Tuesday, February 5, 2013


chapter two

                Agent Tom Latesta was not a happy camper.  As he walked down the hall of the field office of the FBI in Baton Rouge, he knew what this was all about. He had fought to get to where he was and he could not believe this was likely the end of his tenure with the Bureau of Vampire and Supernatural Affairs and the FBI. He and Weiss had arguments before but when he refused to turn over the names of the Take Back the Night group they had spent the last year investigating, it was the last straw in a hay bale of straws. His excuse was he was still tracking down names and addresses, but Weiss knew it was to track down not only these people but to keep an eye on Sookie Stackhouse. The one the director had specifically said was a person of non-interest.
                Latesta knew this was the day he would hand in his credentials and his gun. No one in the office would look Latesta in eye, even members of the Bureau he had known for years. Cowards he thought in his mind as agents eyes slid over him and then slid away. No one wanted to get shit on them when it hit his personal fan. No one wanted to lose their jobs in the newest and most lucrative branch of the FBI. He let himself into the outer office and stepped up to the agent pulling desk duty. There was a greedy look on the agent’s face. Getting an upper tier job with the Bureau of Vampire and Supernatural Affairs was nearly impossible. The joke was a position had to be willed to you to get ahead in this office. Looks like Latesta’s will was about to be read and this jack ass was ponying up for the goodies. Good fucking luck with that buddy.
                He sat down to wait til he was asked to go through the inner doors to the director’s office. Latesta spent this time running through his head the names of his contacts and the amounts he already had hidden in off shore accounts accessible by credit cards issued in the name of the bogus companies he had put together to hide the money he was receiving. Latesta was receiving money from anyone who would buy his information. It was never much, and sometimes it was just lies. He was feeding information to the Fellowship of the Sun, the American Vampire League, the Freeman’s Association, the Human League (yeah stupid to name your anti-government semi terrorist group after British  pop groups), and the Group for the Ethical Treatment of Supernatural Peoples and Take Back the Night. He was in bed with all of them across the board, human or vamp or two natured. Money was always green, regardless of the hand or paw it came from.
                He had been careful though. If he got shit canned, it was going to be for the list of people from the Take Back the Night group. No one knew about the other things. Oh, they may suspect, but they were playing the spy game with a spy. By the time they got their collective asses together, he would be long gone, in the service of the Russians or the Chinese or the Palestinians who would love to have access to the tool he was working to acquire. And he would acquire it.
                “Agent Latesta, the director will see you now,” said the agent at the desk. Latesta got up and smoothed the cheap pants he was wearing without luck and went into the office and closed the door. The director was sitting at her desk, Agent Weiss was sitting in the guest chair in front of it. Latesta took the seat beside her. It was all he could do to not reach over and throttle her. After her incident in Bon Temps when she had been shot, Agent Weiss was knee deep in the paranormal and the supernatural. He would just about bet she had a ouija planchette in her pocket and consulted her horoscope on the app of her phone. She looked at him and then away.
                “Director Sands?” he asked.
                “What are we going to do about this?” asked the director. She was fifty, but a good fifty, athletic build and clean and fresh. She looked at him as if he was an insect.
                “About what?” he said.
                “You aren’t being forth coming to the team are you?” asked the director.
                “I don’t know what you mean,” he said. “I’ve been very forth coming.”
                “Agent Weiss doesn’t think so,” said the woman. “She says you are withholding information detrimental to the case. The list of people you have made contact with in the Take Back the Night movement.”
                “I am still working the list. I have a lot more to research,” he said.
                “What are you doing up in Renard Parish?” asked Director Sands.
                “What am I doing?” he asked. “I am making contacts with the leader of the movement, he runs an internet anti-vampire radio show.”
                “And you were not around Sookie Stackhouse?” asked the director.
                “No, she is not on my list of persons of interest,” said Latesta. The director took out a folder and opened it.
                “Pictures of you surveilling the Stackhouse property. Records of the GPS on your government issued car ping pointing you at Merlotte’s parking lot and the bar owned by Eric Northman,” she said. Latesta did not look at the documents she laid in front of him. “Anything you want to tell us?”
                “I think you are mistaken,” he said.
                “What part of ‘leave Sookie Stackhouse alone’ don’t you understand?” asked the Director.
                “I think you should rethink your position on Miss Stackhouse,” said Latesta.
                “I know what you think,” said Weiss.
                “I thought you were my partner,” said Latesta. “You were until you were shot and you went looney over the supes.”
                “This bureau is about the protection of Supernaturals, to have relations between our government and the Supernatural community,” said Weiss.
                “I believe the more we give these creatures, the closer to danger we will be of being over run. They are not humans, they are something else and we don’t have to give them special rights. If we give in to them, we may as well legalized marriage between brother and sister and humans and their pets. We have to ensure the protection of the human race, not give them the right to marry, to own property, to vote in our elections. I mean we already have a vampire political movement with the Deadacrat movement.”
                “That’s not our job. Our job is to ensure they do not become victims. Regardless of who or what they are they deserve to be protected and this is what this bureau will be doing,” said Director Sands. “And if you can’t do that, then we have to part ways. But, if you want to avoid jail time, you will hand over your list. What is your pleasure?”
                “I have nothing for you,” said Latesta.
                “Agent Weiss, read Mr. Latesta his rights. Seeing as this is Friday, you can stay in jail a few days and think things over while you wait to see the judge and get bail,” said the Director.

