross-species 'uxoricide' murders around the country, talking to someone directly affected was our best bet.

"So, are things serious with you and the attorney?" Amelia asked.

"It's still early days, but I think it has potential to be serious."

Amelia pretended to gag herself with her fork. "Could you be more boring? I want juicy details—you gotta give me more than that."

"He's hot, he's smart, he's kind. Dreamy eyes."

"And... ?"

"And yes, we're sleeping together."

I cut Amelia off mid-squeal with a sharp fork gesture. I couldn't tell if she was more excited about my reinvigorated love-life or the fact that her matchmaking had, for once, proven successful. I hadn't forgotten about her ill-fated attempts at uniting me with Alcide, and she knew it.

"My turn," I said. "What do you know about Veronica?"

"Roughly our age. Runs the café at a museum of modern art here in the city. She is powerful in the coven here. Powerful as in slated to be the next high priestess."

I asked her to explain. I knew only a little of witch hierarchy.

"It's a big deal," she said. "The Dallas coven is influential and one of the bigger covens in the states. The high priestess effectively controls all the witches in the area, holds a lot of influence. Back when I lived in Bon Temps you might remember Octavia and I came here once to work magic with them during the equinox. They work some powerful magics. So, is he good in bed?"

"I'm not one to kiss and tell."

"Oh, puh-lease. You waxed lyrical when you were with Eric."

I nervously checked over my shoulder to make sure Eric hadn't somehow silently entered the suite, which he hadn't, and we erupted into giggles.

"The sex is good," I said, and Amelia pulled a face.

"'Good' used as a descriptor for sex means it's not actually good at all."

I huffed and took another bite of my dessert.

"It's by no means bad. And it's not him. It's me."

"Your necklace not doing its job?"

"Necklace is great. It's a lifesaver. I guess I'm just self-conscious. It's like I have this wall that I can't let down."

"Don't say another word. I have this amazing vibrator and, girl, it will solve all your troubles. I'll order you one."

"That's not it," I said with a laugh. I considered how best to explain. "It's like an emotional block. Like…" I paused and set down my fork, staring over her shoulder to the twinkling Dallas skyline. "Like I'm afraid to show him the real me. I think it's just because I've never been in a relationship with a regular person. I don't know, maybe I'm overthinking it. We only been together like that a couple of times, but it was weird."

"Have you told him about your telepathy?"

I shook my head. "Why ruin a good thing?"

"You have to tell him! You have a duty to disclose that."

"It's not an STD, Amelia." I frowned.

"He's not a supe, Sook."

"So?"

"So he deserves to know that you could read his thoughts. Not that I think it would pose a problem, but I think he deserves to know. It's not like he would care, right?"

Would he? I honestly hadn't thought it through. I mean, he'd seemed freaked out by my scars. And so far, we'd only slept together with the lights off. To be fair, that was because of me, not him. It wasn't so much that he was concerned by them or grossed out. My sense was more that he wasn't sure he could connect with a girl who had experienced such a turbulent past. It was a disadvantage I hadn't anticipated. Would telling him about my ability only serve to alienate him further?

"He might think it's great," she said. "Convince you to come work for the good guys in the prosecutor's office. Use your powers for good."

My expression must've revealed my dawning horror. Oh Lord, I'd never considered that.

What would Danny think of me in a professional capacity? A mind reader working in a prestigious law office was an ethical gray-area. Actually, it was a huge freaking ethical no-no by human standards. What if he thought I tried to steal confidential information from the minds of his defense team, if we were representing a defendant in a case against the state? I realized with a sickening turn of the stomach that that was basically what I did. Maybe not in criminal cases, and maybe not information from opposing lawyers, but what I did was virtually the same. Take Walt, for instance.

"I don't think he'll see the positives if I were to tell him about my little quirk."

"Hey! Don't overthink it," Amelia rushed on to say, sensing my alarm. "I'm sure you'll find the right time and way to tell him."

"Yeah, maybe," I said. I pushed my plate over for Amelia to finish. My appetite had disappeared.

"For real, Sookie. He is a good guy. Through and through. He won't think less of you."

"I might call it a night," I said. Fatigue settled on me abruptly, and I wanted to hide under a blanket.

"Already?"

"I need my beauty sleep." We had a big day tomorrow. Meeting with the pack leader, ectoplasmic reconstruction, meeting with local police... and trying to track down Veronica.

"Don't you want to know what else to expect tomorrow night?"

"Yeah, okay," I said with a sigh. "So, the plan is that we have to crash this weird sacrificial ritual tomorrow night and find Veronica?"

