I Have Gone Out (part 10)
Story: I Have Gone Out
Fandom: Southern Vampire Novels
Characters: Ensemble
Pairing: Sookie/Eric
Rating: R, adult themes
Summary: The world has become a dark and scary place. But humanity has its own way of fighting back. It's infectious. Part 10, in which Sookie meets Vegas.
Spoilers: For all books up to Dead and Gone
Note: Please keep in mind that if you subscribe to my journal you may have read the first half of this already. If you get to it through trueblood_fic, or ericsookie, both parts are new!
Chapter 20
I noted glumly that flying into Vegas in the middle of the day was probably not the way to go. I guess there was something exciting to seeing a city appear out of nothing. Desert. Desert. Desert. Then, hello urban sprawl.
The landing was more than a little bumpy. It didn't send me into hysterics per se but it did a pretty good job at reminding me that I'd just spend a few hours hurtling through the air inside a shell of sheet metal. I was a woman of the world now. The glamour of airplane travel had lost its pizazz.
A vehicle that looked like the love-child of a limo and a hearse met us on the tarmac. Talk about door-to-door service. On the side, in a script that looked ready to grow spider webs was the word 'Sanguine' with the addendum 'Casino and Hotel' underneath in shimmery gold. In addition to the driver there were two other suited people waiting around for little old me. One of them, a middle-aged middle man type, greeted me by name and identified himself as “Mr. De Castro's interstate human human-vampire liaison.” Did that mean there was a vampire human-vampire liaison?
The Anubis Air guys transferred the travel ready coffins from the plane to the car. I kept my eyes out for would-be abductors. Most Americans go to the airport expecting the hassles of enthusiastic frisking and shoeless shuffling. I go expecting assassins.
As it turned out, there were no assassins present but there were lawyers. Well, one lawyer. She was Tilesha Werner and she had a bunch of papers for me to sign. She was all business in her thoughts but common sense cautioned me against signing anything I hadn't read. I informed common sense that the stack of paper before me was throughly daunting. “What is all this?” Maybe I could calm my conscience with the cliff notes version.
“Non-disclosure agreements,” Tilesha Werner said. You'd be able to call her pretty if she'd ever allow the word to be uttered in her presence. The woman's hair was bound back so tightly that my own head ached in sympathy. She had lovely dark skin but hadn't bothered with a stitch of make up. And there was something punctual about her voice. That was the only way to describe it. “Three of them. One for you, two for the vampires in your party.”
“What am I agreeing not to disclose?” I hadn't heard a word about any of this. I wondered what bearing it might have on Eric's trial or whatever lengthy ceremony Felipe intended to drag us through. I wished Mr. Cataliades was here. Or even Bobby Burhnam. Mr. Cataliades was scheduled to head up Eric's defense but he'd be arriving on a later flight. Bobby had gone to New Orleans with Alan.
Felipe's interstate guy, Stephen Vaste, stepped in before the lawyer could explain in her superior staccato. “The Discovery Channel and the BBC will be showing a documentary on American vampires next year. Mr. De Castro has agreed to be the subject of one of the segments.” Neat. I know, I know, Felipe was probably involved in some really unpleasant machinations against Eric but it was still... neat.
Stephen Vaste smiled tightly. “We need all of you to agree to take certain measures of discretion while you are within the grounds of Sanguine or any of Mr. De Castro's other casinos.” Right, Felipe owned several Vegas properties. That was going to make finding Jack more difficult. Maybe I could ask for the deluxe grand tour. Yes, just show me to the torture chambers please.
“If the film crew approaches you for an interview it must be cleared with me or another member of Mr. De Castro's legal team. Outside of that, we'd prefer if you'd interact with the crew as little as possible.” I wondered how many times Tilesha had given that speech. She managed to sound intense and bored at the same time.
“Who else will be featured besides the King, Mr. Vaste?”
The lawyer gave me a sharp look. How did the vampires survive so long when they insist on disclosing sensitive information to insipid little girls?
Stephen Vaste looked apologetic. “Thats one of the big things we need you not to mention, Miss Stackhouse. The vampire hierarchy has decided it would be best to leave the details of the current system of government out of the documentary. We ask you to forgo all use of royal titles and any mention of knowledge you might have concerning the inner workings of vampire politics.”
Oh. “So besides... Mr. De Castro, who's going to be on the show?”
“Vampires of different ages and from different areas of the world will be featured. The documentary will chronicle their human lives, their turning, their arrival in America, and their current place in American society.” The impression I got from him was something like 'Planet Earth' with vampires.
“The networks have asked that you agree not to share information about the scope of the program. If you choose to make public any details about the documentary before the time of broadcast, Discovery and the BBC reserve the right to take legal action against you.”
“Got it,” I said with my happy hour smile. Maybe I would spend some quality time with the documents before signing. “You need these right away?”
“Oh, I think we can wait until tomorrow morning,” Mr. Vaste said congenially.
“But if you decline to sign, you will be asked to find other accommodations for the duration your stay. At your own expense.” These two really had the good cop, bad cop thing down.
We stopped and started through the late end of rush hour traffic. The limo-hearse drew quite a few looks from other commuters. They must be wondering if, behind the dark windows, were the results of a wedding gone horribly wrong. Then we turned onto and almost vacant street. “Transylvania,” Mr. Vaste announced.
I had my first look at the world renowned Vegas block of clubs and casinos through the beige glaze of a heavily tinted window. An article I'd read in Time said the block had been dubbed “Transylvania” by dispossessed casino tycoons who'd seen their floundering businesses sold off to flourish at vampire hands. Enthusiasts had quickly adopted the name. Time listed Transylvania as one of the top ten vacation spots for the adventure junkie.
The street seemed to be as deeply into daytime trance as its proprietors. Mr. Vaste informed me that, a block over, a street of cafe's and boutiques was thriving due to the daytime needs of Transylvania's human patrons. I made a note to check it out when I wasn't busy being cross-examined.
The casinos and hotels that littered the block were all different and all fabulous. Themed and stylized, they all sported flashy facades and healthy flocks of colored lights. I tried to picture the street all lit up in sunset splendor but I was pretty sure my imagination didn't do it justice. Even in the procession of decadent architecture, Sanguine was tough to miss.
As we pulled up the semi-circle drive on the hotel side, I had the distinct impression that it would be much more appropriate to arrive in a carriage driven by a really creepy coachman. Sanguine looked like something transported straight out of a gothic novel. There were narrow windows of thick, bubbly glass, the landscaping was tortured and twisting, the gargoyles were fanged.
I hadn't had much time for research before getting hustled onto the Shreveport-Vegas flight. I don't know what I was expecting from a casino of Felipe's (maybe something more running of the bulls) but it wasn't this.
“I'll show you to your room,” Stephen Vaste ('Please, call me Stephen') said, taking control of my luggage with a smile. The lawyer dogged our steps. She wasn't crazy about letting me out of her sight until I'd signed the papers.
Stephen took us up to the seventh floor to what I recognized as a light tight room. “Mr. Northman has insisted that you share accommodations with Mr. Compton. We informed him that security at Sanguine is world class... but he insisted all the same.”
