Blood/Magic - Harry Potter/True Blood (7/9)
April 1
Hermione didn't recognize the phone number, and when she answered it, she was half expecting someone trying to reach the law firm whose number was only one digit away from her own.
"Hello?" she said.
"Hermione?"
Startled, Hermione put down her spellbook. "Yes?"
"It's Sookie." Sookie's voice was high and tight.
"Oh." Hermione smiled. "Hi. How are you?"
"Not great," Sookie said. "What're you doing right now?"
"Um." Hermione glanced at the array of books and bottles on the table. "Not much. Why?"
"I, um...need some help."
"Help?" Hermione sat up. "Are you all right?"
There was a pause. Then: "Can I come over?"
"Sure."
Sookie's knock came not a half hour later.
"Hi," Hermione said, when she opened the door. She took Sookie's arm and pulled her through the door before the moths swirling around the porch light got inside.
"Hi." Sookie shut the door and pressed her back against it. Her gaze was darting here, there, everywhere. She was still in her work uniform, that little white Merlotte's T-shirt on which Hermione had placed an anti-stain enchantment. She looked flustered and breathless.
"Please, please, please do not tell me you're being stalked by a boggart or have run afoul of a Runespoor or anything like that," Hermione said, because if it was one thing that she'd figured out about Sookie, it was that when one was a sweet-faced blond fairy waitress, one simply invited disaster.
"What?" Sookie focused on Hermione. "No. No, of course not, what's a boggart?" She paused. "Never mind, I don't want to know."
"Sit down. Please." Hermione took Sookie's elbow and guided her to the couch.
Sookie sat, chewing her lip, and for a long moment she just looked at Hermione.
"Um." Hermione took a step back. "Let me just...put the kettle on."
Sookie flapped her hands. "Wait, wait, wait. Just let me explain."
"Okay," Hermione said slowly. She came back to the couch and sat down next to Sookie. "Explain."
Sookie took a deep breath.
"I..." she started to say, and stopped.
Hermione waited. When the pause became awkward, she said, "Are you sure you wouldn't like that tea?"
Sookie shook her head hard, then looked imploringly at Hermione. Her brown eyes were wide and hopeful. She took Hermione's hands in both of hers.
"I need you," she said, "to take care of Eric."
"Eric?" Hermione's chest tightened. "Eric Northman?"
"What other Eric is capable of causing problems like this?" Sookie asked, sounding as though she was asking herself.
"I haven't seen Eric for months," Hermione said. She felt an odd, tugging sensation in the vicinity of her heart.
Sookie sighed and twisted her hands together. "I know," she said. "But something's happened to him. Something bad."
The tugging sensation got stronger. "Like what?" Hermione said. "He's a vampire, isn't he? What could possibly be all that bad?"
"I don't know," Sookie said. "He's -- It's like he's forgotten everything he was. Everything he's done. He has no idea who he is." She paused. "And Pam...thinks that Bill was behind it."
Hermione snorted. "Right."
"I'm serious." Sookie got up and went to the door. She pulled it open and beckoned.
In an instant, Eric was in the living room. He was wearing a hoodie with the sleeves cut off, a pair of basketball shorts, sneakers that looked too small. His hair was tousled and hung in his face. He looked...extremely odd.
"Hello," he said curiously, looking at Hermione. "Who are you?"
Hermione studied him. "Well,” she said, “there's definitely something different about you.” She went to him and brushed his bangs out of his eyes.
He watched her. "Do I know you?" he asked.
Hermione looked at Sookie, who shrugged. "Told you," she said.
"Why can't he stay with you?" Hermione pushed Eric away; he had caught her hand and was examining it carefully, his lips parted.
Sookie frowned. "It's a little complicated," she said. "If Bill really is behind it -- and I'm not saying he is or isn't --
"Ah." Hermione gently extracted Eric's hand from her hair. "Stop, please."
"You smell good," he observed.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Thanks." She turned back to Sookie. "What, exactly, does Pam think Bill did?"
Sookie took a deep breath. "She thinks...she thinks Bill sent Eric into a coven."
Hermione laughed.
"Why are you laughing?" Sookie demanded. "This is serious."
"Not if it's a coven, it's not," Hermione said. "Covens are -- well. I'll explain later. But that's not what did it."
"Well. Okay. Not a coven, then, fine. I never believe Pam anyway. But." Sookie grasped Hermione’s arm. "Can he stay here?"
