Pam, dressed in a pressed pair of navy slacks and a pale blue twin set, let herself into the service entrance of Fangtasia. Her pumps were polished to a high gleam but slightly splattered with residual rainwater. After buffing them clean with a tissue, she strolled into Eric’s office and looked around. He’d insisted they meet at exactly three a.m. and it was unlike him to be late. She flipped through a stack of files on his desk then sat in his chair … only to stand quickly when he entered, twisting his back and rolling his shoulders.

Outside, the inclement Louisiana fall weather continued to play chameleon. Suddenly it was clear as a bell, the sky sparkling with a million stars, but to the west, more storm clouds gathered and their mellow rumble could be heard, even inside the club’s silent walls.

Eric grunted and stretched his arms high, the crackle of his bones resonating. Pam chuckled. “You are over a thousand years old. I suppose a few aches and pains can be expected.”

His brow rose. “And that would explain the wrinkles.”

“What wrinkles?” Her hand shot to her face.

“Gotcha.” He winked. “Pam, I have a few important assignments for you.”

“Yes?” She sat on the sofa and crossed her legs, giving him an arrogant scowl. Important assignments meant jobs Eric didn’t feel like doing. He was her maker and she’d do whatever he asked, but in truth she hated doing the menial tasks.

“Right after sunset tomorrow, I want you to go out and purchase a very large bed.”

“A bed? What in heaven’s name for?”

“Have it delivered to Carla Merlotte at this address. And make sure it’s delivered immediately. Cost is no issue, just get it there.”

She leaned back, unsure whether he was joking or serious. “And the mattress?”

“The best available. Oh, and do the womanly thing too. Choose some sheets, blankets, maybe a collection of those pretty pillows.”

Pam laughed. “Right. Can we get down to business or what?”

His eyes became harsh slits but his voice was very calm. “Oh, I’m very serious.”

Pam blinked. Oh-oh, something was very different. Changes in Eric Northman were few and very far between. The last big change came a hundred-fifty years ago when he chose to pack her up and bring them both to the New World, tucked tight below on one of the many ships rushing for freedom of religion. America. Changes after that were mere vacillations, minor adjustments to lifestyle and fashion. She hadn’t seen him in decades before he called her to come and partner with him in the bar, but what she saw after all that time was pretty much the same. Romance with a human? Something was drastically amiss. “Eric … Sheriff … what are you doing with that human woman?”

“Jealous?” His eyes twinkled.

“Baffled, actually.”

“Well, it’s sort of … an experiment. Part of the Great Revelation’s need to show goodwill while mainstreaming. And,” he shrugged, “I like her. She’s … interesting, although far too secretive and rebellious for my liking. I will adjust her.”

“To what end? I mean Eric, it’s not like you’ll fall in love with the blood bag.”

His eyes narrowed and Pam stiffened. It had been a long time since she and Eric got into it. Pissing him off was never a good idea, even before he was named sheriff.

“I mean ...” she stepped back toward the door. Should he attack, she wouldn’t back off, but if she could make a clean getaway and avoid hostilities, it was wise. “I do owe Ms. Merlotte my life. She did give me blood to help me recover and … and … I am grateful.”

“Show it by choosing an excellent bed. Now, on to our next project. The Shreveport werewolves apparently are accusing Sam Merlotte of a crime he swears he didn’t commit.”

Pam snorted and Eric nodded. Who in their right mind trusted or believed a word any shifter, Were or otherwise, said?

“Seems the Pack Leader’s child is dead, lured into traffic.”

Another snort. “Human children are stupider than the dumbest animal. Methinks Were children are the dumbest of them all.”

“Yes, well all the same, she’s dead and they’re accusing Carla’s brother. I need you to gather as much information on this situation as possible. Don’t get staked in the process. Use whatever human means necessary, pay them if you need to. Just gather the names and high points and do it quickly.”

“After I purchase a bed?” she scowled.

“This is an order, Pam.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Now, where’s Long Shadow, I want you both to understand the cash drawer procedures Carla has set up for us.”

Pam rolled her eyes. “I’ll go get him, he’s doing inventory.”

***

All Sam’s best laid plans were completely sidetracked when the roof at the bar simply caved in. It happened right after Carla stormed off and Northman hissed his threats. What the fuck was the vampire threatening him for, anyway? He didn’t do anything, goddamnit! He tried to tell the vamp he didn’t want or need his help, but then Eric made a statement that felt like a fist to the gut.

“I will do whatever it takes to assure Carla’s safety, Shifter. And, I’d think you’d want the same.”

Okay, too much to process, and after the vamp disappeared, Sam sat on his porch and listened to the rain pound on his roof. Fuck, he wasn’t happy. He didn’t like a vampire paying so much attention to his sister, let alone a vampire powerful enough to do the things Eric could do. Age combined with political position made Northman far more dangerous than the average bear, and he’d have preferred Carla had never met the dead bastard, much less sought him out for Sam’s benefit. And now? What were Eric and Carla? Friends? Business associates? Employer and accountant? Doubtful. It was time to face the worst; Carla was sleeping with a vampire. His sister was a fang banger. Nothing good ever came from such matches and the way things looked, there was nothing he could do to change it.

