Dead Reckoning (22 page)

“How?” I scrambled to conceal how flustered I was.

“First I asked Octavia. She didn’t know, because she doesn’t specialize in vampire magic, but she e-mailed a couple of her older friends in other covens, and they scouted around. It all took time, and there were some dead ends, but eventually I came up with a spell that doesn’t end in the death of one of the . . . bondees.”

“I’m stunned,” I said, which was the absolute truth.

“Shall I cast it tonight?”

“You mean . . . right now?”

“Yes, after supper.” Amelia looked slightly less happy because she wasn’t getting the response she’d anticipated. Bob was looking from Amelia to me, and he, too, looked doubtful. He’d assumed I’d be both delighted and effusive, and that wasn’t the reaction he was seeing.

“I don’t know.” I put my fork down. “It wouldn’t hurt Eric?”

“As if anything can hurt a vampire that old,” she said. “Honestly, Sook, why you’re worrying about him . . .”

“I love him,” I said. They both stared at me.

“For real?” Amelia said in a small voice.

“I told you that before you left, Amelia.”

“I guess I just didn’t want to believe you. You sure you’ll feel that way when the bond is dissolved?”

“That’s what I want to find out.”

She nodded. “You need to know. And you need to be free of him.”

The sun had just set, and I could feel Eric rising. His presence was with me like a shadow: familiar, irritating, reassuring, intrusive. All those things at once.

“If you’re ready, do it now,” I said. “Before I lose all courage.”

“This is actually a good time of day to do it,” she said. “Sunset. End of the day. Endings, in general. It makes sense.” Amelia hurried to the bedroom. She returned in a couple of minutes with an envelope and three little jars: jelly jars in a chrome rack, like the kind a waitress in a diner puts on the table at breakfast. The jars were half-full of a mixture of herbs. Amelia was now wearing an apron. I could see that there were objects in one of the pockets.

“All right,” she said, and handed the envelope to Bob, who extracted the paper and scanned it quickly, a frown on his narrow face.

“Out in the yard,” he suggested, and we three left the kitchen, crossed the back porch, and went down into the yard, smelling the steak all over again as we passed my old grill. Amelia positioned me in one spot, Bob in another, and then positioned the jelly jars, too. Bob and I each had one on the ground behind us, and there was one at the spot where she would stand. We’d form a triangle. I didn’t ask any questions. I probably wouldn’t have believed the answers, anyway.

She gave me a book of matches and handed one to Bob, too. She kept a third for herself. “When I tell you, set fire to your herbs. Then walk counterclockwise around your jar three times,” she said. “Stop at your station again after the third time. Then we’ll say some words—Bob, you got ’em in your head? Sookie’ll need the paper.”

Bob looked at the words again, nodded, and passed me the paper. I could just read the script by the security light, because the evening was closing in fast now that the sun was down.

“Ready?” Amelia asked sharply. She looked older and colder in the twilight.

I nodded, wondering if I was being truthful.

Bob said, “Yes.”

“Then turn and light your fire,” Amelia said, and like a robot I did as I was told. I was scared to death, and I wasn’t sure why. This was what I needed to do. My match struck and I dropped it in the jelly jar. The herbs flared up with a sharp smell, and then we three were upright again and moving counterclockwise.

Was this a bad thing for a Christian to be doing? Probably. On the other hand, it had never occurred to me to ask the Methodist minister if he had a ritual in place to sever a blood bond between a woman and a vampire.

And when we’d been around three times and stopped again, Amelia pulled a ball of red yarn from her apron. She held one end and passed the ball to Bob. He measured out some and took hold and then passed the ball to me. I did the same and returned the ball to Amelia, because that seemed to be the program. I held the yarn with one hand and gripped the paper with the other. This was busier than I had counted on. Amelia also had a pair of shears, and she extracted those from a pocket, too.

Amelia, who had been chanting the whole time, pointed at me and then at Bob, to indicate that we should join in. I peered down at the paper, picked my way through the words that made no sense to me, and then it was over.

