So I understood why Gran had hidden it away from casual discovery. I understood that it had frightened her with its potential, and maybe she hadn't believed that a Christian should use magic to change her own history.
On the other hand, the cluviel dor could have saved Gran's life if she'd had it at the moment she was attacked; but it had been in a secret drawer in an old desk up in the attic, and she had died. It was like paying for a Life Alert and then leaving it up in the kitchen cabinet out of reach. No one could take it, and it couldn't be used for ill; but then again, it couldn't be used for good, either.
If making one's wish might lead to catastrophic results, it was almost as perilous to simply possess the cluviel dor. If anyone-any supernatural-learned I had this amazing object, I would be in even more danger than my normal allotment.
I opened the drawer and looked at my grandmother's love gift. The cluviel dor was a creamy green and looked not unlike a slightly thick powder compact, which was why I kept it in my makeup drawer. The lid was circled with a band of gold. It would not open; it had never opened. I didn't know how to trigger it. In my hand, the cluviel dor radiated the same warmth I felt when I was close to Niall ... the same warmth times a hundred.
I was so tempted to put it in my purse. My hand hovered over it.
I took it out of the drawer and turned it over and over in my hands. As I held the smooth object, feeling intense pleasure in its nearness, I weighed the value of taking it with me against the risk.
In the end, I put it back in the drawer with a powder puff on top of it.
The phone rang.
Pam said, "Our meeting is at Eric's house at nine o'clock."
"I thought I'd be coming to Fangtasia," I said, a little surprised. "Okay, I'll be on my way in a jiffy."
Without answering, Pam hung up. Vampires are not experts on phone manners. I leaned over to look in the mirror while I applied my lipstick.
In two minutes, the phone rang again.
"Hello?"
"Sookie," said Mustapha's gruff voice. "You don't need to be here till ten."
"Oh? Well ... okay." That would give me a more reasonable amount of time; I wouldn't have to risk getting a ticket, and there were a few more little things I'd wanted to do before I left.
I said a prayer, and I turned down my bed as a sign of faith that I would return home to sleep in it. I watered my plants, just in case. I quickly checked my e-mail, found nothing of interest. After looking at myself one more time in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door, I decided to leave. I had a comfortable amount of time.
I listened to dance music on the way over to Shreveport, and I sang along with songs from Saturday Night Fever. I loved to watch the young John Travolta dance, and that was something I was good at. I could sing only when I was by myself. I belted out "Stayin' Alive," aware that might be my own theme song. By the time I stopped at the guardhouse at the entrance to Eric's gated community, I was a fraction less worried about the evening.
I wondered where Dan Shelley was. The new night guard, a muscular human whose nametag read "Vince," waved me through without getting up. "Enjoy the party," he called.
A little surprised, I smiled and waved back at him. I'd thought I was going to a serious council, but evidently this visit by the Grand Poobah was starting off on a social note.
Though Eric's fancy neighbors on the circle raised their eyebrows at cars parked on the street, I did just that because I didn't want to be blocked in. The broad driveway to the left of the yard, running slightly uphill to Eric's garage, was packed solid. I'd never seen so many cars there. I could hear music coming from the house, though it was faint. Vampires didn't need to turn the volume up like humans did; they could hear all too well.
I turned off the motor and sat behind the wheel, trying to get my head together before walking into the lion's den. Why hadn't I just said no when Mustapha told me to come? Until this moment, I literally hadn't considered the option of staying home. Was I here because I loved Eric? Or because I was in so deep in the vampire world that it hadn't occurred to me to refuse?
Maybe a little of both.
I turned to open the Malibu door, and Bill was standing right there. I gave a little yip of shock. "You know better than to do that!" I snarled, glad to vent some of my fear in the guise of anger. I shot out of the driver's seat and slammed the door behind me.
"Turn around and go back to Bon Temps, sweetheart," Bill said. In the harsh streetlight, my first vampire lover looked horribly white except for his eyes, which were shadowed pits. His dark thick hair and his dark clothing provided even more contrast, so much so that he looked as though he were enameled with luminescent paint, like a house sign.