"Right."

"Aren't we going to stick out like sore thumbs? Eric isn't exactly the type to blend in a crowd." Apart from the pale skin and fangs, he was 6'4 and towered over most people.

"We're going undercover."

"Amelia…"

"I know what you're picturing right now and it's not that."

"Any what exactly do you think I'm picturing?"

"Sarah Jessica Parker and Bette Midler in Hocus Pocus," she said with that little amused and knowing curl she got in the corner of her cupid bow lips. I couldn't help it, I cracked up. It was exactly what I'd been picturing. "Do you know the legend of La Lachuza?" she asked.

I shook my head.

"The legend is Hispanic," she continued. "But like all good legends, there's a kernel of truth. Lachuza is a witch who apparently sold her soul to the devil in exchange for her powers. She transforms at night into a part-owl part-human and hunts humans for her supper. Attracts them by whistling a tune or crying like an infant. Pretty creepy."

"And what's the truth? Was she some sort of witch-were hybrid like Marnie and her brother?"

"Lechuza was a witch, though that wasn't the name she went by back then, and she was a powerful one. She didn't need to sell her soul to anyone. But like most witches in folktales, her and her life were coopted by threatened and mystified men to turn powerful women into villains and cautionary tales."

"So what's her deal?"

"She was a powerful magic worker and served her community and her local witches. She burned at the stake. It was said that when she burned, her spirit was seen ascending in the night sky in the form of a white barn owl. The tale grew from there.

"The ritual tomorrow is actually a sort of celebration for her life. More of a party. Everyone dresses in masquerade and one woman is chosen to play the part of Lachuza. It's an honor to be chosen. It signifies that the coven and others in the area respect the strength of that witch. There's a big bonfire, the chosen witch is anointed, and people sing, do a bit of flashy magic. Some ritual sacrifice. Then there's lots of dancing and merrymaking into the early hours."

"And when you say masquerade…"

"I mean you can pick whatever dress or outfit you want, provided it's not white—but you'll need to wear an animal mask. But I've organized it for us all."

"No one will clock that me and Eric aren't exactly witches?"

"No, provided I can get us past the wards."

"I've managed to get past some pretty gnarly wards before." She already knew about how Bubba helped me cross the wards to help Eric and the vampires during the witch war, and I quickly explained having to breech the wards in Oklahoma on Queen Freyda's property to find her cache of gold hidden in the forest sounding her palace.

"I predict this will be much the same. I'll be able to counteract the worst of it. It's what I do for a living after all. But don't you worry about any of that. That's my job."

I wasn't worried but judging by Amelia's thoughts, she was extremely worried. She had to get us through, undetected, wards formed by some of Dallas's most powerful witches. By this stage Amelia had finished her dessert and was finishing mine off as well.

"Well, let me know if I can help in any way." I yawned loudly then, and it caught me by surprise. "On that note, I'm going to bed. I'm not going to make it through this movie."

We'd barely watched any of it, as it was. I looked over to Eric's bedroom which was still vacant. I wondered how long he'd be gone.

"Do you think Eric will return tonight?"

"Does it matter?" she asked with a light, disinterested shrug, though her mind was buzzing with a sudden and fierce curiosity. She wondered if I was asking because I still harbored feelings for him, or maybe even planned to sneak into his bed to visit him during the night. Oh, brother.

"Nope, it doesn't matter at all," I said.

The only thing that did matter for me was the strangeness of sharing close confines with Eric again. I hadn't known how much to tell Danny about my work trip, so I'd told him not much at all. It felt like I was navigating uncharted waters when it came to starting a new relationship. How had I done this in the past?

Maybe it hadn't mattered so much because my past had been laid bare to my previous beaus. Bill, Eric and Sam all knew my romantic history before I was an item with any of them. There was no need for explanations. No need for pussyfooting around and trying to manage how exactly to reveal past to them.

And now, to complicate things further, Eric and I had established a cautious friendship of sorts in the last couple of weeks. I wasn't sure exactly how I felt about that. I didn't particularly like thinking about it either.

On that troubled note, I took myself to bed.

• * •

In what felt like a repeat of Lydia's murder investigation, the next morning Amelia and I met Ryker and the werefox local pack leader at the murder scene. No federal agents were involved in this murder, as it was still seen as a standalone incident and not of particular note. And who knew how the local police were handling it. Heck, maybe it was a standalone incident? Any connections between this murder and Lydia's felt tenuous at best.