We stood in silence, and the little flames in the jars died out, and the night had set in hard.

“Cut,” Amelia said, handing me the shears. “And mean it.”

Feeling a little ridiculous and a lot scared, but sure that I needed to do this, I snipped the red yarn.

And I lost Eric.

He wasn’t there.

Amelia rolled up the cut yarn and handed it to me. To my surprise, she was smiling; she looked fierce and triumphant. I took the length of yarn automatically from her hand, all my senses stretching out to seek Eric. Nothing.

I felt a rush of panic. It wasn’t entirely pure: There was some relief mixed in, which I had expected. And there was grief. As soon as I was sure he was okay, that he hadn’t been hurt, I knew I would relax and feel the full measure of the success of the spell.

In the house, my phone rang, and I sprinted for the back door.

“Are you there?” he said. “Are you there, are you all right?”

“Eric,” I said, my breath coming out in a great ripping sigh. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re all right! You are, aren’t you?”

“What have you done?”

“Amelia found a way to break the bond.”

There was a long silence. Before, I would have known if Eric was anxious, furious, or thoughtful. Now, I couldn’t imagine. Finally, he spoke.

“Sookie, the marriage gives you some protection, but the bond is what is important.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I am so angry with you.” He really meant it.

“Come here,” I said.

“No. If I see Amelia, I’ll break her neck.” He meant that, too. “She’s always wanted you to get rid of me.”

“But . . .” I began, not knowing how to end the sentence.

“I’ll see you when I’ve got control of myself,” he said. And he hung up.

I should have foreseen this, I told myself for the tenth, or twentieth,
time. I’d rushed into something that I should have prepared for. At the least, I should have called Eric and warned him what was about to happen. But I’d been afraid he’d talk me out of it, and I had to know what my true feeling for him was.

Just at the moment, Eric’s true feeling for me was anger. He was mighty pissed off. On the one hand, I didn’t blame him. We were supposed to be in love, and that meant we were supposed to consult one another, right? On the other hand, I could count the times Eric had consulted me without even using up all my fingers. On one of my hands. So at other moments, I did blame him for his reaction. Of course he wouldn’t have let me do it, and I would never have known something I had to know.

So I was hopping from foot to foot mentally when it came to deciding whether I’d done the right thing.

But I was upset and worried pretty much nonstop, no matter which foot I was standing on at the moment.

Bob and Amelia had a consultation in their bedroom, as a result of which they decided to stay another day to “see what happens.” I could tell Amelia was worried. She thought she ought to have eased into the idea a little more slowly before encouraging me to take the plunge. Bob thought we were both being silly, but he was smart enough not to say so. However, he couldn’t help but think it, and though he wasn’t as clear a broadcaster as Amelia, I could hear him.

I did go to work the next day, but I was so distracted and miserable, and business was so light, that Sam told me to go home early. India kindly patted me on the shoulder and told me to take it easy, a concept I had a lot of trouble understanding.

That night, Eric came an hour after sundown. He drove up, so we’d have warning. I’d hoped he would come, and I’d been pretty sure he would have cooled off enough. Right after supper, I’d asked Amelia and Bob if they’d like to go to a movie in Clarice.

“You sure you’ll be all right?” Amelia had asked. “Because we’re ready to stay with you if you think he’s still angry.” If she’d been pleased before, it had vanished now.

“I don’t know how he feels,” I said, and I was still a little giddy at the thought. “But I do think he’ll come tonight. It’d probably go better if he didn’t have you here to make him madder.”

Bob had bristled a little at that, but Amelia had nodded understandingly. “I hope you still think of me as your friend,” she said, and for once I didn’t see her thoughts coming. “I mean, I think I’ve screwed you up, but that wasn’t my intention. I intended to free you.”

“I understand, and I still think of you as one of my best friends,” I said as reassuringly as I could manage. If I was weak-willed enough to go along with Amelia’s impulses, then it was my problem.

I was sitting alone on my front porch in that gloomy kind of mood where you remember all of your mistakes and none of your good decisions when I saw the headlights of Eric’s car zooming up the driveway.