                Jails smell alike. They smell like piss, dirty feet and rice o roni. Latesta was processed and photgraphed and stripped and given the orange jumper. This was working out better than he hoped. He knew someone there who would do some things for him. He was in the lower levels of the Take Back the Night movement but eager to do more. Latesta knew his job was gone in the Bureau but there was more work to be had.
                He waited patiently through the rest of Friday, and most of Saturday. He came by, swinging his mop in long sweeps across the corridor. Latesta came to the bars and stood there. The janitor did not look at him. “You got a message for me?”
                “Yeah,” he said. “I want the chance to talk to someone.”
                “Who would that be?” he asked. Latesta mentioned a name. “It would be tough. They are here for their appeal.”
                “No shit Sherlock,” said Latesta.
                “They see their lawyer everyday. The meeting rooms are small cells with bars between them. Maybe I can make sure to put you in the cell beside them while they meet with their attorney. Maybe you can get a word in edgewise,” he said.
                “That will work. I need to get a message out to someone to pose as legal council,” said Latesta.
                “I can organize that,” he said. “He helps us with our cause.”
                “Thank you,” said Latesta.

                It was Monday before Latesta was taken to the interview cells. He was being lead by a big screw, his hands handcuffed in front of him. He was placed in the cell he waited. Finally he was rewarded with the appearance of the person he had arranged to see. “Hi.”
                “Hi yourself,” they said.
                “I am here to offer you something,” said Latesta.
                “Yeah? What the fuck do you have to offer me?” said the prisoner.
                “How would you like to get out on work release? Get out of jail, be free to start your life over?”
                “What you got a wand up the sleeve of that state issue jumpsuit?”
                “Something like that,” said Latesta.
                “What do I got to do?” they asked. “I don’t know you, and I got other things I need to straighten up.”
                “Just be there if I need you to do some small chore,” he said. “You are going to lose your appeal, but I can get you out a month from now. You won’t have to do anything, just one day in the next 30 days you will be told to pack your grip and be given your spending money and the number of your parole officer and you will be released. An apartment with one year’s worth of rent will be paid. Not the Hilton but a place where you can make yourself at home. You will be given a good job with some friends of mine, friends you will like to know, and you will just be available for a few odd jobs I might have for you. Believe me it will be enjoyable work.”
                “Can I consider it?” they asked.
                “Sure, just send me a message by way of the custodian who approached you with the message I would speak to you. You have 24 hours.” There was movement in the hallway. “Don’t talk to anyone about this conversation. If you do, I will happily let you rot in here.”
                “What ever you say boss,” they said. The lawyer, obviously legal aide by the look of his worn out shoes, came into the hall and went into the cell of the person Latesta had been talking to.  A few mintutes later, a better dressed lawyer walked into the cell.
                “Agent Latesta, I have been sent here to represent you?” he said.
                “You read my file, you don’t have to speak to me, get my bail ordered and post it,” said the agent.
                “Anything you say,” said Hugo Ayres.

