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There are different trains of thought: words don't lie/seeing is

believing. A 289 year old prophecy & a handful of visions gives a young woman

the power to change the world - that is, if she chooses to take control &

guide her own destiny. Vamp/AU.

Rated M

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Table of Contents

Table of Contents................................................................................................................................... 2

~ Prologue ~ ........................................................................................................................................... 3

~ Chapter 1 – Color Spectrum ~............................................................................................................ 5

~ Chapter 2 – First Time for Everything ~ ........................................................................................... 16

~ Chapter 3 – Actions Speak Loudest ~................................................................................................ 25

~ Chapter 4 - Cinnamon and Pine ~ ..................................................................................................... 35

~ Chapter 5 - Whirling Faster Out of Sync ~......................................................................................... 46

~ Chapter 6 – Not an Easy Day to Forget ~ .......................................................................................... 58

~ Chapter 7 – By Heritage, Not by Choice ~......................................................................................... 68

~ Chapter 8 – Better Left Unspoken ~.................................................................................................. 79

Ω Ω Ω.............................................................................................................................................. 82

~ Chapter 9 - The Needs of the Many ~............................................................................................... 89

~ Chapter 10 - Introductions All Around ~......................................................................................... 101

~ Chapter 11 - Compulsion to Move ~............................................................................................... 112

~ Chapter 12 – Slipping into Place ~ .................................................................................................. 121

~ Chapter 13 – Occurrences in Context ~ .......................................................................................... 134

~ Chapter 14 – Glittering in the Sunlight ~ ........................................................................................ 145

~ Chapter 15 – Children of the Revolution ~ ..................................................................................... 154

~ Chapter 16 – Level Playing Field ~................................................................................................... 165

~ Chapter 17 – Checkmate ~.............................................................................................................. 176

~ Epilogue - October 31, 2010 ~......................................................................................................... 183

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~ Prologue ~

March 19, 1721

The moon hangs low in the west, a soft yellow ball of light, illuminating lush fields flanking foothills
and a low mountain fortress. Below the great stone walls, an ancient Roman amphitheatre, long
since abandoned, is overgrown with wild grass, providing dinner to a group of lazy sheep. The trees
are filled with the trill of song birds and the gentle rustling of fresh spring leaves. The world is slowly
coming alive, the Spring Equinox and Easter giving way to the feast of Saint Marcus.

Above, within the walled city, people fill the great Duomo, their voices rising and mixing, bass, tenor,
alto and soprano, in exaltation to God and his vessel, Saint Marcus, the blessed martyr who has
spared their homes from years of pain. Words of praise drift up to the elaborate gold ceiling,
echoing out through the open doors and into the courtyard, where they mix with happy gurgling of
a fountain and laughter.

The less pious occupants of Volterra are busy as well, flanking the narrow city streets to watch the
rich pageantry of celebrants passing through. Men and women in masque, dressed in costumes of
finest velvet and cloth of gold, dazzle the eye. Everywhere there is celebration, for today is the day
they have been delivered from evil, their world safe from all harm.

And yet, this is not entirely true. For in a tower, not far from the hymns of praise and spectacle of
pageantry, a different type of celebration is unfolding. To the human eye, the people in this sparse
tower room are beautiful, their pale skin and luminous hair more glorious than anything on display
in the square below. If one were to step closer, the observer would find that their beauty was but a
glamour, a false illusion masking death and decay. Stunning faces marred by horrific eyes, scarlet
red filled with malevolent glee. Amongst them, simple humans scream and fight, fruitlessly
searching for a way out of the round room. With the heavy oak doors sealed shut behind them, they
are broken and drained, their last thought the realization that the celebration is all a farce, for the
evil never left.

And in the far corner, a young man with hair so blonde that it's almost white stands alone, watching
with barely masked horror. His eyes, neither the horrific red of the beautiful ones, nor the familiar
hues found in the fleeing humans, are wide in despair. Beautiful and tawny gold, they fill with a
great sadness and resignation.

This is all so wrong.

A tall, elegant man in a suit of velvet brocade, the leader of the beautiful ones, is stalking a woman.
As she hugs the wall, he claps his hands under his chin, a smile of delight stretching across his
ghostly white face. He chose this woman, her face handsome, body stout from years of childbearing.
The woman carries herself with wisdom and courage, even in the face of the horror that unfolds

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around her. She did not run and scream like the others. Instead, the woman presses her back to the
wall, her hands flat against the jagged stone, searching for an egress or a way to escape.

"Come, little mother," the elegant man coos, his smile gentle and pleading. "Do not be afraid. Come,
celebrate with us. You are wise, and you do not cower. Let me taste you, and maybe you will be
deemed worthy enough to become one of us."

She continues to move slowly around the perimeter of the room, watching as the other beautiful
ones sate their thirst. Three traveling merchants, having been lured here with the promise of free
food, lay piled on the floor like discarded dolls, their bodies drained and broken. She knows she is
meant to join that pile.

The man steps closer, and then, as if in a blur of smoke and vapor he is upon her and his hand is
wrapped around her wrist. At the touch of his hand, a flurry of visions spool through the woman's
mind. The walls of the city, her family, the horse that threw her husband and broke his neck. This is
her life, flashing before her, and she resigns herself to her death.

As quickly as they appeared, the visions were gone – everything was gone. She sees nothing, no
memories, no images, just black. And then the words came forth, spoken in a voice so flat, so
hollow; no one would have believed she was the one to speak.

