"You sure?" I asked. "You don't quite seem yourself."
"Hell, yes," Immanuel said unconvincingly. "The guy who killed my sister is dead. I'm feeling good."
He didn't look it, but I was sure I didn't, either. I'd said as much as I could, so I sat by while Immanuel crouched awkwardly before Thalia's chair. The height differential was not in their favor. Thalia wrapped her good arm around Immanuel's neck and sank her fangs in without any further discussion. The expression on Immanuel's face went from bleak to blissful.
Thalia was a noisy eater.
Indira squatted beside her in her blood-drenched sari, patiently holding the severed limb to its source. As Thalia drank, I noticed that the arm looked more and more natural. The fingers flexed. I was astonished, but it was only one more extreme event during an evening of them.
Pam looked a little put out once her victory celebration with Eric was over and she saw that Immanuel was offering his blood to someone else. She asked Mustapha if he'd give her a drink, and he shrugged. "Comes with the job," he said, pulling down the neck of his black T-shirt. Pam looked incredibly white against Mustapha, and Mustapha's teeth bared in a grimace when she bit in. He, too, looked happier after a second.
Eric came over to me, beaming. I had never been more undilutedly glad that our bond was broken, because I didn't want to feel what he was feeling, even a little bit. He put his arms around me, kissed me with enthusiasm, and all I could smell was blood. He was wet with it. It was getting all over my dress and my arms and my chest.
After a minute he drew back, frowning. "Sookie?" he said. "You're not rejoicing?"
I tried to think of what to say. I felt like a big fat hypocrite. "Eric, I'm glad we don't have to worry about Victor anymore. And I know this was what we planned. But surrounded by dead people and body parts is not my idea of a good place for a celebration, and I've never been less horny in my life."
His eyes narrowed. He didn't like my raining on his parade. Understandable.
And that was the thing, wasn't it? I found all of this understandable . But I still hated it, hated myself, wasn't too fond of anyone else. "You need some blood," I said. "I really am sorry you were wounded, and you go ahead and take some."
"You are being a hypocrite, and I will take blood," he said, and he struck.
It hurt. He didn't make it feel good, an action almost automatic for a vampire. Tears ran down my face without my wanting them to. In an odd way, I felt the pain was merited, justified--but I also understood this was a turning point in our relationship.
Our relationship had been marked by a thousand turning points, seemed like.
Then Bill stood at my shoulder, staring at Eric's mouth on my throat. His expression was complex: rage, resentment, longing.
I was ready for something simple, and I was ready for the pain to stop. My eyes met Bill's.
"Sheriff," Bill said. His voice had never been smoother. Eric twitched, and I knew he'd heard Bill, knew Eric realized he should stop. But he didn't. I shook myself free of the lethargy and self-loathing, grabbed hold of Eric's earlobe, and pinched as hard as I could.
He detached with a gasp. His mouth was bloody.
"Bill's gonna take me home," I said. "We'll talk tomorrow night. Maybe."
Eric bent down to kiss me, but I flinched. Not with that bloody mouth.
"Tomorrow," Eric said, his eyes searching my face. He turned away and called, "Listen up, people! We have to start cleaning the club."
They groaned like kids told to pick up their toys. Immanuel went to Colton and helped him up. "You can stay at my place," Immanuel said. "It's not too far."
"I won't sleep," Colton answered. "Audrina's dead."
"We'll get through the night," Immanuel told him.
The two human men left Fangtasia, their shoulders slumped with exhaustion and grief. I wondered how they felt about their vengeance now that it had been accomplished, but I knew I'd never ask them. I might never see them again.
Bill put his arm around me as I stumbled a little, and I found myself glad he was there to help me. I knew I couldn't have driven myself. I found my purse, still with a couple of stakes inside, and I pulled my keys out of an inside pocket.
"Where did Bubba go?" I asked.
"He likes to go hang around the old Civic Auditorium," Bill said. "He used to perform there. He'll dig a hole, sleep in the ground."
I nodded. I was too tired to say anything.
Bill didn't speak again the whole way home, which was a blessing. I stared through the windshield into the black night, wondering how I'd feel tomorrow. That had been a lot of killing, and it had been so fast and bloody--like watching one of those violence- p**n movies. I'd seen a few seconds of one of the Saw movies when I was at Jason's house. That had been enough for me.
I fully believed that Victor had set this in motion with his own intransigence. If Felipe had put someone else in charge of Louisiana, the whole catastrophe wouldn't have occurred. Maybe I could blame Felipe? No, the buck had to stop here.
"What are you thinking of?" Bill said as we were going down my driveway.
"I'm thinking about blame and guilt and assassination," I said.
He simply nodded. "Me, too. Sookie, you know that Victor did his best to provoke Eric."
We'd parked behind the house, and I turned to him questioningly, my hand on the car door handle.
"Yes," Bill said. "He was doing his best to provoke Eric to act, so that he could kill Eric without having to justify it. It's only because of superior planning that Eric has survived and Victor has not. I know that you love Eric." His voice remained calm and cool as he said this, and only the lines around his eyes told me how much it cost him. "You have to be glad, and maybe tomorrow you will be glad, that this situation has ended the way it has."
I pinched my mouth together for a second while I formed my response. "I'd rather Eric be alive than Victor," I said. "True enough."
"And you know violence was the only way to achieve that result."
I could even see that. I nodded.
"So why the second-guessing?" Bill said. He was calling me on my reaction.
I let go of the door handle and turned to face him. "It was bloody and ghastly, and people suffered," I said, surprised by the anger in my voice.
"Did you think Victor would die without bleeding? Did you think Victor's people wouldn't do their best to prevent his death? Did you think that no one would die?"
His voice was so calm and nonjudgmental that I didn't get angry. "Bill, I never believed any of those things. I'm not na?ve. But seeing is always different from planning."