Sookie Stackhouse is pretty. Not pretty in a way I'm used to, though. Pam, the dancers that come here, they're always painted with thick lines and bold colors and they look like art. Sookie isn't like that. She has some sparkles on her eyelids – I have a good view, since she's unconscious at the moment – and on her lips, but it all just makes her look a bit glowy. Like the dolls I had when I was little.
We're out on the floor of the bar, Sookie and I. She's on her stomach on a couch. I'm in a chair. I don't know how long I've been here – probably an hour. So it's around three in the afternoon, early for me to be awake. Silly of me. I need the sleep, I'm tired. But I woke up when I did, and I got up when I should have rolled over and gone back to sleep, and I got dressed.
Because Sookie Stackhouse is here. Am I supposed to ignore that?
She's like me. Not many people are like me – no one that I've ever met.
Actually, she's better.
No. No, not better. Older. I'm better.
After Eric rushed out of my room, I stayed there, like he said to. I stayed there even after the woman's screams – Sookie's screams, I know now – began. Eventually, just before dawn, Eric returned and gave a brief explanation. Sookie had been attacked by something. He didn't know what. Neither did Bill Compton, who was the one who brought Sookie here, the one who had shouted Eric's name earlier. He's the vampire Sookie belongs to. He was there when Sookie had the whatever-it-was slash into her back, apparently quite badly.
Vampire blood wouldn't heal her. Which is not something I thought could ever happen.
Eric called Dr. Ludwig, an angry old woman he keeps on hand for situations like these. I've met her three times – twice for shots, once for the flu – and I hate her almost as much as she hates Eric and Pam. But, no matter how she feels about vampires, she's a good doctor. At least according to Eric. And tonight she did something, fixed Sookie just enough – Eric didn't go into detail about exactly what she did, if he even knew – for Bill Compton's blood to finally work, so Bill gave Sookie his blood, and she started to heal. And she is healed by now, almost definitely. I can't say for certain. Someone put her in an oversized Fangtasia t-shirt to replace the one I'm guessing was shredded.
So. Eric called Ludwig and, I imagine, paid her to help this woman. This human. And he let her spend the day here. Even gave her a shirt. A human.
I'm the only human he's ever treated that way.
But, before Sookie, I was the only human in Eric's life with powers.
I pull my legs into my chest, squeeze them, and dig my chin into my knees.
. . . . .
"But you don't need her, Eric, I've told you –"
"You've told me that no one I suspect of guilt is guilty. Therefore, I am seeking a second opinion."
"None of them is guilty! I'm not wrong!"
"You are taking this far too personally, Annika."
"That's not it!"
"Then why are you crying?"
"I'm – Because I'm angry!"
"Because you are taking this personally – Do not walk away from me, girl. Come here . . . I will indulge this one more time, and no more, so listen well. My bringing in Sookie Stackhouse is not a reflection of your worth to me."
"Of course it is."
"Let me speak. You know very well that you have only scratched the surface of your abilities. Most of them have yet to manifest. In time, I expect your powers will be far superior to Sookie Stackhouse's – and possibly to anyone else's, for that matter. And then, I assure you, I will rely on you alone for matters such as these. But until then, there will be times when I look elsewhere for assistance, and you are going to have to accept that."
". . . None of those humans took the money, Eric –"
"Enough."
. . . . .
That was the conversation Eric and I had a few weeks ago, just hours before I met Sookie Stackhouse. Someone was stealing money from the club. Eric thought it was one of the humans working for him, the accountant or the dancers or Ginger, but I spoke to them all and none of them were lying about not taking the money. Eric didn't believe that, even though it was true, and so he called in Sookie, and because she can read minds – entire thoughts, not just feelings or emotions or intentions, entire thoughts – she was able to figure out from Ginger's mind that Longshadow had been stealing the money. And then Longshadow attacked Sookie – I was there – and Bill Compton killed him. He exploded into a mess of flesh and blood.
. . . . .
"I told you it wasn't one of the humans."
"Yes, dear, I know you did."
. . . . .
I never liked Longshadow, not from the minute Eric hired him, about six months ago. He only spent the day at Fangtasia on occasion, but I could never sleep well when he did. I avoided him at all costs, and I told Eric more than once how he made my skin crawl, but Eric said that was just because Longshadow had done many bad things and I wasn't used to him yet. Eric's usually right about these things. He wasn't this time.