"Within a canopy of green, six months past Saint Marcus Day, Irish servant will bend English oak to
make a vow of strongest stone. In the enigma year, purest gold embraces ruby red as the libertines
suffer their fate. Regina Vampira, one woman to guide all."

All activity in the room stops. The beautiful ones all watch their master, whose free hand hovers just
above her throat.

"What did you say?" he hisses. His hesitation and the cold wind at her back are the signs she had
been waiting for.

"Regina Vampira," the woman whispered, and then tipped backwards out of the open tower
window.

The blonde man with the tawny gold eyes runs to the window, but it is too late. The woman was
dead of shock before she hit the cobblestones below.

Ω Ω Ω

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~ Chapter 1 – Color Spectrum ~

September. Everything about the word sounds like autumn. From the soft S, like the hiss of air
slowly being released from an inner tube to the hard –ber at the end, the first of four months that
each grow progressively colder, as if foreshadowing the snow and ice soon to arrive. September was
synonymous with football and homecoming, pumpkin spice candles, and leaves slowly starting their
change from lush green to various states of scarlet, gold and amber. Most of all, September meant
back to school, children embarking on a new year, their backpacks full of fresh notebooks and
sharpened pencils.

September meant change – at least for most. Not for me.

No, this September, I would not be one of the masses rushing back to class, full of stories about my
summer vacation. For the first time in my life, I would be watching from the sidelines as classes
resumed. There would be no homecoming or football games for me (not that I'd ever participated in
them anyway), no lectures or tests, nor would I be anywhere near leaves that changed color. I was
landlocked in the desert, another year in the perennial summer of Phoenix, very quickly going
nowhere fast.

"Come with us to Jacksonville," my mother, Renee, had begged me years ago. It had been
September 22, 2006, just a week and a half after my nineteenth birthday. "It's time you saw
something other than the desert. There are good universities in Florida, and plenty of jobs…"

She meant well; Renee always did. But I had a chance to do something I'd never done before - be
truly on my own. I could sleep as late as I wanted, eat cereal for dinner if I wasn't in the mood to
cook, and play any type of music as loud as I chose. I'd been the responsible, practical one for so
long: doing the grocery shopping, reminding my mother to pay the bills, turning off the lights before
going to bed. For the first time in my life. I was going to put myself first, or at least try.

So instead of joining the trek to Jacksonville, I thanked Renee and made up a flimsy excuse about
not wanting to lose course credits, and wished her and my stepfather, Phil, a safe drive. Once they
were out of sight, I loaded up my car and made the drive fifteen minutes west to claim the small
efficiency apartment just five blocks from the Arizona State University campus. It had a Murphy bed
that folded down out of the wall, a tiny little kitchenette, and an onsite laundry. For the first time in
my life, I had a place that was all my own.

Over the course of the next four years, I added little odds and ends to the apartment in an attempt
to make it feel more like a 'home.' I bought a simple love seat from a couple that was moving out
down the hall, and draped colorful throws over it to cover the stains. I hung pictures and bought
inexpensive plants, but in the end, this apartment wasn't home anymore than any other place I'd
lived in. It was just one more stop in my long succession of layovers on the road to nowhere.

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There were days where I regretted my decision to stay behind in Arizona. Making friends had not
been as easy as I'd hoped. Maybe it was not living on campus or joining a sorority; the people I met
had their own groups, and didn't have room to work in one more. It left me alone, on the periphery,
watching as others lived and laughed in a way I'd never really learned how to do. When I did interact
with others, the conversations were often painful.

"So Marie, do anything exciting this summer?"

"Not really, just worked," I mumbled, looking down at my shoes.

"Work is good, gives you practical business experience. I had this awesome internship with a
museum downtown. Really gave me a good feel for what the working world is going to be like. I'm
really starting to get excited. Any clue what you are going to do when we graduate?"

"No – well, I'm not sure yet."

These people had spent their lives figuring out what it was they wanted to be and do. Some had
turned childish dreams into reality, working towards becoming doctors or lawyers. Others had
discovered themselves at school, slotting into a potential profession easily. In a world where a
person was defined by their profession (I'm an accountant, I'm a mom, I'm a cab driver), the only
answer I could ever give was that I was a student.

Beyond that, I just flat out didn't know.

What I did know was that with my degree, I would be able to go somewhere and craft my own
identity, something I'd never really felt like I had. With a bachelor's in marketing tucked safely under
my arm, I would be able to move on, out of this wasteland where nothing changed, and find the
place that I did belong.

Somehow, some way, I would find a way to turn this degree into an answer.

That is why, while other girls wandered off to parties and went on dates; I spent all my free time out
of class at the large bookstore where I worked as a barista. The job not only funded my meager
apartment and bills, it was the sole source of my tuition and provided an ample discount towards
the books I needed for school. All that stood between me and my degree were just nine classes and
about twenty thousand dollars. Nine more classes until I was free to roam the world, doing
whatever it was I wanted, and hopefully never worrying about money again.

My desire to escape Phoenix was ironic, in a way, for I'd spent my childhood longing for consistency.
Renee was never one to hold down a stable job, which meant the bulk of my childhood had been
spent following her from job to job in little towns throughout Southern California and Arizona.
Bakersfield, Barstow, Temecula, and Sedona; the names changed, but landscape always stayed the
same. Miles of dirt, big rocks, and cheap apartments with cheery names like "Mountain Pines" or
"Vineyard Hills". The properties rarely matched their lush names, and the swimming pools in the
center courtyard were the only things that might be considered naturally green. They were usually

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neglected, the algae growing up from the bottom making the water too stagnant to touch. Anything
green in Phoenix was manufactured, fake grass or watered within an inch of its life. Real grass would
never survive in a state that averaged more than 300 days of sunshine a year.