"I've been sitting in my car thinking about it," I admitted. "But it's too late."
"You should go." He meant it.
"Ah ... that would be kind of leaving Eric in the lurch," I said, and there might have been a bit of a question in my voice.
"He can manage without you tonight. Please, go home." Bill's cool hand took mine, and he applied very gentle pressure.
"You'd better tell me what's happening."
"Felipe has brought some of his vampires with him. They swept through a bar or two to pick up some humans to drink with-and from. Their behavior is ... well, you remember how much Diane, Liam, and Malcolm disgusted you?"
The three vampires, now finally dead, had not had any qualms about having sex with humans in front of me, and it hadn't ended there.
"Yes, I remember."
"Felipe's ordinarily more discreet than that, but he's in a party mood tonight."
I swallowed. "I told Eric I'd come," I said. "Felipe might take it bad if I'm not here, since I'm Eric's human wife." Eric had coerced me into the title because it gave me a certain amount of protection.
"Eric will survive your absence," Bill said. If he'd extended that sentence, I was pretty sure the ending would have been, "But you may not survive your presence." He continued, "I'm stuck out here on guard duty. I'm not allowed inside. I can't protect you."
Leaving the cluviel dor at home had been a mistake.
"Bill, I do pretty good taking care of myself," I said. "You wish me well, you hear?"
"Sookie ..."
"I have to go in."
"Then I do wish you well." His voice was wooden, but his eyes were not.
I had a choice. I could be formal and go to the front door; a path of stepping stones branched off from the driveway and meandered up the yard to the massive front door. This path was prettily bordered by crepe myrtles, now in full bloom. My other option was to continue up the driveway, swing right into the garage, and enter through the kitchen. That was the one I chose. After all, I was more at home here than any of the Nevada visitors. I strode briskly up the driveway, my heels making a tittup sound in the quiet night.
The kitchen door was unlocked, which was also unusual. I looked around the large and useless kitchen. Someone should be guarding this door, surely, with guests in the house.
I finally realized Mustapha Khan was standing at the French windows at the back of the kitchen, past the breakfast table where no one ever ate breakfast. He was looking out into the night.
"Mustapha?" I said.
The daytime man swung around. His very posture was tense. He jerked his chin at me by way of greeting. Despite the hour, Mustapha was wearing his dark glasses.
I looked around for his shadow, but there was no Warren in sight.
For the first time, I wished I knew what Mustapha was thinking-but his thoughts were as opaque as those of any Were I'd ever encountered.
My skin crawled, but I didn't know why.
"How's it going out there?" I asked, keeping my voice quiet.
After a pause he answered me, his own voice just as hushed. "Maybe I shoulda gotten a job with some freakin' goblins. Or joined the pack and let Alcide boss me around. That would have been better than this. If I was you, I'd get my ass back in the car and go home. If Eric wasn't paying me so good, that's what I'd do."
This was beginning to sound more and more like the beginning of a fairy tale:
FIRST MAN: Don't cross the bridge; it's perilous.
HEROINE: But I must cross the bridge.
SECOND MAN: Upon your life, don't cross the bridge!
HEROINE: But I have to cross the bridge.
In a fairy tale, there'd be a third encounter; there are always three. And maybe I would have another one, yet. But I'd gotten the idea.
Anxiety trickled down my spine like sweat. I sure didn't want to cross that bridge. Maybe I should just ease on down the road?
But Pam entered the kitchen, and my opportunity was gone. "Thank God you're here," she said, her faint British accent more apparent than usual. "I was afraid you weren't going to come. Felipe has noticed you haven't put in an appearance."
"But you changed the time," I replied, puzzled. "Mustapha told me to be here ..." I glanced at the clock on the microwave. "Just now."
Pam shook her head, then gave Mustapha a look that seemed more puzzled than irritated. "We'll talk later," she told him. She made an impatient beckoning gesture to me.