Anyway, that was how I met Sookie Stackhouse. Bill Compton, too, but Sookie was the one I was interested in. She's the only person I've ever met with abilities anything like mine.
Abilities better than mine.
Just for now.
I hated watching her that night. Talking to each of the humans and reading their minds as easily as if they were books. Relaying what they thought to Eric, and Eric taking her at her word.
And her being so kind throughout it all. To the humans she spoke to. To me. It was all too strange for me to follow, especially because it was all genuine. I felt it from her – the good. Like I can feel it now, even with her unconscious. It's like coming up for air when you didn't even know you were under water. It's like – well, one winter years ago, on Eric's farm in Oland, I went for a walk in the day, even though I wasn't supposed to, and I got caught in a snowstorm in the middle of the forest. Eric found me almost the minute night fell, terrified, freezing, and walking in the wrong direction. He took me back to the house, wrapped me in a blanket in front of a fire, had me drink hot tea, until the shivering finally, finally stopped and I felt warm again, and that, that moment of warmth and safety, is what I feel when I try to read Sookie Stackhouse.
So it should be easier to like her.
She's waking up.
I straighten in my chair and try to look older as Sookie makes a sort of low whining noise and pushes herself off the couch a little, looking to the left and away from me first, then to the right and straight at me. Her eyebrows pop up a little, but that surprise only lasts a second. It's replaced by a smile. "Annika. Hi."
"Hello." I clasp my hands in front of me. "You're at Fangtasia. Something attacked you and Bill brought you here. Do you remember?"
She brings her feet to the floor, carefully. "Yeah . . ." She reaches one hand around herself and under her shirt. "Feels as good as new."
"Vampire blood will do that."
She slows down for a moment and blinks twice at me. "Guess you would know," she says, but she struggles to hold onto her smile.
She doesn't like that Eric has me. I've known that since the second I met her. I stare at her, until finally she stands, and, after glancing around the bar, walks quickly to a mirror on the wall to my left. "Do you know – Did Bill leave?"
"No. He's in the back. We had a spare coffin." I watch as she turns her back to the mirror and pulls her shirt up to examine her pale, flawless skin. "Eric says he doesn't know what attacked you. Which is remarkable. Considering how old he is. Everything he's seen."
Sookie lets her shirt fall back in place and smooths her hands over it. She looks too serious for a moment – it's not what her face is supposed to look like. It doesn't match that glowing warmth she gives off. But now – damn, it's like flipping a lamp on – she's smiling at me again, her eyes are bright and focused on me. "'Remarkable,' she repeats. "You don't talk like most eleven-year-olds, do you?"
"I wouldn't know. I haven't been around any other eleven-year-olds recently."
"Huh." She settles back on the couch across from me, crossing her legs, leaning over her knees a little. "So you don't have . . . any friends your own age? At all?"
"No. I don't want any. Eric says I wouldn't get along with them. I'm smarter than they are."
"Well . . ." Her eyebrows are close. She tilts her head. "That sounds kinda . . . lonely."
I stay quiet. Sookie can't read my thoughts. I'm like a vampire that way. So she doesn't get to know about any of my feelings. Not if I don't want her to.
But I can know about hers, if I want. Her feelings, her intentions – kind of, if I know how to interpret what I'm reading. Sometimes that's difficult. It isn't with Sookie. Past all the warmth and light is more warmth and light. She doesn't have an interior – that's not right. Ulterior. She doesn't have an ulterior motive, not this second. She's simply being kind.
It makes me uncomfortable.
"It's not lonely," I say. "I have Eric. And Pam . . . well, sort of. I have my tutors. And Eric usually has Ginger take me somewhere once or twice a week, in the afternoon, if I go to bed early enough the night before. The mall. Museums, a few times. The park. I see people . . . I prefer vampires. Humans are simple and petty. No offense."
"Maybe you haven't met the right humans. Doesn't sound like you've met many at all."
"Eric doesn't like me to," I snap, then look at my hands. "He knows what's best for me. He always has."
There's a quiet moment, and then, "That sounds like something you've heard him say."
"I'm eleven years old. Are you trying to tell me I shouldn't listen to my guardian?"
"I – no. I just . . . You've clearly had a very unusual upbringing, is all. I don't really understand it."
