Chapter 77: Hit Me With Your Best Shot
Desmond Cataliades held a stern look on his face as if he were the prosecutor, judge and jury himself, ready to send her off to the gallows. The demon lawyer arrived at Portia's office Saturday morning promptly at 9 AM, not a second later, and proceeded to grill her to shreds. Portia watched it all unfold utterly uncomfortably from behind her desk, pretending to take notes. The telepaths ignored her presence completely, sitting across from each other in her lounging area five feet away from her desk. There was a camera set up on the coffee table between them, pointed at Olivia's face.
Depositions were supposed to be tough; a knife fight under oath to get a taste of what strategy each team was going to take at trial. She knew that she had to be prepared for the worst, but Desmond Cataliades asked hard, complicated, impossible, rude and below-the-belt questions. He literally made both her and Portia sweat.
She was suddenly a teenager again, being scolded by her telepathic father. Raise your mind shield and it was the equivalent of pleading the fifth. But she did it anyway. It was a long gladiator battle of her blocking his incessant hits while throwing verbal counterpunches.
"You know the prosecution can't read my mind, right?" She asked defiantly while choosing her words carefully, so as not to draw Portia's suspicions.
Mr Cataliades was probing into the nature of her relationship with Eric, which was the last topic of conversation she wanted to make. They hadn't spoken since she lured him into her trap in that basement. In fact, she hadn't even seen him, nor knew if he was in town or back in New Orleans. Her heart was shattered at her own doing, guilt ate her up at night. But her pride also stopped her from asking Pam about him.
"Humans read body language just fine," he replied, knowing exactly what she had implied. "Now, answer the question: did you start laundering money through Mr. Grey's assets before or after having sex with Mr. Northman?"
" 'Objection! Badgering the witness' is what you should reply with, so I don't have to answer that."
Olivia was both exhausted and pissed off. He was picking at a very sore and very fresh wound in her heart. What was the point of all this unnecessary grilling that went way past questioning every mistake she's ever made just to get ready for a fucking deposition?
"There won't be a judge there to sustain it. They can just hit you with another, worse question. Such as - at what point did you have sex with Mr. Herveaux?"
Portia let out a tiny gasp.
"Which I won't answer either. Plus Eric said we're never seeing the inside of the courthouse so I don't understand the point of this!"
No, Eric is never seeing the inside of the courthouse, the demon thought.
A cold shudder ran through her spine. She had never been able to read the demon's mind before. It was brief, but he made a mistake. So the man was fallible after all.
"You'll be fine as long as you're prepared," he said calmly out loud.
But the alarm had rung, and it could not be unrung.
"Whose lawyer are you, really?"
"What do you mean?"
She leaned forward, ignoring the camera between them. "You slipped Desmond."
Portia's eyes followed their conversation as if she was watching a tennis match. She could see him gulp.
"Eric has nothing to gain by having you sentenced."
The two entered a different type of battle, a deadly mental one. Turns out, beating the shit out of her shield had left the old man tired. His mind was a tumultuous dark room. She couldn't make the words out, but she could hear noises like a faint radio.
"Eric has a hell of a lot to lose if I do," her voice was threatening, slashing the tense silence. "So I'm asking again, who exactly are you defending?"
"Perhaps a break? I think we could use a break," Portia interrupted, with an oversweet voice that went in vain.
The demon did not move. His mind was a silent fortress again, but Olivia's wrath was about to demolish this man physically, not mentally.
"I work in the best interests of the Louisiana Crown, same as you Miss Carson," his eyes were beady and pitch black.
Suddenly everything became crystal clear. Her mind sharpened her blade, ready to slash the demon at the heels. Mr. Cataliades had been there, at the palace, long before Olivia got this job. Something told her that he would also be there long after she was gone - retired or not.
"Holy shit, it was you… This whole time… It's been you," Olivia stood up, feeling electric with adrenaline. Mr. Cataliades mirrored her. Portia did not dare move. "The one demanding more and more money to cover up for Sophie-Anne. It was you who kept pushing, not her. This whole fucking time I've been playing against you."
His beady eyes were immovable, but the fortress behind them trembled.
"Her gambling was unfortunately her biggest fallacy, yes. But it was not my job to stop her or to tell her how to govern. My only job was to get her out of it, something that you obviously failed at then, and continues to fail now."
"That is such a load of bullshit-"
"The only bullshit here Miss Carson, is that you keep avoiding my goddamn questions. You a facing some serious charges. If you don't answer perfectly, pardon my French, you are fucked."
