House of Cards

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize. The characters belong to Charlaine Harris and Alan Ball. I've taken material both from the books and from the show.

Summary: Sookie Stackhouse is a telepathic New York socialite. When business and fate cause her to encounter one Eric Northman, cutthroat businessman and vampire, the world she knows comes tumbling down.

A/N: Think Gossip Girl meets True Blood/SVM novels. Like any chick lit, it has plenty of clothes and shoes, romance and drama. Just sit back, relax, and enjoy!

Chapter 1: Murder Game

Mornings in the Upper East Side are great daily migrations as people move from home to work. Cars line the streets, and the horns sound like battle cries as commuters vie with one another to slip into any possible space on the road. Even in my seventieth storey penthouse, I can still hear the incessant angry honking.

Mornings are one of those times when I am particularly grateful for my parents' ability to churn out cash. That is, before they were swept away by a flood on a road trip when I was seven. After that, our grandmother took us in, my brother Jason and me. Gran is from an old and prestigious family, the Hales. Her grandfather had worked in the property business. Her father had taken over after my great-grandfather died, and so the business had been passed down through the family from father to son, until Gran's generation. At first, it had been passed to her brother, my great-uncle, Bartlett Hale. The thing was, he...wasn't the type of person that anyone had wanted to represent the family company. At first, when the news had leaked, no one wanted to believe it. Bartlett, of course, denied the fact that he'd had sex with two underage girls from poor families. I suspect that he paid their families a lot to shut them up and stop them from pressing charges, before running them out of the state. However, it is impossible to wrap fire in paper. Those two girls weren't his only victims. There was my cousin Hadley, and then...there was me.

To cut a long story short, he'd resigned as the CEO and moved back to Louisiana, and my father, Corbett Stackhouse, took over the running of the company until he went and died in a flash flood. This brings me back to the present as I stand at the window of my living room and sip a cup of perfectly brewed coffee whilst I am still in my robe. I, Sookie Stackhouse, am not one of those people who need to make the morning commute to my work place, mainly because I don't have one, unless 'socialite' or 'rich girl' is actually a profession. Granted, sometimes being a Stackhouse woman does feel like a full time job with no set hours.

I suppose I could have worked for the company, but I'd discovered early on that I had no taste for the family business. When I was little, my father sometimes took me to board meetings. The thing was, he was one of the few people who knew about and sort of accepted my little quirk, as I like to call it. I am not just any Upper East Side socialite. I am a telepathic Upper East Side socialite. Imagine what that must be like, hearing all the thoughts of the people in this particular circle. Trust me, it's not fun seeing the most intimate details of Kevin Berger's affair with one of his married neighbours and then hearing his commentary. There is a reason why I tend to isolate myself in order to try and find a little bit of peace.

My ability is not without its benefits. It makes interviewing and hiring household staff very easy, for one, and I sometimes do attend board meetings just to make sure that things are going as well as the board members say they are. They've learned long ago not to lie to me.

The thing is, however, I don't really know what to do with myself. I could go to college, I suppose, but high school had been bad enough. I could get a job, but what sort of job can a girl with no college education land? Waitressing and other jobs with low educational requirements are out of the question. Gran is very open-minded and liberal, but even so, we Stackhouses have an image to keep up. The media would have a field day if word ever got out that I became a waitress.

I decide to go and see my friend Sam later in the day. He owns a cafe slash bar slash bookstore. Like me, it doesn't know what it wants to be, but it's a comfortable little place, and sometimes Sam gets these rare antique books. I like being with him. His mind is different from the others, and I can't hear his thoughts very clearly. Granted, I don't need to be a telepath to know that he is interested in me, and not just as a friend. Unfortunately for poor Sam, he is forever relegated to the friend category in my book. There just isn't that sort of chemistry between us, at least not from where I stand.

