The United States vampire community had let the Japanese vampire clans come forth first. Then, simultaneously, in most of the nations of the world that had television - and who doesn't these days? - the announcement had been made in hundreds of different languages, by hundreds of carefully picked personable vampires.
That night, two and half years ago, we regular old live people learned that we had always lived with monsters among us.
"But" - the burden of this announcement had been - "now we can come forward and join with you in harmony. You are in no danger from us anymore. We don't need to drink from you to live."
As you can imagine, this was a night of high ratings and tremendous uproar. Reaction varied sharply, depending on the nation.
The vampires in the predominantly Islamic nations had fared the worst. You don't even want to know what happened to the undead spokesman in Syria, though perhaps the female vamp in Afghanistan died an even more horrible - and final - death. (What were they thinking, selecting a female for that particular job? Vampires could be so smart, but they sometimes didn't seem quite in touch with the present world.)
Some nations - France, Italy, and Germany were the most notable - refused to accept vampires as equal citizens. Many - like Bosnia, Argentina, and most of the African nations - denied any status to the vampires, and declared them fair game for any bounty hunter. But America, England, Mexico, Canada, Japan, Switzerland, and the Scandinavian countries adopted a more tolerant attitude.
It was hard to determine if this reaction was what the vampires had expected or not. Since they were still struggling to maintain a foothold in the stream of the living, the vampires remained very secretive about their organization and government, and what Bill was telling me now was the most I'd ever heard on the subject.
"So, the Louisiana queen of the vampires has you working on a secret project," I said, trying to sound neutral. "And this is why you have lived at your computer every waking hour for the past few weeks."
"Yes," Bill said. He picked up the bottle of TrueBlood and tipped it up, but there were only a couple of drops left. He went down the hall into the small kitchen area (when he'd remodeled his old family home, he'd pretty much left out the kitchen, since he didn't need one) and extracted another bottle from the refrigerator. I was tracking him by sound as he opened the bottle and popped it into the microwave. The microwave went off, and he reentered, shaking the bottle with his thumb over the top so there wouldn't be any hot spots.
"So, how much more time do you have to spend on this project?" I asked - reasonably, I thought.
"As long as it takes," he said, less reasonably. Actually, Bill sounded downright irritable.
Hmmm. Could our honeymoon be over? Of course I mean figurative honeymoon, since Bill's a vampire and we can't be legally married, practically anywhere in the world.
Not that he's asked me.
"Well, if you're so absorbed in your project, I'll just stay away until it's over," I said slowly.
"That might be best," Bill said, after a perceptible pause, and I felt like he'd socked me in the stomach. In a flash, I was on my feet and pulling my coat back over my cold-weather waitress outfit - black slacks, white boat-neck long-sleeved tee with "Merlotte's" embroidered over the left breast. I turned my back to Bill to hide my face.
I was trying not to cry, so I didn't look at him even after I felt Bill's hand touch my shoulder.
"I have to tell you something," Bill said in his cold, smooth voice. I stopped in the middle of pulling on my gloves, but I didn't think I could stand to see him. He could tell my backside,
"If anything happens to me," he continued (and here's where I should have begun worrying), "you must look in the hiding place I built at your house. My computer should be in it, and some disks. Don't tell anyone. If the computer isn't in the hiding place, come over to my house and see if it's here. Come in the daytime, and come armed. Get the computer and any disks you can find, and hide them in my hidey-hole, as you call it."
I nodded. He could see that from the back. I didn't trust my voice.
"If I'm not back, or if you don't get word from me, in say ... eight weeks - yes, eight weeks, then tell Eric everything I said to you today. And place yourself under his protection."
I didn't speak. I was too miserable to be furious, but it wouldn't be long before I reached meltdown. I acknowledged his words with a jerk of my head. I could feel my ponytail switch against my neck.
"I am going to ... Seattle soon," Bill said. I could feel his cool lips touch the place my ponytail had brushed.
He was lying.
"When I come back, we'll talk."
Somehow, that didn't sound like an entrancing prospect. Somehow, that sounded ominous.
Again I inclined my head, not risking speech because I was actually crying now. I would rather have died than let him see the tears.
And that was how I left him, that cold December night.
***
The next day, on my way to work, I took an unwise detour. I was in that kind of mood where I was rolling in how awful everything was. Despite a nearly sleepless night, something inside me told me I could probably make my mood a little worse if I drove along Magnolia Creek Road: so sure enough, that's what I did. The old Bellefleur mansion, Belle Rive, was a beehive of activity, even on a cold and ugly day. There were vans from the pest control company, a kitchen design firm, and a siding contractor parked at the kitchen entrance to the antebellum home. Life was just humming for Caroline Holliday Bellefleur, the ancient lady who had ruled Belle Rive and (at least in part) Bon Temps for the past eighty years. I wondered how Portia, a lawyer, and Andy, a detective, were enjoying all the changes at Belle Rive. They had lived with their grandmother (as I had lived with mine) for all their adult lives. At the very least, they had to be enjoying her pleasure in the mansion's renovation.
My own grandmother had been murdered a few months ago.