Hermione regarded Eric's guileless, eager expression and sighed.
"I suppose," she said. "I'll work on trying to figure out what happened to him."
"Oh, thank you." Sookie seemed to deflate with relief. "Thank you. He has the hatch, right? Still? The cubby thing?"
Hermione glanced at the cabinet in the corner. She'd opened it and crawled down the ladder once before. It was a little creepy down there, despite the comfortable bed and modern decor, but it was a good place for a vampire to sleep during the day, she supposed.
"Yeah," she said.
"No one can know he's here,” Sookie said insistently. "Not yet. Not until I figure out what's going on."
Hermione sighed. "You're the boss."
"Eric," Sookie said. She turned to him and put her hands on either side of his face. "Be good, okay?"
He smiled at her. "Okay."
Once Sookie was gone, Hermione turned to Eric. "So," she said. "You've been Obliviated."
"I've been..." He frowned. "What?"
"Or something like that." Hermione took his arm and steered him toward the couch. "What's the last thing you remember?"
He sat down, keeping his eyes on her. "You are very pretty," he said.
"Focus, please, Eric." She sat next to him.
He shook his head, looking for a moment like a puppy with water in its ears. "I don't remember anything," he said after a moment. "Nothing."
"You know what you are." She studied his face.
He nodded. "Of course."
"And you know how to feed yourself. Where to sleep."
"Yes."
She hesitated. "Do you remember how to glamour people?" she asked finally.
He nodded. "But I don't know how I know."
"Fair enough." She leaned back, regarding him. He looked a little bewildered, a little uncertain, but he had smiled at her twice already, and that was...new. She'd never seen him smile like that before.
She liked it.
Oh, how she wished she hadn't drunk his blood.
"I feel..." He furrowed his brow, leaned toward her. "I feel close to you."
"I drank your blood," she said. "And you...drank mine. A long time ago."
His leg was pressed against hers now, his arm across the back of the couch near her shoulders. He was staring at her.
"That's why I am attracted to you," he said.
She felt a sudden flush of warmth in her chest, her stomach, between her legs. "Yes."
He tilted his head. "Are you attracted to me?" he asked.
She took a deep breath.
"Yes," she confessed.
He kissed her.
She pulled back at once. "Eric!" she said sharply.
"What?" His eyes were round. "I thought you wanted to."
"You thought wrong," she huffed. "Not now. Not ever. You're -- "
She stopped.
"I'm what?" he said, and he looked so confused and hurt that she shook her head.
"Nothing," she said.
His expression turned sad, then. "I would like to know what I am," he said.
Hermione reached over and squeezed his hand. "I know you would," she said. "Listen. It's late and I need to go to sleep. Can I show you where to go when it starts to get light?"
He nodded, as quiet and docile as a lamb. "Okay."
She climbed down the ladder first, feeling amusement at his trepidation when he started to descend. He looked at the little room, with its double bed and fluorescent lights.
"Oh," he said. "This looks like my room."
He patted the bed, turned on the TV in the corner, examined the few old Norse texts on the small bookshelf. Then he turned back to Hermione. "You did this for me?"
She shook her head. "I think you did this for you, Eric," she said.
He nodded. "I did a nice job."
They climbed out of the hatch and stood together in the living room. "Well," she said.
He gave her his word that he wouldn't go exploring, wouldn't even go outside. He seemed interested in the television, anyway -- he had, he explained, a lot of catching up to do, now that he couldn't remember anything.
"Good night kiss?" he asked.
She paused, one hand on the railing, and glanced down the stairs at him: impish smile, blue eyes sparkling. He hardly looked like the Eric she knew.
She smiled back. "In your dreams," she said, and ascended the final three steps.
"Yes," she heard him say, from behind her.
"See you tomorrow night," she called.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The next day, sitting in the bright kitchen, she started making phone calls.
"This is Herveaux," said the brisk voice on the other end of the line.
"Angelique, it's Hermione."
"Hermione!" The edge in Angelique's voice melted. "How are you? Are you in Mississippi?"
"Sadly, no." Hermione toyed with her quill. "I do have a favor to ask, though."
"Shoot."
"I have a vampire up here whose memory has been modified," Hermione said. "And -- "
"What?" Angelique's voice sharpened. "What do you mean, modified?"
Hermione frowned. "I mean he can't remember who he is or anything about his life," she said. "Like I said. Modified."
"Shit." Hermione could hear things clattering in the background. "Are you at home?"
