When Bubba came knocking at sunset that night, I told him we were heading out for a little excursion to the palace.
To say he was excited was an understatement.
He rushed off to shower and get ready, while I pottered around in the kitchen cleaning up after the dinner Diantha and I had made together. When Bubba returned he was dressed in a white double-breasted suit, the top buttons of his shirt undone, revealing thick bejeweled gold chains slung around his neck. It wasn't his classic jumpsuit, but it was near enough. His hair was combed back and slick with pomade, his sideburns were neatly trimmed and combed too.
"Oh, Bubba, you look fantastic."
"Thank you, Miss Sookie," he said with a beaming grin. The excitement and anticipation of an outing filled him with a vibrant sort of energy that appeared to sweep away some of his usual slow affect. I wondered where the clothing came from. Had someone shipped his belongings from Florida? If so, who? He'd been curiously tight-lipped about his time in the sunny state, so I would need to wait for the right moment to ask.
"Aren't you worried that you might…" I trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.
"Might what?" he asked.
"Stand out?"
Bubba didn't exactly cope with people recognizing him.
"Ohmygod, I have the perfect thing," Diantha said when she saw him and dashed upstairs to her bedroom. She returned a few moments later holding a silver and white bedazzled cowboy hat with a thick rhinestone fringe. She fitted it on his head and tilted the brim slightly down. "You could go out dancing and no one will know who you are," she said.
"We're just going to the palace," I cautioned. While people might not think he was the real King of Rock and Roll, they'd likely assume he was an impersonator, which would draw enough attention as it was.
"Give him a break. Bubba's been stuck in an apartment all week," Diantha said. "Take him for a walk through the French Quarter first."
"I could find an alley cat," Bubba said cheerfully. My smile froze in place and Diantha busted her gut laughing.
"It's a hard no on the alley cats," I said as carefully as I could, "but I think we can make time for a mosey through the French Quarter."
So that was what we did. I dressed up a little too, since it seemed a little weird to accompany Bubba in the casual tshirt and denim shorts I'd been wearing. I put on a white ruffly sundress with off the shoulder sleeves and I ran a brush through my hair, sweeping it off my face with a white headband. I capped off the outfit with a pair of ruby studs in my earlobes and simple ballet flats on my feet. Combined, it meant I sort of blended in next to Bubba, sort of. Faded into the background, more like it. We took a street car a few stops down the line, then walked arm in arm through the French Quarter, declining the few tourists who stopped us to ask for photos. My arm was still in a cast but thankfully out of the sling, which made life all the easier. One tourist even thrust a twenty in Bubba's face, demanding a picture. Bubba's fangs snapped out in agitation and I quickly steered him away.
"Eric is opening a bar here soon," I said as we rounded the next corner.
"I liked Fangtasia. No one treated you different there."
I laughed lightly. That wasn't exactly true, but at least in Fangtasia he could move about without being hassled more than any other vampire in the dimly lit club.
"Should we stop by and see if Eric is in? He's been busy renovating the new bar."
It was two blocks out of our way, but the evening was mild. After being home virtually every night since returning from Bon Temps it was a treat to be out and about again.
The acrid scent of floor varnish met us before we caught sight of the bar. The lights were on inside and when I stuck my head through the door, a couple of workers were kneeling in front of the bar itself tiling it with peacock blue mosaic tiles. The walnut bar top gleamed with a fresh coat of glossy varnish, the scent still clinging to the air.
"Eric around?" I asked when the tilers noticed us. They seemed unperturbed by the sight of Bubba on my arm and pointed me to a set of wooden stairs at the back.
The stairs had been freshly lacquered too and shone under the house lights. I could see it all coming together now; the surroundings exuded a sort-of luxe coziness. I'd bet that was exactly what Eric was aiming for. Very different style to that of Fangtasia. Upstairs was an open hallway that led to a smaller bar area, with more workers buzzing around. This area looked like it was destined to be a VIP area. Off to the side, open double doors revealed an office, where we found Eric with his lady friend Emily, looking over a large bulletin board propped against the wall. The board was pinned with samples of fabrics, pictures of glassware, and imagery of other bars.
"Miss Sookie and I are exploring the town," Bubba announced.
"Hi. We're walking to the palace," I said. Emily appeared startled by our presence. The light in the office made the rhinestones and diamantes on Bubba's hat stand out especially.
"Hey, you're the girl who hurt her arm," she said and pointed to my cast with the pen she'd been holding. She'd taken me for a courier of some sort the night I'd broken my arm. I left her to her thoughts as Eric greeted us.
"Nice hat, Bubba," he said.