Nor did leaves ever change their colors.

Ω Ω Ω

Crooking my jaw to the side, I stuck out my lip and huffed a quick breath, using the air's momentum
to blow a thick lock of hair out of my eyes. The long brown strands drifted lazily to the side before
dropping back down onto my forehead, which was damp with perspiration. It would figure that
today of all days I would forget a ponytail holder.

I was still trying to figure out where the day had spun out of control. Waking with sun, I'd rolled
over, watching the cars pass by my bedroom window with a bit of an odd feeling. I'd chalked it up to
a case of the 'no school blues,' the first time in my existence I'd not been elbows deep in textbooks
and assignments. In an attempt to shake off the depression that hovered at the periphery, I dug into
practical things, like straightening up my apartment and making a dent in mountain of laundry that
had accumulated in the corner. For six hours, I ran up and down the stairs, flipping loads from the
coin-operated washer to the dryer, then shuttling them back upstairs to put them away. It was a
monotonous task, but it numbed the doubt that had being gnawing at the edges of my mind. School
did not define who I was, I did. I just needed to figure out how to do that.

The timer on my tiny microwave went off at 3:40, reminding me that it was time to move the final
load of clothes from the washer to the dryer. I ran down two flights of steps, pulling up short at the
large, wet pile of laundry on top of the dryer. The washing machine hummed as clothing agitated
inside; clothing that wasn't mine.

"Thanks a lot for nothing," I mumbled, shoving my clothes haphazardly in the dryer and jamming
three quarters into the coin slot. The people that lived in my building weren't particularly known for
their manners, but this had to take the cake. Not trusting the washing machine thief to allow my
unmentionables to toast in peace, I ran back upstairs to retrieve a book, and spent the afternoon
perched on top of the dryer waiting for my clothes to finish. The small laundry room was cramped,
with no ventilation, and I was sore, sweaty, and in a foul by the time the buzzer went off. When I
opened the dryer door, I could have cried. A single bright red tea towel, a gift from my mother, lay in
the center of the dryer tub, flanked by piles of fluffy pink socks and underwear. Every single item of
white clothing I owned was now a lovely shade of carnation pink.

"Fuck," I swore softly, tossing the clothes angrily into my laundry basket. I didn't have the money to
replace the clothes, and I hated pink.

Tired and frustrated, I lugged the basket upstairs. Perspiration made my hands sweaty, and I almost
dropped the basket twice, slipping on my way up the final flight. My neighbor, a sullen old man who

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worked in the maintenance department at school, pushed past without stopping to make sure was
okay. He kicked a pair of pair of underwear out of his path on the way down.

It was just another day in the amazing life of Marie Geoffrey.

Once inside my apartment, I dropped the laundry basket on the floor next to the door. It was almost
five, and I needed to be at work soon, but I didn't have the motivation to take a shower. Defeated, I
sank down onto the couch, wishing I had something more to look forward to than a menial job that I
needed to feed my severely diminished tuition fund.

"I never thought I'd long for homework," I said, collapsing backwards. It was easier to close my eyes,
and shut out the world for just a little bit; go to a place where the world expected nothing from me,
and I could just be. I allowed myself to picture all the things that didn't exist here. Pine trees, acres
of bright green grass, and gentle rainfalls in a place that changed color as the seasons ebbed and
flowed - somewhere alive.

Like every other fiasco in my day, my nap had been an ill advised decision. A door slamming down
the hall jarred me awake, and I scrambled to sit up, groaning at the digital readout on my DVD
player. 6:10 – not enough time to sneak in a shower before work. I splashed water on my face and
threw on my faded forest green polo shirt before half walking, half jogging the three blocks to the
bookstore.

I arrived at 6:30, sweaty and ill tempered, desperate for a large glass of water and cool air. Fate had
other plans, for the air conditioning was struggling to keep up in the early September heat, and the
ceiling fans installed in the café area to circulate the smells of coffee and pastries merely pushed the
hot air back down into the room.

"I love my job, I love my job," I chanted over and over as I balanced precariously on my toes.
Whoever opened this morning had forgotten to grind coffee. Were it not for the almost empty
thermos of coffee on the counter, I wouldn't have known until it was too late. The grinder was tall,
forcing me to hold the large bag of beans high over my head, and angle the top down into the large
chute. As I did so, my hair fell into my eyes again, and I tossed my hair, annoyed and hot. My body
wasn't ready for the sharp motion, and the muscles in the back neck contracted in protest, sending
needles of pain searing up the back of my neck.

"Owwww…shit!" I hissed, dropping the bag of beans. My hand went instinctively to the back of my
neck, gently rubbing at the burning muscles as I fought back tears of pain and frustration. The
aluminum pouch I'd dropped landed on the floor with a thwack, tottering precariously from side to
side before settling into place. At least the beans hadn't spilled; if they had, I probably would have
broken down in tears. It was the perfect cap on completely miserable day.

"That was impressive," a deep voice observed from behind me.

