Шарлин Харрис: Dead Reckoning

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.