Picking out an outfit is like preparing for battle, even though I'm not expecting any skirmishes until tonight. There's a party —invitations only— that my Gran's hosting, and as a member of the family, I'm expected to show up early and leave late. Such functions may resemble normal parties, but believe me, they're the scenes of subtle battles between 'frenemies' and real enemies. A well-made stiletto can mean the difference between victory and defeat. With all this in my mind, I snatch my most comfortable pair of dark wash jeans off the top of the pile, a white t-shirt, a pair of cowboy booties with a stacked heel and a leather jacket. There is no need to bring out the blazing guns when one is going undercover. Besides, utilitarian style is the hottest thing right now. All right, my jacket is Balenciaga, my jeans are from Diesel, my t-shirt is Calvin Klein and my shoes are from Rag & Bone. They're lower profile than a bejewelled Valentino gown and Louboutin heels, right?

I call for my driver. Louis used to be Mom and Dad's chauffeur. He's more like a favourite uncle than one of the help. I remember telling him all about my day at school. I think he suspects that I'm different, but he's never said anything about it and he treats me just like he would anyone else. "Thanks, Louis," I say as I hop in the car. "I might want to stop by Bergdorf's afterwards," I tell him. "You don't mind, do you?" I want to find some inspiration for what I'm going to be wearing tonight. Perhaps there'll be some fabulous statement necklace that will turn an already stunning dress into a spectacular suit of armour. I might be into utilitarianism, but I like my shiny dangly things as much as any other woman, although not as much as a few certain individuals. Speaking of which...

My phone starts ringing, belting out a dark orchestral techno song by a German artist. I don't know what the lyrics mean, but I like dancing to the tune. Arlene's on the other end. I'm probably the only friend she has in this level of society. Arlene used to be a waitress a long time ago before she married Walter Birmingham, who owned a chain of bars and casinos. Birmingham has recently his businesses to some newcomer, like a great many in our circle. It's only thanks to Gran's management abilities and sharp business mind that Hale Limited didn't join the rest of them. The new guy, a vampire, was someone to be reckoned with.

Ever since the vampires 'came out of the coffin' a couple of years ago, they've made quite an impact on society. For the first time, they could deal and trade freely without fear of being exposed. Many of them have had centuries of business experience, and are undoubtedly some of the best businessmen around. Our new 'neighbour', whom I've never met, is one of those. Eric Northman now runs a successful vampire-themed franchise, with his flagship business being a popular bar slash strip club. I've never been there. Don't get me wrong. I've got nothing against vampires. They can't help being what they are. It's just that it's not my scene, all this nightclub stuff.

"You'll never guess what happened!" Arlene squeals as soon as I answer the phone. She doesn't give me a chance to guess. "Rene proposed!"

Rene Lenier owns a chain of automobile dealerships. "Congratulations, Arlene!" I say.

"He bought me the most beautiful ring!" I continued to let her gush. Arlene's lasted in our circle a lot longer than most other women like her who try to secure their own futures by marrying rich men. Ruder people would call them 'gold-diggers', but my Gran brought us up to be polite to, no matter their class or race or creed. Besides, Arlene's not a particularly bad person. She just has bad taste and a slightly narrow mind. Well, not just slightly. "The central diamond alone must be at least five carats!"

"He must really love you, sweetie," I enthuse. "What do Coby and Lisa think of their new dad?"

"Oh, Rene's so wonderful with them. They really like him. I think this is it, Sookie darling. He's the one." Yeah, the fifth one. I quickly reprimand myself for my uncharitable thoughts. I really want Arlene to be able to find Mr. Right. I just don't think such a thing exists in the upper echelons of society. Marriage is hardly ever for love. It's mostly for politics and business. She gushes for a few more minutes, and then tells me that she has to go and look at wedding shoes. I promise to go dress shopping with her sometime soon.

Louis pulls up outside Merlotte's. "Hey, Sook!" Sam greets me when I enter. "It's been a while. You're looking good."

"You too, Sam," I say. "Have you got any new stock?"

"I saved a found a nineteenth century copy of Pride and Prejudice for you, cher," says Sam as he picks a beautifully bound volume off the shelf. I inhale the scent of the pages. In case you haven't noticed, I love old books. It doesn't matter if it's Machiavelli or Austen, or some obscure title that no one's ever heard of. I always feel that these old books contain secrets, and if you can unlock them, you become a part of a secret and magical club. It's silly, I know, but I'm allowed my little guilty pleasures.