                The woman Latesta had been talking to was a worn shell of her former self. She was never real pretty, she’d seen the best side of cute a long time back. Now she was dumpy and lumpy and twenty pounds heavier. Her face was white and doughy and she was definitely jowly. The bra she was wearing was terrible and gave her the look of someone who was heavier than she was. Her hair was longer and the red she had kept her hair was washing out and there were inches of grey showing.
                The offer the con had made her was too good to be true. There was no way she was getting out. She did not want to be here, but she didn’t want to wonder about the possibility this was a way out. She wasn’t crazy about owing him any favors either.
                She was relieved to be back in her cell, she hated to be out on the block. There were two-natured here who knew who she was from the newspaper articles and they didn’t appreciate her political leanings. As much as she hated the vampires, she hated the two natured even more  in some ways. And nothing was like the hate she bore one person in particular. One person she hated above all. If it hadn’t been for her and her freakishness she would be happily married and she would still be in Bon Temps.
                She sat down on the bed and picked up her novel. She looked at the page she had been reading and after a while, she put it back down. She missed her family. She looked at the little shelf over her sink and commode combo and stared at the picture of her two kids. They had been to see her a couple of times and her lazy good for nothing sister had finally told her they didn’t want to come back anymore, it made them sad.  When she complained, her sister’s face hardened.
                “Look you made this bed and now you gotta lie in it. There is nothing to say you had to do what you did, get those guys killed and that agent shot. You could have just gone on like you should have, gotten another job and minded your owned business. But you had to have it your way, you always do,” said her sister Charlaine. Charlaine had always been like that, she thought she was better’n everyone else because she lived in a little brick ranch style house in Minden and she was a member of the garden society and her husband was in the chamber of commerce and he had that string of laundromats. She was always like that, even when they were kids, always flashing what she had. Now she had the kids. 
                Maybe if she got out, she could do something about that. It would take some doing, but she might get them back. She got up and looked up and down the corridor in her little hand mirror. She would say yes to the deal. She could do a month. A month was just enough time to plan things.

                She was not the only one who was planning things. The King of Nevada was listening to Freyda and Eric argue. He made no reaction to them as they stood there, nose to nose, yelling and growling at each other. Married two weeks and already at each other’s throats. From what he could gather from the cacophony, Eric was wanting to return to Bon Temps and his position and his bar and  Freyda was mad he was not spending as much time at the bar she bought him and it was just barely showing a profit. The vampire bar across town was doing better than Bloodlines at this point and the Last Drop was just a mom and pop sort of set up. She had invisioned Eric making Bloodlines the place to be for humans and vampires alike. So far, no such luck.