Panic rattled her. She was about to lose it all. But instead of being scared, she chose to be angry. "My relationship with Eric is irrelevant!"
"Your relationship with Eric is precisely how they are going to try to turn you against him. You are the stupid girl who fell in love with the handsome vampire. You are naive and weak and fell into his trap and did the dirty work for the devil. That is how they'll play this out, not only in court but in the media too. You'll become the cautionary tale of what happens if you work for vampires!"
"I am not turning against him!" She screamed.
"Loyal employee, are you?" His eyebrows raised, which was the most expressive she had ever seen his face be.
She threw her hands up in the air. "Sure, Desmond, I guess I am!"
"Or is it perhaps it is because you're not protecting him, you are protecting you."
Olivia held her breath, never holding her mental shield up so high. She wanted to scream at him and tell him about everything she's ever broken for him. About all the times she nearly died, the times she was tortured, investigated, humiliated, and her loyalty never waived - because it wasn't loyalty. She loved him. And it was precisely love that would get her and Eric out of this. But Desmond Cataliades couldn't know what she had planned because, at this point, Olivia could trust no one. And worse, she couldn't yell back how wrong he was. She just had to swallow her pride and take it.
"But there's absolutely nothing stupid, naive or weak about you," he spoke quietly. That suddenly disarmed her - he was being sincere. "And if they see the truth like I see it, Miss Carson, they'll put you in the hole and throw away the key."
What truth exactly?
Olivia's breath got stuck in her throat, but it was too late. He heard her. "That Louisiana doesn't just have a King. We are in this mess because we seem to have a Queen too."
Eric strolled the grand hallways of the palace towards the front door alone, hearing the echoes of his own feet. There was a cold breeze blowing in from the open windows, bringing the aromas of the fresh roses blooming in the garden. He checked his phone again, for the millionth time. He couldn't help it ever since Olivia forced his secret out of him in the presence of prying ears. He was painfully torn in two: there was absolutely nothing he wished more on this earth than to have Olivia here, lock the doors and spend an evening with her, dancing in the ballroom. Or that they would have another day or evening on the lake. Or just a plain night working at Fangtasia, where he would sit in the office pretending to do work, but really, he was watching her methodically count cash and note on the ledgers. He longed for the mundane, the safe, the simple. But he couldn't. She made sure of it.
The more he stayed near her, the more chances Alcide would have to strike. Eric stepped out the front doors, watching the big parade of Authority SUVs pull around in the horseshoe driveway. It was on nights like this, however, that he was thankful she wasn't here. The vehicle in the very middle of the lineup parked right in front of the steps. The tinted passenger window rolled down, revealing a blonde with sour eyes. For fucks-
"Get in." Nan Flanagan ordered.
Nothing could phase him anymore. "Respectfully, I owe too many people money to get into anyone's car. What do you want?"
She rolled her eyes, then begrudgingly opened the door and stepped out. She wore a white blouse and matching skirt, with cherry red heels that were wobbly in the fine gravel. "You are a real pain in my ass, do you know that?"
"Nothing brings me more joy," Eric stepped aside, letting Nan walk up the palace steps first. "Come inside," he invited her.
"Ah. At least you own this one," she muttered.
He now realized the last time Nan Flanagan visited his residence, Olivia owned it so she was stuck on the porch outside. Part of him wished he could transfer this place to her name immediately so he'd finally be left alone. There was an audible echo as she walked through the hallways. Her eyes scanned the palace, studying the decor curiously. Nan hadn't come for either the party or the inquisition, and this was her first time visiting the manor since he took over.
"Shall we talk in private?" She asked, eyes still taking inventory.
"There's no one here, just talk."
Nan raised a judgemental brow. "You live all alone? No nest or guests?"
Okay. Silver in the wound. "I have no friends, just allies and employees. Now, what the fuck did you come all the way down here for?"
"The Authority is interested in supporting your Central Bank if you can make this wolf problem go away quietly."
"Done. Is that all?"
"How?" She squinted, not letting him go so easily.
"Hmm, let's just say…" Eric clasped his hands behind his back. Being King, as he was starting to find out, was like playing chess but only seeing half the board. Still, he decided to play a risky game. "Russell Edgington sends his regards."
She took a step back. "Oh, fucking great. It's like you want Jorge Alonso to cut your head off."
Her reaction told him the Authority knew what Russell was doing in Mississippi with the wolves all along. And if they allowed it to happen once… They surely would allow it twice.
