Sookie 08 From Dead To Worse (26 page)

Maryelizabeth had a tattered old book in her hand, and she opened it to a page she'd marked with a torn piece of newspaper. The community seemed to still and settle. This was the purpose for which they'd assembled.

"We people of the fang and claw are here because one of us broke her vows," Maryelizabeth read. "At the marriage of Crystal and Jason, werepanthers of this community, they each promised to remain true to their marriage vows, both in the way of the cat and the way of the human. Crystal's surrogate was her uncle Calvin, and Jason's was his sister, Sookie."

I was aware of the eyes of all the assembled community moving from Calvin to me. A lot of those eyes were golden yellow. Inbreeding in Hotshot had produced some slightly alarming results.

"Now that Crystal has broken her vows, a fact witnessed by the surrogates, her uncle has offered to take the punishment since Crystal is pregnant."

This was going to be even nastier than I'd suspected.

"Since Calvin takes Crystal's place, Sookie, do you choose to take Jason's place?"

Oh,
crap.
I looked at Calvin and I knew my whole face was asking him if there was any way out of this. And his whole face told me no. He actually looked sorry for me.

I would never forgive my brother—or Crystal—for this.

"Sookie," Maryelizabeth prompted.

"What would I have to do?" I said, and if I sounded sullen and grudging and angry, I thought I had a good reason.

Maryelizabeth opened the book again and read the answer. "We exist by our wits and our claws, and if faith is broken, a claw is broken," she said.

I stared at her, trying to make sense of that.

"Either you or Jason has to break Calvin's finger," she said simply. "In fact, since Crystal broke the faith completely, you have to break two, at least. More would be better. Jason gets to pick, I guess."

More would be better.
Jesus Christ, Shepherd of Judea. I tried to be dispassionate. Who could cause the most damage to my friend Calvin? My brother, no doubt about it. If I was a true friend to Calvin, I would do this. Could I bring myself to? And then it was taken out of my hands.

Jason said, "I didn't think it would happen this way, Sookie." He sounded simultaneously angry, confused, and defensive. "If Calvin stands in for Crystal, I want Sookie to stand in for me," he told Maryelizabeth. I never thought I could hate my own brother, but at that moment I found out it was possible.

"So be it," said Maryelizabeth.

I tried to boost myself up mentally. After all, this wasn't maybe quite as bad as I'd anticipated. I'd pictured Calvin being whipped or having to whip Crystal. Or we might have had to do some awful thing involving knives; that would have been way worse.

I tried to believe this might not be so bad right up until the time two of the males carried out a pair of concrete blocks and put them on top of the picnic table.

And then Maryelizabeth produced a brick. She held it out to me.

I began to shake my head involuntarily because I felt a heavy twinge in my stomach. Nausea did flip-flops in my belly. Looking at the common red brick, I began to have an idea what this was going to cost me.

Calvin stepped forward and took my hand. He leaned over to talk very close to my ear. "Darlin'," he said, "you have to do this. I accepted this, when I stood up for her when she married. And I knew what she was. And you know Jason. This might easily have been the other way 'round. I might be about to do this to you. And you don't heal as well. This is better. And it has to be. Our people require this." He straightened and looked me right in the eyes. His own were golden, utterly strange, and quite steady.

I pinched my lips together, and I made myself nod. Calvin gave me a bracing look and took his place by the table. He put his hand on the concrete blocks. With no further ado, Maryelizabeth handed me the brick. The rest of the panthers waited patiently for me to perform the punishment. The vampires would have dressed this all up with a special wardrobe and probably an extraspecial fancy brick from an old temple or something, but not the panthers. It was just a damn brick. I held it with both hands gripping one long side.

After I'd looked at it for a long minute, I said to Jason. "I don't want to talk to you again. Ever." I faced Crystal. "I hope you enjoyed it, bitch," I said, and I turned as quick as I could and brought the brick down on Calvin's hand.

Amelia and Octavia hovered around for two days before they decided leaving me alone was the best policy. Reading their anxious thoughts just made me surlier, because I didn't want to accept comfort. I should suffer for what I'd done, and that meant I couldn't accept any easing of my misery. So I gloomed and sulked and brooded and rained my grim mood all over my house.