It startled me, and I jumped, letting out a little squeak of distress and flattening one hand against my
racing heart. It was a ridiculous protective measure that would have done little to ward off an

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attack. The man's voice had literally come out of nowhere, no footsteps or throat clearing to
indicate that someone might be waiting. I turned slowly to find a young man standing on the other
side of the counter, his hands shoved casually in the pockets of his jeans. Paired with a long sleeved
rumpled white oxford, the heavy jeans struck me as an odd choice given the fact it was over 100
degrees outside. Apparently Phoenix hadn't gotten the memo that September was here.

"The balancing, that is. It was impressive." He smiled and tipped his head to the side, a gesture I was
sure most people found disarming, if not charming.

"Next time warn someone before you sneak up on them!" I said, taking deep breaths in attempt to
slow my heart rate down. It slammed against my chest so hard it felt as though my shirt would
probably move if I lifted my hand.

"I did." The man smiled, wide and bright, like he'd given me the most brilliant answer in the world. "I
cleared my throat, and then you did this-" He flicked his head gently to one side, mimicking the
exact same motion that had caused me to drop the bag. His blonde hair shifted easily away from his
face, his muscles not rebelling at the motion. The blood rushed to my face, embarrassment and
anger burning my cheeks and making my throat tingle. Yet another way in which everyone else in
the world was superior to me.

Cocky bastard, I thought. He thinks he has the world on a string, and he's laughing at me.

"Did you want something, or are you just having fun at my expense?" I asked, struggling to regain
my composure. The blonde man continued to smile at me, his expression gentle and almost
indulgent, as if he could sense my mood and understand my frustration.

"Just a tall coffee please," he said, digging a dark brown leather wallet out of his back pocket. As he
did, the hem of his untucked oxford flipped up to reveal a long, lean expanse of pale – no, white –
skin.

"How long are you in town?" I asked, filling the awkward silence as I filled a cup of coffee. "You can't
be a local with skin like that." Once the cup was full, I slid it across the counter. "That will be a dollar
eighty. Lids and insulated sleeves are just to your left. Be careful, I just brewed it, so it's hot."

The man dropped two dollar bills on the counter, and retrieved a lid from the accessory caddy, along
with a sugar packet. He slowly, almost methodically tore the top of the yellow pouch and tipped it
into his coffee, then secured the lid. "I'm just in town for the day. I had some business to take care
of."

No way this guy is older than I am, and yet he's 'in town on business.' He couldn't be more than
twenty one, twenty two maximum, yet his wallet was clearly expensive, as were his 'casual' jeans
and oxford. It only reinforced the nagging thought that had chewed at the back of my mind all day.
You are a no one, Marie. Life is passing you by, and no one gives a damn whether you care or not.

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The man laughed, a strange, almost strangled sound, which echoed off the walls of the quiet café.
Through the large opening into the bookstore, I could see a handful of patrons loitering around open
tables, but as a whole, the bookstore was quiet. It would seem almost everyone had better things to
do tonight.

"So tell me, Marie," the man said, his eyes darted to my name tag affixed to my apron, "What is a
pretty girl like you doing working at a coffee stand on a Thursday night?"

"Paying the bills. Why, is there something else I should be doing?" I answered flippantly.

"Oh, I don't know...maybe out with friends, on a date with a boyfriend, or maybe even hanging with
family," he said causally. "Or maybe you are working tonight so you can take off the long holiday
weekend?

"I don't have any of those," I said sharply. "And I am working the long holiday weekend because I
need every penny I can make. I have an education to pay for."

The words came sharper than I had intended, but the man didn't recoil. Instead, he leaned forward,
his fore arms resting on the counter, one bent to support his weight, the other wrapped securely
around the cup of coffee.

"Everyone needs to take a break and have fun. I doubt you are working 24x7 until Tuesday morning.
Come on - tell me you have some fun planned. A barbeque maybe? Lunch with a friend? Dinner with
your mom?" He stared at me intently, his strange yellow brown eyes burning straight through me.

Maybe it was the fact that I'd spent all day invisible, that my underwear was now pink, or that my
hair had been stuck to my neck for the last four hours. I found myself desperate for human contact,
someone who would talk to me, treat me like I was worth something. This man was a total stranger,
yet he had a kind smile, and he made me feel like I mattered with his simple questions about my
weekend. His questions were not intrusive, probing at the things that I didn't know how to answer.
He made me comfortable, melting my irritation easily into acceptance, something I would have
fought had I not been so tired and defeated. I just wanted someone to see me, to find me
interesting for just a tiny little bit, and I was willing to forget all other transgressions to get there.

You do matter, a voice echoed in my head. You are worth it.

"No, no barbeque or lunch with mom. I am going to go to the grocery store tomorrow to load up on
food and bleach. I might go to a museum this weekend. And maybe I'll make some banana bread.
Oh, and work of course. I make a mean cup of Joe." I bent down to retrieve the bag of coffee beans,
folding the top neatly, end over end.

"That sounds rather lonely," the man observed.

"Yeah well, my mom and stepdad moved away, and I don't have a lot of friends here, so I guess it is
what it is, right?"

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"No, you shouldn't accept that. You deserve more. We all do."

"Yeah well, if wishes were horses, beggars would ride," I said dismissively. "I'm not the most
impressive person in the world. It kind of puts a damper on the ability to make friends."

The man smiled, and I couldn't help but notice how perfect his skin was, no laugh lines freckles
marring his face. "Oh, on the contrary, Bella. You are very interesting."

