Dead Reckoning (36 page)

“You may go.” Eric, smeared with blood, was still very much the ruler. “You answered my call and did your jobs. You’ll be rewarded.”

Palomino, Rubio, and Parker mutually assisted each other to the back door. From their expressions, I was sure they hoped Eric didn’t call them in again for a long, long time, no matter what the reward might be.

Indira crawled over to Thalia to apply Thalia’s severed arm to its shoulder with force. She held it there, beaming. Indira was the happiest person in the club.

“Will that work?” I asked Pam, nodding at the shoulder-arm conjunction. Pam was wiping the bloody sword on Akiro’s clothing. His throat was almost gone; wounded parts disintegrate more quickly than uninjured parts.

“Sometimes,” she said, shrugging. “Since Thalia is so old, there’s a chance. It’s less painful and time-consuming than regeneration.”

“Thalia, can I get you some blood?” I didn’t think I’d ever been brave enough to address Thalia directly, but I could sure bring her some bottled blood and be glad to do it. She looked up at me, her eyes full of involuntary tears. It was obvious she was forcing herself to hold still. “Not unless you want to donate yourself,” she said in her heavily accented English. “But Eric wouldn’t be pleased if I drank from you. Immanuel, give me a mouthful?”

“All right,” he said. The skinny hairdresser looked more than a little dazed.

“You sure?” I asked. “You don’t quite seem yourself.”

“Hell, yes,” Immanuel said unconvincingly. “The guy who killed my sister is dead. I’m feeling good.”

He didn’t look it, but I was sure I didn’t, either. I’d said as much as I could, so I sat by while Immanuel crouched awkwardly before Thalia’s chair. The height differential was not in their favor. Thalia wrapped her good arm around Immanuel’s neck and sank her fangs in without any further discussion. The expression on Immanuel’s face went from bleak to blissful.

Thalia was a noisy eater.

Indira squatted beside her in her blood-drenched sari, patiently holding the severed limb to its source. As Thalia drank, I noticed that the arm looked more and more natural. The fingers flexed. I was astonished, but it was only one more extreme event during an evening of them.

Pam looked a little put out once her victory celebration with Eric was over and she saw that Immanuel was offering his blood to someone else. She asked Mustapha if he’d give her a drink, and he shrugged. “Comes with the job,” he said, pulling down the neck of his black T-shirt. Pam looked incredibly white against Mustapha, and Mustapha’s teeth bared in a grimace when she bit in. He, too, looked happier after a second.

Eric came over to me, beaming. I had never been more undilutedly glad that our bond was broken, because I didn’t want to feel what he was feeling, even a little bit. He put his arms around me, kissed me with enthusiasm, and all I could smell was blood. He was wet with it. It was getting all over my dress and my arms and my chest.

After a minute he drew back, frowning. “Sookie?” he said. “You’re not rejoicing?”

I tried to think of what to say. I felt like a big fat hypocrite. “Eric, I’m glad we don’t have to worry about Victor anymore. And I know this was what we planned. But surrounded by dead people and body parts is not my idea of a good place for a celebration, and I’ve never been less horny in my life.”

His eyes narrowed. He didn’t like my raining on his parade. Understandable.

And that was the thing, wasn’t it? I found all of this
understandable
. But I still hated it, hated myself, wasn’t too fond of anyone else. “You need some blood,” I said. “I really am sorry you were wounded, and you go ahead and take some.”

“You are being a hypocrite, and I will take blood,” he said, and he struck.

It hurt. He didn’t make it feel good, an action almost automatic for a vampire. Tears ran down my face without my wanting them to. In an odd way, I felt the pain was merited, justified—but I also understood this was a turning point in our relationship.

Our relationship had been marked by a thousand turning points, seemed like.

Then Bill stood at my shoulder, staring at Eric’s mouth on my throat. His expression was complex: rage, resentment, longing.

I was ready for something simple, and I was ready for the pain to stop. My eyes met Bill’s.

“Sheriff,” Bill said. His voice had never been smoother. Eric twitched, and I knew he’d heard Bill, knew Eric realized he should stop. But he didn’t.