                “I gave you Bloodlines as a wedding gift, I expected you to get it off the ground and it barely turns a profit and you want me to let you go back to Shreveport and Fangtasia. No, Eric, you have not fulfilled your promise to me,” screeched Freyda.
                “It is not my fault you picked a bar on a lonely stretch of highway no one wants to travel to get to,” said Eric. “And you named it after a famous place in New York. Not very inventive.”
                “Eric, the whole state is on a lonely stretch of highway,” said Freyda. “You have not hired dancers, your waitresses are the ugliest blood bags I have ever seen and I went there last night and you and I were the only vampires on the place. Who wants to go to a vampire bar without vampires there to gawp at.”
                “Your subjects are lazy and I don’t have royal authority to compell them to put in time at the bar,” said Eric. This was true. He thought she would at least make him sheriff over the area his bar was residing, but this was not the case. Had he been sheriff he could have made appearance at the bar mandatory. That was the way it was done in Louisiana. But Queen Freyda was not just queen of her state but the sheriff of the area.
                “You are the one who is lazy,” said Freyda. “You are the oldest vampire in Oklahoma except for Ivan and he is only a hundred years older than you.”
                “Then put him to managing the fucking bar!!!!!” Eric roared.
                “Enough!” commanded Felipe. “In the name of heaven, shut up!” DeCastro got up and walked around the pair. “You make my head hurt and I have not had a head ache since I was made. Why am I here? Freyda, you are a queen, have been for many years, won this kingdom by tooth and fang, you don’t need me to deal with Eric.”
                “He is one of your subjects,” she said.
                “No, he isn’t, he is your subject, to do with whatever you please and a commoner to boot, he has no royal authority. You did not even make him your prince consort, your second in command,” said De Castro.
                “Right now I want to kill him and suck his blood out of his body,” she said.
                “Then do it, I won’t stop you,” said De Castro.
                “Be very careful Freyda, I am older and stronger than you,” said Eric.
                “Asshole,” she growled.
                “Ouch, that hurt Freyda,” he said. “If I don’t please you, give me a divorce and I will go.”
                “Oh no, my dear husband, you are mine, you will always be mine, and I will be the queen over you til the night you meet the true death. I will never let you go,” she said.
                “Then let the games begin my wife,” said Eric. De Castro looked at the two, finally he spoke.
                “Freyda, let me have a word with your husband, sometimes men can work things out together that solve the problems of a young marriage. He and I will go to Bloodlines, have some TrueBlood and I will try to get to the bottom of Eric’s troubles,” said De Castro.
                “I prefer Eric stay at home for the night,” she said.
                “I prefer you turning to a mound of ash at my feet as I sip blood from your cold black heart,” said Eric sweetly.
                “And I prefer you both to shut up,” said De Castro. “You were the one who called me Freyda, you were the one who said you needed help, I am here. I dropped important business to come here. Now, let me chat with Eric and try to smooth things over and hopefully when he comes home he will be more…compliant.”
                “He better be, else I will be in Bon Temp before first light and I will eat that waitress he is smitten with,” she said.
                “No, you can’t, Eric has not been in contact with her and you made the promise in the wedding contract to leave her be so long as he does not contact her,” said De Castro. “If you breach this pormise, I shall call in the Pythoness and call a quarum and we will charge you. They will not be happy to come and settle what amounts to a domestic squabble.”
                Freyda paled with the mention of the Ancient Pythoness. Breach of promise, blood disloyalty and murder were capital offenses in the vampire world and she was the supreme court and she never heard appeals. “Very well Eric, you are free to keep company with King Felipe.” She turned and left the room and the two watched her. Eric picked up his jacket.
                “Shall we go in my car?” he asked.
                “Absolutely,” said Eric.