"He won't, because you won't let him. Russell is still gallivanting around, is he not?"
"That's not how it works, Northman. I make the terms, not you."
"It's cute that you believe that. Go back to your masters, and tell them I took care of it. Now get the fuck out of my house."
"Just because Godric anointed you King of this sandcastle, it doesn't mean you own the entire beach, fuckwad. You want me to fend off Jorge Alonso de San Diego, I have conditions. You think Russell did what he did for free?"
This was Nan. The one who got to see the whole board, who held all the cards. You can't win against the house. She always got what she wanted, one way or fucking another. "Spit it out."
"Willa Bur-"
"No!" A chill of burning rage ran down his arms. "Absolutely not. Don't even say her fucking name again."
Again, and again, it was as if he was stuck in this merry-go-round of nightmares.
The last time they had spoken, Nan had asked Eric to visibly court Willa Burrell, the Governor's daughter and help her career in politics so she would climb the Washington ladder and eventually vote for the Vampire Rights Amendments. Eric refused out of principle - the Authority could control a lot, but never again would they decide who he could pursue. Sylvie had died because of it, and Olivia would never, in a million years, be second fiddle to Willa fucking Burrell.
Nan's glare was ice cold. "You don't get to say no. You lied to me, Northman. You said you made her hate vampires."
"No, I said I leveraged Willa to get her father to fucking play ball. I never said she hated vampires."
Eh. It may have been implied.
He did scare the shit out of her though.
"You do realize all of this goes away if humans turn on us, right?"
He smiled. "Promise?"
"I wouldn't think this would be so funny for a King facing rumours like yours."
Eric locked his jaw. His mind went straight to Olivia.
"What rumours?"
Her eyes studied him this time. "There are rumours of a daywalker… Who looks a hell of a lot like you."
Oh fuck. Eric visibly rolled his eyes, masterfully playing the part. "Is the gossip mill running dry these days? Don't you people have anything else a bit more believable to entertain yourselves with, or is the fantasy part of the fun?"
She raised her chin. "So you deny it."
"Do you hear yourself right now?"
She pressed her lips shut, visibly disappointed she didn't catch his lies.
"Tell you what: you have been a monumental fucking pain in my very, very long existence," he stepped in closer, his voice dropping to a quiet whisper. "If I could day walk, you would be the first person I'd kill in their sleep. If you wake up tomorrow night, you have your answer."
"You can't threaten your way out of my terms, Northman. Willa Burrell must marry a vampire and become Senator and pass the amendment. She has the right pedigree, a likeable face, premium education and isn't a total moron. You may find it hard to believe but there aren't a lot of people in America who meet the criteria."
Eric took a deep breath, fighting every urge in his body to decapitate this woman right here and now. "James!" He roared.
Nan looked alarmed for a second, fearing an ambush. James walked into the ballroom from the East corridor, wearing his usual 90s button-up, black jeans and freshly gelled-up hair . "Yes, your Highness?"
"Nan Flannagan, James Tucker. James, meet the fucking devil."
The woman visibly scoffed at Eric.
"Nice to meet you, lady Satan," James half bowed.
"What the fuck am I supposed to do with him?"
"James, you have been reassigned. You are now to be the exclusive caretaker of Willa Burrell, in any romantic fashion she wishes. And trust me, she will wish it."
"It has to be someone of importance," Nan whined.
His patience blew its limits, as his fangs descended angrily. "Then make him fucking important!"
Nan balled her fists as she stared James down. "Fine," she hissed through her teeth. "But the Magister will want his pound of flesh about the drugs. You know how he is."
"I'll deal with it."
"You. Come with me," she nodded at James as she spun on her heels, then headed towards the main entrance.
James rushed to Eric's side. "What's this all about? Who's Willa Burrel and why exactly do I have to fuck her?"
The panic in his voice amused him. "The Governor's daughter. She'll like you."
Eric started to cross the hall towards the door, showing James on his way out, but the vampire followed behind his King, full of hesitation.
"Why me?"
"I thought it would be fitting since you like to be… Handsy."
James looked away, his gaze fixed on the floor and walked out the rest of the way out quietly. Eric watched him enter the SUV behind Nan's, and then the parade of cars progressed its way out of the property. Enjoying the peaceful quietness, he smelled the roses once again.
While he could.
"Time to find a pound of flesh."
