DISCLAIMER: I do not own "The Heir Trilogy", "The Sookie Stackhouse Novels", or "True Blood"

CHAPTER 3

The air was cold and foreign, and smelled of freedom...and fear. The fog was thick, hindering her view for miles. The trees grew close together, and the roots rose above the earth, so her bare feet were constantly being caught and tripped as she ran through the wild wood. The little garments she wore caught on branches and twigs, snagging and slowing her. She could hear their pursuit somewhere behind her - the angry, harsh language and rushed foot steps - but she didn't slow down. She knew that slowing down would mean that she was caught, and being caught meant being dead.

She had bid her sisters to run just an hour before, and hoped that her futile flight would distract the traders long enough to give her sisters a head start. But, they never were very fast runners.

The full, wild moon shone down on her lithe figure, illuminating her ebony skin like a ghost. She didn't know where she was going - she just wanted to get away.

Suddenly, the deep, echoing howl of a wolf pierced the air. But, not the howl of any wolf she had ever heard. So startled was she by the cry of the night, she let herself be tripped by an exposed root, and she fell. Now, she was certainly dead.

What felt like a second later, two Spanish traders emerged from the brush, shouting out obscenities in a language she could not understand. One carried a long, deadly looking horse whip, the other a matchlock musket. She knew that, if she focused, she could spell them, and thus escape the pain to come, but her fear held her still.

The Spanish man with the whip motioned towards the one with the musket, uttering something harsh. The musket-man responded with a pitiful look, and soft words, but the man with the whip would not be turned. Somewhat hesitantly, the musket-man raised his weapon, pointing the mouth of the barrel at her. Her heart must have stopped. She could use her magic, she could save herself, but she just couldn't. Her mind had decided not to work.

The rifleman was prepared to fire. She was going to die, and join her father, brother, and mother in the palace of the gods.

But the gods she was so eager to meet had different plans.

Bright eyes, dark with lust, flashed somewhere beside her, and then were gone, only to reappear somewhere else. Then there were more. Like a lightning strike, these ghosts struck down the Spaniards. The blood flowed in rivers from their devastated throats, hot and steaming. The men didn't even have time to scream before their lives were taken from them. The blood stained the ground, flowing out around the cold bodies, slowly easing towards her. She folded her feet closer under her when the blood touched her skin. She looked up to face her mysterious saviors, and instantly wished that she hadn't.

There stood two demons who had served as her heroes only to replace the villains. One was tall and frighteningly handsome with long hair that reminded her of fresh honey. The other was much shorter than the first, but still just about her height. His dark hair was cut short against his head, and, by the light of the moon, she could see the outlines of the extravagant tattoos that decorated his chest and arms. The eerie light made them look extremely pale, almost shining in the white light. Their eyes were shining, and they both wore devilish grins that would make a murderer curl up in fright. Her eyes just happened to lock on the shorter one, studying him, memorizing his every ghostly curve. A shocked gasp escaped her parched throat when she saw a long tendril of blood hang off of the end of a long, bleached white fang and drop silently to the ground.

-888-

Layla's breath seemed to catch in her chest as she jolted from sleep. Her eyes opened, and she could swear that she had no idea where she was. Memories of memories hung on every wall, staring down at her. For a moment, she thought she was dead. Then, it all came back to her. Shreveport. Eric. The Will. Godric. She groaned loudly, deciding that she was better off when she believed she was dead.

She buried her head in one of the thickly stuffed pillows, willing herself to go back to sleep, but her mind was shaken to such an extent that sleep was beyond rescuing.

"Oh. Great." Layla mumbled into her pillow. Giving up the fight, she sat up straight in the bed, face to face with darkness. For a moment, she was alarmed, for she knew that she could not have slept for an entire day, until she remembered. She let out a long, sad sigh. Right. Vampires. No windows.

She crawled across the bed until the lamp on the bedside table was within arms length of her. With a grunt, she turned the knob under the lamp shade, filling the light with much needed light. Yep, she was still in Eric's eccentrically decorated house, trapped under a Will that was turning her life on it's end.

Deciding that there was no use lying in bed waiting for the vampires to rise for the rest of the day, Layla rose and went through all of the events that come with the start of the day. She took a shower, brushed her teeth, washed her face, got dressed in something besides her extra large black Fangtasia shirt - courtesy of Eric Northman. She had completely forgotten about packing any sleeping clothes. Back in London, she usually came home so late, she didn't have time to change into anything before grabbing about three hours of sleep just so she could wake up at 5:00 and repeat the day all over again. Most of the things she packed were tools of the Trade: amulets, books, mortar and pestle, herbs. Clothes and toiletries could always be bought again, but a Sorcerer's instruments stayed with them for life.

After changing into yet another pair of bell bottom jeans and a stretchy tshirt that said "The Beatles" on the front, she recognized the tell tale sign of hunger in her grumbling stomach. She hadn't truly eaten in such a long time, hunger was like a weekly hair appointment for her.