"Yes. What's wrong?"
Crack.
"Whew!" Angelique shook herself. The beads around her neck rattled.
"Oh my God, you scared me," Hermione said. She got up from the table and folded Angelique into a hug. "You're lucky I'm decent."
"Or unlucky." Angelique pulled back and smiled at her. "You look great."
Hermione snorted and plucked at her ratty bathrobe. "Right. Thanks. Next time, warn me before you Apparate so I can at least get dressed. You look great too."
She did. Angelique managed to make voodoo queen into haute couture, with her neatly tailored robes and coordinating Christian Louboutins. Hermione couldn't remember ever having seen her without perfectly applied makeup. "Thanks," she said.
"What's the emergency?" Hermione said. She pulled a chair out and gestured for Angelique to sit down.
Angelique sat, placing her Kate Spade bag on the table. "Necromancy is the emergency," she said.
Hermione froze. "That's not possible."
"Oh, it's possible." Angelique pulled an iPad out of her purse, turned it on, slid it toward Hermione. "It's the only way spells work on vampires."
"You have references in PDF format?" Hermione flipped through a few pages of A History of Magic. "I'm impressed."
"An entire library," Angelique said. "It's way easier." She reached for the iPad and found the book she wanted: A Primer of Darkness. "Look."
Hermione skimmed. "Necromancy. First documented by the Greeks...pictographic records in South America..." She paused. "The Inquisition. All this was related to vampires?"
"Not all," Angelique corrected. "In Africa, it was zombies. Haiti too, later."
"Ugh." Hermione shuddered.
"It hasn't been seen for over two hundred years," Angelique said. "And if this vampire really has been Modified or Obliviated..." She paused. "We're dealing with some seriously dark shit."
Hermione's phone buzzed.
"Sorry," she said. "It might be Harry calling back. Let me just -- " She picked up the phone. "Oh -- hold on -- Sookie, hi."
"I talked to Pam." Sookie sounded panicky. "Eric -- Pam confirmed it. Bill sent him into a Wiccan coven in Shreveport."
"I told you, it can't have been a coven," Hermione said.
Angelique raised an eyebrow.
"But Wiccans -- "
"-- did not do this to Eric," Hermione said. "Covens started off as Squib support groups and they're not much more now. Nothing magical about them."
"Pam says that's the only new place he's been," Sookie replied, her voice pleading. "Please. Someone did this to him."
Angelique was mouthing the words real witch over and over, her face six inches from Hermione's, an expression on her face that all but screamed DUH.
"Yes, okay," Hermione said irritably. "That's the most likely story, then."
"What is? What is?" Sookie said.
"That a real witch infiltrated the coven," Hermione explained. "We're going to have to do some digging."
"Okay." Sookie sounded near tears.
"Don't worry," Hermione said. "Don't worry. We'll figure this out." She hung up.
"There's no way a Wiccan did this," Angelique said, as soon as Hermione set the phone down.
"I know." Hermione chewed her lower lip. "I suppose...maybe I can go check it out."
Angelique shook her head, her green eyes narrow. "Going alone is a bad idea. If a wizard or witch really did join them and is playing with necromancy, you're going to need backup." She grinned. "Or should I say: we're going to need backup."
"What's this we?" Hermione said, arching an eyebrow at Angelique. "You don't have to get involved."
"Oh, you know how I love an adventure," Angelique said. She grinned. "Besides, do you really think the Bureau is going to let you pull some kind of vigilante magical sheriff stunt?"
"Granted." Hermione patted the table and stood up. "First order of business, then: figure out what spell Eric is under."
"That's your job," Angelique said. "Meanwhile, I'll figure out how powerful a wizard we're dealing with, here." She frowned. "Even Voldemort wasn't into necromancy."
"Well." Hermione shrugged. "He had enough living followers. I suppose."
Angelique reached for her purse. "Meet up Wednesday? We can maybe -- maybe -- do a recon run down to this coven."
"Sounds good. I'll be in touch."
"'Bye, darlin'," Angelique said, and there was another loud crack, and she was gone.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
When Eric opened his cabinet doors and saw her, he smiled broadly.
"Hi," he said.
He was rumpleheaded and shirtless, still in the basketball shorts, and barefoot. She let herself look at him for a little longer than was perhaps entirely necessary. "Hi," she said.
He came to the couch and sat down next to her. "I missed you," he said, so earnestly it made her uncomfortable.