The constant clicking of the money counter was usually soothing. Olivia loved making neat little piles of cash, and the sticky glitter getting all over her hands didn't even bother her anymore. But tonight it felt particularly dull. She had the decision tree sheet Mr. Cataliades made for her sitting on her lap, and she tried to memorize it while the machine ran. It was a tool to help her prepare for the deposition this week, with every question, answer and follow-up question the demon predicted the DA could possibly ask. It was like having an organized list of every mistake she'd ever made laid out neatly in her lap. The guilt and the shame alone would kill her in any other circumstance, but she knew the only way out of this was through.
Liv thought she was hallucinating at first when her eyes caught a glimpse of his blonde hair in the crowd. The security screens showed the club packed full of patrons, as it often was on Sunday nights. She then saw him on the TV again - Eric - walking by the bar, but he wasn't alone. A frail older man in a charcoal suit, matching cape and a black cane followed up behind him - the Magister.
Her heart started pounding in her chest, panic rattling her. He moved oddly, not stepping by gliding across the club floor. The myth had it wrong: The Grim Reaper carried a cane, not a scythe. Her eyes scanned the rest of the screens. Pamela wasn't in her throne up on the mezzanine, James was nowhere to be seen, and she suddenly couldn't recognize any bouncer posted on the floor. Her phone had no messages from unknown numbers. What the hell was happening?
It felt awful being subverted back to being untrusted. To be kept in the dark; having to observe secret plans unfold in the shadowy corners without her knowing what was next. It was her job to know everything. Their very survival may depend on it, or at least it's how she survived this long. Olivia knew she deserved to be outcast and exiled to some degree, but deep in her heart she had hoped he'd understand that he would trust her. She at least confessed what she did, she believed in them, and it was only fair.
Nothing about their world was fair.
Olivia was right back at the starting line, stuck in the carrousel, spinning round and round.
Eric and Jorge Alonso disappeared off camera after passing by the main bar. She knew exactly where they had gone: the basement. The cameras were purposefully not pointed at that door for a reason.
Olivia got up from her seat with her heart at the bottom of her stomach. Before she realized it her laptop was shut and her legs were moving towards the hallway. There was a traffic jam of dancers in the hallway, half of them entering and the other half leaving the cramped locker. They had almost twenty dancers at this point, and it still wasn't enough. She squeezed through, her head hurting from their loud thoughts.
"Hey! I'm punchin' out in five, can I get paid?" One of them called.
To them, Olivia was known as the payroll lady, and the dancers all got paid at the end of every shift they showed up for.
"Uhm sure, I'll be right back."
Hell, she didn't even remember if she locked the office door, or if she hid Mr. Cataliades decision tree of shame sheet. It all seemed incredibly trivial and unimportant compared to what could be happening downstairs - something terrible. She squeezed through the warm sweaty bodies of dancers, feeling the heat of their bodies suffocate her. Olivia shot down the stairs, shoving poor Crystal and Dawn out of the way when she reached the landing. A cold hard body collided with her, and Liv wasn't sure if she had walked into the metal door or a person.
"You can't go," a familiar voice spoke.
Olivia paused, slightly stunned. Jessica Hamby planted herself between Olivia and the basement door.
"Jessica, move!" Olivia demanded.
The vampire's small fangs popped out of her mouth and her nose scrunched as she hissed. "You can't go downstairs. Those are your Sheriff's orders!"
The two of them were in a stalemate. The people seated at the bar were beginning to stare, and Tara started taking more orders to distract them after giving the two redheads a snarky side-eye.
"What's happening downstairs?"
Jessica's face was stone cold. She was wearing the same black outfit all bartenders wore. Olivia had really lost control of this place. The carrousel spun faster. Never mind that Jessica was still underage serving alcohol at a bar while there was an army of cops in this city trying to put them behind bars - Jessica stood between Olivia and Eric and what could possibly be a life and death situation. She would never forgive herself if she lost him while standing here. She fought too hard, lost too much, to not belong with him.
"I ain't supposed to say."
"Do you know who I am?! When I tell you to fuckin' do something, you do it!"
The vampire stepped in closer. She had a beautiful doll-like face, with huge blue eyes and shiny copper hair. Jessica looked too ethereal to belong in a place like this. Liv could understand why Bill Compton would want to collect someone so beautiful.
"I know who you are. Pam calls you konugr skapa," Jessica used the same intonation as Eric and Pamela's mysterious dialect.
"Yes, yes, I'm sure Pamela has clever insults for me in every language."
The redhead shook her head. "Not an insult. It means King Maker."
