The incessant ringing permeated her dreams, and she blindly reached toward her nightstand, fumbling for her phone, knocking her precarious pile of books over and sending them cascading to the floor with a series of thuds. It was late or early; she couldn’t be sure in the darkened room, but it was definitely not time to be up. But it could be an emergency, or perhaps her dad had forgotten the time difference again.
“Hello,” she mumbled into the device.
“Dr. Granger?” clipped an American voice.
“Speaking,” she confirmed, sitting up and blinking herself awake.
“It is Dr. Ludwig. I am sorry to call at this hour, but it is an emergency, and I don’t think it can wait. I have done what I can for my patient, but it is merely prolonging the inevitable. It appears to be a curse targeting the soft tissue and causing rapid necrosis. I know you have made a study of similar curses, so I am hoping you could help. I have done what I can, but she is in terrible pain.”
Now wide awake, Hermione slid out of bed. Slipping her nightgown off, she began getting dressed. “Where are you?”
“Shreveport, Louisiana, a bar called Fangtasia.”
“The patient – is she human or vampire?” Hermione asked curiously, zipping on her boots.
“Vampire. The assailants were allegedly witches. A coven.”
“Fascinating. Perhaps that could be the reason for the acceleration of effects? I will be there within two hours, earlier if possible,” she said, summoning her mediwitch kit and book bag.
The chainmail burnt into Pam’s tender new skin as she lay in agony encased in her custom silk-lined pink coffin. Disfigured and trapped, scared for herself and Eric, she lay awake staring at the lid and praying the protections would be enough. She wanted to get through the night, if only to get her revenge and help Eric. Fucking witches, fucking Bill, Sookie, Tara, Lafayette, all the fucking humans, and fairies. Things had been better when they had been in the coffin. No playing nice with humans.
It had been fun initially, but she was sick of being a sideshow freak for humans. Having them salivate like animals in heat, throwing themselves at any vampire for sex, V, or even just a cheap fucking thrill of being up close to a predator.
Bill and the AVL can deal with the fallout. When night came again, she would get Ludwig to give her the injections so she could just go out and kill all the witches and anyone else who got in the way. She would welcome the True Death rather than endure this pain for eternity. She would rather go out fighting than remain at the mercy of witches and needing to rely on Ginger for protection. Ginger. Ugh, sweet, dumb, desperate, loyal Ginger. She could live. And Dr. Ludwig could too. She had tried her best and had offered her a solution that would at least help her get her revenge.
The lid of her open suddenly crashed open unceremoniously, and Pam hissed at the sudden bright lights.
“Ssh,” a soft voice soothed, peeling back the chainmail. “I am here to help.”
Pam tried to move and found she could not. She was paralyzed and panicked. The woman’s face was shadowed and unclear, but her hands were gentle, and her voice was kind. Backlit by the harsh fluorescent light, Pam thought she looked angelic, flyaway golden curls catching the light.
Then she began to sing, a chanting song in a language Pam was unfamiliar with. Pam closed her eyes as her pain started to ease, and exhaustion overcame her.
Saved by an angel.
When Pam woke later, she was looking at the lid of her coffin. She had made it through the night and was miraculously free from pain. She could hear voices nearby.
Ginger’s distinctive twang, Dr. Ludwig, and another woman – a British woman? She slid the lid open and sat bolt upright, ready for anything, apart from the incongruous sight of Dr. Ludwig, Ginger, and a petite pretty curly-haired woman sitting around Eric’s spare coffin nonchalantly sipping tea from dainty matching teacups. Eric’s coffin was currently draped in a neat tablecloth and had a fine bone china tea set laid out on it next to a plate of assorted cookies.