She looked away. "You were only asleep for twelve hours."
"Still." He put his hand on the back of her neck and it made her shiver, his long fingers cool and light against her skin.
She shifted out of his reach. "I need to do a little..." She paused. "Magical interrogation."
"You can interrogate me as much as you want." He waggled his eyebrows.
She stared at him. "Eric. Was that a joke?"
"Kind of," he said.
She shook her head, smiled, patted his knee. "You're a lot less...cold...than you used to be," she said.
"I assume you mean that in the metaphorical sense, not literally," he said, pressing his palm to her upper arm.
She covered her hand with his and gently pulled it away from her arm. "You are correct."
He tilted his head and twined his fingers with hers. "You like me?" he asked.
"Let's not go that far." She extracted her hand, stood, and moved in front of him, wand out. "Ready?"
His blue eyes were so wide, so trusting. "Yes."
May as well start with the basics, then. "Finite incantatem," she said, flicking her wand.
There was a flash of light, and she was thrown backwards. She hit the floor hard. Heard herself let out a yelp at the sudden pain in her sacrum.
Eric was at her side at once, scooping her into his arms. Before she knew it, she was on the couch in his lap.
"Are you okay?" He looked worried.
She struggled out of his arms and stood, wincing. "I'm all right," she said.
"It didn't work," he said sadly.
She retrieved her wand. "No," she said.
"You're hurt." He stood up too, touched her hip.
"One more try," she said. "Something smaller, this time."
He furrowed his brow. "Be careful."
"Obscuro," she said, and once more found herself on the floor.
"Let's not do this any more." Frowning, Eric helped her to her feet again, putting his arm around her shoulders and sitting her back on the couch.
So no spells worked on vampires. Not unless necromancy was involved. Which meant...God, she hoped that didn't mean she had to perform any dark magic.
"We're going to need to be a little more creative," she replied.
He pulled her closer. "Now?"
She glanced at the clock: eight-thirty. Not too late to call Angelique.
"No," she said at last. "Not tonight."
"You're warm," he said.
"Human," she reminded him.
He looked sidelong at her. "Are you sure I can't kiss you?"
"Yes," she said, laughing. "I'm sure."
He frowned. "Why not?"
"It'd be taking advantage of the situation," she said. "You're enchanted. You don't know what you're saying."
Blur of motion, and he was standing in front of her, fangs out, eyes ablaze. "I know what I'm saying," he snapped.
She pushed back, eyes wide, suddenly afraid. "I'm sorry," she said. "Eric...put your fangs away. Please."
He stared at her a moment longer, then his fangs snapped back.
She stood up. "I think I had better get ready for bed."
"Sorry," he mumbled.
She edged out around him. When she looked back over her shoulder, he was still standing there, watching her.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Dread -- cold, insistent -- skittered up her spine. There was someone in the house.
"Lumos," she said, but her wand tip stayed dark.
Movement. Clattering. Footsteps up the stairs, impossibly fast.
And that high-pitched laugh.
"No," she breathed. "It's not possible."
Snakelike eyes inches from her face -- that pale, pale skin -- she opened her mouth and couldn't breathe --
"Hermione."
She woke screaming, fighting the hands that pinned her wrists to the bed.
"Hermione," the voice said again.
She stopped struggling. "Eric," she gasped.
He let go. "You were having a nightmare," he said.
"Oh -- " she managed to say, and then she was sitting up and wrapping her arms around him. She took deep breaths, trying to slow her racing heart. "I am so relieved you aren't Voldemort," she said, after a moment, her words muffled against his bare chest.
His hands moved over her back, stroked her hair. "Who?"
"Never mind." She tightened her grip on him. "How did you know -- oh. Your blood."
He nodded, his chin brushing the top of her head. "You were afraid." He let go, shifting as though he would stand, and Hermione caught his hand.
"Wait," she said.
He stopped. Looked at her. His eyes like onyx in the moonlight.
She moved over, stretched out on her side, patted the spot she'd vacated. "Stay."
She thought he'd ask her if she was sure, but instead he pulled back the blanket and slid into bed beside her. She curled against him, her head on his shoulder, his arm a heavy comfort at her back.
"Thanks," she said.
Low rumble of laughter. "Just be careful where your hands go."
"Don't be a pig," she said. She flicked his nipple with her nail and laughed when he yelped.
"You're the one who invited me into bed," he pointed out, flattening his hand over hers.