I rolled my eyes, doing my best to look like a woman with an overbearing boyfriend. It wasn't a huge stretch. “At least Bill's better than most of them,” I said and then asked frostily, “And where will Mr. Northman be staying.”
“He has been given secure accommodation as befits his station as a prominent businessman and affiliate of Mr. De Castro until the scheduled negotiations have been concluded.” Tilesha Werner knew about the trial. Tilesha Werner knew it might end in someone's death. And she didn't care one bit.
I planted my hands on my hips. “And where will this 'secure accommodation' be in relation to my less secure accommodation?”
Stephen looked a little startled. He was used to vampires bringing their besotted humans to Sanguine for a getaway weekend. That I was less than besotted put him out of sorts. “Mr. Northman will be staying on the thirteenth floor. I assure you... his accommodations are secure against entrance or exit.”
So Eric would be upstairs in a glorified cell. Fantastic. At least he'd insisted on keeping Bill and I close to one another. Felipe's minions departed, informing me that there was a dinner scheduled for 'me and my party' in one of the private lounges of the casino at 9 o'clock.
Bill's coffin had been wheeled into the room as I was speaking with Stephen, it occupied an empty space where a sofa probably would have been otherwise. I didn't like to think on the implications of Eric wanting Bill, Bill, to stay with me.
Bill would rise in about an hour and then there'd be another hour until dinner. I unpacked my suitcase. Most of the clothes, I had never seen before since Eric had arranged for them while I hastily arranged the rest of my life for an impromptu Vegas getaway. Most of what Eric had bought was high quality business- type attire. But there was one dress... it might be just the thing for a last dinner before everything went to hell.
OK, maybe I was feeling a little pessimistic.
While I was showering in the luxurious, wood-paneled bathroom I thought I heard a soft click from the room. Bill was awake.
When I exited the bathroom wrapped in a fluffy white robe (undergarments already in place thankyouverymuch) Bill was seated on one of the twin beds, scanning the stacks of documents Tilesha Werner had left. “Did you know about all this?” I said, gesturing with my hairbrush.
“No.” Bill didn't look up.
“We're supposed to call Felipe 'Mr. De Castro.”
Bill nodded. “They want to work the trial in.” Bill held up a release form that I hadn't come across yet in my perusal of the documents. Vampires are fast readers. “They want to film it as a reenactment of old-world vampire justice.”
“You're serious?”
Bill had never had much of a sense of humor.
I sat down on the other bed. To say that I was overwhelmed was an understatement. I had seen a few cases of modern vampire justice and they cold definitely pass as old-world. “This is a good thing, Sookie.” Bill's face was inexpressive. He might believe that, he might not. “There will be a lot of press when the documentary airs. The media may want to interview Eric. It would not be good for the King's interests if Eric were to disappear.”
“You mean if they stake him...”
Bill nodded. “They'll film the trial as if it is not real. Felipe will appear merciful and his debt to Eric will be repaid.”
I knew enough about vampire's to know the whole thing was a way for Felipe de Castro to tell Eric he was a pawn to be played with. “Eric's going to be so pissed.”
Bill actually smiled.
##
The casino side of Sanguine was a huge, open gallery packed from top to bottom with glitz and games of chance like a summer carnival for grown ups. The floor was full of an odd mix of impeccably dressed aristocrats and gothically attired fangbangers. Vampires studded the crowd like the centers of tiny whirlpools, moving through the press of bodies with liquid grace. I watched it all from the quiet of one of the casino's private lounges.
From the outside, Sanguine looked like a fortress with a tower at each of the four corners. Those towers, it turned out, held ritzy lounges that faced the casino floor with immaculately clean, floor to ceiling windows. Bill and I'd been shown to a third floor lounge so we were looking down at all the action on the floor. I already felt like I was in a movie.
The door we'd come through opened and through it came a small parade of people, headed by Felipe De Castro himself. “Miss Stackhouse,” he said smoothly. “It is such a pleasure to meet you again.”
“And you, Mr. De Castro,” I replied, nodding a greeting.
“By now you will have heard of our little project, I think?” Felipe's silk ensemble was all black tonight. He'd forgone the matador's red but kept the cape. “Don't worry, it will not have any bearing on the outcome of my business with your husband.”
I put on my best scowl for Felipe who was clearly testing the waters. “Of course not.”
Felipe gave a little bow. “I would like to personally welcome you to my establishment. I hope you stay here will be at least somewhat enjoyable.” Felipe smiled and pulled a young man forward from his entourage. “This is Simon Catalano, an old friend of mine. Simon will be happy to show you around Sanguine and answer any questions you might have after our little supper has finished.”
Simon smiled and shook my hand. “I've heard a lot about you, Miss Stackhouse,” Simon said. And he had. He knew about my telepathy, my relationship to Eric, and even about my rescue of the King. Simon the Spy. At least he was nice to look at. He was one of those uniquely attractive red heads. Call me shallow but I've always thought red hair was something Mother Nature had a hard time getting right. But it worked for Simon.
The door opened again two beefy vampires who looked more like they'd been geological formations than men before their turning stepped through to flank the door. After them, came Eric.
Chapter 21
I had to quickly put on my game face which is really similar to my best 'Sookie remains calm even though she's reading some really icky thoughts' face.
“Mr. Northman!” Felipe said with a nod and a dramatic flourish of his cape. I figured the show was probably for the TV people who had all declared themselves (in my head) ready to get their cameras on Eric.
This one looks just like a Viking.
Hello, female viewership!
I can't believe we're wasting this guy on a reenactment. He's a fucking Viking!
I had to pinch myself to contain a laugh. It was like they were drooling on my brain.
“Mr. De Castro.” I thought Eric's nod probably wasn't as deep as it should have been. Maybe it was in the contract. Or maybe it was just Eric.
Since everyone else was staring at Eric now I figured it wouldn't hurt my act to join in. No one had told him to dress for dinner (or maybe Felipe just wanted to make sure the BBC folks didn't miss the Viking thing) so he'd come in jeans (complete with barbaric belt buckle) and a black t-shirt. It didn't matter. This was Eric. The rest of us were overdressed.
A waiter was passing through the little crowd. I took a glass of white wine from his tray and hid my relief in a sip. None of the parts of Eric that I could see showed any signs of trauma- no smoking trails from silver chains like I'd feared. I'd spent a good amount of my shower convincing myself that, tied as we were, I'd know if anything really bad happened to Eric. I spent the rest of the shower hoping that Felipe de Castro recalled Siegebert and how I'd gone all Buffy on his ass.
It was probably indicative of how tangled up everything was that when Mr. Cataliades, the half-demon lawyer, followed Eric in a few moments later, I was about equally as glad to see one as the other. With the lawyer there, somehow I felt like things were much closer to a sphere I recognized. Most of the time, vampire affairs were such a tumultuous combination of archaic and bizarre that Felipe de Castro was just as likely to shout, “Off with his head!” over bottled blood and cigars as to give Eric a fair trial. If that happened now, at least there would be Mr. Cataliades to clear his throat and quietly quote the rule book. Or scroll. I bet it's a scroll.