Sam wasn’t happy with his legal situation, either. He’d received a summons, hand delivered by Sheriff Dearborn that afternoon. He was to appear in court for zoning violations. The charges were bogus, trumped up by the Were lawyer to intimidate him. There were no violations. When Sam bought the bar, it was already in business for going on twenty years. He’d made no major changes to the business or property that would require zoning permits. All he did was clean it up, paint and pave the customer parking lot.

It seemed the Shreveport Werewolves were scared enough of Eric, especially now that it was clear he was still alive, that they’ll do anything to indirectly ruin Sam … and thus force him to go to them. It sucked, big time.

As he listened to the tin roof play In A Gadda Da Vida, he wondered if it was time to head out for his second night of investigations. Tonight’s shift would be a bloodhound, far better than a mouse. Although not as quick, the animal was a lot smarter. It should be a more productive adventure. Then … creak, creak, CRASH! The roof simply fell in over at the bar. Blessedly it was nearly two in the morning and there was no one inside. If Sam thought he was pissed before, his temper was about to go off the charts now. He’d just had the fucking roof inspected!

He ran across the back lot and was drenched by the time he got into the service door. There was a good side to it all, the roof that collapsed was in a corner of the dining room, far from the storage area or kitchen and just far enough from the bar to not cause too much damage and loss. A few tables would need to be replaced but hey, it was the area he was planning to expand anyway. If it wasn’t for the damn zoning hearing, he could get started with that project. As it was, roof repair was the only option left to him until things filtered out.

He quickly gathered tarps and nails from his shed and went to work, blocking off the rain from the rest of the dining room. He could see the fallen roof was rotted and if he felt like being real mean, he could fucking sue the inspectors. But for that night, all he cared about was protecting what was still undamaged, calling the police for someone to guard against theft, and getting hold of his insurance company.

So much for playing Columbo in a bloodhound suit. Too bad, it had finally stopped raining.

***

The bed was beautiful, huge, dark mahogany hand-carved wood with four tall posts and dressed in a gorgeous satin bedspread. A mountain of pillows in the rich tones of yellow and forest green adorned the mattress and covered most of the headboard. Pam stood, awaiting approval but Carla was still in shock.

“Oh … my … God! Why did you do this?” She asked, running a hand along the soft fabric and wondering what to do with her own bed when it arrived from storage.

“Eric asked me to. Oh, I was glad to do it, after what you did for me, of course.”

“Pam, all this wasn’t necessary. There’s no way I could just let you die.”

“Yes, well, all I did was pick it out and get it all here for you. Eric’s the one who footed the bill.” She grinned. “And it’s a substantial bill. He did say that cost was no concern, so … nothing but the best for you. Now, he asked me to tell you to wait here for him.”

“When’s he coming?” Her heart thrummed with excitement and Pam rolled her eyes. Maybe it’d be best not to flaunt her happiness in the vampire’s face. “I mean, just in case something else comes up.”

“Nothing should come up when Eric makes a request, Carla. You’ll do well to learn that now.” And the lithe blond female undead simply left in a whoosh of air. Not even a “goodbye”.

Carla looked at the bed and sighed. Such a bed deserved better than the likes of her. With no idea when Eric would arrive, she proceeded to primp and pamper. A shower and special flower scented shampoo. She blew dried her hair in thick shiny waves then painted her finger and toenails a pretty rosy red. She glanced at the clock. Ten thirty. A yawn creped up and surprised her, making her jaw crack and she laughed. Tired? How could anyone be tired when the mother of all lovers was on his way to see her? She slid her best red satin nightgown over her head then debated lying provocatively across the bed to await his arrival, but being horizontal offered too much temptation to fall asleep.

Why was she so tired? Well, it had been a crazy few days so it could be expected. She put on the matching satin robe and made a pot of coffee. Then she watched television. Eleven. Midnight. One o’clock. When was he coming? Carla yawned again. It would serve him right to find her sound asleep when he got there. She huffed and sat on the sofa. Yawned, and promptly drifted off to Slumberland.

***

Eric was not happy with the information, but Pam had done her job well. She’d gathered everything available regarding the Were child’s death, the internal politics of the Shreveport pack … and the charges against Sam Merlotte.  It was more complicated than he’d hoped, but fixable. Not vampire fixable, as showing goodwill toward all since coming out of the coffin simply wouldn’t permit that any longer, but fixable all the same. It would just require a lot more finesse.

“How did you gather this information?”

Pam grinned. “I have … friends. Human and Were. Trust me, it’s all confirmable. What are you going to do with all this?”

“You mean, what are we going to do, don’t you Pam?” Her attitude was getting tiresome and Eric wondered if he’d need to punish, banish, or simply beat the crap out of her.

“Right,” came her slow southern draw as she inspected her fingernails.

“Pam,” his voice was a whisper as it came while zapping to her side at lightening speed. “Do not push me.”