"Not for sex," she retorted, lifting her head to look at him.
He tilted his head to meet her gaze. "Then what am I doing here?"
"Well." She pursed her lips and put her head back on his shoulder. "I reserve the right to change my mind about that."
"I'll keep my fingers crossed." His free hand found her upper arm, his fingers sketching random patterns on her skin, making her shiver. Why was she suddenly so drawn to him? Why, after all this time?
She closed her eyes. Felt him press a kiss into her hair.
Ah, she thought. That's why.
"Sleep," he said.
She closed her eyes. Slept.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
She felt him.
She woke with her leg hooked over his, her hand splayed on his chest. His arm curved around her. She shifted again, and he was moving then too. Turning. Mouth against hers, soft groan, tongue brushing her lips. Was this a dream?
"Hermione." His voice a whispered prayer.
Not a dream. No. His hands skated over her stomach, her breasts; she tensed, gasped, moaned against his mouth.
She felt his smile. "I thought I wasn't getting any."
She rolled on top of him, her legs on either side of his hips. Pushed his blond hair back from his forehead. His eyes glinted in the darkness.
"I told you I reserved the right to change my mind," she said.
She smiled down at him, stretched forward, caught his lower lip lightly in her teeth. He closed his eyes. Groaned. She felt him harden against her.
"I'm sorry I woke you," he said.
She pulled back and smiled. "You didn't."
His thumbs brushed her waist, his fingers wrapping around her back. "I presume you know what you're doing."
"You presume correctly," she said, kissing him.
Eric's smile, she noticed, crinkled his eyes.
"You are so beautiful," he said.
She pushed herself up, back, and down again, fighting to keep her breathing steady as she pressed herself against his erection. He hissed softly, his hand coming up cup her neck as he kissed her.
"Maybe you can -- " he mumbled, plucking at her T-shirt.
"Yes." She wriggled out of it, tossed it aside. Shuddered as her skin touched his.
"I'm sorry I'm cold," he whispered.
"Don't be." She slid her hands over hard, muscular thighs. He pulled away long enough to slide his shorts off, to work her underwear over her hips.
"Eric," she murmured, her teeth at his throat.
As she took him into her, as she rocked against him, she felt safe.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Afterwards, he kissed her neck, her wrists, her thighs.
"I don't want to part with you at dawn," he said. Gentle. Reverent.
Hand raking through his hair: "Your place, then?" she said, which made him laugh.
He carried her to the ladder; she demurred, giggling, when he offered to carry her down it, as well.
He went down first. "I like the view from down here," he said from the bottom of the ladder, catching her around the waist and lifting her.
"Don't be vulgar." She kissed his collarbone. Held on as he set her down on the bed and settled next to her.
She lay on her side, forehead brushing his. His fingers skated over her skin.
"Will you be down here until sunrise?" she asked.
He kissed her lightly. "I will be with you."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
She woke up and he was watching her.
"Is it AM or PM?" she murmured.
His eyes flickered up, then back to her face. "Nine AM."
"Ohh." She rolled onto her back, stretched out. "Eric. You should've woken me."
"You looked peaceful." He kissed her.
She propped herself on her elbow. "You need to sleep."
"I will."
"You'll bleed if you don't," she said, because he already looked paler than normal.
"Hermione." He put his hand on her neck. "I know. I'll sleep."
"I need to go into town, anyway," she said, sitting up. "Sookie found out where this coven meets."
He sat up next to her, his fangs snapping out. "You can't go there," he growled.
Hermione took a deep breath. "Hey," she said. She reached up and lightly, lightly touched his left fang with her fingertip.
He closed his eyes. The fangs retracted. "Sorry," he mumbled. When he opened his eyes again, the panic and fear were gone. "But you can't go there," he insisted.
"It's a shop," Hermione pointed out. "Anyone can go there. I'm just a member of the public."
"You need protection," Eric said.
"I'll go with Sookie."
He glared. "Not good enough."
"Who, then?" She was starting to feel impatient with him.
"I don't know!" Agonized frustration in his voice.
"All right, all right." She looped her arms around him, brought her face close to his. "Listen. I'll ask Angelique -- she's that voodoo queen -- we'll figure something out. I won't go alone."
He looked away. "Thank you."
"Will you sleep now?" She smoothed her palm over the cool planes of his back. "Please?"
"Come back at dusk," he said. "When I wake up."
"I will," she promised.