Mr. Cataliades had been laying-low, as far as I knew, since the Nevada takeover. It showed in the taut line of his round belly which seemed to have swollen in defiance of the lawyer's need to stay out of the public eye. But he gave me a reassuring wink when he caught my eye and tucked his thumbs under immaculate-as-always lapels. I half expected him to pat Eric encouragingly on the back.
With the arrival of these final guests, the king announced that dinner was about to be served. I like to think that I was keeping up the icy air of an estranged wife very well. Eric was taking the silent as the grave approach though the annoyance I was getting from him via blood bond definitely had some volume. Mr. Cataliades took the seat between Eric and me with the air of a father separating two warring children.
Dinner was a charmingly fake affair. I'm sure the food was excellent but I was thinking too hard about how I'd like to be anywhere else to remind myself to taste it. The vampires present kept their faces as carefully blank as mine while we humans ate and they drank an expensive brand ('vintage') of partially synthetic blood. What the other part was, I didn't know. Maybe Vestal Virgin.
I knew from experience that none of them could be thrilled with so many humans doing something as vulgar as eating.
As we ate, the TV people (names and job descriptions were given but I noticed them less than the food) talked excitedly about “the project.” They seemed like nothing so much as football coaches giving a pep talk before the big game. Mr. Cataliades interjected a few questions. The demon lawyer politely made it clear that he would need to clarify a couple of points with the BBC and Mr. De Castro before “his clients” would be signing anything. I loved him more than a little right then.
By the time dessert was served I looked down at my lap, against the champagne silk of my dress was my red dinner napkin twisted into a knot. Apparently I had some nervous energy. I felt like the BBC's PR people were doing a great job spinning my life. They fully intended to turn a life or death trial into prime time television.
I've never liked reality TV.
Suddenly dinner was over and handshake and nods were passing all around. “What happens now?” I whispered to the lawyer on my left.
“Eric and I will work with the BBC lawyers to refine a few points of his contract.”
I sighed remembering my own pile of forms. I was surprised Tilesha Werner wasn't dogging my heels. “And then?”
“Eric goes to wardrobe.”
“Seriously?”
“Mr. De Castro is anxious to begin filming.”
“And the trial,” I said.
“And the trial,” he agreed.
I really hoped there were no other telepaths lurking in Felipe's little dinner party because if there were, they'd be hearing some really choice words from me about the situation. The most appropriate one was 'preposterous' but it definitely wasn't the one I was using most.
I was used to vampires maneuvering me about like a pawn and all that particular chess metaphor entails. But this was different. I'd never felt like I was being so unabashedly messed with. Felipe was blatantly playing with us, and yet the uncertainty of the outcome still loomed.
I think between the two types of situations, I preferred the familiar (if trite) chess type peril. I have the role of plucky pawn down. With this whole documentary-trial thing I felt more like I'd entered a game of Chutes and Ladders. To the death.
The absurdity was atounding.
“I requested a copy of your non-disclosure agreement as well,” Mr. Cataliades said, breaking into my thoughts. “I'd advise you to look it over but I believe it is safe to sign.”
“Thank you.” I glanced past the lawyer to Eric who was so still that he might have been at his customary post in the middle of Fangtasia. “You'll look out for him, won't you?” I said it as quietly as I could. It was a risk since there were plenty of beings present with extremely keen hearing but I couldn't help myself.
Mr. Cataliades and I both laughed at the idea of the rotund lawyer protecting an ancient vampire but the laugh was short lived. “I will, Miss Stackhouse.”
The lawyer rose and Eric rose beside him. Neither of them looked at me. As the motley crew of producers, directors, and lawyers led Eric away, the tension that had been mounting in my stomach boiled over. “Wait!” I said before I knew my vocal chords had gone to work.
I was on my feet and had no idea where I was headed. All eyes had snapped to me and I felt the weight of the attention of so many important people on me. No, I realized quickly, that wasn't it. Eric was pressing on me to be silent through the bond like he had never pressed before. I shook my head, confused with my will so under attack. With a groping hand I found the back of my abandoned chair and dragged myself back into it. “I'm sorry,” I said, still shaking my head. “It's nothing. Sorry.”
The TV men and women smiled awkwardly, nodded to one another and left the room with Eric and Mr. Cataliades in tow. As soon as they were gone, I felt like someone had kindly stopped stepping on my lungs with a combat boot. I rubbed at my throat. I knew Eric still wasn't too far away and while the good part of me knew that he was preoccupied with the current threat to his life, the selfish part of me really wished he'd send some happy thoughts my way. I could really use some rain drops on roses and whiskers on kittens right now (though, red silk boxers are far higher on my list of favorite things).
“I see Victor spoke truly,” Felipe said. For the time being he was sans entourage and was also occupying Mr. Cataliades' empty chair. Vamps do have a bad habit of sneaking up on we super-sensory deprived humans.
I smiled at the King radiantly. I hate non sequitor beginnings to conversation. What a cheap way to make a girl feel out of the loop. “About what, Mr. De Castro?”
“Your tie to Eric. It is quite strong.” Felipe looked at me steadily, clearly waiting to see exactly how I felt about said tie. He was right. I knew it was the bond that had pulled me out of my chair as surely as it had returned me to Merlotte's when Siegebert was attacking.
I didn't know how I felt about that particular revelation.
Well uncertainty was probably as good as anything in this situation and at least I wouldn't be lying. “Yes.”
“Victor also tells me that you are pledged to Eric by the knife.”
I had a momentary lapse in sanity and barely restrained myself from saying, “Which knife is that? That little ceremonial dagger? Shouldn't it have a name or something?” But sanity returned to me in time to twist my words into a more useful form, “Yeah. But I... Eric didn't exactly tell me about the knife. He just told me to give it to him.” I didn't have to feign annoyance.
“I see,” Felipe said. “Victor was under the impression that you were quite content to be bonded to Eric.”
“Things change,” I said, a fickle little human girl. “I hope you'll forgive me for saying... well, I preferred when my life was my own.”
Felipe smiled as gently as a vampire can, like an affectionate grandfather who might very well take you out for sundaes and then kill you. “This little show we are doing... you will see stories about me. Do you know, I was turned as punishment?”
“No. I didn't know that.”
“It's true. I lived my human life during the Spanish Inquisition. I was a successful merchant- silks, spices, silver and things like this. When the Church and the Crown took notice of my wealth... well soon after I was judged guilty of heresy. I spent many days in prison. I thought I would be hanged but the Jesuits had a more certain way of damning my soul.”
“They kept a pet vampire?” I asked incredulously.
“Something like that, yes.” Felipe smiled again. “But now the men who condemned me are long dead and I am once again a successful businessman. I entertain heads of state from nations around the world every week. Once I was turned to ensure my damnation, now humans from all walks of life beg me to turn them on a daily basis. Do you see?”
“No, Your... Mr. De Castro. Not really.”
He chuckled almost affectionately and brushed a hand over my hair. “You are bound to Eric Northman now but as you pointed out, things change. Even for vampires.”