"Marie," I corrected him, pointing at my nametag. "My name's Marie, remember?"

The man tossed his hair back out of his eyes again. They were the strangest color, warm like toffee,
with flecks of gold and orange around the irises. His hair had the same warm hues of gold and
copper, mixed in with the lighter, flaxen strands. Were it not for the lack of tan, he would look like
the stereotype of a surf bum. He was tall and lanky, and held himself in a way that spoke of natural
grace.

"Do you ever wonder about your dad?" he asked, staring at me intently.

"You mean my stepdad?" I quickly corrected him. With anyone else, I would have felt
uncomfortable, maybe even unnerved, but there was something about this man – his posture, his
easy smile – it drew me out and made me feel relaxed. Maybe this is what it felt like to have a
conversation with an old friend, someone you were close to, and saw you for you and not the airs
you put on. "His name is Phil; my mom married him when I was 16. He's the only dad I've ever really
known."

The man smiled, straightening up abruptly to retrieve his something from his shirt pocket.

"Well, Bella, you have another dad. And he's curious about you."

"I think you have the wrong person," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. This had all been too
good to be true, and I could feel the energy ebbing slowly out of my body at the realization that this
man's interest had been based on the assumption that I was someone else. "You keep calling me
Bella. My name is Marie. Marie Geoffrey."

The man dropped a business card on the counter, the heavy, ivory paper with its raised glossy black
lettering a stark contrast to the dark, forest green Formica. He extended his hand to say goodbye. "I
have to go, keep the card. You may want it."

I awkwardly accepted his gesture, squeezing his warm hand gently. The man, whose name had
never been proffered, had been kind to me, an ear when I needed it. Being rude or dismissive would
accomplish nothing, even if it did sting that he'd been interested for the wrong reason. I simply
smiled, and thanked him for the company.

"Call Renee," the blonde man said as he released my hand. "Ask her about Forks and your family.
You have a right to know all about your life, Bella Swan."

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He took two steps back, then turned and strolled leisurely out of the café into the bookstore. A
minute later, I watched him push the heavy wood door open and exit into the hot Arizona night.

After he'd left, I retrieved the business card from the counter, stuffing it into my apron pocket. The
cup of coffee he'd ordered sat on the counter, ice cold and completely full.

Ω Ω Ω

The rest of my shift was a slow painful procession, each minute dragging out slowly after the last.
The stacks of books and magazines around me offered no distraction, and I was not in the mood to
wander out into the bookstore proper to make idle chitchat with the other employees. Instead, I
leaned against the counter, in a stance not unlike the strange man, and stared off into space as I
replayed our interaction over and over again. There were so many odd things about our interaction;
my willingness to open up to a stranger, his insistence that my name was Bella, his knowledge about
Renee (I was sure I'd only referred to her in conversation as 'my mom'), and my inability to get mad
or scared that he knew things I'd not disclosed.

Of all those strange little details, it was the cold cup of coffee that bugged me the most. Our
conversation hadn't lasted more than twenty minutes, not nearly enough time to for the coffee to
have dropped so radically in temperature. I'd immediately checked the thermos, depressing the
stopper that regulated the flow. Dark brown liquid splashed onto me, scalding the tender skin on
the inside of my wrist.

There was no way his coffee could have cooled that fast.

For the last hour of my shift, I tried to explain everything away. His questions and insistence at my
name, the cold coffee, the strange business card he'd left behind, writing I'd refused to read. I
drained the insulated thermos and rinsed it out and, cleaned all the utensils and counters. Autopilot
took over, my body going through the menial tasks I knew so well as my brain continued to play
what if.

At eleven o'clock on the nose, I flipped off the lights in the pastry case and placed the zippered
pouch of cash in a small pneumatic tub that would carry it up to the manager's office. Before leaving
the bookstore, I sent a quick text to my mother, asking her to call ASAP. It was just after one a.m. in
Jacksonville, and if my mother was still up, she wouldn't be able to resist calling for the scoop.

My walk home was quiet, the streets empty. Most people were already home in bed or out at the
bars, happy that the long holiday weekend would soon be upon them. Long dealt with emotions –
anger, jealousy and, frustration all bubbled to the surface as I thought about an alternate universe
me, dancing and laughing, maybe kissing a guy or dancing with a group of friends. The emotions
were irrational, for it was my fault that I didn't live that life. I was perfectly capable of putting myself
out there. I had in the past – it had simply never lived up to my expectations. In the end, it was
easier to watch from the sidelines, imagining how the night would play out. A sense of envy was
much easier to deal with than a sense of regret.

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My phone rang just as I made it to my front door, the old school telephone pulse echoing through
the empty hallway.

"Hey, baby girl," my mother cooed. She sounded so far away, her words faintly slurred. "I was just
about to go to bed. I fell asleep on the couch waiting for Phil to call. I hate when he's gone on these
road trips, it gets so lonely here."

I shifted my backpack, cradling the cell phone between my cheek and shoulder. "Hang on, unlocking
my door." I flipped the key in the lock, jiggling it a bit to shake the bolt completely free of the lock.
With a small shove it swung wide into the one room that served as my living room, bedroom, and
study area. "Listen, Mom, I had to work tonight, and a weird thing happened-"

"Oh yeah?" my mom said. "Keep talking, I'm just taking the trash out." I could hear the clanking and
clatter of the plastic bin that Renee and Phil used, a giant green monstrosity with a black top. "I
swear, Phil bought this thing just to mess with me. You could put both of us in here."