"Oh, it's beautiful," I say, lovingly stroking the antique print with my fingers. "How much is it?"

"I was thinking of giving it to you as an early birthday present," Sam says with a blush. He's your stereotypical sweet country boy.

"Sam, it's too much," I tell him. "Antique books aren't cheap. I have enough of them to know. I'd say that this is worth three hundred dollars at least."

"The guy who sold it on eBay didn't know how much it was worth and I got it for fifty," Sam mutters. "It's within your 'gift budget'."

I always tell my friends that I don't need expensive presents, and I set the limit at sixty dollars. I never buy gifts for anyone that are over that amount, unless they're for Gran, in which case the rule doesn't apply.

Sam and I argue for a while about whether I should or shouldn't pay for the book. At last, Sam wins. I make up for it by buying three hundred dollars worth of other books as well as a large cup of latte for Louis. "Someday, cher, you're gonna have to learn to accept gifts graciously," Sam tells me.

"Someday," I say. "But not yet." He grins and shuts the door behind me. I wave to him through the window as we drive off. Next, Bergdorf's, and then the salon for a facial and mani-pedi.

The function is supposed to raise funds for returned soldiers who find that their veteran benefits aren't enough to get them the reconstruction surgeries they need. I thought I'd arrived early, but when I step inside, I find that some people are even earlier than me. Mrs. Fortenberry was already directing the help and rearranging the name cards on the table. "Ashley Rushworth just broke up with Daniel Harrington," she tells me as she moves Ashley's card to a seat next to Jason's. "I don't think they'll be wanting to sit together, poor things."

I vaguely remember Daniel from school. He was a jock and he'd almost been expelled for smoking joints in the boys' bathroom. Things didn't improve for him after that incident. If Ashley broke up with him, then good for her. I find that I've been placed next to Hoyt Fortenberry. Mrs. Fortenberry always wishes that I'd marry her grandson. She thinks I'm a good girl because I don't smoke, do drugs, or have rampant serial sex. Actually, I don't have sex, full stop. It's not because I'm a prude, but with my, uh, ability, intimate acts can be really awkward.

For tonight, I've decided to go for classic sophistication with a white Louis Vuitton strapless dress that ends just above my knees. The fitted bodice, sweetheart neckline and full skirt show off my curves to their best effects. Strappy gold sandals from Mr. Louboutin sets off my perfect pedicure. I've chosen a classic red. It matches the soles of my shoes. My manicure is also red, although I've veered away from classic red lipstick and gone for something closer to chocolate plum. A statement necklace of gold chains pulls the look together.

"Sookie, darling, you look wonderful," says Gran, coming over to greet me with a hug and a kiss on both cheeks. She doesn't look bad herself. She's styled her hair in a French twist and her makeup is barely there, although I know that it must have taken her makeup artist an hour to apply. She's in a pale pink Chanel suit, and she'd chosen a pair of pink satin heels to match. It's hard to believe that this is the Gran who would spend the entire day in silk pajamas if she didn't have to go out. Granted, Coco Chanel herself had made silk pajamas a fashion item, so...

"Everything looks great, Gran," I say honestly. "It's very patriotic." A huge flag of the United States hangs at the front of the room. The entire set up reminds me of something from Gone with the Wind. Our family was originally from Louisiana, and our heritage is very important to Gran. Ever since we were little, she's been telling us about stories from the Civil War. Some of our relatives had fought in it, so it's very close to her heart. She's also fascinated by history in general.

"I'm glad you think so," Gran says. "I have spent such a lot of time preparing this. I've even invited a very special guest to talk to us." She's so excited and energetic that it's hard to believe that she's seventy five this year.

"Do I know him?" I ask.

"I'm pretty sure you don't. His name is Mr. William Compton." She leans in closer to me and whispers conspiratorially. "He's a vampire. Isn't that exciting?"

A lot of people were scared when the vampires first announced their existence. Gran was not one of them. "They've been around for so long and everything's been fine," she said the next morning after the announcement. "I don't see why things are going to be not fine now that they're out in the open." I agreed with her. Jason didn't think so, but Jason isn't very good at reasoning so I've never found out why he doesn't like vampires.