"You know, I like to dress conservative these days, Mr. Eric," he said. "But tonight I felt like being flashy."
"That you most definitely are," Eric replied, faintly amused.
"Won't you introduce us to the beautiful lady," Bubba said, his southern drawl low and gravelly. It was an unmistakable drawl. Emily's face morphed with surprise as she finally clocked him.
"Emily, these are my friends, Bubba and Sookie." Eric made the customary gesture. "Sookie, Bubba, this is Emily Forsyth, my interior designer."
Bubba tipped his hat, while Emily looked speechless.
"The bar is looking great," I said. "I'm loving the blue palette downstairs."
"Thank you," she said, collecting herself. "We're just going over the mood board for the upstairs bar."
"So this is a… mood board?" It looked like a collage board for grown-ups. In fact, it looked like something I'd enjoy putting together.
"It helps set the design tone of an interior design project," she said. She prodded Eric with the end of her pen. "This one here has enough ideas to fill ten bars."
"I'm a vampire of considerable talents," Eric said and shrugged.
"Yes, but we need to pick one style of something. At least glassware. Keep it cohesive."
I made a little noise, one I one-hundred percent didn't mean to make. I stepped to the mood board and examined the pictured glass options on display. Samples of the real thing were sitting on Eric's desk.
"What do you think?" Eric asked me.
"Having multiple styles of glassware can be sensible. But it depends on the clientele you're planning to attract." I picked up a tumbler to get a sense of its weight and feel in my hand.
"The aim was to keep it cohesive so that the elements of the design theme are incorporated throughout," Emily said. It sounded intriguing but not totally practical.
"What did you have at Fangtasia?" I asked Eric.
"I'm not sure. That was Pam's purview. As I recall, we had crystal that she used exclusively for vampire guests, the VIPs mostly. And regular bar glassware for the breathers."
"Not to disrespect your design theme," I said to Emily, as I turned and examined the glass options on the board. From her thoughts she felt I was doing just that. The glassware was all fancy etched crystal tumblers, thin champagne goblets and cocktail glasses which I knew from experience didn't fare well in ultra-hot bar dishwashers. "But you want some range. If upstairs is for VIPs, do the fancy stuff up here. You'll be needing bar staff to wash it by hand, however. Eric, you'll need to account for that when you consider staffing for busier nights. And downstairs you'll be spending half your takings on busy nights replacing this fancy stuff."
"Noted," he said.
"You could even have two sets of glassware downstairs. That's what I did."
"What you did…?" Emily asked.
"I once owned a bar," I explained. "Well, two, if we're being technical. Neither were in the league of this one, though."
Her eyes were on me, trying to make sense of who I was and how I figured in Eric's life. You and me both, hon.
"We had a karaoke night," I went on, "which was popular with the college kids. I went for plastic beer and spirit tumblers, the sort that look and have the heft of real glass but won't break. That might be good to have on hand for peak tourist season. We only used those for the really busy nights when I knew people were looking to get loaded and have fun. Something to consider," I added lightly to Eric.
"I defer to Sookie's expertise," Eric said. "Do as she suggests, Emily."
"Fine." Her lightly spoken word belied her irritation, though it went unnoticed by the male company in the room. I smiled and she returned it with an icy one of her own. She wasn't jealous of me, but didn't like other people, particularly pretty blondes, stepping on her professional domain. I wanted to laugh. It was all rather silly.
"Bubba and I better let y'all get back to it," I said. "We just called in to say hi. We're gonna head over to the palace. I did want to have a little chat with you at some point, Eric, but it's not urgent." I'd wanted to fill him in on what had happened with the cold case investigation today and potentially use him as a sounding board. Also, I just wanted to see him.
"You met with the federal agent?" he asked, picking up what I hadn't even realized I'd been putting down. He was good at that. I used to attribute it to his uncanny vampire senses, but really, in time I've learned he just knew me, or could anticipate me, that well. It pleased or infuriated me, depending on the day.
"I did, in fact," I replied.
"Bubba, would you mind if I crashed your date with Sookie?"
"This is a date?" Bubba asked me, confusion wrinkling his forehead.
"Why not? A night out for both of us," I said. Bubba smiled broadly at me then. I felt a stab of sympathy. How many vampires viewed Bubba as a friend, rather than a burden to be hosted from state-to-state? Heck, even I had thought him a burden when he first moved into the apartment next door. A good Christian, I was not.
"Join us," Bubba said, "and you can tell the tourists to leave me alone."
"I wanted to settle on glassware and tableware tonight," Emily said, folding her arms across her chest. The action pushed her attractive decolletage front and center. "I need to make an order so we're keeping you on track for opening."