Unconcerned, she dropped her hand and huffed. “Isn’t this going a little far just to do a little goodwill? I know what you’re thinking, Eric. You plan to clear Sam Merlotte, and as you can see, it’s probably going to be impossible. He did it. In his go-to animal form. And … according to the Were legal accusations … on purpose.”

“But why? Seriously Pam, have you ever even heard of Sam Merlotte before? What’s a Bon Temps shifter’s beef with the Shreveport Werewolves?”

“Who knows? Who cares? I say kill them all.”

Eric knew when his temper was near boiling and it had reached critical that moment. His face leaned close to Pam’s and he could see her visibly tighten.

“All right, all right. Goodwill. So we won’t kill them all. Listen Eric, I do what you tell me to do. I always have and always will. Just … tell me what to do. And … sorry if I’ve offended. There’s something different about you and basically, it’s all new to me.”

Eric calmed, moved to his desk and pushed back his hair. “Sam swears it was another shifter and frankly, it’s not impossible. I want you to find the other shifter … create the illusion of one if you have to … do whatever is necessary. Can you do that for me, Pam?” His voice had become sugary sweet and her response was exactly what he expected; a mix of affirmative and disrespect. Good old Pam, he could count on attitude, and he could count on loyalty.

She smiled. “Of course. Anything for you.”

In other words, Fuck you but I’ll do it. He’ll take it. “Fine, now I have a date.”

Pam was correct, something was different about him. He wanted to believe his interest in Carla was purely an experiment, something to explore, to learn from then move on but he was discovering something very different. A thousand years of life can numb a vampire, make him raw and careless and he’d done his best not to become one of the undead undead, those vampires set on self destruction based on nothing more than bloodlust. He’d controlled his level of violence, even with the added power of his position. He’d taken advice from his maker, moving to Shreveport and starting, of all things, a business. Godric was correct. Business and politics suited Eric better than even battle. And it was because of Godric’s suggestions that Carla was now firmly imbedded in his life.

Not his heart. Not his soul. In his life. He’d do right by her, spread the necessary goodwill by association with her, and gain perspective he’d never chanced to learn through knowing her. She was pleasant, attractive, entertaining and had a sense of humor he enjoyed. The problem was … any human woman might have those qualities, he just never looked. Taking human lovers was never his interest. Turning humans into vampires had long ago lost its attraction. Humans, men and women, were food, nourishment to sustain his life. He was gentle about it and since the Great Revelation, it had become extremely easy to get. There was fun in the chase, the fear in a mortal’s eyes, the practice of glamoring and the first sip of denied rich warm blood, but those adventures were becoming few and far between, especially for such a high profile vampire.

Carla represented something else altogether. She was a willing lover, but not because he was vampire. She showed him human frailties and strengths, like her secretiveness. She frustrated him but not to the point of wanting to punish her. Her weakness as a mortal made him want to protect her, like a pet, but her kindness made him want to take time to sit back and receive. As he understood it, human women wanted something a wealthy vampire could offer. That taste of danger … financial security … the chance to feel special. He wanted to give all this to Carla in return for everything she was teaching him about humans. He’d missed a lot.

Godric had not. For nearly a century, his maker had contacted him regularly with startling awareness about the human race, observations he’d been making, interactions he’d been cultivating and predictions he’d been formulating. More than a decade earlier, Godric wrote to Eric, telling him of the coming of the Great Revelation, actually coining the phrase that became the keywords for vampires coming out of the coffin. They mean us no harm, they’re just afraid, he would say over the phone. We must find common ground to survive, for soon we will have no choice. At the time, Eric’s maker had taken a human lover, a young woman who aged and died old and wrinkled in Godric’s arms. It made no sense to Eric. It still made no sense. Of course, in his eyes, taking a lover, as he had with Carla, was a very different thing from falling in love. That … Eric could not, would not do. Ever.

Still there was a joy in his heart and spring in his step as he left to drive to Carla’s cottage. Such a human choice, to drive. But among the things he was discovering, doing what a human must do, helped determine why they did those things. During their discussion about bookkeeping, he’d caught Carla doing things the hard way, especially when she explained the accounting duties she performed for Fangtasia.

“Why do you check the figures so many times?” he asked. “The calculator has confirmed, the addition has confirmed, even the bank statement has confirmed. Why make this harder?”

“If I can’t prove it five ways, there’s a twenty percent chance it could be wrong. I need to make sure in my own head that it’s right. I do it this way because I want it to be right. Even if it is harder, silly.”

Eric Northman wasn’t sure if it was her logic or her calling him ‘silly’ that baffled and entertained him more. Either way, rather than fly or run, he drove the car to her sweet cottage.

He’d already been invited inside and felt no need to knock but once in the house, he stood and sadly shook his head. There on the sofa, wrapped in shimmery red satin and curled like a baby, slept Carla. He tenderly carried her to the exceptional bed Pam had purchased, removed all their clothes and gently loved the tired woman.

She was smiling when he left her just before dawn.