Olivia had to bite her tongue as the words settled in the air. Her heartbeat was ringing in her ears, louder and faster than the beat of the music. Jessica knew exactly who she was in this place which only fueled her fear even more. "What's happening down there? Why is the Magister here?"
"I don't know," Jessica insisted. "All I know is that you ain't allowed down there when it happens and that I'm supposed to stop you."
"When what happens?"
Bad things happened when Eric measured his words. World-ending things took place when Eric hid things from her. But this? This she didn't even see coming at all. It was pure luck she caught Eric on the TV screen by the corner of her eye.
All of a sudden Jessica hurled forward, letting out a pained moan like a wounded animal. When she stood back up, the vampire gasped for air with crimson tears running down her porcelain face.
"Jessica?"
Olivia held the vampire by her cold bare arms, looking for blood stains on her chest - was she shot? Was she hurt? She glanced at Tara, about to ask for help, but the bartender was too busy arguing with a customer whose card declined.
The vampire in her arms choked. "Bill-"
A chill ran up Olivia's spine. As if being summoned by higher powers Jessica shot away from her arms and down the basement without a warning. Olivia was left facing the unobstructed and wide-open door leading to the steps that disappeared in the darkness. The wet damp air invited her in. Nothing good ever happened down there.
Liv didn't walk. She ran.
The stage was set. Eric pushed the latch of the secret compartment open, feeling Jorge Alonso leering over his shoulder, almost vibrating in excitement for the show. It's all he wanted really - the flair and the drama he so-called justice. Inside the dusty basement, the lights were on, which meant Pamela was already waiting for them. The concrete floor was covered in red puddles of Red River water. There was a significant trail of mud smeared from the tunnel at the back of the room all the way to the center. The air smelled foul like stale swamp water and decay. Pamela stood near the center stage at the gear spikes, kicking a brown pile of mud with the pointy end of her stiletto.
"Wake up."
The pile groaned. As Eric and Jorge Alonso approached it, he could barely distinguish the dirt from the man. As per Eric's orders, Pamela had fished out Bill Compton from the bottom of the Red River. She fed him enough pig's blood to regain consciousness, then forced river clay down his throat, enough to fill his stomach, esophagus and throat to keep him from talking.
"What happened to him?" Alonso asked.
"When we uncovered the drug ring, Pamela hunted him down, wrapped him with silver and cement blocks and dropped him in the river a few weeks ago, at a particularly clay-rich spot."
Not entirely a lie, just the wrong reason and timeline. He had been at the bottom of the river for much, much longer.
"She apprehended Mr. Compton by herself?"
"Do not underestimate my bloodline, sir," Eric warned somberly.
The warning had no threat behind it - it was all part of the show. Nothing made the Magister happier than when ancient powerful vampires created strong and pure progenies.
He shot her a quick glance without hiding it - he was proud of the cold and vicious vampire he made, even if she didn't look her absolute best right now. Pam was wearing a brown jumpsuit and matching high-heeled boots, which he now realized were probably black but covered in mud. The fetching and feeding had been messier than they anticipated. Her hair was twisted up in a hair clip, but much of her body was covered in red-brown dirt. Her beautiful face was intact, which was commendable but not surprising. It was Pam.
"You owe me a new pair of shoes for fishin' him out," she groaned.
"I'll get you a whole new outfit and a Birkin bag."
"Just one?"
He smirked back at her. "Don't push it."
Eric crouched down to the floor to take a better look. Bill looked almost unrecognizable. His hands, which Eric had ripped out months prior before dropping him in the river, had mostly grown back but his fingers weren't entirely formed. There was a thick layer of clay covering his entire body, but Pam had wiped his face mostly clean. Judging by the brown slime running down his chest, he had started to throw up the clay all over himself.
"Hey there Billy boy," Eric smiled when his eyes finally focused on him. The blues were full of hatred. "As promised, your Honour."
"So you didn't kill him," Jorge Alonso pointed out sourly. "Your Grand Inquiry testimony was a lie."
"I don't trust those seated at the Grand Inquiry table," Eric stood back up, looking at Jorge Alonso's pitch-black eyes. "But I do trust you, your Honour. Your support and trust have never failed me."
He raised his chin, pleased. "For the record, I don't like my accused being punished before my judgment," Jorge Alonso then looked at Bill, visibly disgusted.
"This asshole has friends in high places, your Honour. The only way for you to judge him at all was to pretend that I had killed him. So Pamela had to hide him."