"Mom," I said, trying to get Renee's attention. "I really need to-"

"I hate when he has to travel and I can't go. It's just-"

"Mom," I demanded, cutting her off, "who is Bella Swan?"

The phone line went completely silent. Were it not for Renee's heavy breathing on the other end of
the line, I would have sworn we'd been disconnected.

"Are you still working at that awful bookstore? Honestly, Marie, you aren't taking any classes, why
don't you come down here for the semester? One of the girls down the street nanny's for a wealthy
family on the other side of town. She's making $15 dollars an hour. You could get out of town for a
bit, see some green, maybe even get a tan-"

Renee's rambling, usually so disjointed and flaky, felt forced. It set off more warning bells than a
direct answer would have. Why was she evading me? What did she have to hide?

Who was I?

"Mom, you didn't answer my question," I said, my voice oddly calm. "Why would a strange man
show up at work tonight calling me Bella Swan, ask me about my real dad and mention a town called
Forks?"

"It's probably nothing," Renee answered quickly. "Someone just messing with your head. Don't pay
any attention to it."

"He knew your name, Mom," I protested. This wasn't what I had expected. I wanted Renee to
explain away my fears, to come up with some logical reason for why a complete stranger had
walked into the bookstore where I worked, insisting he knew more about my life than I did. If it had
been a simple case of mistaken identity, I could have let it go, but mistaken identity couldn't account

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for him knowing my mother's name. No, this was something more. Something that terrified me, and
I needed someone to explain to me why now, hours later, I was more unsettled than when the man
had been peppering me with his questions.

"It's been too long since I've seen you," Renee said, brushing aside my comment. "I am going to
make reservations for you first thing in the morning. I'll go online and book something - you'll have
tickets waiting in the morning."

"I can't, Mom. I have rent to pay, a job, I can't just up and leave," I said. This was not the kind
behavior I expected from my mother. Flighty, laughing, maybe even asking me if she could have
what of the weirdo was smoking, sure - but not this. No, something was not right.

"I'm going online now," Renee insisted, her voice now clear and sharp. Any vestiges of sleep were
long gone, the lazy slurring replaced by a rushed, almost panicked tone. "I'll call you in the morning
and tell you when-"

"Mom, you don't-"

"Not another word, Marie. I'll call you in the morning. Get some sleep, it will be a long flight."

When the line clicked dead, I sighed, and dropped my backpack on the floor. There hadn't been
enough time for me to form expectations, but I'd not expected my mom to go into a mini meltdown.
She was always quick to make a joke of everything, to turn the strangest of events into something to
laugh about. Instead of turning the mystery man and his strange statements into something funny,
she'd panicked. Renee was flaky in many areas of life, but she didn't throw around money easily –
her insistence that she buy a plane ticket for me ASAP had spooked me more than anything else in
our conversation. Why spend money she didn't have to fly me halfway across the country for no
good reason?

Something was rotten in the state of Denmark.

Sitting down on the floor in the middle of my tiny apartment, I pulled the small ivory business card
from my backpack and laid it gently on the carpet. The raised black type, elegant and antiquated,
seemed to belong to another time or place.

Rosalie Hale

Attorney at Law

500 Bogachiel Way

Forks, Washington 98331

The address block was followed by a phone, fax number and email address. No website.

I flipped the card over. Written in elegant black script one the back was a short message:

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You deserve the truth

I closed my eyes, trying desperately to recall the simple state of calm that had wrapped around me,
safe and comfortable, at the bookstore. The man's words rang over and over in my head. You have a
right to know all about your life, Bella Swan

"I'm not Bella Swan," I said, my voice shaking. "My name is Marie Geoffrey. My mother is Renee
Higgenbotham Dwyer and my stepdad is Phil Dwyer. I've never lived in Forks and I don't even know
who my real dad is."

I repeated the words again and again, three times in total, as if the pattern would invoke some type
of magical protection, an incantation to keep me safe and block the doubts and fear that swirled
around in my head.

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~ Chapter 2 – First Time for Everything ~

After I hung up with Renee, I changed out of my work clothes and sat on my bed, staring off into
space. If it had been a typical late night close, a shower would have led to me stretching out in bed
as the cool sheets and soft pillows pulled me down into a deep, dreamless sleep. Instead, I curled up
in a ball, all the lights off as I dug through my memories, attempting to recall people and places
beyond my mother and our time in California and Arizona, but it was all to no avail. My personal
history was a blur of brown and red, dirt and packing boxes and bad carpet. No matter how hard I
searched, I could find nothing beyond Renee and an endless succession of small cheap apartments
and cloudless blue skies. I couldn't remember a single playmate, let alone anything about being a
child. Just Renee.

"Mommy, why don't I have a daddy?"

We'd been sitting on a pair of rusty swings behind our apartment building in Riverside, California. I
probably wasn't any more than seven or eight, and Renee had been explaining to me why my father
would never come to the father-daughter social my elementary school was hosting.

"Daddy didn't want you, baby, so I took you far, far away. It's just you and me, and that's all you'll
ever need."

"What a thing to tell a child," I whispered, disgusted by my mother's choice of words. It had hurt to
think my father might not want me, but it was even worse to wonder if my mother might have
actually lied to me. If that was a lie, what else about me might not be true? Was there anything I
could be sure about?