Felipe stood with the satisfied air of man who has made his point and made it well. “I shall turn you over to Simon's capable hands so you can get acquainted with my casino.” Felipe gave a little bow. “Always a pleasure, Miss Stackhouse.”
I wished I'd brought a sweater. The room felt colder.
“Ever been to a Vegas casino before?” Simon asked appearing almost as stealthily as his master vanished. He thought that I'd probably never been outside of the town where I'd been born. He thought that was cute.
Unfortunately I didn't exactly have a ton of travel experience to throw back in his teeth. Plus, I was hoping for an excuse to look around. “First time,” I said brightly. “Everyone I know is off signing contracts. You have time to show me around now?”
“You are all I have time for.” He somehow managed to say it without a trace of innuendo.
Simon took me down in a glass elevator to the casino's main floor. On the way he explained that construction had started on Sanguine just a few months before the Great Revelation and it held its grand opening just a few days after the vamps went public. “Felipe was doing a little insider trading I guess.” The Vampire King had taken quite the risk that America would not only accept but embrace its vampire population.
My tour guide grinned. “Mr. De Castro is a powerful vampire. He knew the date for the public announcement and planned accordingly.”
Simon gave me his arm as we made a round of the floor and he told me about the games that were played there. He seemed to know everything about the casino and its glamorous patrons. With his tongue firmly lodged in his cheek, he made it clear that the rich and famous weren't just here for games of chance. He nodded discreetly at a Hollywood starlet who was a closet fangbanger. He bought us into a game of Black Jack with two warring pack leaders, a Senator who was here with someone other than his wife, the errant son of a visiting dignitary, and a tidy, bookish looking woman who'd gotten fabulously wealthy off the sale of fairy blood to vampires. When Simon supplied that tidbit I seriously considered punching her in her bespectacled face.
When I looked up from the game I caught a glimpse or two of Bill. He'd discretely left Felipe's dinner (with his phone to his ear) halfway through but he was back and keeping an eye on me through the crowd. I winced at the sight of him. Gray as he was, Bill looked more vampire than I'd ever seen him. He was still not wholly well. I felt a rush of gratitude that toward him for sticking by me through... well, everything. Sometimes good emotions are the worst thing. At least for me. When I'm on edge, kindness can make me lose it faster than any amount of tragedy.
I had to fake a coughing fit to have an excuse for eyes shiny with tears. The Senator's mistress kindly supplied me with some water and patted my back.
After a few rounds, we left the table (I might have gotten up a little clumsily and stilettoed the fairy blood lady's foot) and Simon led me over to an impressive bank of slot machine. He whispered quickly to me before shaking hands warmly with a gentleman who I now knew had exchanged a large investment in the casino for a promise that he and his ailing wife would be turned within the year.
I stared at the gentleman with an open mouth when he shook my hand and only managed to mumble something that resembled my name. I hoped he thought my shock was because he was a famous actor (name above the title of the film famous) and not because of the information Simon had supplied.
I didn't know how to feel, let alone what to say. My own horror at the idea of volunteering to be murdered warred with the love the man had for his wife that rolled off his thoughts even now when she wasn't present and we weren't speaking of her. There was a sort of hope for him that seemed to spring just from being here and from talking to Simon. I wondered if Simon had negotiated the investment.
“It was nice to meet you,” I finally said after Simon and the actor chatted amicably for several minutes and I contributed nothing to the conversation.
“Likewise.”
“So that's the floor,” Simon said brightly. “Do you have any questions? Want to play any more games?”
“Do you have, like, really scary, efficient security guards?”
Simon laughed. “You've seen Ocean's Eleven.” He stopped laughing. “Yes.” He grinned again at his own drama.
I hadn't actually been thinking about Ocean's Eleven, I'd been thinking about how they heck I was going to execute a search and rescue. “How about the towers, are they all lounges?”
“Two are. Two are executive suites with one-way windows into the casino.” He pointed to two turrets whose second and third floors appeared to be huge mirrors. “The rich an famous seem to find one way windows into their bedrooms fascinating.”
I made a face. “That's kind of....”
“Voyeuristic.”
“Yeah.”
“I can take you through the hotel side if you like. We've got five restaurants over there. Our French and Asian-fusion restaurants are both headed by internationally renowned chefs. There are fitness facilities, a pool, concierge service.” He paused quite deliberately. “The dungeons.”
“Excuse me?”
“You'll see.” He offered me his arm again and we glided through the casino floor. The land of perpetual carnivale.
“Dungeons?” I clarified when we took the elevator to the breezeway that connected hotel and casino.
He winked. He mind told me loud and clear that this was his favorite part of the tour and also that hew as anxious about something. A door.
I recalled, quite suddenly, the friendly way Steve Newlin had tried to finagle me into the basement prison of his church. Trying to head off panic, I asked Simon to show me to a ladies room before we continued the tour. At the very least, I'd be giving Bill more time to catch up or get reinforcements or something.
What reinforcements? It's you, Bill, Eric, and Mr. Cataliades. No calvary to charge over the hill.
I took my time in the bathroom while trying not to make it too obvious that I was stalling.
We took the elevator back down to the ground floor. To my surprise, Bill was already there, sitting with his laptop in the little cafe that abutted the lobby. “Mr. Compton!” Simon said warmly. “I was just giving Miss Stackhouse the grand tour. We're on our way to the dungeons. Do you have any interest in coming along?”
Either Simon did not have a sinister master plan or he was really good at acting like a guy who's sinister master plan had not just been foiled by the presence of a vampire.
“Dungeons? You mean the basement level accommodations?”
Simon's brows drew together for an instant. I picked up mild annoyance from him. He'd wanted to show off the oddity of the rooms as a surprise. “You've done your homework,” Simon said, nodding at Bill's laptop.
Simon made a 'follow me' gesture and Bill and I exchanged a look and went along with it. At the end of the elevator bank was a plain, wooden door. Simon unlocked it and pushed it open for us.
Inside was a stone stairwell. You know you're on a whole different playing field when a door opens onto a stone stairwell. “Sanguine, obviously, has a medieval theme. We extended it to the basement.” Simon kept the door propped with his foot while he took a length of wood from a rack on the wall. In a few second he had an honest-to-goodness torch burning. “No electricity.” He winked.
“The basement level rooms are patterned after medieval dungeons. We've got straw on the floors, communal 'privies,' displays of interrogation instruments. The whole Sha-bang. To enhance the experience, there is no room service.”
I laughed. “People actually pay to stay here?”
“People pay more to stay here,” Bill answered helpfully. Someone had definitely been on the website.
Simon shrugged as if to say, “Don't blame me for the mysterious choices of the wealthy.”
“Wow,” I said, taking in the dripping stone hallway that was the basement. “Aren't there zoning laws or something against dungeons?”
“We had to work out some deals.” Translation: A few health inspectors had been glamoured and guests had to sign release forms.
“Are there any empty rooms? Can we look?” The ceiling was low and the doors disconcertingly short and mildewed. The fact that many of them sported “do not disturb” signs made me suppress a giggle. I'd see one that was ajar though and turned in its direction.
“I think this one's better.” He waved his hand at the closed door to his left. The torchlight made deep shadows on his face. He gave me a tight smile. Here we go.