"And if it were up to me, I'd have left him at the bottom of the river for fuckin' eternity. Prick was sellin' drugs and tried to pin it on my Maker."
Pamela had always been a fantastic actress, and she played her part so beautifully. Bill groaned indistinguishable words, his throat and vocal cords still packed with mud.
"It is a pity that such an acclaimed talent would be mixed with such lowly acts of treason," Alonso lamented.
The Magister picked up his cane and unscrewed the bottom metal cap with his leather-gloved hands, revealing a sharp silver end. He forcibly poked Bill's thigh, piercing through the layer of mud and burning his flesh. Bill groaned loudly, but with the music blasting upstairs, no one would hear it. And for the record - the bug in the ceiling had been "accidentally" crushed between the gears the night prior. They were truly alone down here.
"He made his fortune being a procurer of luxury goods. What is not our blood, if not the most ultimate luxury," Eric buttered up the judge, who seemed to feel a little too much joy poking Bill with his silver-tipped cane.
"You sold hundreds, if not thousands of vials of our blood to fucking junkie humans…" Alonso was lost in a trance of his own, gnawing at Bill's body with his cane. "The most sacrilegious waste… And for what? Money? Could we be that simply… Bought?"
Alonso may take his pound of flesh literally.
Bill squirmed, his wrists still shackled to the metal spikes protruding from the ceiling. As he groaned in pain, red foam and more mud regurgitated from his mouth, which was not only a disgusting sight to see, but worrisome too. Pam and Eric glanced at each other. The Magister had to kill him before Bill managed to say a word.
"It sickens me, Magister, the more we discover about how Sophie-Anne ruled Louisiana," Pam whispered over his shoulder. "She didn't just let this happen without impunity, they worked together."
The cane moved from Bill's thigh upwards, digging into his stomach. The vampire thrashed between his chains, the cries of pain slowly forming words. Blood and watery slime bubbled out of the wounds.
"He harvested his own progeny, you know? An innocent newborn, and sold her pure virginal essence to humans. To addicts, drunk college kids and bored housewives," Pam continued.
"Blasphemy!" Alonso roared.
"And worse, it wasn't even for gold or real fucking money. It was made up of internet currency at a goddamn primitive black market-"
The magister decided his ruling. His elbow pulled away and with the strike of the sword, the silver-tipped cane pierced straight through Bill's heart. His throat let out one more guttural howl before his flesh became the same texture as the clay, melting through the mud, and turning him into a true pile of shit.
Farewell Bill Compton. Fucking prick.
A metallic noise blasted through the basement, the door had banged against the concrete wall wide open.
"Bill!" Jessica Hamby cried out, looking at the pile of mud that once was her Maker.
Eric and Pam locked eyes again. Hadn't she been drinking the blockers? She wasn't supposed to feel this. Pamela. Loyal to a fault, but fucking lazy.
Jorge Alonso watched the girl throw herself on the floor, her knees and hands deep in the dirt, flesh and blood, with what could only be described as pity. "Is that her? The progeny?"
"He did nothing wrong!" Jessica sobbed. "Bill, no…"
Her blue eyes pierced straight through Eric. He felt nothing. Bill put himself in the unfortunate position of wanting something that was Eric's. He was the most convenient pound of flesh there was to take the fall for this.
"Stockholm syndrome, I believe," sighed Pamela. The show must go on. "The poor girl doesn't know what being a vampire is supposed to be."
"Is this Compton's progeny? Get up child," Alonso demanded.
Jessica continued to scoop mud and guts with her bare hands as if trying to put Bill back together. Eric understood his love for Godric, and he knew the emptiness of losing a bonded one was overwhelming. He wished all the drugs they gave this poor girl had worked better, so she would at least be spared. Her existence under Bill was punishment enough.
"I said get up!" The cane wooshed through the air and smacked Jessica in the middle of her back. She cried out in pain but shakily complied. Her legs shook, barely keeping her own weight up.
A quiet shadow walked through the door. She walked in chin high, heartbeat strong.
"You shouldn't be here," Eric's words came out of his heart before he realized it.
Ordering Jessica to guard the door had been a two-fold choice: to keep both of them out.
The Magister luckily ignored Olivia's presence altogether. "Your blood, my child, runs through the veins of thousands of humans,"
Tears ran down Jessica's face, her shoulders slumped down. The light was gone from her eyes, she wasn't even listening. "This is all your fault."
Jessica was talking to Olivia.
"You are unnaturally bonded to hundreds of vampires who drank your blood. You were turned, siphoned and sold."