I've never met a vampire before. Like I've mentioned, they don't exactly share the same circles as I do. The only vampire I've ever heard of before today is Eric Northman, and only because all the people in the business world are wondering about him. He's never come to any of these charity galas. I suppose the upper class social scene isn't his thing. "What does he do for an...um...existence?"

"Well, I don't rightly know," says Gran. Don't get me wrong. Gran loves a bit of gossip as much as anyone, only she doesn't spread it the way some people do. "But I've heard that he's inherited a couple of estates and sold them for a good price, you know, after the last human of his human family passed away. Did you know that he's supposedly a Civil War veteran? That's the reason I asked him to come and talk to us, and he so very kindly agreed."

Images of Rhett Butler immediately fill my mind. Yes, I do dream of being Scarlett O'Hara. Although Elizabeth Bennet is pretty cool too, and who doesn't want their own Mr. Darcy?

Gran excuses herself so she can see how the caterers are doing, leaving me alone to daydream, although not for long. People have been talking about this function for ages, and everyone worth inviting is coming. Arlene arrives on Rene's arm. I haven't the heart to tell her that she's gonna sink like the Titanic with all the jewellery she has on, and that she should leave some mascara for the next day. Tara will tell her later.

Tara Thornton is one of my closest friends. She's not afraid to say what she thinks so she comes across as being extremely rude to some people, but she's honest and loyal and she doesn't care that I'm a little strange. I love her confidence, her outrageous style, and her bold laugh. Speaking of the devil, Tara sweeps in. She looks like a drop of summer on a dreary winter morning, with her colourful Pucci silk print gown and her dark skin. I've always envied her ability to wear every colour on the spectrum. If I wear orange, it makes me look jaundiced. On her, it's like a burst of sunshine. "Well, don't you look like the princess that you are," she said as she rushes over —in five inch beige Jimmy Choos, no less— to hug me.

"And you look like an Amazonian queen," I say.

"You think Jason's going to like it?" Tara has a crush on Jason, and has had it ever since high school. I don't think Jason's ever seen her as anything other than his little sister's best friend. Personally, I think she can do much better than Jason, even if he is my brother and I do love him.

"Is Jason coming?" I ask. He usually worms his way out of these things. The last time, it was because he had a 'flash flu'.

"I called him and he said he was," she says.

As night falls, more people arrive, dressed in their finest. "Sookie," says Gran. She is leading an attractive dark-haired stranger towards me. I notice at once that he's different. Normal people don't glow, and normal people don't have silent minds. He had to be the vampire, and he isn't what I expected.

Stereotypes aren't good, but sometimes we just can't get rid of them, no matter how hard we try. My idea of a vampire is the Nosferatu type, or maybe the sparkly kind, but this vampire definitely doesn't fit into either criteria. If he didn't glow, he would seem completely normal. He is in a beige suit, with a blue shirt and blue chequered tie. All right, so his fashion sense isn't the best, but I shouldn't really judge people based on their style. "This is Mr. William Compton," says Gran, beaming. "Mr. Compton, this is my granddaughter, Sookie."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Stackhouse," Mr. Compton says as he bows. Yes, he bowed to me. It is rather strange. I am a modern woman and no one bows anymore, except on stage and perhaps during dancing. What is wrong with a handshake? Does he expect me to bow or curtsey back? I'm definitely not doing it. Instead, I nod in what I hope is a friendly and polite manner.

"It is a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Compton," I say. Gran winks as me as she leaves me alone with the vampire. I don't really know what to say. He must be at least one and a half centuries old. He regards me with unblinking eyes, as if assessing me. His stance reminds me of a documentary I once saw about top predators. He looks like a predator analyzing me, trying to determine whether I would be suitable prey or not.

"Do you want me to show you where your seat is, Mr. Compton?" I ask, breaking the silence between us.

"Thank you, but no. I already know where I am sitting," he replies. It turns out he's sitting next to me.