My brother came into the bar once, and I turned my back on him. Dove Beck didn't choose to drink at Merlotte's, which was a good thing, though he was the least guilty of the bunch as far as I was concerned—though that didn't make him any clean Gene. When Alcee Beck came in, it was clear his brother had confided in him, because Alcee looked even angrier than usual, and he met my eyes every chance he got, just to let me know he was my equal.

Thank God, Calvin didn't show. I couldn't have stood it. I heard enough talk around the bar from his coworkers at Nor-cross about the accident he'd had while he was working on his truck at home.

Most unexpectedly, on the third night Eric walked into Merlotte's. I took one look at him and suddenly my throat seemed to ease and I felt tears well up in my eyes. But Eric walked through as though he owned the place, and he went into the hall to Sam's office. Moments later Sam stuck his head out and beckoned to me.

After I walked in, I didn't expect Sam to shut the office door.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked me. He'd been trying to find out for days, and I'd been fending off his well-meant queries.

Eric was standing to one side, his arms crossed over his chest. He made a gesture with one hand that said, "Tell us; we're waiting." Despite his brusqueness, his presence relaxed the big knot inside me, the one that had kept the words locked in my stomach.

"I broke Calvin Norris's hand into bits," I said. "With a brick."

"Then he was . . . He stood up for your sister-in-law at the wedding," Sam said, figuring it out quickly. Eric looked blank. The vampires know something about the wereanimals—they have to—but the vamps think they are far superior, so they don't make an effort to learn specifics about the rituals and rhythms of being a were.

"She had to break his hand, which represents his claws in panther form," Sam explained impatiently. "She stood up for Jason." And then Sam and Eric exchanged a look that scared me in its complete agreement. Neither of them liked Jason one little bit.

Sam looked from me to Eric as if he expected Eric to do something to make me feel better. "I don't belong to him," I said sharply, since all this was making me feel handled in a major way. "Did you think Eric coming would make me all happy and carefree?"

"No," Sam said, sounding a little angry himself. "But I hoped it would help you talk about whatever was wrong."

"What's wrong," I said very quietly. "Okay, what's wrong is that my brother arranged for Calvin and me to check on Crystal, who's about four months pregnant, and he fixed it so we'd get there at about the same time. And when we checked, we found Crystal in bed with Dove Beck. As Jason knew we would."

Eric said, "And for this, you had to break the werepanther's fingers." He might have been asking if I'd had to wear chicken bones and turn around three times, it was so obvious he was inquiring into the quaint customs of a primitive tribe.

"Yes, Eric, that's what I had to do," I said grimly. "I had to break my friend's fingers with a brick in front of a crowd."

For the first time Eric seemed to realize that he'd taken the wrong approach. Sam was looking at him in total exasperation. "And I thought you'd be such a big help," he said.

"I have a few things going in Shreveport," Eric answered with a shade of defensiveness. "Including hosting the new king."

Sam muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Fucking vampires."

This was totally unfair. I'd expected tons of sympathy when I finally confessed the reason for my bad mood. But now Sam and Eric were so wrapped up in being irritated with each other that neither one of them was giving me a moment's thought. "Well, thanks, guys," I said. "This has been a lot of fun. Eric, big help there—I appreciate the kind words." And I left in what my grandmother called high dudgeon. I stomped back out into the bar and waited on tables so grimly that some people were scared to call me over to order more drinks.

I decided to clean the surfaces behind the bar, because Sam was still in his office with Eric ... though possibly Eric had left out the back door. I scrubbed and polished and pulled some beers for Holly, and I straightened everything so meticulously that Sam might have a wee problem finding things. Just for a week or two.

Then Sam came out to take his place, looked at the counter in mute displeasure, and jerked his head to indicate I should get the hell out from behind the bar. My bad mood was catching.

You know how it is sometimes, when someone really tries to cheer you up? When you just decide that by golly, nothing in the world is going to make you feel better? Sam had thrown Eric at me like he was throwing a happy pill, yet he was aggravated that I hadn't swallowed it. Instead of being grateful that Sam was fond enough of me to call Eric, I was mad at him for his assumption.