"Later," Eric said and slipped into his leather jacket. "Get two sets as Sookie suggests. Email me two options to choose from for each and I'll let you know."
"Will you be back…?" she said.
"I'll call you later," he said, and I ducked my head to avoid further icy glares from her direction.
"She seems nice," I said as we made our way down the avenue toward the palace. My good arm was still hooked through Bubba's and Eric was walking along his other side.
"She isn't, but she has good taste."
I made a little noise from the back of my throat.
"What?" he said.
"She's upset with you."
"Oh, yes, indeed she is," added Bubba.
Eric looked at us doubtfully.
"She doesn't appreciate being blown off," I said.
"I wasn't blowing her off. I'll be back later. I told her that."
"That wasn't how she interpreted it."
"You don't know that," he responded.
"Yes, I do." I gave him a significant look.
Eric narrowed his eyes in irritation at me. "I am hiring her for a service. She is to meet my needs, not the other way around."
I pulled a face.
"In my experience, Mr. Eric, women need lots of attention," Bubba said. "It's no good to be separated for too long. They get upset."
"I can't speak to that," I said diplomatically, trying to tamp down my inner-feminist, "but they do like being considered when decisions are being made."
"You mean the glassware?" said Eric. "It's my bar."
"I mean more generally, when it comes to changing plans in particular."
"Work and personal relationships are not best mixed," Bubba said with a pat to my hand. Bubba was quite the advice giver this evening.
"I tend to agree," I said.
"That's never stopped you before," Eric said to me with some amusement.
"And that worked out a treat for me, didn't it?"
"On multiple counts," he said.
I grumbled in reply, telling him not to remind me. He chuckled.
"Doesn't Bubba look handsome tonight?" I asked Eric, hoping to move the conversation into a more useful direction.
Now it was Eric's turn to give me a weird look.
"I can't help but wonder," I continued, unperturbed, "where you got that outfit, Bubba?"
"From my personal collection?"
"You brought it with you back from Florida?"
He cleared his throat, turning his head slightly so that I couldn't quite catch his expression from between the dangling diamantes. "A friend sent it."
"A friend? You had many friends over there?"
"Not really." His tone hardened, like stone grinding against stone. Eric reached over to squeeze my elbow in warning.
"You must've had some good ones to go to the trouble of sending your things."
"It was Indira in Shreveport. No one in Florida cares," he growled, snapping his gaze back to me with anger. I startled at the sudden movement, and Eric's hand at my elbow turned into a sharp pinch. I don't know what happened in Florida, but whatever it was, it couldn't have been good.
As we drew closer to the palace, Eric had a way of clearing the sidewalk of people as we got closer and passed by more tourists. We certainly made for an unusual looking trio—tall blonde vampire on one side, Bubba in his white suit and blinged out hat in the middle, with little old me on his arm—but with one successfully stern glare from Eric, people avoided us.
The guards standing at the palace entrance allowed us through as soon as they caught sight of Eric and I, and we made our way up the cobble driveway on foot and past the fountain turning circle. It all looked rather spectacular at night. I hardly entered the palace through this entrance. I was often dropped at the service entrance at the side, free of foot traffic and tourists. The garden beds here were lined with neatly trimmed hedges but the beds themselves were overgrown in a vivid palette of tropical plants and flowers. It was lush and decadent in style, matching the regency style mansion. And it was a far cry from when Thalia first moved in. It was neat and serviceable back then, a placeholder garden. Finances were tight when Felipe was in charge… Priorities had since changed under Thalia's rule.
Vampire guards opened the wide arched doors of the palace. We trailed up the sweeping circular staircase and to the back rooms that overlooked the gardens where Thalia's office was located. I recalled Rasul telling me that many of the treasures from Sophie-Anne's reign, art and collectibles, had been sold during de Castro's reign, and some had even been straight up stolen, like the majority of the late Queen's jewels, but now I noticed art and finery had returned to the walls and displays. I passed a glass cabinet containing a variety of ancient Greek painted pottery. It was nice to see the palace return to its former splendor.
We found Thalia in her office with Amelia and her older witchy colleague Davonte. A large wicker basket was set on the floor between them.
"You look lovely," I said to Amelia. She had her short hair styled in tight, glossy finger curls and wore a fitting red dress that showed off her figure. Date night straight after this, she thought at me with a cute little wink.
Thalia sat behind her desk, surrounded by papers and a laptop that looked suspiciously like it might've had a run-in with a reversing dump truck. She nodded to me and let out a short angry spiel in ancient Greek to Eric. With wide strides, he stepped around her carved wooden desk to examine the paperwork spread before her. They began a rapid conversation in Ancient Greek. Secret vampire business, probably.