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Fandom: Southern Vampire Novels
Characters: Ensemble
Pairing: Sookie/Eric
Rating: R, adult themes
Summary: The world has become a dark and scary place. But humanity has its own way of fighting back. It's infectious. Part 10, in which Sookie meets Vegas.
Spoilers: For all books up to Dead and Gone
Note: Please keep in mind that if you subscribe to my journal you may have read the first half of this already. If you get to it through trueblood_fic, or ericsookie, both parts are new!
Chapter 20
I noted glumly that flying into Vegas in the middle of the day was probably not the way to go. I guess there was something exciting to seeing a city appear out of nothing. Desert. Desert. Desert. Then, hello urban sprawl.
The landing was more than a little bumpy. It didn't send me into hysterics per se but it did a pretty good job at reminding me that I'd just spend a few hours hurtling through the air inside a shell of sheet metal. I was a woman of the world now. The glamour of airplane travel had lost its pizazz.
A vehicle that looked like the love-child of a limo and a hearse met us on the tarmac. Talk about door-to-door service. On the side, in a script that looked ready to grow spider webs was the word 'Sanguine' with the addendum 'Casino and Hotel' underneath in shimmery gold. In addition to the driver there were two other suited people waiting around for little old me. One of them, a middle-aged middle man type, greeted me by name and identified himself as “Mr. De Castro's interstate human human-vampire liaison.” Did that mean there was a vampire human-vampire liaison?
The Anubis Air guys transferred the travel ready coffins from the plane to the car. I kept my eyes out for would-be abductors. Most Americans go to the airport expecting the hassles of enthusiastic frisking and shoeless shuffling. I go expecting assassins.
As it turned out, there were no assassins present but there were lawyers. Well, one lawyer. She was Tilesha Werner and she had a bunch of papers for me to sign. She was all business in her thoughts but common sense cautioned me against signing anything I hadn't read. I informed common sense that the stack of paper before me was throughly daunting. “What is all this?” Maybe I could calm my conscience with the cliff notes version.
“Non-disclosure agreements,” Tilesha Werner said. You'd be able to call her pretty if she'd ever allow the word to be uttered in her presence. The woman's hair was bound back so tightly that my own head ached in sympathy. She had lovely dark skin but hadn't bothered with a stitch of make up. And there was something punctual about her voice. That was the only way to describe it. “Three of them. One for you, two for the vampires in your party.”
“What am I agreeing not to disclose?” I hadn't heard a word about any of this. I wondered what bearing it might have on Eric's trial or whatever lengthy ceremony Felipe intended to drag us through. I wished Mr. Cataliades was here. Or even Bobby Burhnam. Mr. Cataliades was scheduled to head up Eric's defense but he'd be arriving on a later flight. Bobby had gone to New Orleans with Alan.
Felipe's interstate guy, Stephen Vaste, stepped in before the lawyer could explain in her superior staccato. “The Discovery Channel and the BBC will be showing a documentary on American vampires next year. Mr. De Castro has agreed to be the subject of one of the segments.” Neat. I know, I know, Felipe was probably involved in some really unpleasant machinations against Eric but it was still... neat.
Stephen Vaste smiled tightly. “We need all of you to agree to take certain measures of discretion while you are within the grounds of Sanguine or any of Mr. De Castro's other casinos.” Right, Felipe owned several Vegas properties. That was going to make finding Jack more difficult. Maybe I could ask for the deluxe grand tour. Yes, just show me to the torture chambers please.
“If the film crew approaches you for an interview it must be cleared with me or another member of Mr. De Castro's legal team. Outside of that, we'd prefer if you'd interact with the crew as little as possible.” I wondered how many times Tilesha had given that speech. She managed to sound intense and bored at the same time.
“Who else will be featured besides the King, Mr. Vaste?”
The lawyer gave me a sharp look. How did the vampires survive so long when they insist on disclosing sensitive information to insipid little girls?
Stephen Vaste looked apologetic. “Thats one of the big things we need you not to mention, Miss Stackhouse. The vampire hierarchy has decided it would be best to leave the details of the current system of government out of the documentary. We ask you to forgo all use of royal titles and any mention of knowledge you might have concerning the inner workings of vampire politics.”
Oh. “So besides... Mr. De Castro, who's going to be on the show?”
“Vampires of different ages and from different areas of the world will be featured. The documentary will chronicle their human lives, their turning, their arrival in America, and their current place in American society.” The impression I got from him was something like 'Planet Earth' with vampires.
“The networks have asked that you agree not to share information about the scope of the program. If you choose to make public any details about the documentary before the time of broadcast, Discovery and the BBC reserve the right to take legal action against you.”
“Got it,” I said with my happy hour smile. Maybe I would spend some quality time with the documents before signing. “You need these right away?”
“Oh, I think we can wait until tomorrow morning,” Mr. Vaste said congenially.
“But if you decline to sign, you will be asked to find other accommodations for the duration your stay. At your own expense.” These two really had the good cop, bad cop thing down.
We stopped and started through the late end of rush hour traffic. The limo-hearse drew quite a few looks from other commuters. They must be wondering if, behind the dark windows, were the results of a wedding gone horribly wrong. Then we turned onto and almost vacant street. “Transylvania,” Mr. Vaste announced.
I had my first look at the world renowned Vegas block of clubs and casinos through the beige glaze of a heavily tinted window. An article I'd read in Time said the block had been dubbed “Transylvania” by dispossessed casino tycoons who'd seen their floundering businesses sold off to flourish at vampire hands. Enthusiasts had quickly adopted the name. Time listed Transylvania as one of the top ten vacation spots for the adventure junkie.
The street seemed to be as deeply into daytime trance as its proprietors. Mr. Vaste informed me that, a block over, a street of cafe's and boutiques was thriving due to the daytime needs of Transylvania's human patrons. I made a note to check it out when I wasn't busy being cross-examined.
The casinos and hotels that littered the block were all different and all fabulous. Themed and stylized, they all sported flashy facades and healthy flocks of colored lights. I tried to picture the street all lit up in sunset splendor but I was pretty sure my imagination didn't do it justice. Even in the procession of decadent architecture, Sanguine was tough to miss.
As we pulled up the semi-circle drive on the hotel side, I had the distinct impression that it would be much more appropriate to arrive in a carriage driven by a really creepy coachman. Sanguine looked like something transported straight out of a gothic novel. There were narrow windows of thick, bubbly glass, the landscaping was tortured and twisting, the gargoyles were fanged.
I hadn't had much time for research before getting hustled onto the Shreveport-Vegas flight. I don't know what I was expecting from a casino of Felipe's (maybe something more running of the bulls) but it wasn't this.
“I'll show you to your room,” Stephen Vaste ('Please, call me Stephen') said, taking control of my luggage with a smile. The lawyer dogged our steps. She wasn't crazy about letting me out of her sight until I'd signed the papers.
Stephen took us up to the seventh floor to what I recognized as a light tight room. “Mr. Northman has insisted that you share accommodations with Mr. Compton. We informed him that security at Sanguine is world class... but he insisted all the same.”