I sleep in late the next morning. Last night left me drained, but in a good way. No, Mr. Compton didn't touch me. He was polite and charming, and afterwards, before he left, he asked me if I was interested in going out for a drink with him sometime. I didn't say yes and I didn't say no. Actually, I think I was suitably vague. I didn't want to him to think that I was desperate or anything. I'm not desperate. Well, perhaps a little. Everyone around me is getting laid, getting engaged and getting married. Sometimes, even independent women just want to go with the flow.

Jason did end up turning up last night. He spent the entire evening flirting with the ladies. They love him, even though he's...not the brightest bulb in the room. I don't see what they see in him, but I am his sister. He can be considerate if he puts his mind to it. He just generally doesn't.

For a lack of something to do, I sit down on the white leather settee and switch on the TV to watch the news as I eat my warm croissant and drink my coffee—black, no sugar, thank you very much. They're reporting a high profile murder. I almost spray my TV with coffee.

Maudette Pickens was in my senior year class. She wasn't bright, but she was nice, if a little dull. She had a drug problem two years ago, but she went to rehab and from what I know, she's stayed out of trouble afterwards. Well, until now. I can't believe that it's her body they're carrying out on a gurney in a black body bag. Somehow, the media manages to report that she had bite marks on her thighs and neck. What is even worse is that Jason reportedly left her building sometime early this morning, drunk off his arse, and he is now a 'person of interest'.

I dial my brother's number. He doesn't pick up, and I wait until I get redirected to voicemail. Then I decide to go find him. He only lives one floor below me. Gran is yet another floor below the two of us. We own this building so we got to pick whichever floors we liked once we were old enough to have our own floors. I had to beat Jason at chess to get the penthouse, not that it was that hard. And no, I didn't cheat.

I arrive to find that Gran is already there, and the reason Jason isn't answering his phone is because he's lost it. "I didn't do it, I swear!" he's telling Gran.

"I know, sweetheart, but you don't even remember what you were doing in her apartment," says Gran. Sometimes, my grandmother's faith in the goodness of her grandchildren astounds me. Jason's not a bad guy, but he's definitely not a good boy.

I can tell that my brother is trying to find a nice way to break it to her that he was having a one night stand with Maudette Pickens when security announces that 'Detective Bellefleur' from the NYPD is here to ask Jason a few questions.

We've known Andy Bellefleur for a very long time. His family are old blue bloods, just like us. Originally, his family were in the import export business, but Andy decided to not follow in the family business and became a policeman. His sister, Portia, is now a renowned criminal defence attorney. I'm hoping that we won't need to hire her. Andy is naturally suspicious of people, a quick scan of his mind tells me that he's wondering what motive Jason has for killing Maudette and how the bite marks tie in. Maudette was strangled with her own hosiery. I see her glassy dead eyes and the ligature marks on her neck in Andy's mind. He's determined to find the killer and bring him to justice. Andy's not just an idealistic cop. He wants to be a hero who's lauded on TV.

Jason tells Andy about how he left the function early last night with Maudette. They went to her apartment, which doesn't have very good security. He went to her apartment instead of taking her back home because he didn't want to be seen with her. At this moment in time, I'm not very proud of my brother. He tells Andy about the couple of joints they smoked and then the sex they had. After that, he doesn't remember anything. He definitely doesn't remember strangling anyone.

The key lies with the bite marks, of that I'm sure. Maudette's few friends said that Maudette liked to frequent a vampire bar. She loved the vampire lifestyle and wished that she could be a vampire. The bite marks on Maudette's neck and leg look plenty fresh in Andy's mind, and the coroner's report says that they occurred from anywhere between a day to four hours ante mortem.

All right, so I took a rummage in the detective's head. It's not like that's a federal offense.

Serial killers have gripped our imaginations for decades. We are curious about them and we are disgusted by them. We wonder how people are driven to kill over and over again, in the same manner. Their victims are usually not entirely random. Sometimes, they manage to escape the law for years. When a serial killer appears in the midst of a community, we all live in fear. We don't know who they will select or when they will strike. It's impossible to predict such things, unless you happen to be psychic or, in my case, telepathic.