                De Castro drove the Ferrari as if he was immortal. Of course he was, but he liked the open highway and he put his foot down on the gas. “This is better, we can talk without Freyda’s listening devices and you can be honest with me.”
                “I can tell you nothing more than I have said in front of you to Freyda. I hate her, I want free of her,” said Eric.
                “Well, Oklahoma is lucrative,” mused De Castro.
                “I don’t want her kingdom, I want her blood. You can have it,” said Eric. “That is why you upheld my maker’s contract to Freyda.”
                “That is a very serious thing to accuse a monarch,” said De Castro.
                “It’s the truth, and if we have nothing else between us, your majesty, let us at least speak the truth,” said Eric.
                “Since we are being honest, yes, Freyda has been a thorn in my side for some time, and I think she is very poor as a monarch. I could really make something of this place, build it up, make it a real money maker. Freyda barely makes enough in tribute to pay her electricity in her own estate,” said De Castro. “But, you have to be very careful, Eric. Killing a queen is very serious business. The rest of the kingdoms can become restless, they can become worried.”
                “Have no control over that,” said Eric. “I want to be free to go home and serve you in Louisiana.”
                “Flattery will get you nowhere,” said DeCastro.
                “You can stand up for me before any quarum that may be called when I kill her,” he said.
                “You mean if you kill her,” responded De Castro.
                “I mean what I said,” said Eric. “It is only a matter of when and that time is getting sooner.”
                “Is there nothing you like about her?” asked De Castro. “She is of your culture, not of your time, but then there are not many who are. She is lovely, and for all her stubborness, she is lucrative. Why don’t you try again to make things right with her, she will forgive you.”
                “I want nothing she has to offer,” said Eric.”I want to go home.”
                “Very well,” said De Castro. “Do what you must Eric, I will do my best to argue your case. In return, when the smoke settles, you give me the kingdom of Oklahoma and all will be even.” Eric snorted lightly under his breath.
                “Even?” asked Eric. “I know what this marriage was about. You have wanted Oklahoma all along. Her gas and natural resources and the Indian Reservation and Casino. How is Hot Rain incidently?”
                “Mollified with the extra money you have given him for Long Shadow,” he said. “He may have loved Long Shadow but he loves money more. So, how do you intend to do it?”
                “I am not sure,” said Eric. “I want few witnesses.”
                “Yes, of course,” said De Castro.
                “Do you have a regent in mind?” asked Eric.
                “I have a couple of promising vampires who might make a good regent,” said De Castro.
                “And a regent for Louisiana?” he asked cautiously.
                “I have not decided,” he said. “Are you interested?”
                “No, I have never wished to be a ruler. I like my area and my bar and the responsibilities there. All I want is a comfortable living and freedom to do as I like,” said Eric.
                “I am in no hurry, the kingdom is hard working and I am still getting my tributes on time and they are substantial,” said De Castro. “Perhaps I will leave it vacant for a while as I seek out a good candidate. Maybe Compton would make a regent.”
                “Perhaps, though he is quite busy with his registry. I happen to know he wants to buy a call center, make it possible for vampires to update their profiles on his directory, sell goods and services to vampires,” said Eric.
                “Yes, he is an entreprenuer, though I would have thought such a directory would be less than popular,” said De Castro.
                “Actually, he has begun recording the profiles of European vampires as well,” said Eric.
                “When you get back, let  me know if Compton needs money or support,” said De Castro.
                “I shall,” said Eric.
               