She shook her face. This was going off-script and off-rails. They managed to keep Bill from talking, but his progeny was going to undo it all.
"I don't know what they told you, but Bill had nothin' to do with this! It was all her!" She pointed her finger at Olivia.
"You naive child," Pam interrupted. "Yo Maker ain't what any of us thought he was."
"And you are used." Alonso decreed.
The magister wielded his cane of death again, striking Jessica Hamby in her heart.
Olivia gasped in shock. As the room watched Jessica's body come undone, Eric quietly walked over, positioning himself between Jorge Alonso and his Olivia. He knew whose judgment would be next.
Jessica's bodily remains showered over Bill's pile of guts and mud. It wasn't fair that she had been killed because of their lie, and he knew Olivia would hate the fact that another vampire had died because of them. But Eric didn't really feel like the villain of the story because of his choices; it was Olivia who simply didn't understand that other options were much, much worse.
The Magister turned around, his cold empty eyes focusing on Olivia. "You again."
Eric had no idea what the Magister would do to Olivia for intruding. He had killed humans for far less. Jorge Alonso raised his bloody cane and tapped Eric on the shoulder, ordering him to step aside. He begrudgingly obeyed, staying close to the Magister. Eric's fangs had quietly descended inside his mouth, ready to strike.
"Your dirty human hands are in everything, aren't they? You seem to be the red thread pulling it all together, everywhere. Curious, isn't it?" The Magister pointed the cane directly at Olivia, blood dripping from the sharp silver end. "Approach," he demanded.
Suddenly something whizzed through the air, shooting through the dark faster than his eyes could follow. Jorge Alonso took a jagged step forward, and his skin wilted into a dark gray leather, and suddenly his body became red clay too, exploding into a puddle right on top of Jessica and Bill.
Every cell in his body became alert. There was something down here in the darkness with them. Pamela and Eric hissed into the void, and Olivia took three steps back, her back to the wall.
"Shit," Olivia muttered from under her breath as if she knew exactly who lurked in the dark.
A shadow moved from the tunnel, and a hand slowly poked out into the faint light, holding a silver revolver. His yellow eyes followed after. Alcide Herveaux emerged from the tunnel in the very back of the basement, walking right through the unlocked cage door. Two more bodies followed behind him, armed and in black uniforms and sunglasses.
"Olivia, run!" Eric ordered.
"No one fucking move," Alcide ordered. "I have nine more silver bullets in the chamber, and one is all I need."
The air suddenly became thick with danger. Eric inhaled deeply, focusing past the horrifically putrid smell of mud and decay. Wolf, fear, adrenaline and human. The two cops Alcide brought into the lair were human. His eyes focused on them, trying to pull them into a glamour. Whatever shades they were wearing were impenetrable. The gun, the glasses and the silver bullets were new anti-vampire tech. And Eric was not going to gamble on whether or not he was bluffing - they all saw Jorge Alonso explode. Fuck. All the risks he took, all the moves he did on the board, all the blood he spilled - for nothing.
Pam, Olivia and Eric remained standing fifteen feet apart in a triangle. Pamela and Eric's eyes met briefly. They were always able to have entire conversations with just one look. Neither of them had ever faced silver bullets shooting out guns faster than their eyes could see.
"Alcide, what are you doing?" Olivia asked.
"I'm ending this right now."
"Why? My deposition is scheduled for Wednesday. You got me basically dead to rights, isn't that what you fucking wanted?"
That was Olivia. Handling the situation with the biggest balls in the room no matter how fucking dangerous or unpredictable things got.
Alcide's eyes glittered yellow, and his shoulders bulged under his clothes. The wolf in him was itching to come out. "There's only one thing I fuckin' want, and it ain't you."
It wasn't Olivia he was looking at. It was Eric.
"Sorry Alcide, I'm afraid you're not my type."
"Don't flatter yourself you dead fuck."
"Do y'all have any fuckin' idea who you just killed?" Pamela asked loudly. "None of you will make the fuckin' night."
"Nah, I'll take my odds," the wolf smiled.
"Alcide," Olivia called out again. "Don't do this. You already have me, okay? You were right! Is that what you wanted to hear?!"
Right about what?
"Olivia, fuck you. I told you so many times to get out, but you made your fucking bed over and over again, what did you think it was going to happen?"
"What do you want?" Eric asked, sick of his game already.
"I want some goddamn justice, Northman. That's what I want."
"God! You're so fucking self-righteous. Debbie hated that about you, you know?" Pamela poked the wolf.