I didn’t expect that he would hesitate when he got out of the car.

“Are you still mad?” I said, trying not to cry. Weeping would be craven, and I was forcing some steel into my backbone.

“Do you still love me?” he asked.

“You first.” Childish.

“I’m not angry,” he said. “At least, not anymore. At least, not right now. I should have encouraged you to find a way to break the bond, and in fact we have a ritual for it. I should have offered it to you. I was afraid that without it we would be parted, whether because you didn’t want to be dragged into my troubles or because Victor found out you were vulnerable. If he chooses to ignore the marriage, without the bond I won’t know that you are in danger.”

“I should have asked you what you thought, or at least warned you what we were going to do,” I said. I took a deep breath. “I do love you, all on my own.”

And he was up on the porch with me, and then he was picking me up and kissing me, my lips, my neck, my shoulders. He held my feet off the ground and lifted me high enough that his mouth could find my breasts through my bra and T-shirt.

I gave a little shriek and swung my legs until they latched around him. I rubbed against him as hard as I could. Eric loved monkey sex.

He said, “I’m going to tear your clothes.”

“Okay.”

And he was as good as his word.

After an exciting few minutes, he said, “I’m tearing mine, too.”

“Sure,” I mumbled, before I bit his earlobe. He growled. There was nothing civilized about sex with Eric.

I heard more ripping, and then there was nothing at all between me and him. He was inside me, deep inside me, and he staggered backward to land on the porch swing, which began rocking back and forth erratically. After a moment of surprise we began working with its motion. It went on and on until I could feel the increased tension, the almost-there feeling of impending release.

“Go
hard
,” I said urgently. “Go go go . . .”

“Is . . . this . . . hard . . . enough?”

And I shrieked out loud, my head falling back.

“Come on, Eric,” I said, when my aftershocks were still rippling through me. “Come
on
!” And I moved faster than I’d imagined I was able.

“Sookie!” he gasped, and gave me one last huge thrust followed by a sound that I might have thought was primal pain if I hadn’t known much better.

It was magnificent, it was exhausting, and it was completely excellent.

We stayed on the swing for at least thirty minutes, recovering, cooling off, and holding each other. I was so happy and relaxed I didn’t want to move, but of course I needed to go inside to clean myself up and to put on some clothes that didn’t have the seams ripped out. Eric had only popped the button off his jeans, and he could hold them closed with his belt, which he’d managed to unbuckle before we’d gotten to the tearing stage. His zipper was still workable.

While I arranged myself, he heated up some blood and fixed an ice pack and a glass of iced tea for me. He applied the ice pack himself while I lay on the couch. I thought,
I was right to break the bond
. And it was a relief not to know how Eric was feeling, though simultaneously I was afraid there was something wrong about my relief.

For a few minutes, we talked about little things. He brushed my hair, which was in a terrible tangle, and I brushed his. (Monkeys searched each other for salt crystals, I believed. We groomed each other.) When I’d made his hair all smooth and shiny he draped my legs over his lap. His hand ran up and down them, from the hem of my shorts to my toes, over and over.

“Has Victor said anything to you?” I wasn’t looking forward to reopening the conversation about what I’d done, though we’d opened our meeting with a bang.

“Not about the bond, so he doesn’t know yet. He would have been on the phone instantly.” Eric leaned his head against the back of the couch, his blue eyes at half mast. Postcoital relaxation.

That was a relief. “How’s Miriam? Did she recover?”

“She recovered from the drugs Victor gave her, but she’s sicker in body. Pam is as close to despair as I’ve ever seen her.”

“Did their relationship come on kind of slowly? Because I didn’t have a clue until Immanuel told me about it.”

“Pam doesn’t often care for anyone as much she cares about Miriam,” he said. His head turned slowly, and his eyes met mine. “I only found out when she asked for some time off from the club to visit Miriam in the hospital. And she gave the girl blood, too, which is the only reason Miriam’s lasted this long.”