Maybe Eric should've also been here too, but Ryker didn't seem concerned. My sense of things was that his involvement in Dallas was more as a gesture of goodwill from Thalia to Ryker. She, or rather Eric, was clever. It worked in her interest to establish the President Alpha as an ally. More practically for Amelia and myself, Eric afforded us some protection for any nighttime investigations. It was kind of amusing in a way. Wasn't that exactly why Eric had joined me in Dallas the last time?

Veronica Williams' girlfriend, Rosa Pieldeloba (or as the Dallas police detective was referring to her: 'the victim'), was a werefox and part of a small Dallas pack called Swift Paw. The pack leader, a squat, angry-faced man named Damien Bega, stood waiting for us outside a bar named Old Murphy's. It was situated in an industrial part of Dallas, squashed between a large gym and an office furniture outlet. The location reminded me a little of The Dogwood, though this was more off the beaten path. Other than the odd gym-goer, we were on the only foot traffic, and the only actual traffic was the occasional truck rumbling past to and from the industrial zone.

"I told you I didn't want any witches involved," Damien said, or rather snarled. "I don't trust them witches worth a damn. They're all as crooked as the next, any evidence they produce will be biased. They protect their own."

"The investigation will be conducted impartially," Ryker said.

"We don't need witches here to be impartial," he snarled. "We have the murder on camera. We shouldn't be here; we should be torturing them into telling us where they're hiding that bitch Veronica."

He glared at Amelia in a way that suggested that if given the chance, he would rip her face off. Amelia, quite wisely, took a step back so that she was in Ryker's shadow. The other witches who had come to help stood firmly in place.

"They're here because I said they can be here," Ryker said, his voice a good octave lower than usual. "If you're going to cause problems, Bega, you go through me."

Ryker suddenly stood taller, it was as if he partially transformed enough to make his chest and proportions expand, and he actually bared his teeth as he spoke. I got a sense then of how he'd successfully acquired the role as President Alpha. It would've been vicious.

"You know as well as I that footage is grainy and barely shows anything," Ryker said. He stared Damien down. Ryker folded his arms, waiting, and eventually Damien Bega shrank his shoulders and in on himself. He nodded. Reluctantly, Damien led us down the alley to the back of the bar where a garish dark red stain took up a large part of the concreted courtyard outside. There wasn't much else in the area. A couple of gas-heater lanterns and a couple tables fashioned from disused wooden cable spools. I guessed this was where the staff took their breaks on busy nights.

While Amelia and the other witches got set up, I stood to the side with Ryker and the pack leader. Then, just like the last time I was present for a reconstruction, the witches stood at the far end of the courtyard and began chanting in what sounded something like Latin. It droned on for several minutes. Without warning, the scene began playing out before us.

A ghostly version of Rosa Pieldelobo appeared through the backdoor of the bar, she sauntered across to a table and lit up a cigarette. She was curvy, dressed in tight black jeans and a t-shirt emblazoned with the bar's logo. Her silky black hair was cut into a severe yet stylish bob that would've once put Clara Bow to shame. She leaned against a table, her cigarette hanging limply from her lips as she tapped out a text message in a quick flurry on her Blackberry. Ryker and I stepped forward to look over her shoulder. She was texting Veronica. They were planning to meet later that night.

Ryker drew me out of the way as the ghostly form of a young woman emerged from the darkened alley. She was tall with a crown of brown hair framing her face and dressed in jeans and a green blouse with a big black jacket over the top.

"Hey baby," Rosa said, her voice colored with surprise. "I thought you were working tonight?"

"Got off early so I could come visit my best girl," Veronica said. She and Rosa embraced and kissed.

"You came all the way out here just to say hello?"

"You on break?" Veronica asked, ignoring the question.

"Yeah, John too. He'll be out in a minute."

"Perfect," Veronica said and drew Rosa back in for a kiss. Veronica then moved awkwardly, her arm slipping into her coat. Rosa's form stiffened, and she suddenly began fighting against Veronica's hold.

"What did you do?" she cried, her voice high and tinny. "What did you do?"

My breath caught in my throat. I wanted to reach out and grab Rosa, pull her from harm's way, pull her from what was coming. They struggled together, Rosa fighting furiously and failing to escape Veronica's grasp, but Veronica held fast. Rosa suddenly collapsed on her back to the ground, blood gushing from her stomach like a bubbling brook. It spilled out onto the concrete all around her and a large kitchen knife protruded from her stomach.

Rosa's mouth parted in a silent scream as Veronica leaped upon her supine form. She grabbed the knife and began stabbing Rosa in the stomach, over and over and over. Rosa's gurgling moans petering out to a labored gasp... and then nothing. Her form still, her eyes vacant, staring at a night sky that was not really there.