                The two vampires pulled up to the bar. It was a cinderblock building, made to look like adobe and plainted blood red. It was trimmed up in black and there was a sign with the words Bloodlines in purple neon above it. Eric walked in with De Castro behind him. The interior was done in early vampire whore palace with red silk wall paper and black velvet flocking. There were paintings of nude vampires in varioius erotic scenes. Eric walked past it all as if it did not exist. There were three vampires there, sitting around the bar and there were a dozen or so humans. The woman at the bar, a likely and intelligent human was at the till, making change for a customer.
                “How’s business?” he asked the woman.
                “Not bad Mr. Northman, not good either,” she said.
                “So it seems,” said Eric. “When did the vampires arrive?”
                “A few minutes ago,” said the bartender. “In fact they just sat down.”
                “Very good,” said Eric. He knew Freyda had called a couple of her minions to come in and sit at the bar and listen to their conversation. Stupid bitch. Like he would never think of that. Besides, the bar was bugged, he knew this from the first night he walked in. “Two TrueBloods, please, in the manager’s booth.”
                “Yes sir, right away,” she said. De Castro followed Eric to the snug. Eric looked at De Castro but said nothing. The waitress brought their bloods and left.
                “You are right your majesty, I should try harder,” said Eric. De Castro did not show his surprise. “Perhaps I should hold a party here and show my gratitude for her majesty. Perhaps this would draw more to the bar.”
                “That would be a lovely gesture,” said the king, catching on to Eric’s rouse. “I think she would appreciate the effort.”
                “I am just too settled in my ways, too stubborn,” said Eric.
                “Well, being over a thousand years old, you should be given a little credit where credit is due,” said De Castro. “Age always makes one less flexible and stubborn, set in one’s ways.”
                “As always, you are the voice of reason,” said Eric.
                “I do what I can. Fighting never solves problems, I prefer negotiations, it keeps things moving along, making money and other wealth for all of us. We are out of the coffin now, we have to act better than our human neighbors. Despite what some of them say of us, we are not animals,” said De Castro. “Have you heard of the Take Back the Night movement?”
                “Something about it,” said Eric. “There is a small contingency here in Oklahoma, attached to a small Fellowship of the Sun center. The Fellowship disavows the Take Back the Night movement, but we all know they are faces on the same coin.  How are things in Nevada?”
                “They are growing in size, I hate to say, but there is very little to be done about it, we are being warned to not be reactionary,” said De Castro. “I know King Stan Davis has been infiltrating both organizations.”
                “Texas has had a great deal of trouble with them,” said Eric. This was good, mundane discussion to cover the fact Eric had begun to plot the death of the Queen of Oklahoma with his former king. That and the revelation De Castro was willing to allow Lousiana to take care of itself was a relief. Another regent would be a stress too great to bear and perhaps this was some thing De Castro would have known and wanted to avoid. Louisiana was a lucrative state. Eric missed it. He only hoped he could get back there soon. He would have to call Bill and Pam. He would stay here when DeCastro left, and call on the throw away phone he purchased each night to make sure he was on a safe line. He always destroyed each one as he used it so his wife and her spies could not find out he was communicating with his minions back in Bon Temps and Shreveport. His spy was hanging close in the Nevada court and though he had not made contact with them, he knew they were still there. It was too dangerous.
                Eric did not mention Sookie’s name to etiher Bill or Pam. Neither did they. He wanted to ask about her, but he knew to ask was to draw attention to her. He still loved her and did not want Freyda to be interested in her anymore than she still was. If she knew he was even asking about her, she would pounce on her and she would have the right to according to the wedding contract. There were days he dreamed of her, of making love with her in her bed, of making love with her in his bed, of the times they simply talked and laughed together. Some nights he woke with red tears on his face from the memories. He missed her in the bond, he missed her period. He only hoped he could get back and explain things to her.

                After some planning and some wooing on the part of Eric, putting a bandage on the injured marriage he was now plotting to end, Freyda and Eric treated one another cordially. He was still a rough lover, banging away at her when she would come to his bedroom, as both had their own bedrooms but instead of encouraging her to go back to her bed by being rude to her, he let her lay beside him. He didn’t cuddle her or exchange lovers words, but he did leave her in peace to go to her day rest.
                Eric had explained he wanted to try to follow the advice of Felipe De Castro and try harder with the bar. She seemed to accept that, as it was pretty much what her minions had heard at the bar. She had called in even more vampires to come and sit at the bar, spies every one, but he went to work and spent most of the night there, and came home in time to bed his wife and go to his day sleep with her. He told her he wished to have new opening night, and celebrate the Queen’s coronation anniversary. He would make a great deal of it and invite infuential vampires from the kingdom and from neighboring kingdoms. Perhaps he could entice some up and coming vampires to come to Oklahoma and expand and build businesses here. Perhaps another casino and a hotel. Christian Baruch had been interested in making a sort of oasis in the dessert, a vampire play ground in the state where they could be themselves and relax. The queen listened to Eric and agreed this could be very lucrative.
               
                For the next few weeks, Eric worked to arrange the party. He was not able to speak to Bill and Pam during this time because he was always surrounded by Freyda’s humans and vampire minions. He made arrangements for visiting vampires to stay in the better homes of area vampires and even had word that Stan Davis was coming. Eric was a little surprised when he rented Barry Bellboy to Freyda. Eric was confident this was Stan’s doing for his benefit. Then there were the guardians.
                The weres were huge, both male and female and they were all exclusively from Italy. Eric was a little confounded when De Castro sent them. He explained since there were going to be so many visiting vampires of means, it made sense to increase security. Eric was wary, but then he needed to be. He had worked too hard to have something ruin it all. His existence depended on his pulling this off. He just could not figure out what they were and De Castro said the entire pack had been a gift from a very dear friend of his. They were more loyal than wolves and they had been especially bred to want to do nothing but serve vampires.