I was in a totally black mood.

Quinn was gone. I'd banished him. Stupid mistake or wise decision? Verdict still out.

Lots of Weres were dead in Shreveport because of Priscilla, and I'd watched some of them die. Believe me, that sticks with you.

More than a few vampires were dead, too, including some I'd known fairly well.

My brother was a devious manipulative bastard.

My great-grandfather wasn't ever going to take me fishing.

Okay, now I was getting silly. Suddenly, I smiled, because I was picturing the prince of the fairies in old denim overalls and a Bon Temps Hawks baseball cap, carrying a can of worms and a couple of fishing poles.

I caught Sam's eye as I cleared a table of plates. I winked at him.

He turned away, shaking his head, but I caught a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

And just like that, my bad mood was officially over. My common sense kicked in. There was no point in lashing myself over the Hotshot incident any longer. I'd had to do what I'd had to do. Calvin understood that better than I did. My brother was an asshole, and Crystal was a whore. These were facts I had to deal with. Granted, they were both unhappy people who were acting out because they were married to the wrong spouse, but they were also both chronologically adults, and I couldn't fix their marriage any more than I'd been able to prevent it.

The Weres had dealt with their own problems in their own way, and I'd done my best to help them. Vampires, ditto ... sort of.

Okay. Not
all
better, but enough better.

When I got off work, I wasn't completely annoyed to find Eric waiting by my car. He seemed to be enjoying the night, standing all by himself in the cold. I was shivering myself because I hadn't brought a heavy jacket. My Windbreaker wasn't enough.

"It's been nice to be by myself for a while," Eric said unexpectedly.

"I guess at Fangtasia you're always surrounded," I said.

"Always surrounded by people wanting things," he said.

"But you enjoy that, right? Being the big kahuna?"

Eric looked like he was mulling that over. "Yes, I like that. I like being the boss. I don't like being ... overseen. Is that a word? I'll be glad when Felipe de Castro and his minion Sandy take their departure. Victor will stay to take over New Orleans."

Eric was
sharing.
This was almost unprecedented. This was like a normal give-and-take between equals.

"What's the new king like?" Cold as I was, I couldn't resist keeping the conversation going.

"He's handsome, ruthless, and clever," Eric said.

"Like you." I could have slapped myself.

Eric nodded after a moment. "But more so," Eric said grimly. "I'll have to keep very alert to stay ahead of him."

"How gratifying to hear you say so," said an accented voice.

This was definitely an
Oh, shit!
moment. (An OSM, as I called them to myself .) A gorgeous man stepped out from the trees, and I blinked as I took him in. As Eric bowed, I scanned Felipe de Castro from his gleaming shoes to his bold face. As I bowed, too, belatedly, I realized that Eric hadn't been exaggerating when he said the new king was handsome. Felipe de Castro was a Latin male who threw Jimmy Smits into the shade, and I am a big admirer of Mr. Smits. Though perhaps five foot ten or so, Castro carried himself with such importance and straight posture that you couldn't think of him as short— rather, he made other men look too tall. His dark thick hair was clipped close to his head, and he had a mustache and chin strip. He had caramel skin and dark eyes, strong arched eyebrows, a bold nose. The king wore a cape—no kidding, a real full-length black cape. I'll tell you how impressive he was; I didn't even think of giggling. Other than the cape, he seemed dressed for a night that might include flamenco dancing, with a white shirt, black vest, and black dress slacks. One of Castro's ears was pierced, and there was a dark stone in it. The overhead security light didn't let me get a better idea of what it might be. Ruby? Emerald?

I'd straightened up and I was staring again. But when I glanced at Eric, I saw he was still bowing. Ah-oh. Well, I wasn't one of his subjects and I wasn't going to do that again. It had gone against my Americanness to do it once.

"Hi, I'm Sookie Stackhouse," I said, since the silence was getting awkward. I automatically held out my hand, remembered vamps didn't shake, and snatched it back. "Excuse me," I said.

The king inclined his head. "Miss Stackhouse," he said, his accent strumming my name delightfully. ("Meees Stekhuss.")