I rolled my eyes, doing my best to look like a woman with an overbearing boyfriend. It wasn't a huge stretch. “At least Bill's better than most of them,” I said and then asked frostily, “And where will Mr. Northman be staying.”
“He has been given secure accommodation as befits his station as a prominent businessman and affiliate of Mr. De Castro until the scheduled negotiations have been concluded.” Tilesha Werner knew about the trial. Tilesha Werner knew it might end in someone's death. And she didn't care one bit.
I planted my hands on my hips. “And where will this 'secure accommodation' be in relation to my less secure accommodation?”
Stephen looked a little startled. He was used to vampires bringing their besotted humans to Sanguine for a getaway weekend. That I was less than besotted put him out of sorts. “Mr. Northman will be staying on the thirteenth floor. I assure you... his accommodations are secure against entrance or exit.”
So Eric would be upstairs in a glorified cell. Fantastic. At least he'd insisted on keeping Bill and I close to one another. Felipe's minions departed, informing me that there was a dinner scheduled for 'me and my party' in one of the private lounges of the casino at 9 o'clock.
Bill's coffin had been wheeled into the room as I was speaking with Stephen, it occupied an empty space where a sofa probably would have been otherwise. I didn't like to think on the implications of Eric wanting Bill, Bill, to stay with me.
Bill would rise in about an hour and then there'd be another hour until dinner. I unpacked my suitcase. Most of the clothes, I had never seen before since Eric had arranged for them while I hastily arranged the rest of my life for an impromptu Vegas getaway. Most of what Eric had bought was high quality business- type attire. But there was one dress... it might be just the thing for a last dinner before everything went to hell.
OK, maybe I was feeling a little pessimistic.
While I was showering in the luxurious, wood-paneled bathroom I thought I heard a soft click from the room. Bill was awake.
When I exited the bathroom wrapped in a fluffy white robe (undergarments already in place thankyouverymuch) Bill was seated on one of the twin beds, scanning the stacks of documents Tilesha Werner had left. “Did you know about all this?” I said, gesturing with my hairbrush.
“No.” Bill didn't look up.
“We're supposed to call Felipe 'Mr. De Castro.”
Bill nodded. “They want to work the trial in.” Bill held up a release form that I hadn't come across yet in my perusal of the documents. Vampires are fast readers. “They want to film it as a reenactment of old-world vampire justice.”
“You're serious?”
Bill had never had much of a sense of humor.
I sat down on the other bed. To say that I was overwhelmed was an understatement. I had seen a few cases of modern vampire justice and they cold definitely pass as old-world. “This is a good thing, Sookie.” Bill's face was inexpressive. He might believe that, he might not. “There will be a lot of press when the documentary airs. The media may want to interview Eric. It would not be good for the King's interests if Eric were to disappear.”
“You mean if they stake him...”
Bill nodded. “They'll film the trial as if it is not real. Felipe will appear merciful and his debt to Eric will be repaid.”
I knew enough about vampire's to know the whole thing was a way for Felipe de Castro to tell Eric he was a pawn to be played with. “Eric's going to be so pissed.”
Bill actually smiled.
##
The casino side of Sanguine was a huge, open gallery packed from top to bottom with glitz and games of chance like a summer carnival for grown ups. The floor was full of an odd mix of impeccably dressed aristocrats and gothically attired fangbangers. Vampires studded the crowd like the centers of tiny whirlpools, moving through the press of bodies with liquid grace. I watched it all from the quiet of one of the casino's private lounges.
From the outside, Sanguine looked like a fortress with a tower at each of the four corners. Those towers, it turned out, held ritzy lounges that faced the casino floor with immaculately clean, floor to ceiling windows. Bill and I'd been shown to a third floor lounge so we were looking down at all the action on the floor. I already felt like I was in a movie.
The door we'd come through opened and through it came a small parade of people, headed by Felipe De Castro himself. “Miss Stackhouse,” he said smoothly. “It is such a pleasure to meet you again.”
“And you, Mr. De Castro,” I replied, nodding a greeting.
“By now you will have heard of our little project, I think?” Felipe's silk ensemble was all black tonight. He'd forgone the matador's red but kept the cape. “Don't worry, it will not have any bearing on the outcome of my business with your husband.”
I put on my best scowl for Felipe who was clearly testing the waters. “Of course not.”
Felipe gave a little bow. “I would like to personally welcome you to my establishment. I hope you stay here will be at least somewhat enjoyable.” Felipe smiled and pulled a young man forward from his entourage. “This is Simon Catalano, an old friend of mine. Simon will be happy to show you around Sanguine and answer any questions you might have after our little supper has finished.”
Simon smiled and shook my hand. “I've heard a lot about you, Miss Stackhouse,” Simon said. And he had. He knew about my telepathy, my relationship to Eric, and even about my rescue of the King. Simon the Spy. At least he was nice to look at. He was one of those uniquely attractive red heads. Call me shallow but I've always thought red hair was something Mother Nature had a hard time getting right. But it worked for Simon.
The door opened again two beefy vampires who looked more like they'd been geological formations than men before their turning stepped through to flank the door. After them, came Eric.
Chapter 21
I had to quickly put on my game face which is really similar to my best 'Sookie remains calm even though she's reading some really icky thoughts' face.
“Mr. Northman!” Felipe said with a nod and a dramatic flourish of his cape. I figured the show was probably for the TV people who had all declared themselves (in my head) ready to get their cameras on Eric.
This one looks just like a Viking.
Hello, female viewership!
I can't believe we're wasting this guy on a reenactment. He's a fucking Viking!
I had to pinch myself to contain a laugh. It was like they were drooling on my brain.
“Mr. De Castro.” I thought Eric's nod probably wasn't as deep as it should have been. Maybe it was in the contract. Or maybe it was just Eric.
Since everyone else was staring at Eric now I figured it wouldn't hurt my act to join in. No one had told him to dress for dinner (or maybe Felipe just wanted to make sure the BBC folks didn't miss the Viking thing) so he'd come in jeans (complete with barbaric belt buckle) and a black t-shirt. It didn't matter. This was Eric. The rest of us were overdressed.
A waiter was passing through the little crowd. I took a glass of white wine from his tray and hid my relief in a sip. None of the parts of Eric that I could see showed any signs of trauma- no smoking trails from silver chains like I'd feared. I'd spent a good amount of my shower convincing myself that, tied as we were, I'd know if anything really bad happened to Eric. I spent the rest of the shower hoping that Felipe de Castro recalled Siegebert and how I'd gone all Buffy on his ass.
It was probably indicative of how tangled up everything was that when Mr. Cataliades, the half-demon lawyer, followed Eric in a few moments later, I was about equally as glad to see one as the other. With the lawyer there, somehow I felt like things were much closer to a sphere I recognized. Most of the time, vampire affairs were such a tumultuous combination of archaic and bizarre that Felipe de Castro was just as likely to shout, “Off with his head!” over bottled blood and cigars as to give Eric a fair trial. If that happened now, at least there would be Mr. Cataliades to clear his throat and quietly quote the rule book. Or scroll. I bet it's a scroll.