"Are you going to try and fix me again?" Bubba asked Amelia.
"It's not you we're trying to fix," Amelia said and picked up the basket. "We're trying to fix whatever has been done to you."
"There hasn't been any trouble since he's been next door," I said.
"Sookie's been home every night to make sure I don't ruin anything," Bubba said and patted my hand where it rested in the crook of his arm.
"Unfortunately, not a long term solution," Amelia said. "We'll sort this out."
"You heard from those European witches?" I asked.
"We were lucky to hear from those European witches," Davonte corrected coolly, the point of his chin lifting slightly. I widened my eyes at Amelia, who suppressed a small smile.
"You're right in that regard," she conceded, "they have dozens of generations worth of skill behind them."
"Old magic," Davonte said. "In a way you could not comprehend."
"Bubba, let's retire to the garden. Davonte was here earlier today setting up for tonight's practice," Amelia said.
I made a move to follow them and Amelia held up a hand.
"Nuh-uh," she said.
"Not invited to the proceedings?"
"Something like that," she said and patted my cheek lightly. "For whatever reason, you mute the effect of whatever magic has been worked against him. We can't fix his issue if we can't access it. So, for now, you are persona non grata."
"Go," Thalia said, looking up briefly from the hushed conversation she was engaged in with Eric. She waved a hand toward the eastern wing of the palace. "Help yourself to the kitchen. There's a chef now."
"A chef," I repeated, surprised. Since when did vampires require chefs?
"We have donors in our employ now."
I swallowed my surprise and thanked her for her hospitality. I made my way down the wide, polished marble corridor in the opposite direction that Bubba and the witches had disappeared. The kitchen was further back in the eastern corner of the building where the service entrance was located. Here deliveries could be easily made, away from the busyness of the main street.
The kitchen was empty but I noticed some changes had been made. Bay leaves hung in bushels from above the ornate kitchen window. Bowls of fruit were set out. The faint scent of savory cooking lingered. A glass-doored drink fridge was now full with various bottles—water, sodas, juice, wine coolers. I retrieved a pitcher of what turned out to be (after a cautious sniff) sweet tea.
I poured myself a glass and allowed my mind to wander the geography of the palace. I couldn't sense any humans on site. Not even staff. There were a few were guards and a handful of voids. No humans. Maybe the donors weren't living on site? Who was all this food for? Perhaps they lived in the adjacent buildings, as that was all a part of the vampire estate that had once been Sophie Anne's. In fact, she once owned the two blocks surrounding the palace. I didn't know if that was still the case.
I took my glass and wandered. I made my way into what was once Sophie Anne's day room. I switched on the lights to see the empty pool. The ornate lounge chairs still sat in position as if Sophie-Anne had never left. I walked to the back wall where the artistic renderings of daytime vistas were now beginning to fade and peel from the walls. I scratched a little away with a fingernail and saw it was glass underneath and that it looked out onto the garden.
I made a soft sound of surprise. An artist had painted right over the windows.
"I think this was once just a regular old pool room."
It was Eric.
"That makes more sense," I said, turning. "Though it's a bit of a waste of space now."
"Agreed." We lapsed into silence, taking in the once grand room.
"Sophie-Anne was certainly something else," I said.
"Some vampires come willingly to the darkness; others struggle. A shame. It makes their existence difficult."
I knew exactly what camp I would've fallen into if I'd been unlucky enough to be turned.
"Well, aren't I glad I'm not a vampire, then," I said and smiled at him over my shoulder. "If anyone was born to be a vampire, it was her…"
He floated over the pool, rather than walk the distance. His hair lifted off his shoulders as he landed with a soft thump. "Tell me what you wanted to tell me."
My mouth ran dry and it felt as thought a fist had clamped down on my heart. He tilted his head, waiting. I realized belatedly what he was referring to… and it was nothing to do with matters of the heart.
"I rode along today with Agent Ray today, and we interviewed one of the victims of this string of attacks that happened," I said, internally pleased I sounded almost normal.
Eric gestured and we sat on one of the lounges facing each other.
"What was your impression?" he said. "Swamp monster? Thunderbird?"
"Very funny." I rolled my eyes. "Something attacked that man, though. His legs were all scarred up and he remembered the incident quite clearly."
"And..?"
"And I was hoping, if you are amenable, that you could check out the general area." I explained the supposed connection of the attacks to the nearby cemetery.
"You could ask Fernanda if she could loan one of her trackers?"
"No, thank you," I said and pulled a face. I'd had enough of the New Orleans' packmaster and didn't want to involve her in business that frankly wasn't the purview of the local twoeys. "I'm hoping a vampire's nose might be enough to sense something out of the ordinary."