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry to meet you and run, but it's really cold out here and I need to get home." I beamed at him, my lunatic beam I give when I'm really nervous. "Good-bye, Eric," I babbled, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek. "Give me a call when you have a minute. Unless you need me to stay, for some crazy reason?"

"No, lover, you need to go home and get into the warmth," Eric said, clasping both my hands in his. "I'll call you when my work permits."

When he let go of me, I did an awkward sort of dip in the king's direction (American! Not used to bowing!) and hopped into my car before either vampire could change his mind about my departure. I felt like a coward—a very relieved coward—as I backed out of my space and drove out of the parking lot. But I was already debating the wisdom of my departure as I turned onto Hummingbird Road.

I was worried about Eric. This was a fairly new phenomenon, one that made me very uneasy, and it had started the night of the coup. Worrying about Eric was like worrying about the well-being of a rock or a tornado. When had I ever had to worry about him before? He was one of the most powerful vampires I'd ever met. But Sophie-Anne had been even more powerful and protected by the huge warrior Sigebert, and look what had happened to her. I felt abruptly, acutely miserable. What was wrong with me?

I had a terrible idea. Maybe I was worried simply because Eric was worried? Miserable because Eric was miserable? Could I receive his emotions this strongly and from this great a distance? Should I turn around and find out what was happening? If the king was being cruel to Eric, I couldn't possibly be of any assistance. I had to pull over to the side of the road. I couldn't drive anymore.

I'd never had a panic attack, but I thought I was having one now. I was paralyzed with indecision; again, not one of my usual characteristics. Struggling with myself, trying to think clearly, I realized I had to turn back whether I wanted to or not. It was an obligation I couldn't ignore, not because I was bonded to Eric, but because I liked him.

I turned the wheel and did a U-turn in the middle of Hummingbird Road. Since I'd seen only two cars since I'd left the bar, the maneuver was no big traffic violation. I drove back a lot faster than I'd left, and when I got to Merlotte's, I found that the customer parking lot was completely empty. I parked in front and pulled my old softball bat out from under the seat. My grandmother had given it to me for my sixteenth birthday. It was a very good bat, though it had seen better days. I crept around the building, taking advantage of the bushes that grew at the foundation for cover. Nandinas. I hate nandinas. They're straggly and ugly and leggy, and I'm allergic to them. Though I was covered with a Windbreaker, pants, and socks, the minute I began threading my way among the plants, my nose began to run.

I peeked around the corner very cautiously.

I was so shocked I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

Sigebert, the queen's bodyguard, had
not
been killed in the coup. No, sirree, he was still among the undead. And he was here in the Merlotte's parking lot, and he was having a lot of fun with the new king, Felipe de Castro, and with Eric, and with Sam, who had been swept up in the net probably by simply leaving his bar to walk to his trailer.

I took a deep breath—a deep but
silent
breath—and made myself analyze what I was seeing. Sigebert was a mountain of a man, and he'd been the queen's muscle for centuries. His brother, Wybert, had died in the queen's service, and I was sure Sigebert had been a target of the Nevada vamps; they'd left their mark on him. Vampires heal fast, but Sigebert had been wounded badly enough that even days after he'd fought, he was still visibly damaged. There was a huge cut across his forehead and a horrible-looking mark just above where I thought his heart would be. His clothes were ripped and stained and filthy. Maybe the Nevada vamps thought he'd disintegrated when in fact he'd managed to get away and hide.
Not important,
I told myself.

The important part was that he'd succeeded in binding both Eric and Felipe de Castro with silver chains. How?
Not important,
I told myself again. Maybe this tendency to mentally wander was coming from Eric, who was looking much more battered than the king. Of course, Sigebert would see Eric as a traitor.

Eric was bleeding from the head and his arm was clearly broken. Castro was bleeding sluggishly from the mouth, so Sigebert had maybe stomped on him. Eric and Castro were both lying on the ground, and in the harsh security light they both looked whiter than snow. Sam had been tied to the bumper of his own truck somehow, and he wasn't damaged at all, at least so far. Thank God.