                The night of the party was a flurry of excitement. Eric had imported dancers from Nevada, courtesy of Felipe De Castro. Eric had chosen new costumes for the waitresses and the bartenders he had chosen a serious minded vampire named Jessa to stand at the door, dressed in a leather bustier and a gauze skirt and  thigh high fetish boots. He had designed a new tee shirt for the bar and the bouncers, who were area werewolves, were wearing them. The violence would not take place just now, but later, in the evening as the humans began to go home, that is when it would happen. That is when Eric would kill his wife.
               
                Eric had heard in movie once, “your enemies come at you with smiles” and if you saw Eric your head would be screaming: Look out Freyda. Freyda had been queen of Oklahoma for ten years and they had been out of the coffin for nearly six of those years. True she was not making the state as lucrative as she hoped, but she was doing okay considering what was out here, ranches, oil and reservations. But that was not on Freyda’s mind. Eric was at least trying to be a decent husband and he had done some planning for the bar and she was content.

                The woman with the light brown hair drifted through the crowd. The crowd started out a mixed crowd of vampires and shifters and humans. Now it was just vampires. Some were on Freyda’s side, some on De Castro’s side. She stayed out of the way the best she could. She did not want to be seen by Freyda. She was on her way to Nevada, but she wanted one more look at the second person in her existence to break her heart. She was proud and tall and haughty, just as she always had been. She was with her precious viking, the one she had fought to get, made so many promises to and laid out so much money to have. Eric’s wide grin and then the frozen unemotional face he had when he turned away from her told the woman a story she knew well. The queen made a lot of promises but she wasn’t coming close to keeping them. She bought Eric a big bar alright, out in the middle of nowhere. She promised to leave that woman alone, but even now spies were swarming around the woman. He wanted to go home, but he would never be free. She would see him a puddle of blood and viscera. She saw De Castro and his eyes flickered to her. She tapped the watch on her wrist and he nodded minutely and she left first, then De Castro left.

They locked the doors behind them.

                Suddenly there was a loud bang and the party stopped. Even the music. Eric put down the pistol he had raised over his head. “Thanks for your attention,” he said, smiling. This smile did not reach the vampire’s eyes. He looked like a doll-eyed shark, his eyes dead as his nonbeating heart. “I want you to join me in celebrating the life and work of our Queen, my beloved wife, on her decade of being your ruler.”
                “Eric,” she said.
                “Yes, my dear?” he said in soft voice, walking toward her.
                “What are you up to?” she asked. She looked around. Vampires were stepping away from her, not looking away but not looking at her either precisely.
                “Whatever do you mean my Queen,” he said. “Aren’t you enjoying your fete?”
                “What is happening?” she said.
                “Apparently, your subjects, that is those who are gathered here, do not like you any better than I do. Their only consolation is they didn’t have to fuck you and let you drink their blood,” he said, still walking toward her. He reached into his jacket and removed the stake.
                “Wait Eric, wait, I tried to give you everything, I was desperate, I wanted you to be here to help me with my kingdom,” she said.
                “Your kingdom would be better served by having you off the throne,” said Eric, still walking toward her. He moved with vampire speed to her and slid his arm around her waist and pulled her up to him.
                “I loved you, I wanted you to share this with me, to help me build,” she said. “I fell in love with you the moment your maker told me about you.”
                “I have that effect on women,” he said. “I wanted no part of this, no part of you.” He pressed the tip of the stake into her chest.
                “Please Eric, don’t, come, let’s be lovers and start all over again,” she said.
                “You want to be my lover?” he asked.
                “Yes,” she said. “Take me.”
                “The pleasure is all mine,” he said. And he rammed the stake into her chest and she melted in his arms. The queen of Oklahoma was dead. De Castro came back into the room. He looked around. He could honestly say in any tribunal called quarum he did not see the death of Freyda. “Your majesty.” Eric bowed.
                “Seize him, take him back to the royal estate until we can decide what happens next,” said DeCastro.

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