The house was utterly silent. Nothing, not even the hum of the AC, could be heard. Layla slowly made her way downstairs, keeping her eyes and ears open. Through her many unorthodox professions, Layla had learned that total silence was never a good thing. After safely making it to the kitchen without being attacked by ninjas, she let her guard down, and went on a quest for food.

She started at the usual spot; the refrigerator. She opened it, eager to see what kind of provisions Eric had gathered, and her smile fell when she saw a completely empty stainless steel fridge. Well, not totally empty. There were three cases of True Blood. She sighed again. Vampires. She opened every cupboard, every drawer, and still found nothing. Not even a pack of coffee!

"Come on, Eric. With all of the fangbangers you have at your dissposal, one would think that you would at least have some Lean Cuisine, or something!" she said loudly, knowing that no one would hear her. With a huff, she scanned the room, placing her hands firmly on her hips. Then, a small, folded piece of paper resting on the counter caught her eye. She quickly picked it up, unfolding it, and holding it out in front of her to read. She couldn't help but smirk when she saw that it was from Eric.

Magi,

It has not escaped my attention that you are still human enough to need food. Even though this fact proves to be terribly uncompromising, I will not ignore it. There is a envelope on the coffee table that contains five hundred dollars. Use this money to get food, clothes, anything you need. And to help you around town while I am indisposed, there is a new set of wheels waiting in the driveway for you. Have a nice day.

Eric

Layla almost squealed in excitement as she ran through the house, throwing open the front door, and running into the street, eager to see her new ride. But, to her surprise, she didn't see a car. Nothing but Eric's sports car and bike.

"What the hell, Beowulf?" she asked out loud, looking around. She forced herself to think back to the note, analyzing every sentence. Then, it hit her. Unless Eric was intending to give her his kick-ass sports car, than...

"A bike, Eric? Seriously?"

It wasn't an unattractive bike, or anything. It was a Schwinn Lulu 26": green, elegant, very 1960's. In fact, Layla had a bike just like that when she was living in Chicago. There was a medium size, metal basket on the back, large enough for her to put bags in. And here Layla thought that Eric had lost his sense of humor.

-888-

Eric awoke and immediately sensed another presence in his house. He was prepared to rise, and face the threat, but then he remembered. Layla. With an unnecessary sigh, he slowly sat up straight in bed, running his fingers through his hair. With vampiric speed, he picked his cell phone off of the bedside table, and dialed Pam's number.

"Master?" the voice of his child elegantly stated after one ring.

"I'm bringing Layla in tonight. She'll need something to do while she's here, so might as well put her to work. Be ready." And with that, he hung up. This was going to be interesting.

-888-

When he entered into the living room, he had to grin when he saw Layla reclined on the sofa, eating a ham sandwich, and watching Twilight, of all things.

"Wouldn't it be funny if there was a breed of Vampires that sparkled in the sunlight?" she asked, after catching sight of him out of the corner of her eye. Eric glanced at the TV, studying the pale, young faces of what teenage America thought being a Vampire was. Little did they know that somewhere, in the hidden crevices of the world, the things that didn't even exist in the supernatural world existed.

"Yes, funny." Eric answered in almost a whisper. Eric used his Vampire speed to enter the kitchen, fetching himself a TruBlood, a quick dinner before leaving for work, but when he opened the fridge, he nearly jumped back in shock. It was packed with everything a human could possibly need. Produce, dairy products, meats, cheeses, a few soft drinks. His refrigerator had never stocked anything more than a few cases of TruBlood, so this was definitely a shock for him.

"You went shopping." Eric said, his eyes wide from suprise, more as a statement than a question.

"Yeah, I did. I would've thought that even you with your disdain for the living would have some human provisions. You bring fangbangers home, don't you?"

Eric popped a bottle of O positive into the microwave, punching in the appointed time frame, listening to the steady hum.

"Just because I bring my work home with me doesn't mean that I let it stay. How do you like your new ride?" he asked with a smirk. He had originally intended on purchasing a new car for the Sorcerer, but he decided that a classic bike would be funnier.

"It's great. I had one just like it in the '60s. Thank you for being so considerate." The sarcasm in her voice was thick. The microwave beeped once before Eric retrieved his TruBlood.

"I am always thinking of you, magi."

Eric slowly entered the living room, sipping from his TruBlood like it was an unsatisfying beer.

"Hurry up and finish your sandwich, I'm taking you to Fangtasia with me."

"You're not going to actually make me work there, are you?" she asked, reaching for the remote. Eric flashed one of his signature "I-know-something-you-don't-know" grins, and shrugged one wide shoulder.

"I'll be waiting in the car."

-888-

Layla had to admit that Fangtasia didn't look as ominous and depressing when people were actually there. The parking lot was full, and the music coming from the vamp bar was vibrating.

