Dead in the Family (Sookie Stackhouse #10)(47)
Author: Charlaine Harris

"Pam. Listen."

"The phone is pressed to my ear. Speak."

"Appius Livius Ocella just dropped in."

"Fuck a zombie!"

I wasn’t sure that I’d heard that correctly. "Yes, he’s been here. I guess he’s your granddad? Anyway, he’s got a new protégé with him, and they’re heading for Eric’s to spend the day."

"What does he want?"

"He hasn’t said yet."

"How is Eric?"

"Very tightly wound. Plus, a lot of stuff happened that he’ll tell you about."

"Thanks for the warning. I’ll go to the house now. You’re my favorite breather."

"Oh. Well … great."

She hung up. I wondered what preparations she would make. Would the vamps and humans who worked at the Shreveport night-club go into a cleaning frenzy at Eric’s? I’d only seen Pam and Bobby Burnham there, though I assumed some of the crew came in from time to time. Would Pam rush some willing humans over to act as bedtime snacks?

I was too tense to think about going to bed. Whatever Eric’s maker was doing here, it wasn’t something I was going to like. And I already knew Appius Livius’s presence was bad for our relationship. While I was in the shower – and before I picked up the wet towels Eric had left on the floor – I did some serious thinking.

Vampire plotting can be pretty convoluted. But I tried to imagine the significance of the Roman’s surprise visit. Surely he hadn’t shown up in America, in Louisiana, in Shreveport, just to catch up on the geezer gossip.

Maybe he needed a loan. That wouldn’t be too bad. Eric could always make more money. Though I had no idea how Eric stood financially, I had a little nest egg in the bank since Sophie-Anne’s estate had paid up the money she’d owed me. And whatever Claudine had had in her checking account would be coming to join it. If Eric needed it, he could have it.

But what if money wasn’t the issue? Maybe Appius Livius needed to hole up because he’d gotten in trouble somewhere else. Maybe some Bolshevik vampires were after Alexei! That would be interesting. I could always hope they’d catch up with Appius Livius … as long as it wasn’t at Eric’s house.

Or perhaps Eric’s maker had been courted by Felipe de Castro or Victor Madden because they wanted something from Eric that he hadn’t given up yet, and they planned on using Eric’s maker to pull his strings.

But here was my most likely scenario: Appius Livius Ocella had dropped by with his "new" boy toy just to mess with Eric’s head. That was the guess I was putting my money on. Appius Livius was hard to read. At moments he seemed okay. He seemed to care about Eric, and he seemed to care about Alexei. As for Eric’s maker’s relationship with Alexei – the boy would have died if Appius Livius hadn’t intervened. Given the circumstances – Alexei’s witnessing the murders of his entire family and their servants and friends – letting the tsarevitch die might have been a blessing.

I was sure Appius Livius was having sex with Alexei, but it was impossible to tell whether Alexei’s passive demeanor came from the fact that he was in an unwanted sexual relationship or from his being permanently traumatized from seeing his family shot multiple times. I shuddered. I dried off and brushed my teeth, hoping I could sleep.

I realized there was another phone call I should make. With great reluctance, I called Bobby Burnham, Eric’s daytime guy. Bobby and I had never liked each other. Bobby was weirdly jealous of me, though he didn’t have the hots for Eric sexually at all. In Bobby’s opinion, I diverted Eric’s attention and energy away from its proper focus, which was Bobby and the business affairs he handled for Eric while Eric slept the day away. I was down on Bobby because instead of silently disliking me, he actively tried to make my life more difficult, which was a whole different kettle of fish. But still, we were both in the Eric business.

"Bobby, it’s Sookie."

"I got caller ID."

Mr. Sullen. "Bobby, I think you ought to know that Eric’s maker is in town. When you go over to get your instructions, be careful." Bobby normally got briefed right before Eric went to ground for the day, unless Eric stayed over at my place.

Bobby took his time with his reply – probably trying to figure out if I was playing some elaborate practical joke on him. "Is he likely to want to bite me?" he asked. "The maker?"

"I don’t know what he’s going to want, Bobby. I just felt like I ought to give you a heads-up."

"Eric won’t let him hurt me," Bobby said confidently.

"Just as general information – if this guy says jump, Eric has to ask how high."

"No way," Bobby said. To Bobby, Eric was the most powerful creature under the moon.

"Way. They gotta mind their maker. This is no lie."

Bobby had to have heard that news item before. I know there’s some kind of website or message board for vampires’ human assistants. I’m sure they swap all kinds of handy hints about dealing with their employers. Whatever the reason, Bobby didn’t argue or accuse me of trying to deceive him, which was a nice change.

"Okay," he said, "I’m ready for ’em. Was … What kind of person is Eric’s maker?"

"He’s not much like a person at all anymore," I said. "And he’s got a thirteen-year-old boyfriend who used to be Russian royalty."

After a long silence, Bobby said, "Thanks. It’s good to be prepared."

That was the nicest thing he’d ever said to me.

"You’re welcome. Good night, Bobby," I said, and we hung up. We’d managed to have an entire civil conversation. Vampires, bringing America together!

I changed into a nightshirt and crawled into bed. I had to try to get some sleep, but it took its own sweet time coming. I kept seeing the light from the lantern dance across the clearing in the woods as the dirt mounded up around the edges of Basim’s grave. And I saw the dead Were’s face. But eventually, finally, the edges of that face blurred and darkness slid over me.

I slept late and heavily the next day. The minute I woke, I knew someone was in the kitchen cooking. I let my extra sense check it out, and I found that Claude was frying bacon and eggs. There was coffee in the pot, and I didn’t need telepathy to know that. I could smell it. The perfume of morning.

After a trip to the bathroom, I stumbled into the hall and made my way into the kitchen. Claude was sitting at the table eating, and I could see there was enough coffee in the pot for me.

"There’s food," he said, pointing to the stove.

I got a plate and a mug, and settled in for a good start to my day. I glanced over at the clock. It was Sunday, and Merlotte’s wouldn’t be open until the afternoon. Sam was trying Sundays again in a limited way, though the whole staff half hoped it wouldn’t be profitable. As Claude and I ate in a companionable silence, I realized I felt wonderfully peaceful because Eric was in his day sleep. That meant I didn’t have to feel him walking around with me. His problematic sire and his new "brother" were out of it, too. I sighed with relief.