I took a second to stow my purse in one of the kitchen cabinets, simply because a kitchen is the safest storage place in a vampire house. Before I followed Pam into the large open living room/dining room area, I fixed a smile on my face. I couldn't help casting a glance over my shoulder at Mustapha, but all I saw was the blankness of the lenses of his dark glasses.
I looked ahead of me, after that. When you're around vampires, it's always better to have your eye on what's coming.
Though Eric's bold decorating had been featured in Louisiana Interiors, the photographer would hardly have recognized the room tonight. The striped drapes across the front windows were firmly drawn. There were no fresh flowers. A mixed group of humans and vampires were strewn around the large space.
A hugely muscular man with dyed blond hair was dancing with a young woman to my far left, close to the dining table, which Eric used for business conferences. As I approached, they stopped dancing and started kissing, noisily and with much tongue. A square-jawed male vampire was taking blood from a well-endowed human female on the loveseat, and he was making a messy job of it. There were blood drips on the upholstery.
Right then, I was pissed off. It added fuel to the flame when I absorbed the fact that a red-haired vamp I didn't know was standing on Eric's coffee table (in high heels!) dancing to an old Rolling Stones CD. Another vampire with thick black hair was watching her with casual appreciation, as if he'd seen her do the same thing many times but still enjoyed the sight. Her stiletto heels were digging, digging into the wood of the table, one of Eric's favorite acquisitions.
I could feel my lips draw in like purse strings. A sideways glance at Pam showed me she was keeping her face as smooth and empty as a pretty bowl. With a huge effort, I wiped my own expression clean. Dammit, we'd just replaced all the carpeting and had the walls repainted after the Alexei Romanov debacle! Now the upholstery would need to be cleaned again, and I'd have to find someone to refinish the table.
I reminded myself I had bigger problems than a few stains and gouges.
Bill had been right. Mustapha had been right. This was not a place I should be. Despite what Pam had said, I couldn't believe any of the vampires would have missed me. They were all too busy.
But then the man watching the dancer turned his head to look at me. I realized that he was a fully clothed (thank you, God) Felipe de Castro. He smiled at me, his sharp white fangs glistening in the overhead light. Yes, he'd been enjoying the dancing.
"Miss Stackhouse!" he said lazily. "I'd been afraid you wouldn't come tonight. It's been too long since I've had the pleasure of seeing you." Since Felipe had a thick accent, my name sounded more like "Meees Stekhuss!" The first time I'd met him, the king had been wearing an honest-to-God cape. Tonight he'd dressed conservatively in a gray shirt, silver vest, and black pants.
"It's been a while, Your Majesty," I said, which was simply all I could think of to say. "I'm so sorry I'm a bit late to greet you. Where is Eric?"
"He's in one of the bedrooms," Felipe said, still smiling. His mustache and chin strip were perfectly black and perfectly groomed. The King of Nevada, Arkansas, and Louisiana was not a tall man. He was strikingly handsome. He possessed a vitality that was hugely attractive-though not to me, and not tonight. Felipe was also quite the politician, I'd heard, and he was certainly a businessman. No telling how much money he'd amassed in his long life.
I smiled back at the king in a frozen way. I was mighty put out. The Nevada visitors weren't acting any better than, say, small-town firemen attending a convention in New Orleans. That these visitors were from Las Vegas and yet felt it necessary to misbehave in Shreveport ... well, it didn't speak well for them.
"In one of the bedrooms" didn't sound good, but of course that was what Felipe had intended. "I'd better tell him I'm here," I said, and turned to Pam. "Let's go, girlfriend."
Pam took my hand, and it was a measure of the evening that I actually found that comforting. Her face was still as wax.
As we navigated through the room (the muscular man wasn't actually having sex with his companion, but it wasn't far in the future), Pam hissed, "Did you see that? The blood will never come out of the upholstery."
"It won't be as hard to clean up as the night Alexei went nuts here," I said, trying to get perspective. "Or the club, after we did-that thing." I didn't want to say "killed Victor" out loud.