A noise sounded behind us and we turned to see the ghostly specter of a tall man wearing the same t-shirt as Rosa, burst through the back door. The reconstructed form of Veronica stood to her feet, utterly covered in blood, and smiled at him. A wicked, satisfied, unearthly grin. She dropped the knife and ran away.

The reconstruction flickered and fell from view—the man, the murder weapon, Rosa, and her puddle of blood disappeared abruptly as if someone turned off a television screen. The bright light of day and the enormous rust colored bloodstain on the concrete came back into view.

I swallowed the sob rising in my throat and clapped a hand over my mouth.

My God, was this what Ryker had to endure when watching the reconstruction of his own daughter's death? Did he also feel that surging sensation of helplessness and horror? Did he hear her final dying pleas? Her gasps for help? I noticed the Dallas witches, no longer chanting, were huddled together and crying.

"So that was Veronica then," Ryker asked the witches after they had collected their things and rejoined us.

"Yes," one witch answered, her thoughts and voice conveyed a sense of deep disbelief. They had all thought the reconstruction would absolve Veronica of blame.

"I told you," Damien said to Ryker. He turned back to the witches. "Now give us Veronica. She's got to face the consequences of her actions. She can't just get away with murdering one of our own!"

"We don't have her!" the witch protested. It was a bald-faced lie, though I didn't think it was my place to say it right there and then. Not if I wanted Veronica safe from the local weres. From what I could gather from the witch's thoughts, Veronica was being held in a safe house outside of the city. A motel, maybe, or some sort of self-contained unit or bungalow.

Ryker, Amelia, Damien Bega and I piled into the back of a big black SUV and headed back to the city.

I sat, keeping quietly to myself, rendered mute after what I had seen. Watching Rosa's final moments was grislier than I had prepared for. Amelia patted me gently on the leg, trying to send through some comforting vibes. It was my own fault for being caught off guard. She had warned me. But I'd figured that if this was the kind of stuff she did for a living, how bad could it be?

"So, what now?" Amelia asked car's occupants. She sat in the back row of seats next to me. "What do y'all think?"

"I think a were has no business dating a witch," Damien said, making no effort to hide his disgust at Amelia and her kind.

"Or a vampire," Ryker added, but he said it thoughtfully, without malice. He hadn't turned his gaze from the window since we left. Maybe he was reliving the reconstruction of his daughter's death. Rosa's death felt burned into my brain. The way she struggled, her final pleas… It was so wrong. It all felt so wrong.

"Hang on," I said, sitting up straighter. Something was wrong about what I'd seen. "Since when can a witch fight off twoey?"

Three sets of eyes swung my way.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," I continued, "but in a physical fight, wouldn't a were, even gravely injured, still be able to kick a witch's ass?"

"Holy shit," Amelia said, her features slackening in shock. "You're right. There's no way Veronica could've held off Rosa like that."

"No doubt she cast some sort of strength spell," Damien said. "Witches are wily like that."

"Could that be the case?" Ryker asked Amelia. "A strength spell, that is?"

"Maybe…" she said after a moment of consideration. "It wouldn't be a spell, though, it would be a potion or tonic. Anything that imbues a witch with strength has to be fast-acting. It's the nature of that sort of magic. It would be in potion or tonic form since the effects have a short half-life once consumed. She would've needed to drink it maybe moments before attacking Rosa. This might help us, actually. If Veronica did it—"

"If? If!" Damien said, throwing his hands up. "You listening to this bitch?"

"Hey!" I said, but Ryker's cut me off, drowning out my voice.

"Enough!" he boomed. His voice rattled the car windows. He grabbed Damien Bega by the collar and scuffed him up against the car window. "I'm taking over this investigation, Bega. I've had enough of your insubordination. Do not speak until I allow you. Do not move until I allow you. Do not breathe without my say so. Do you understand?"

Damien narrowed his eyes at the President, but ducked his head and mumbled a meek, 'Yes, sir'.

"Continue, Amelia," Ryker said.

"Strength tonics all share one common ingredient," Amelia said, completely unphased by the show of machismo that had taken place right in front of us. "Fenugreek. Highly concentrated amounts of bespelled fenugreek. If she'd taken something for strength, you'd still smell it on her. Or a tracker would, easily. It smells like maple syrup once your body has metabolized it. We just need to find her and have someone scent her."

It wasn't much but, considering we'd started the day with nothing, it was something.