"Don't fucking say her name!" Alcide roared.
Eric glared at Pam. Chill out.
"Get this over with Alcide, I don't have all night," Eric waved his hand.
Alcide pointed his gun at Olivia, and Eric almost jumped at the wolf in the same breath. "Going after you is a gamble in court. The judge won't like that you compromised me-"
"That I compromised you?" She chuckled angrily.
"I know how you think Olivia-"
"I can guarantee that you don't," her voice was annoyed. If he only knew.
"You will do whatever it takes to come out on top, no matter who falls. It's who you are. You're just like him."
The silver gun then moved to Pam. Eric took a step forward, and the two human police officers pointed their guns right at his chest. He had to stop. This had all gone too far.
"We just caught you conspiring and aiding the murder of Bill Compton for selling Hep-V to your previous superior, who let me take a wild fuckin' guess, you also murdered. The DEA has a shitload of evidence of a multi-million dollar mail-order drug scheme operating out of Louisiana, and now I have two witnesses that can tie you to it."
"And you," the silver gun then moved across the room and pointed directly at Eric. "You murdered Debbie Pelt, Patrick Furnan, and so many others, but I got nothing on you."
"Congrats, you're shitty at your job."
"Maybe you're right. But I'm gonna get my pound of flesh either way."
You can't orchestrate the reckoning. When it comes for you, it comes either way. This was the real and third act of their horror show.
"I'll give you two options. Option one: if you confess to all the shit you've done, I'll arrest you, take you in and it all ends right now."
There were no pins to drop in the room; it was so quiet. Alcide Hervaux was a smart man. He knew Eric wouldn't take the bait. What would happen if he agreed? What if he said no? Would he kill them? The King weighed out the risks: would the Alpha wolf really kill suspects his precinct was actively investigating with witnesses present? Would he kill his own suspects - just to stick it to Eric? Was the Shreveport police so crooked that he would get away with this?
"No judge worth their salt would accept a confession even if I gave you one," he shook his head. "And if you had any supporting evidence at all, you could arrest me right now. So kindly, go fuck yourself."
Alcide laughed. "I want you ladies to remember that the fuckin' vamp you risk your lives for passed on this option because he's incapable of taking the fall himself. He's more than glad to watch you two take the fall and I want you to remember this for the rest of your fuckin' miserable lives. And to prove my point…"
Alcide then crouched down and placed the gun on the floor. In one smooth movement, he slid the gun over in a straight line to Eric's feet. The wolf stood back up tall.
Eric could swear he could smell vineyard grapes in the air. He's been here before. It was happening again.
"The second choice is to either kill Pamela, Olivia, or yourself."
Ah. The third option was new. His eyes were transfixed on the silver gun by his foot, glistening in the dark.
"You're insane," Olivia's voice trembled.
"Pick up the gun!" Hervaux growled.
"Eric don't," Pamela whispered.
Olivia and Pam looked at him without breathing. The two armed cops looked at them, one gun pointed at each. The two people he loved the most. It was happening again, but different. The gun looked so clean on the dirty floor, so alluring. He had been given a third choice this time, a choice that was denied to him before.
"Pick up the gun or they both die."
He had to do it. Bending over, he picked up the warm handle. The gun was heavier than it looked. Its weight was the true price of power. Eric looked at Pamela, tears running down her beautiful porcelain face. They had 118 years together. She looked at him exactly the same way she had 32 years ago in France. So much sorrow. This was going to be painful for her too.
"Now choose. If you kill either of them, I will arrest you for killing a trial suspect and for obstruction of justice. Kill yourself, and this ends right now. They both walk."
He studied the gun in his hand, the handle fitting so perfectly in his palm. This gun was also the price he paid for loving someone. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. They were supposed to be together forever. He swore this would never happen again. He swore to protect her, not once he was able to do it. Why? Why does everything always repeat itself? What mistake does he keep making to find himself here again?
"Eric, please," Olivia said calmly, their bond enveloping like a hug.
His arm stretched, the gun pointing at her chest. The air stopped moving. The world stopped spinning. His index pulled the trigger once, twice, three times. Each time his soul became emptier, became nothing. The chamber exploded, the sound ricocheting in the dark, deafening his own thoughts, killing his own heart. It wasn't supposed to end this way.
Olivia fell to her knees.
Then toppled over.
Dead.
An: spicehoney has entered witness protection after this chapter.
xoxo
(you trusted me this far, hang in there. see u next month)