Mr. Cataliades had been laying-low, as far as I knew, since the Nevada takeover. It showed in the taut line of his round belly which seemed to have swollen in defiance of the lawyer's need to stay out of the public eye. But he gave me a reassuring wink when he caught my eye and tucked his thumbs under immaculate-as-always lapels. I half expected him to pat Eric encouragingly on the back.
With the arrival of these final guests, the king announced that dinner was about to be served. I like to think that I was keeping up the icy air of an estranged wife very well. Eric was taking the silent as the grave approach though the annoyance I was getting from him via blood bond definitely had some volume. Mr. Cataliades took the seat between Eric and me with the air of a father separating two warring children.
Dinner was a charmingly fake affair. I'm sure the food was excellent but I was thinking too hard about how I'd like to be anywhere else to remind myself to taste it. The vampires present kept their faces as carefully blank as mine while we humans ate and they drank an expensive brand ('vintage') of partially synthetic blood. What the other part was, I didn't know. Maybe Vestal Virgin.
I knew from experience that none of them could be thrilled with so many humans doing something as vulgar as eating.
As we ate, the TV people (names and job descriptions were given but I noticed them less than the food) talked excitedly about “the project.” They seemed like nothing so much as football coaches giving a pep talk before the big game. Mr. Cataliades interjected a few questions. The demon lawyer politely made it clear that he would need to clarify a couple of points with the BBC and Mr. De Castro before “his clients” would be signing anything. I loved him more than a little right then.
By the time dessert was served I looked down at my lap, against the champagne silk of my dress was my red dinner napkin twisted into a knot. Apparently I had some nervous energy. I felt like the BBC's PR people were doing a great job spinning my life. They fully intended to turn a life or death trial into prime time television.
I've never liked reality TV.
Suddenly dinner was over and handshake and nods were passing all around. “What happens now?” I whispered to the lawyer on my left.
“Eric and I will work with the BBC lawyers to refine a few points of his contract.”
I sighed remembering my own pile of forms. I was surprised Tilesha Werner wasn't dogging my heels. “And then?”
“Eric goes to wardrobe.”
“Seriously?”
“Mr. De Castro is anxious to begin filming.”
“And the trial,” I said.
“And the trial,” he agreed.
I really hoped there were no other telepaths lurking in Felipe's little dinner party because if there were, they'd be hearing some really choice words from me about the situation. The most appropriate one was 'preposterous' but it definitely wasn't the one I was using most.
I was used to vampires maneuvering me about like a pawn and all that particular chess metaphor entails. But this was different. I'd never felt like I was being so unabashedly messed with. Felipe was blatantly playing with us, and yet the uncertainty of the outcome still loomed.
I think between the two types of situations, I preferred the familiar (if trite) chess type peril. I have the role of plucky pawn down. With this whole documentary-trial thing I felt more like I'd entered a game of Chutes and Ladders. To the death.
The absurdity was atounding.
“I requested a copy of your non-disclosure agreement as well,” Mr. Cataliades said, breaking into my thoughts. “I'd advise you to look it over but I believe it is safe to sign.”
“Thank you.” I glanced past the lawyer to Eric who was so still that he might have been at his customary post in the middle of Fangtasia. “You'll look out for him, won't you?” I said it as quietly as I could. It was a risk since there were plenty of beings present with extremely keen hearing but I couldn't help myself.
Mr. Cataliades and I both laughed at the idea of the rotund lawyer protecting an ancient vampire but the laugh was short lived. “I will, Miss Stackhouse.”
The lawyer rose and Eric rose beside him. Neither of them looked at me. As the motley crew of producers, directors, and lawyers led Eric away, the tension that had been mounting in my stomach boiled over. “Wait!” I said before I knew my vocal chords had gone to work.
I was on my feet and had no idea where I was headed. All eyes had snapped to me and I felt the weight of the attention of so many important people on me. No, I realized quickly, that wasn't it. Eric was pressing on me to be silent through the bond like he had never pressed before. I shook my head, confused with my will so under attack. With a groping hand I found the back of my abandoned chair and dragged myself back into it. “I'm sorry,” I said, still shaking my head. “It's nothing. Sorry.”
The TV men and women smiled awkwardly, nodded to one another and left the room with Eric and Mr. Cataliades in tow. As soon as they were gone, I felt like someone had kindly stopped stepping on my lungs with a combat boot. I rubbed at my throat. I knew Eric still wasn't too far away and while the good part of me knew that he was preoccupied with the current threat to his life, the selfish part of me really wished he'd send some happy thoughts my way. I could really use some rain drops on roses and whiskers on kittens right now (though, red silk boxers are far higher on my list of favorite things).
“I see Victor spoke truly,” Felipe said. For the time being he was sans entourage and was also occupying Mr. Cataliades' empty chair. Vamps do have a bad habit of sneaking up on we super-sensory deprived humans.
I smiled at the King radiantly. I hate non sequitor beginnings to conversation. What a cheap way to make a girl feel out of the loop. “About what, Mr. De Castro?”
“Your tie to Eric. It is quite strong.” Felipe looked at me steadily, clearly waiting to see exactly how I felt about said tie. He was right. I knew it was the bond that had pulled me out of my chair as surely as it had returned me to Merlotte's when Siegebert was attacking.
I didn't know how I felt about that particular revelation.
Well uncertainty was probably as good as anything in this situation and at least I wouldn't be lying. “Yes.”
“Victor also tells me that you are pledged to Eric by the knife.”
I had a momentary lapse in sanity and barely restrained myself from saying, “Which knife is that? That little ceremonial dagger? Shouldn't it have a name or something?” But sanity returned to me in time to twist my words into a more useful form, “Yeah. But I... Eric didn't exactly tell me about the knife. He just told me to give it to him.” I didn't have to feign annoyance.
“I see,” Felipe said. “Victor was under the impression that you were quite content to be bonded to Eric.”
“Things change,” I said, a fickle little human girl. “I hope you'll forgive me for saying... well, I preferred when my life was my own.”
Felipe smiled as gently as a vampire can, like an affectionate grandfather who might very well take you out for sundaes and then kill you. “This little show we are doing... you will see stories about me. Do you know, I was turned as punishment?”
“No. I didn't know that.”
“It's true. I lived my human life during the Spanish Inquisition. I was a successful merchant- silks, spices, silver and things like this. When the Church and the Crown took notice of my wealth... well soon after I was judged guilty of heresy. I spent many days in prison. I thought I would be hanged but the Jesuits had a more certain way of damning my soul.”
“They kept a pet vampire?” I asked incredulously.
“Something like that, yes.” Felipe smiled again. “But now the men who condemned me are long dead and I am once again a successful businessman. I entertain heads of state from nations around the world every week. Once I was turned to ensure my damnation, now humans from all walks of life beg me to turn them on a daily basis. Do you see?”
“No, Your... Mr. De Castro. Not really.”
He chuckled almost affectionately and brushed a hand over my hair. “You are bound to Eric Northman now but as you pointed out, things change. Even for vampires.”
Felipe stood with the satisfied air of man who has made his point and made it well. “I shall turn you over to Simon's capable hands so you can get acquainted with my casino.” Felipe gave a little bow. “Always a pleasure, Miss Stackhouse.”