I shook myself free of the lethargy and self-loathing, grabbed hold of Eric’s earlobe, and pinched as hard as I could.

He detached with a gasp. His mouth was bloody.

“Bill’s gonna take me home,” I said. “We’ll talk tomorrow night. Maybe.”

Eric bent down to kiss me, but I flinched. Not with that bloody mouth.

“Tomorrow,” Eric said, his eyes searching my face. He turned away and called, “Listen up, people! We have to start cleaning the club.”

They groaned like kids told to pick up their toys. Immanuel went to Colton and helped him up. “You can stay at my place,” Immanuel said. “It’s not too far.”

“I won’t sleep,” Colton answered. “Audrina’s dead.”

“We’ll get through the night,” Immanuel told him.

The two human men left Fangtasia, their shoulders slumped with exhaustion and grief. I wondered how they felt about their vengeance now that it had been accomplished, but I knew I’d never ask them. I might never see them again.

Bill put his arm around me as I stumbled a little, and I found myself glad he was there to help me. I knew I couldn’t have driven myself. I found my purse, still with a couple of stakes inside, and I pulled my keys out of an inside pocket.

“Where did Bubba go?” I asked.

“He likes to go hang around the old Civic Auditorium,” Bill said. “He used to perform there. He’ll dig a hole, sleep in the ground.”

I nodded. I was too tired to say anything.

Bill didn’t speak again the whole way home, which was a blessing. I stared through the windshield into the black night, wondering how I’d feel tomorrow. That had been a lot of killing, and it had been so fast and bloody—like watching one of those violence-porn movies. I’d seen a few seconds of one of the
Saw
movies when I was at Jason’s house. That had been enough for me.

I fully believed that Victor had set this in motion with his own intransigence. If Felipe had put someone else in charge of Louisiana, the whole catastrophe wouldn’t have occurred. Maybe I could blame Felipe? No, the buck had to stop here.

“What are you thinking of?” Bill said as we were going down my driveway.

“I’m thinking about blame and guilt and assassination,” I said.

He simply nodded. “Me, too. Sookie, you know that Victor did his best to provoke Eric.”

We’d parked behind the house, and I turned to him questioningly, my hand on the car door handle.

“Yes,” Bill said. “He was doing his best to provoke Eric to act, so that he could kill Eric without having to justify it. It’s only because of superior planning that Eric has survived and Victor has not. I know that you love Eric.” His voice remained calm and cool as he said this, and only the lines around his eyes told me how much it cost him. “You have to be glad, and maybe tomorrow you will be glad, that this situation has ended the way it has.”

I pinched my mouth together for a second while I formed my response. “I’d rather Eric be alive than Victor,” I said. “True enough.”

“And you know violence was the only way to achieve that result.”

I could even see that. I nodded.

“So why the second-guessing?” Bill said. He was calling me on my reaction.

I let go of the door handle and turned to face him. “It was bloody and ghastly, and people suffered,” I said, surprised by the anger in my voice.

“Did you think Victor would die without bleeding? Did you think Victor’s people wouldn’t do their best to prevent his death? Did you think that no one would die?”

His voice was so calm and nonjudgmental that I didn’t get angry. “Bill, I never believed any of those things. I’m not naïve. But seeing is always different from planning.”

Abruptly, I was tired of this topic. It had happened, it was done, I had to find a way to get over it. “Have you met the Queen of Oklahoma?” I asked him.

“Yes,” he said, a definite note of caution in his voice. “Why do you ask?”

“Before he died, Appius sort of gave Eric to her.”

This did shock Bill. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. He finally told me after Pam did everything but stick her hand up his ass and wiggle her fingers to make him talk.”

Bill turned away, but not before I saw the smile he was trying to suppress. “Pam’s very determined when she wants Eric to take a particular course of action. Did Eric tell you what he intends to do about this situation?”

“He’s trying to get out of it, but evidently Appius signed something. When Appius told me before he died that I’d never keep Eric, I didn’t know that was what he meant. I thought he meant Eric wouldn’t want to fool with me when I got old and wrinkled, or that we’d quarrel and break up, or that . . . Oh, I don’t know. Something would happen to separate us.”