Curling further into myself, I fought off something that felt akin to grief. Mourning for my childhood,
for the little girl I never got to be, for the father that I had always thought had either abandoned me
or never cared enough to come looking. The frustration from the day, my exhaustion, the fear, it all
drug me down into a fitful sleep, filled with strange, disjointed dreams.

The first images were the sharpest - they were also the most terrifying - red eyes, irises the color of
wine or Macintosh apples, beautiful until they turned cold. A single, malevolent laugh echoed
through the dark, a man's high pitched cackle, followed by screams of terror. There was nothing
warm or inviting in those red eyes – they were death wrapped in a pretty package, like nightshade,
the beautiful red berries luring in the innocent with the false promise of nourishment. Regina
Vampira, the voice taunted, over and over again.

And then everything went quiet. It was still dark, but the sense of abject despair and desperation
slowly began to ebb away. A man's voice, the words formal with odd inflections, filled my head. You
are the vow, the one strong yet pliant. You will bend but you will not break, for supple new growth
will always overshadow older, diseased limbs. You are the vow. His words were kind, and something

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about the darkness shifted, becoming warmer, like a lovers embrace or a whirlpool, cradling me and
caressing me. Protecting me.

A hand skimmed gently across my face. I could feel soft skin, then the ridge of a fingernail, trailing
across my cheek. When his hand – for it was a man – reached my mouth, his index finger traced the
outline of my lower lip. His touch was ice cold.

You are the dreams I'd have if I could sleep. You are the reason to believe. You give us all hope.

I started awake, my skin tingling from a stranger's touch. The apartment was empty, no sound but
the ceiling fan humming overhead. Struggling to sit up, I scanned the room frantically, searching for
the man that had never been anything more than a figment of my imagination, even if it had felt so
incredibly real.

A faint light filtered out from the tiny kitchenette, the yellow glow from the oven hood casting
shadows across a small loveseat and end table pushed up against the far wall. Piles of books were
stacked neatly on the small kitchen table and a large Japanese lantern hung in the far corner of the
room.

Everything was as it should be. I was alone. Completely and utterly alone.

Dropping back onto my bed, I stared at the ceiling, unable to purge the images from my dream. The
red eyes, horrific and evil had been terrifying, but I hadn't run away. And then the whispers,
nonsensical words, wove round and round in my head; you are the vow.

"I vow that I am taking a sleeping pill tonight," I mumbled, rolling slowly onto my side. The muscles
in my lower back ached, and even though my head was cloudy from the lack of sleep, I knew what I
had to do. The clock on the DVD player read 9:55. Washington was on Pacific Time, which meant
that it was 8:55 a.m. there.

The business card lay on the end table next to my cell phone. I'd turned it off last night, avoiding the
inevitable early morning calls from Renee. She was a creature of habit, not letting go when she set
her mind on something. As agitated as she'd been the night before, it wouldn't have surprised me if
she stayed up all night searching for flights and talking to Phil. If that were the case, she would think
nothing of calling at 7 a.m. her time, even though it was 4 a.m. for me. I'd learned a long time ago
that the only sphere that existed for my mother was the reality in which she moved. It wasn't
spiteful on her part, Renee just had one view of the world and everyone else fit easily into it.

When the phone finished powering up, a small asterisk appeared over the SMS and Voicemail icon.
Three missed calls, three voice mail messages. They were all from my mother, each escalating in
manic chirpiness. Something had spooked Renee last night, and she was not going to give up until
she got me safely out of Phoenix. That alone was enough motivation to make the call I'd been
debating all night. She wouldn't be pursuing me so intently if there wasn't something to hide.

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I quickly typed in area code and seven digit phone number, and then hit send. There was a
momentary hesitation, followed by a click as my cell phone connected to the nearest tower before
being relayed into the atmosphere. A mechanical pulse echoed down through the line as I waited
impatiently for someone to answer on the other end. It rang once, twice, three times.

"Rosalie Hale's office," a woman answered. Her words were flat, free of any inflection or accent.
There was no way to tell anything about the speaker's age or education, simply gender.

"This is Marie Geoffrey," I said, waiting, although for what I wasn't sure.

The line was silent for just the briefest moment before the women responded. "You are not Marie
Geoffrey. Your name is Isabella Marie Swan. You were born in Forks, Washington at Clallam County
Hospital on September 13, 1987. I've been retained to administer a trust set up for you by your
grandmothers, Marie Higgenbotham and Helen Swan, on your twenty-third birthday."

"My birthday is next week," I answered, my voice just as flat and toneless as the speaker's. It was as
if all the life had been sucked out of me. "I'll be twenty three."

Ω Ω Ω

After we disconnected, I sat on the couch staring vacantly at the wall. Just like the night before, I
turned the words over and over in my head, looking for facets of truth within the intricate web of
lies. Isabella Swan. Forks, Washington. I tried to find some familiarity, some kernel of truth that I
could wrap my head around. Instead, I only come up with more questions.

Who were the Swans? Rosalie Hale had mentioned Marie Higgenbotham and Helen Swan. I had a
grandmother Marie, I knew that much. According to Renee, my grandmother had died right after I
was born. But Helen Swan? If what Rosalie told me was true, she'd been my paternal grandmother,
making it impossible for me to be Marie Geoffrey. When I tried to dig for more answers, Rosalie had
told me I needed to come to Washington to review the documents, it was not a conversation she
could have on the phone.