She stayed with him until he fell asleep, then gently extricated herself from his grasp. She felt a little strange about climbing out of his cabinet naked, so she found one of his tank tops and put it on. It reached halfway to her knees.
She was closing the cabinet doors when someone knocked on the door.
She went to the door, peered through the peephole. It was Sookie. She was with an extremely tall, extremely handsome dark-haired man.
"Just a second," she yelled through the door. She aimed her wand at the staircase. "Accio bra, accio hairbrush, accio underwear," she muttered, and caught each item as it zoomed toward her She slid into her undergarments, raked the brush quickly through her hair, and opened the door. "Hi."
"We tried calling, but you didn't answer." Sookie tilted her head, looking at Hermione's makeshift dress, and narrowed her eyes. Hermione had asked her not to listen to her thoughts, but she had a feeling Sookie was doing so this morning anyway.
Oh well. Nothing to be done about it.
Sookie was smiling now, knowingly, but she didn't miss a beat. "Hermione," she said, "this is Alcide."
"Hi." Hermione shook his hand. Under all that scruff, Alcide had a nice smile. "Come in, won't you?"
They came into the foyer, Sookie smoothing her sundress and kicking off her sandals at once.
"I thought Alcide could go with us to MoonGoddess," Sookie said.
"Great."
Sookie must have heard the question in her voice, because she explained quickly. "Alcide's a werewolf," she said.
"Oh." Hermione frowned. Werewolves weren't particularly helpful in magical battles, generally, unless they were of magical ilk as well -- and those were a different set altogether, with the power to turn others if they chose. Still, Alcide could be the brawn of the outfit, if nothing more. "All right, then. Today?"
"They open at ten," Sookie said.
Hermione asked for five minutes to get properly dressed -- she decided to forego makeup -- and met them at the car.
She saw the logo on the side of Alcide's pickup truck and paused momentarily. "Herveaux?" she said.
"Yeah, that's my company," Alcide said. He boosted Sookie; she crawled into the backseat, holding her skirt down with one hand.
Angelique had never mentioned a brother. But her father had been a werewolf. And when she looked at Alcide, she could suddenly see Angelique in the angle of his jaw, in the curve of his brow. Was she imagining it?
"Is Herveaux a very common name?" Hermione asked, climbing into the passenger seat.
He shrugged. "Maybe." Swung himself up into the cab. "Probably."
"You've never lived in Mississippi, have you?"
He looked at her narrowly as he started the engine. "Why?"
"So that's a yes, then?" Hermione persisted.
Slow nod as he put his hand on the back of her seat and reversed the truck out of her driveway. "It is."
"Do you have a sister?"
He relaxed visibly. "Yes. Janice."
"Not who I meant." Hermione pulled out her cell phone and found Angelique's photo. She held it out to him. "Angelique."
Sookie's eyes widened. "You have another sister?" she asked.
"No." Alcide shook his head and pulled the truck over to the side of the road, then reached for the phone. "Just Janice."
"That you know of," Sookie said.
Alcide squinted down at the photo. "She's black," he said.
"Half black." Hermione took the phone back. "Her father was white. A werewolf. From what she knows of him." She paused. "She has his last name."
Alcide frowned. "I'm sure there are a lot of Herveauxs," he said. He put the truck in gear and swung it back onto the road.
"I'm sure there are." Hermione put the phone into Sookie's outstretched hand.
"She's pretty," Sookie said. She looked at Alcide, then back at the phone. "I can see it."
Alcide grunted.
Sookie's expression darkened. "What, you don't like the idea of maybe being related to a black girl?"
"What?" Alcide looked at Sookie in the rearview mirror. "Come on, Sookie. You really think that's the problem?"
"Well, then, what is the problem?" Sookie snapped.
"The problem is that I don't like to speculate on hypotheticals, particularly where my family and possible illegitimate children are involved," Alcide snapped back.
"Hey," Hermione interrupted. "Hey. I'm sorry. I was only asking."
"No way to tell, anyway," Alcide muttered.
"Right." Hermione briefly wondered if she ought to mention to him that there was, in fact, a very easy way. "No way to tell." She took her phone back from Sookie and put it in her purse. "Where is this place, anyway?"
"Downtown on the square," Sookie said.
Hermione chatted with Sookie for the duration of the drive, but Alcide was absolutely silent.
"I'm sorry," she said, as they climbed out of the truck in the MoonGoddess parking lot.
