Annika Northman: Part One

Chapter Twelve: Terminal

For a while when I was little, I went through a phase where I was terrified of storms. Because of this, Eric began to take me out to the farmhouse's porch whenever one was approaching. He wasn't cruel about it. He let me sit on his lap, he kept an arm around me, and eventually I didn't mind storms anymore. I even started to like them. They're quite beautiful, really. Anyway, it was during this time when I first heard the phrase "the calm before the storm." Eric explained it to me. I thought it was fascinating, both for what it actually was and for what it meant as a metaphor. That quiet moment before everything blows up. The stillness before the fight begins.

And now, as Eric's voice comes through this greasy payphone receiver, that old phrase echoes through my head: The calm before the storm.

"You didn't get on the plane?"

I close my eyes. Tiny droplets of water slide over my eyelashes. I cry when I'm angry. Also, I've been worried out of my mind for over an hour now, and my chest feels like a wringed-out wet towel. Which I think is a fair reason to cry, too.

"No." I turn my back to the airport terminal, not wanting any strangers to see my face, because this is private, and because if one more adult gets it in their head that I'm a lost little girl I might blow up. "I knew something bad was happening. I was frightened –"

"You should be far more frightened now, girl."

I wrap my free arm around me.

"For the second time in less than a week, you have disobeyed me. I thought the first time was a fluke. Clearly I misjudged the situation. Clearly I should have had a firmer hand in dealing with that!"

I have a great many things on my mind at the moment, dear. Do I have to punish you for this?

No. I won't go in the basement. I'll do as you say. I promise.

"Do not think I will make that mistake again," Eric tells me, venom in each word.

At which moment some part of me evidently decides that life is not worth living, because I hang up on him.

All the other parts of me, naturally, regret that immediately and scramble to pick the phone back up. But, of course, all I hear at that point is the dull, bored dial tone.

"Damn it." I press my hands into my eyes until they buzz and I see stars explode, waiting for the phone to ring, even though I'm not sure if payphones work like that. Even though I know Eric would prefer to deal with me in person.

Two or three minutes pass without the phone making a sound. I don't know what I'm hoping for.

"Excuse me?"

I wipe my hands over my face and turn around, chin up, to see a middle-aged woman wearing a business suit and lipstick that's far too pink. "Are you done with that?" she asks.

I grab the handle of my suitcase. "It's the twenty-first century. Get a cell phone." I stomp past her before she can reply.

There is no shortage of chairs, but I've always been fond of sitting on the floor when I'm upset, which is why I end up cross-legged in the loneliest corner I can find. The wall I lean on is glass, like so many airport walls are, because people love to watch planes take off. One is taking off right now. I imagine there are at least a few children on it who are doing exactly what their parents or guardians requested they do. How nice for them.

Godric is alive. He was in the custody of the Fellowship of the Sun, but Eric and I guess some other vampires and Sookie, somehow – Eric, shockingly, wasn't generous with the details – got him out. And, as Eric put it, they ensured the Fellowship would no longer be a problem.