Eric's sense of smell was particularly heightened compared to most vampires. Maybe it was an age thing? Or maybe it was one of his unique talents like flying.
"I can't tonight," he said.
"A date with your designer?" I said, managing to swallow down a smirk.
"No date," he said, rather defensively, "I've hired her as a designer, so naturally we've spent a lot of time together."
"It's not me you need to worry about giving the brush-off to."
"There was no brush-off."
"Well, she sure ain't happy with you."
"The amount of money I pay her, she should be happy."
"It might be more than that," I said.
"How would you know?"
I smiled a knowing smile. He narrowed his gaze in return at me. "Your extra abilities can be tiresome, you know?"
"Don't I know it," I said with a snort.
"We may have shared some… mutual enjoyment, when we began our business arrangement." He made a rolling motion with his hand to emphasize his point. "I hired her to help design the bar. That was extra."
"Perks of the job?"
"Yes," he said and flashed a fangy smile. "A one-time indulgence."
I laughed, a full proper laugh that echoed across the marble room. "Whatever you say, Casanova."
I had to admit I felt a mixture of relief knowing that he was back to his old ways when it came to women, that I was still the one that bucked his usual style.
"Back to your case," Eric said. "What do you mean by hoping I'll detect something out of the ordinary?"
I explained what Horace described had attacked him and the image I had caught from his mind. "And then, as we were leaving, I decided on a whim to talk to this group of kids riding their bikes out on the street to see if they knew anything."
"For any particular reason?"
"Kids talk, and from experience they're more likely to believe and listen to any strangeness that might be happening in their neighborhood." I'd found adults were prone to ignoring things outside the norm and mentally swept oddities under the rug. "They told me about something they called the shadow man."
Eric had sprawled out on his side on the lounge by this point, propping his head up with a hand. "The shadow man?" He looked intrigued.
"Exactly. How spooky does that sound? They described it as a dark shadow figure that haunts the neighborhood, crawling on all fours, hunting people foolish enough to be alone at night."
"Is there any truth to that?"
"Not that I could glean. I mean, to them, it was like a campfire tale, but still…"
"Urban legends often have some basis in truth."
"You got it in one," I said, and we smiled at each other.
A comfortable silence settled between us, the kind that could mean everything or nothing at all. Eric's eyes lingered on mine, his expression softening almost imperceptibly. A flutter of nerves erupted in my tummy, and I mentally groped for the right thing to say… though my flailing thoughts were immediately interrupted by a loud shriek followed by a crash outside. Eric jumped to his feet.
"Everything's fine," I called but he'd already zipped out of the room. I followed him, albeit at a human pace, and came upon an interesting scene outside. At the back of the garden, by the perimeter of the palace grounds, a large statue of what I vaguely recalled to be a tasteful nude was lying in pieces across the grass and paved area it stood upon. Amelia was brushing mud off her red dress and muttering to herself, while Davonte appeared to be sitting undisturbed to one side within a circle of salt, eyes closed and engaged in some sort of ritualistic chant.
"You need to get out of here," Amelia snapped at me. "We're not done." To say she was stressed was an understatement. Her eyes were burning hot like lasers.
Bubba looked at me and said balefully, "I don't think this is working, Miss Sookie."
"You hang in there." I patted him on the arm.
Rasul emerged from around the garden path at a fast clip, and let out a pained cry when he saw the demolished statue. "That was a Rodin!"
He knelt by the fallen sculpture and grabbed at the pieces.
"I believe Amelia can fix that," Eric said. He was taking the entire scene in with a great deal of amusement.
"Yes, I know magic that can repair it, but it'll cost you," Amelia warned and marched over to her giant basket. She retrieved something that looked like a braided length of horse hair and several glass spice jars.
"It won't be the same," Rasul said, "it will not ease the torment of knowing an original Rodin has broken. Made by commission especially for Sophie-Anne, I might add."
One had to wonder how sensible it was to leave such a priceless item on display in the garden of all places.
"I can leave it broken if you prefer?" Amelia said, and while Rasul cried out at the thought of this further indignity, she said to me, "Really, you need to go. All this is for nothing if you're just hanging around."
"I know where I'm not wanted," I said, lifting my hands, but in a lower tone added, "are the prospects good?"
Her thoughts offered little hope, though she smiled brightly and nodded. I sighed and took in the fractured pieces of the statue that lay scattered across the mossy garden pavers. The prospect of Bubba suffering long term with this curse, and what that might mean, wasn't an eventuality I was willing to consider. For either him or me.