"Are you always this busy?" she asked as they pulled into the parking spot in the back reserved for Eric.

"Yes, we are. You'd be surprised what humans will do these days to get close to a Vampire." Layla thought about it for a moment, then shook her head.

"No, I don't think I would be."

-888-

After everything she had seen in her 261 years of living, after all of the blood and pain and vulgarity, Fangtasia still had a shocking affect on her. When Eric said that it was a Vampire bar, she was expecting some kind of civilized collection of upstanding vamps, the kind that Eric usually associated with, but, instead it was a nesting ground for Vampire fanatics, out-of-work vamps who never stood a chance, and humans aching for V. Oh, with a few strippers thrown into the mix. Only Eric would go to these lengths to get his pay. He always was an outstanding business man.

Layla immediatly recoginzed Pam and Chow when she saw them again. Chow stood behind the bar, looking menacing and mysterious while cleaning beer glasses, which was a very hard thing to do. Pam stood in front of the bar, leaning against it, wearing a long, tight fitting, black leather dress with a plunging neckline that didn't leave much to the imagination. Chow, with his hard, "don't screw with me" attitude simply nodded in her direction, but Pam bothered to smile. Actually, it was more like a grin. A mocking grin.

"The Beatles? I never really was a fan. Their obvious British attitude brought back memories." said Pam once she caught site of Layla's shirt. Layla glanced down at her shirt, then looked back up at Pam, shrugging.

"The lyrics ring true, and the music transcends lifetimes. I could at least pay them the honor of wearing their t-shirt. But, yeah, their obvious British-ness did get on my nerves from time to time."

Pam rose an eyebrow, looking at Layla with a new light, and nodded, a sign of respect. Layla nodded in return. Chow only grimaced.

"I'm glad you two have reached a medium." said Eric as he came walking up behind Layla. "Pam, give her the short version, and find her a uniform. I'll be in my office." Eric didn't even wait for a reply before heading towards the back where his office was.

Layla turned back to Pam, and flinched when she saw the mischievous smile that played on the alabaster woman's face.

-888-

"Hell no!"

Eric's head popped up when he heard Layla's shrill voice pierce his ears. He wasn't that surprised when he saw her standing in the doorway of his office, one hand settled on her cocked hip, and the other holding up a black, lacy, very revealing outfit by the hanger. The look on her face was simply priceless.

"I'm assuming that this intrusion has something to do with uniform Pam chose for you?" he asked with a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

"I am NOT wearing this, Eric! This is like some kind of creepy, Dracula porn spoof. I'm not wearing it. And, I'm not going to serve as a walking mini-bar for Vamps. My blood is not the type that can just be sampled at will. Let me do something else. ANYTHING else."

Eric sighed, and leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on his desk.

"Magi, there is not much else for you to do. Unless, you want to dance. I haven't seen you dance in ages." Eric's smile was so wide that all of his brilliant white teeth were showing. Layla, however, was not amused.

"How about bar tending? I bar tended when I was working in London."

"Chow is our bar tender."

"Well, then I can be his little assistant, or something. Please, Eric, do not make me embarrass you in front of your patrons, and just say yes."

Eric stared into Layla's rich, brown eyes, and knew immediatly that if it was necessary, she would kick his ass. And he was not one to have his ass kicked by a 267 year old Sorcerer who looked like she was seventeen. Especially not in his establishment.

"Boter. You may bar tend, but, I warn you, Chow is very serious about his station." Layla rolled her eyes, and tossed her braids over her shoulders.

"Oh, I won't insult his honor, or anything like that. I'll do what he says, I promise." Eric nodded, and motioned towards the closest in the corner of the room.

"Look in there and borrow a pair of Pam's black slacks. Bar tenders wear all black."

Layla walked over to the closet, and closed the door behind her, giving her privacy to change. When she emerged, Eric immediately thought of some female bouncer or producer for the Beatles. He couldn't help but laugh out loud. Layla looked herself over in Eric's full length mirror, and shrugged.

"Hm. Urban."

"Now, get out there, and make me some money." said Eric, with a smirk. Layla returned the smirk over her shoulder, than exited Eric's office, closing the door behind her. Eric shook his head, and grinned. Layla was one of those rare humans who would always have the same spirit, the same passion. Of course, not all humans were immortal Sorcerers.

Eric laughed out loud again when he heard Chow fuming over his new apprentice bar tender.

-888-

About an hour later, Eric felt Layla's alarm five seconds before she burst through his door. He was already on his feet, fangs bared, ready for anything.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he asked, his voice heavy with lust for a fight. Layla was bent over, struggling to regain her breath.

"Beowulf...you won't believe it...El...ELVIS is in the lobby!"

Eric leaned back, and laughed again, his fangs still bared. He was laughing a lot more with Layla around.

Boter: Swedish for "fine"

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