Still, I didn't know that Maudette had been killed by a serial killer, until Dawn Green turns up dead in her apartment, strangled with the wire of her cell phone charger and with bite marks on her neck. Of course, Jason had a sexual relationship with her as well. Sometimes, I wonder whether Jason has had a sexual relationship with every woman in Manhattan.

I didn't know Dawn very well. She was a barista who worked part time at Merlotte's and sometimes picked up one off gigs as a waitress at private functions, like the one we just had. I did, however, overhear her talking about a vampire bar that she wanted to visit. In fact, it's the same bar that Maudette visited.

I make up my mind. I am going to take up William Compton's offer, but I'm going to choose the place.

It is business as usual, and Eric is bored out of his mind. He's spent a thousand years roaming the world and really, humans haven't changed all that much. The people who visit his bar tend to be the dregs of humanity; the people who just want to be bitten, the youngsters who have too much time and money, the people so bored with life that they would do anything for something to spice it up.

He passes the time surfing the internet. Thank the gods for Blackberries, and not the edible kind. He doesn't remember the taste of blackberries. And then he smells something. At first, the scent is not strong. It is carried in by the breeze as the door of his club opens, along with exhaust fumes and smells from the sewers. He catches just a whiff before it is gone. He texts Pam, his child, who is manning the door. She hasn't sensed anything.

Moments later, he smells it again. This time, it is much stronger, and it lingers in the air. He follows the scent and sees the source. Mmm...now this is something different.

I have no idea how to dress for a vampire nightclub. I haven't told anyone where I'm going, not even Gran. I just told her I'm going out with Mr. Compton tonight. She trusts me and she doesn't ask too many questions. At any rate, she's too busy fending off the media's questions about Jason's involvement in the murders. They haven't come to me yet. I'm not the type of socialite who ends up on page six so I'm not sure if they even know I exist. If I'm there, I'm just part of the background. There's nothing interesting about me, at least, not their version of interesting. Mind you, if anyone ever finds out I'm a telepath, I guarantee you that I won't be on page six. I'll be on the cover...of something like New Scientist.

I end up choosing a Herve Leger body-con dress in white. It clings to all my curves and the hem hits mid-thigh. To that, I add a statement necklace, a shearling aviator jacket and a pair of 'Fuck Me' heels —platform patent nude Louboutin peep toes with cut outs that make my tanned legs look as if they go on forever. I let my hair fall in loose blonde waves around my shoulders and I even manage to create a smoky eye with brown and bronze eye shadow and a generous dose of mascara. I'm not vain, but I must say I look pretty good. Finally, I put on the finishing touch; two sprays of Gucci Envy. Scent, I've heard, is a very important accessory.

Mr. Compton —he'd asked me to call him Bill— arrives five minutes early, but I'm already done. He takes one look at me and shakes his head.

"Is something wrong with what I'm wearing?" I ask? All right, maybe the Alexander McQueen clutch with the skull clasp was a little over the top, but I thought it was suitable for a vampire club.

"No, not at all," he says. "But I must warn you, Sookie, if you go into Fangtasia dressed like that, I can't guarantee that I'll be able to keep the other vampires away from you."

"I don't intend to keep them away," I say. He raises an eyebrow at me and then offers me his arm.

There is a long line outside the nightclub, and I realize that maybe I'm not so appropriately dressed after all. The regulars are dressed in filmy viscose dresses or leather corsets and some are even in spandex, or just tit tape and panties and nothing else. Everything is black. There are neon lights saying 'Fangtasia' in jazzy writing on the wall. Apart from the name and the leather, there is nothing to set this club apart from so many others. The patrons' minds are filled with sex; both sex with vampires and sex with one another. So far, no serial killers.

Bill takes me up to the female vampire manning the door. She's in a tight black leather dress, with black lipstick...and tiny subtle gold Chanel studs with the interlocking C and seed diamonds. I have a feeling that all this pseudo gothic stuff is not her preferred attire.

"Pam," Bill greets her.

"Bill Compton," she says in a bored voice before turning to look at me. Then she grins and her fangs drop, only, she's not looking at me, per se.

She's looking at my shoes.