I wished I'd brought a sweater. The room felt colder.
“Ever been to a Vegas casino before?” Simon asked appearing almost as stealthily as his master vanished. He thought that I'd probably never been outside of the town where I'd been born. He thought that was cute.
Unfortunately I didn't exactly have a ton of travel experience to throw back in his teeth. Plus, I was hoping for an excuse to look around. “First time,” I said brightly. “Everyone I know is off signing contracts. You have time to show me around now?”
“You are all I have time for.” He somehow managed to say it without a trace of innuendo.
Simon took me down in a glass elevator to the casino's main floor. On the way he explained that construction had started on Sanguine just a few months before the Great Revelation and it held its grand opening just a few days after the vamps went public. “Felipe was doing a little insider trading I guess.” The Vampire King had taken quite the risk that America would not only accept but embrace its vampire population.
My tour guide grinned. “Mr. De Castro is a powerful vampire. He knew the date for the public announcement and planned accordingly.”
Simon gave me his arm as we made a round of the floor and he told me about the games that were played there. He seemed to know everything about the casino and its glamorous patrons. With his tongue firmly lodged in his cheek, he made it clear that the rich and famous weren't just here for games of chance. He nodded discreetly at a Hollywood starlet who was a closet fangbanger. He bought us into a game of Black Jack with two warring pack leaders, a Senator who was here with someone other than his wife, the errant son of a visiting dignitary, and a tidy, bookish looking woman who'd gotten fabulously wealthy off the sale of fairy blood to vampires. When Simon supplied that tidbit I seriously considered punching her in her bespectacled face.
When I looked up from the game I caught a glimpse or two of Bill. He'd discretely left Felipe's dinner (with his phone to his ear) halfway through but he was back and keeping an eye on me through the crowd. I winced at the sight of him. Gray as he was, Bill looked more vampire than I'd ever seen him. He was still not wholly well. I felt a rush of gratitude that toward him for sticking by me through... well, everything. Sometimes good emotions are the worst thing. At least for me. When I'm on edge, kindness can make me lose it faster than any amount of tragedy.
I had to fake a coughing fit to have an excuse for eyes shiny with tears. The Senator's mistress kindly supplied me with some water and patted my back.
After a few rounds, we left the table (I might have gotten up a little clumsily and stilettoed the fairy blood lady's foot) and Simon led me over to an impressive bank of slot machine. He whispered quickly to me before shaking hands warmly with a gentleman who I now knew had exchanged a large investment in the casino for a promise that he and his ailing wife would be turned within the year.
I stared at the gentleman with an open mouth when he shook my hand and only managed to mumble something that resembled my name. I hoped he thought my shock was because he was a famous actor (name above the title of the film famous) and not because of the information Simon had supplied.
I didn't know how to feel, let alone what to say. My own horror at the idea of volunteering to be murdered warred with the love the man had for his wife that rolled off his thoughts even now when she wasn't present and we weren't speaking of her. There was a sort of hope for him that seemed to spring just from being here and from talking to Simon. I wondered if Simon had negotiated the investment.
“It was nice to meet you,” I finally said after Simon and the actor chatted amicably for several minutes and I contributed nothing to the conversation.
“Likewise.”
“So that's the floor,” Simon said brightly. “Do you have any questions? Want to play any more games?”
“Do you have, like, really scary, efficient security guards?”
Simon laughed. “You've seen Ocean's Eleven.” He stopped laughing. “Yes.” He grinned again at his own drama.
I hadn't actually been thinking about Ocean's Eleven, I'd been thinking about how they heck I was going to execute a search and rescue. “How about the towers, are they all lounges?”
“Two are. Two are executive suites with one-way windows into the casino.” He pointed to two turrets whose second and third floors appeared to be huge mirrors. “The rich an famous seem to find one way windows into their bedrooms fascinating.”
I made a face. “That's kind of....”
“Voyeuristic.”
“Yeah.”
“I can take you through the hotel side if you like. We've got five restaurants over there. Our French and Asian-fusion restaurants are both headed by internationally renowned chefs. There are fitness facilities, a pool, concierge service.” He paused quite deliberately. “The dungeons.”
“Excuse me?”
“You'll see.” He offered me his arm again and we glided through the casino floor. The land of perpetual carnivale.
“Dungeons?” I clarified when we took the elevator to the breezeway that connected hotel and casino.
He winked. He mind told me loud and clear that this was his favorite part of the tour and also that hew as anxious about something. A door.
I recalled, quite suddenly, the friendly way Steve Newlin had tried to finagle me into the basement prison of his church. Trying to head off panic, I asked Simon to show me to a ladies room before we continued the tour. At the very least, I'd be giving Bill more time to catch up or get reinforcements or something.
What reinforcements? It's you, Bill, Eric, and Mr. Cataliades. No calvary to charge over the hill.
I took my time in the bathroom while trying not to make it too obvious that I was stalling.
We took the elevator back down to the ground floor. To my surprise, Bill was already there, sitting with his laptop in the little cafe that abutted the lobby. “Mr. Compton!” Simon said warmly. “I was just giving Miss Stackhouse the grand tour. We're on our way to the dungeons. Do you have any interest in coming along?”
Either Simon did not have a sinister master plan or he was really good at acting like a guy who's sinister master plan had not just been foiled by the presence of a vampire.
“Dungeons? You mean the basement level accommodations?”
Simon's brows drew together for an instant. I picked up mild annoyance from him. He'd wanted to show off the oddity of the rooms as a surprise. “You've done your homework,” Simon said, nodding at Bill's laptop.
Simon made a 'follow me' gesture and Bill and I exchanged a look and went along with it. At the end of the elevator bank was a plain, wooden door. Simon unlocked it and pushed it open for us.
Inside was a stone stairwell. You know you're on a whole different playing field when a door opens onto a stone stairwell. “Sanguine, obviously, has a medieval theme. We extended it to the basement.” Simon kept the door propped with his foot while he took a length of wood from a rack on the wall. In a few second he had an honest-to-goodness torch burning. “No electricity.” He winked.
“The basement level rooms are patterned after medieval dungeons. We've got straw on the floors, communal 'privies,' displays of interrogation instruments. The whole Sha-bang. To enhance the experience, there is no room service.”
I laughed. “People actually pay to stay here?”
“People pay more to stay here,” Bill answered helpfully. Someone had definitely been on the website.
Simon shrugged as if to say, “Don't blame me for the mysterious choices of the wealthy.”
“Wow,” I said, taking in the dripping stone hallway that was the basement. “Aren't there zoning laws or something against dungeons?”
“We had to work out some deals.” Translation: A few health inspectors had been glamoured and guests had to sign release forms.
“Are there any empty rooms? Can we look?” The ceiling was low and the doors disconcertingly short and mildewed. The fact that many of them sported “do not disturb” signs made me suppress a giggle. I'd see one that was ajar though and turned in its direction.
“I think this one's better.” He waved his hand at the closed door to his left. The torchlight made deep shadows on his face. He gave me a tight smile. Here we go.
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