He glanced at her. "For what?"
"For..." Hermione paused. "Interfering."
He looked at her levelly. "You didn't," he said finally. "Doesn't mean anything."
"Regardless," Hermione said. "I'm sorry."
He grunted. "Accepted."
"Thanks."
Alcide looked at the storefront, then at Sookie, who was resolutely striding toward the shop. "I'll wait outside," he said.
The bell on the MoonGoddess door jangled as they entered. Hermione had to stifle the urge to wrinkle her nose: it absolutely reeked of patchouli in the store. She took in the swathes of drapery on the windows, the shelves of incense burners and candles and shiny paperback books on Wicca. She forced a smile at the woman behind the counter who greeted them. "Hello."
"How can I help you?" the woman said. She was older -- maybe in her fifties -- and homely. She looked a little like Harry's aunt Petunia.
"Just looking, thanks." Hermione glanced at Sookie, who was examining a large geode.
Sookie took her cue and beamed at the woman. "This is just the cutest little store," she said merrily.
Hermione marveled, once more, at Sookie's ability to put on a happy face even in the grimmest (and most malodorous) circumstances.
"I've always been interested in Wicca myself." Sookie put the geode down and sidled over to the counter. "It seems so...peaceful."
Hermione watched the woman's face. She was looking at Sookie curiously, but without malice. "It is," the woman said.
"I'm Sookie." Sookie stuck out her hand.
The woman shook it. "Marnie."
"So you..." Sookie glanced at the window. "Give readings?"
Marnie bit her lip. "Well..."
"Oh, please," Sookie entreated. "I'm so curious. I'd just love to know what my aura says about me."
Marnie sighed. "All right." She made her way to a doily-covered table near the counter and sat down, then gestured for Sookie to do the same. Then she glanced at Hermione. "And you?"
"Not...none for me, thanks," Hermione said. She hugged her bag a little tighter, feeling the reassuring shape of her wand inside it. So far she saw absolutely no indication that there was anything magical going on here -- certainly the bags of "rune stones" and sprigs of sage for sale were as Squib as one could get -- but without casting any sort of divining spell, she had no way to know for sure.
"I'll need something of yours," Marnie said to Sookie. "Something personal."
Sookie nodded, then reached for her necklace. She unclasped it and dropped it into Marnie's outstretched hand.
Marnie closed her eyes. There was a long silence, then:
"There's someone here. An older woman. She cared for you...and someone else. A young man."
Sookie's eyes rounded. "Jason."
"Your brother?" Marnie opened her eyes.
"Yes."
"She says..." Marnie paused. "She says that the woman your brother loves is not who she appears to be."
"What do you mean, not what she -- " Sookie broke off; her lips parted.
Marnie's eyes had glazed over. "Sookie, you are in danger. This woman before you means you harm," she said. And the voice was not hers, somehow. Not hers at all.
Sookie had fallen absolutely still.
"Gran?" she whispered.
"What do you mean, means her harm?" Marnie seemed to come back to herself. She stared into the air, an expression of sheer bewilderment on her face. "I'd never hurt anyone! I -- "
But Sookie was reaching for Marnie's hand, taking the necklace back.
"Where are you going?" Marnie said.
"Lady," Sookie said, "when my gran tells me to run, I run." She slapped a bill onto the table. "Keep the change. Hermione -- "
"Right behind you," Hermione said.
Alcide was waiting outside the door. "What happened?" he said.
"That woman -- " Hermione jogged to keep up with Sookie. "Really does Divine."
"I heard my gran," Sookie said. When she reached the truck and turned back toward Alcide, there were tears in her eyes. "She told me that woman was dangerous. That she wanted to hurt me. She told me to run." She opened the door as soon as Alcide unlocked it and climbed inside.
"Wait." Hermione resisted when Sookie reached to pull her into the cab. "Wait. I just need to see -- " She pulled out her wand.
"Hermione!" Sookie looked around anxiously. "Here?"
"No choice." Hermione aimed her wand at the store. "Incantatem revelio."
There was a flash, and for a moment, a translucent blue dome appeared over the MoonGoddess building, then a green one.
Hermione frowned. "There's a multilayered protection spell on it," she said. "And a deflecting enchantment. That woman may not act like a witch, but there's some complicated magic happening here."
"So what do we do?" Sookie asked anxiously.
Hermione climbed into the truck and buckled her seatbelt.
"We call for reinforcements," she said.