“And now something has.”

“Well . . . yes.”

“You know that he’ll have to put you aside if he marries the queen? Eric can certainly feed off humans if he’s married to a royal, and he can even have a pet human, but he can’t have a wife.”

“That’s what he gave me to understand.”

“Sookie . . . don’t do anything rash.”

“I already broke the bond.”

After a long pause, Bill said, “That’s a good thing, because the bond was risky for both of you.” Not exactly news.

“I sort of miss having the connection,” I confessed, “but at the same time it’s a relief.”

Bill didn’t say anything. Very carefully.

“Have you ever . . . ?” I asked.

“Once, long ago,” he said. He didn’t want to talk about it.

“Did it end well?”

“No,” he said. His voice was flat and didn’t invite me to continue that line of conversation. “Let it go, Sookie. I’m telling you this not as a former lover, but as a friend. Let Eric make up his own mind about this. Don’t ask him questions. Though we can’t stand each other, I know Eric will try his best to get out of this situation simply because he loves his freedom. Oklahoma is very beautiful, and Eric loves beauty, but he already has that in you.”

I must be feeling better if I could appreciate a compliment. I wondered what the queen’s real name was. Often the ruler was called by the name of the land she ruled; Bill hadn’t meant that the state was beautiful, but that the woman who ruled its night creatures was.

When I didn’t respond, Bill continued, “She also has a lot of power. That is, she has territory, minions, real estate, oil money.” And we both knew Eric loved power. Not complete power—he’d never wanted to be a king—but he loved being able to call the shots in his own bailiwick.

“I get what power is,” I said. “And I get that I don’t have it. You want to take the car to your house, or leave it here and go through the woods?”

He handed the keys to me and said, “I’ll go through the woods.”

There was nothing more to be said.

“Thanks,” I told him. I opened the porch door, stepped in, locked it behind me. I unlocked the back door and went in, switching on the kitchen light. There was a quiet emptiness to the house, which I found immediately soothing, and the air conditioners were doing their best to make everything cool.

Though I’d come out of the fight at Fangtasia better than anyone, at least physically, I felt battered and bruised. I’d be sore the next day. I unbuckled the big belt and returned the cluviel dor to my makeup drawer. I pulled off the stained dress, went to the back porch to toss it in the washing machine on cold soak, and got in the shower, turning the water as hot as I could bear it. When I’d scrubbed myself all over, I changed the temperature to cool. I was delightfully clean and fresh when I got out to dry myself.

I wondered if I would start crying or praying or sitting in a corner with my eyes wide open the rest of the night. But none of those reactions set in. I got into bed feeling relieved, as if I’d had a successful surgery or as if a biopsy had turned out well.

I thought, as I curled into a ball and composed myself for sleep, that the fact that I could sleep tonight was almost more frightening than anything else.

All the women in my living room were happy. Some of them were happier
than others, true, but none of them were miserable. They were there to give gifts to someone who deserved them, and they were happy that Tara was expecting twins. All the yellow and green and blue and pink tissue paper mounded up in an almost overwhelming way, but Tara was getting a lot of things she needed and wanted.

Dermot was unobtrusively helping with the refreshments and bagging up the torn gift paper to keep the floor clear. Some of my older guests were definitely at the tottering stage, so we didn’t need anything on the floor that might cause them to slip. JB’s mom and grandmother were here, and his grandmother was seventy-five if she was a day.

When Dermot had come to the back door earlier, I’d let him in and gone back to my coffee without a word. As soon as he was in the door, I felt measurably better. Maybe I hadn’t noticed the contrast these past few weeks because I’d been so wrapped up in the blood bond? I’d been under the influence of a lot of supernatural things. I couldn’t say it felt better to be just myself, but it certainly made me feel more in touch with reality.

Once my guests had gotten a good look at Dermot and realized how much he looked like Jason, there’d been a lot of raised eyebrows. I’d told them he was a distant cousin from Florida, and I’d heard from a lot of brains that ladies were going to be consulting their family trees to find a Florida connection for my family.