I could say the same about her upbringing. Well, what I assume was her upbringing. A mom and dad. Maybe some brothers or sisters. A house in a neighborhood. A dog or a cat. A big school with lots of kids. Bikes. Playing in the sunshine . . .
Stop it.
"I wouldn't change it," I say, tangling my fingers together, my mind already rushing to find something new to say, some way to change the subject. "Eric says you can't be glamoured."
"No. Neither can you, right?"
I shake my head. "And you can't hear my thoughts?"
"No. You're quiet, like a vampire. It's nice."
"I would imagine so," I murmur, and for a second, I feel the freezing echo of Lafayette's fear in my chest. I couldn't help but feel it, when he was close by. It wasn't as bad as if I had tried to read him, if I had been reaching out and searching for it, but still. It wasn't pleasant.
And what about when I'm older? When I'm stronger? Will I be able to shut other people out? I'm not like Sookie. Vampires aren't out of play for me. They're harder to read, sure, but when I'm grown, when I'm more powerful, that may stop being true. What if I can never be around people without their emotions slamming against mine? Or what if I become telepathic, like Sookie –
"You're awake!"
I jump at Ginger's voice, and as Sookie rises to greet her, I release one hand from the other. I was nearly mangling it. I take a deep breath. Don't be such a child.
"Thought I heard you," Ginger says behind me. "I made you a two-top sandwich." I turn to see her hand Sookie a mound of brown goo on a paper plate. "Peanut butter and chocolate syrup."
"That's very . . . thoughtful, Ginger."
"I would have made you somethin' a little more fancy, but most of the food around here is Annika's. I can't touch that. It would mess up the system."
Sookie gives me a questioning look. "A chef Eric hired makes fourteen meals for me every week," I explain. "Seven lunches and seven dinners. We keep them in the freezer."
"Such a lucky girl, havin' it all mapped out like that," Ginger says. She shakes her head at Sookie. "That's the thing about bein' with vamps, ain't it? You always forget to eat." She walks around Sookie and to an empty bottle on the table close by. "I've lost thirty-seven pounds since I got this job."
Sookie eyes Ginger as she begins to go from table to table, picking up the leftover trash from the night. "Do they make you stay here every day?"
"Well, sometimes I just come in for deliveries. Sometimes I take Annika out somewhere for a few hours, you know, get her a little sunlight?"
She has a bad habit of talking about me like I'm not in the room. Pam is greatly amused by it – or, rather, by the fact that it annoys me so much. She's actually started up conversations with Ginger just so they could talk about me like I'm not in the room.
"But these days," Ginger says, "I've been comin' in for –"
I swing my head towards her just as she stops dead, because I know what she was going to say. Maybe it's a psychic thing, maybe not, but I'm certain she was about to mention Lafayette. But she caught herself. She caught herself, so it's alright.
Only, Sookie's staring at her, waiting for her to continue. After a moment that's much too long, Ginger forces a laugh and waves a hand. "Never mind alla that . . ."
But Sookie still stares, and there's something uncomfortably familiar about that stare, and then I remember what kind of person we're dealing with. And why she should not be staring at Ginger like that.
I jump from the chair. "Ginger, I need to talk to you –"
But Sookie interrupts. "Lafayette?"
And in that second the warmth I feel in her turns to fire, so much so that I pull my mind away from her as much as I can. I even take a step back.
She's not what she seems. Not entirely.
Sookie moves closer to Ginger, who tries to edge away as she balances the empty bottles and glasses filling her arms. One cup falls to the floor and bounces with a hollow sound before rolling off. "Why would Eric have Lafayette in the basement?" Sookie asks. Demands.
Ginger glances at me, looking for help, I suppose, but I'm at a loss. I didn't even know Sookie and Lafayette knew each other. Did Eric?
"I-I just work here . . ." Ginger tries to hurry around Sookie, but Sookie blocks her way, and then, before I know what's happening, Sookie's racing to the bar.
I could wake up Eric. This wasn't my fault. I could wake him up. I could –
But I take too long to think, and before I can make a solid decision about anything Sookie is ducking behind the bar and reappearing with a gun, which she aims straight at Ginger, who was halfway to the exit.
How did she –
Ginger must have thought about it. She thought about that of all things, and now I'm within ten feet of a loaded, pointed gun for the second time in two days. But Sookie looks far more comfortable with the gun than Ginger did. "Take me to him!" she shouts.
And Ginger, being Ginger, starts to scream.