As I followed the hairline crack that had fanned out from a small nail hole, I thought about all of our
sudden moves, Renee claiming to have lost a job or found a better opportunity. Was this why we'd
jumped from town to town, never staying in one place for very long? I'd been too young to question,
and I'd never had a reason to. Had Renee really lost all those jobs, or had she quit, packing us up and
moving us to a new place whenever she felt like we were at risk for exposure? Had my father really
not wanted me, or had Renee not wanted him? What if it was something even worse?

My phone vibrated in my hand, and I answered without looking. Renee was the only one that ever
called me anyway. She was all I'd ever really had, or been allowed to have.

"Marie, oh thank god you answered, I was going to call the police if you didn't pick up!" my mother
cried. "Baby, you can't go MIA on me like that!"

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"I didn't go MIA, Mom. I just turned off my phone so I could sleep."

"You scared me to death is what you did! Now get up and get moving. I've arranged everything for
you, there is a flight that leaves at noon. If you hurry you can –"

I'd hovered on the edge of worry and indecision all night, afraid to believe what the strange man
had told me. My mother's actions had done nothing to douse the fire that had been ignited the
night before. While her lack of denial and strange behavior had fueled my suspicions, the
conversation with Rosalie Hale had been the strong gust of wind necessary to send the fire flaring
sky high. Someone was lying to me, maybe even manipulating me, and I had a bad feeling I knew
who it was, based purely by her actions.

"Mom, I spoke to an attorney this morning who claims to be administrating a trust from my
grandmothers," I over articulated the word, hoping to make her understand just how scared I was.
"She said my name isn't Marie, Mom. She said-"

Renee's laugh was brittle and forced, the words quickly tumbling over each other. "I think you are
getting scammed, honey. There are con artists out there that do this all the time, they'll take your
money, ruin your life-"

"I don't have any money, Mom. I'm broke. You are too, but you sure are desperate to get me away
from here. Why is that?"

"I don't want a few con artists sinking their claws in my baby girl, I just want to keep you safe," she
said. "You come down here with me, away from all the crazies. I'll take care of you. I've kept you
safe all your life, Marie, I can still do that."

It was nothing, really – a passing comment that should have sent me running to my mommy, who
would make it all better. But it felt too much like all the other moves, the times she'd come home,
flustered and tired, throwing clothing into suitcases and telling me to pack up all my belongings. I'd
always chalked it up to Renee's flakiness, her need to be able to follow the wind wherever it might
take us.

As an adult, looking back, I realized that it might have been something entirely different. She might
have been running, pulling me along with her as she fled. The question was, from what?

"Mom, who is Isabella?" My voice shook, making me sound very much like a scared little girl.

"Baby, don't let that man's nonsense fill your head. Come to Florida. Everything is green here, and it
rains. You can run around in the rain like you always wanted to…"

"It rains in Washington State too, Mom," I countered.

"I know honey, but it's cold there, not like-" Renee stopped, immediately realizing her mistake.

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"I thought you never went anywhere green before Florida," I corrected her, my voice cracking. "I
remember when you told me that you and Phil were moving, you were so excited to finally have real
grass. It was all a lie, wasn't it?"

"Baby, no, I was excited, listen just let me explain, you don't -"

"No, Mom," I snapped. I had no clue what was a truth or a lie anymore, and I didn't trust my ability
to distinguish between the two. She was my mother - she was supposed to be honest and protect
me and make it all better. Instead she fed me lie after lie in an attempt to lure me to Florida, away
from someone who might offer an alternate take on my life to date. "I've let you explain my whole
life. It's someone else's turn now."

"Marie! Please, baby, you don't realize –"

"Marie?" I hissed, no longer capable of suppressing the confusion and anger threatened to take me
under. "Is it Marie, or is it Isabella, Mom? Which is correct?" Renee's strangled sobs on the other
end of the phone told me everything I needed to know.

"Goodbye, Mom."

I disconnected without giving Renee a chance to say another word.

The anger of my mother's betrayal spurred me into motion, crystallizing in a series of methodical,
logical actions – my way of coping with an entirely irrational situation. I opened up my laptop and
began digging. I looked up the name Rosalie Hale, refining my search criteria until I found a yellow
pages listing for an attorney by that name in Washington State. The address and phone number
matched the name on the business card. I looked up the town of Forks, Washington next, trying to
find out as much as I could.

The Wikipedia page for Forks, Washington told me it was a tiny town, population 3,120, smack dab
in the middle of nowhere. It had one hospital, a main street, and a tiny municipal airport. It
averaged 106 inches of precipitation a year, and sat on the edge of the Olympic Forest National
Park.

"Well, kiddo, you wanted a change of scenery," I told myself as I typed a quick email out to Rosalie
Hale. "It doesn't get any more different than this."

Ms. Hale,

I will be clearing my schedule and have decided to accept your offer to arrange transportation. If you
could send the details to this email address, I would appreciate it.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure how to close the email. In just a few short hours,
everything I ever thought I'd known about myself had disappeared, including my name.

Ω Ω Ω

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"Would you like anything else to drink?" the flight attendant asked me. "We'll be starting our
approach soon."

"No, thank you," I responded, my fingers never releasing their death grip on the pillow I clutched in
my lap. When I'd arrived at the airport, I'd been shocked to find a first class ticket waiting for me.
My first flight, at the ripe old age of twenty two years, eleven months, and twenty one days, would
be done in grand style.

In my rush to find answers, I'd focused on the purely logistical details, such as calling work to inform
them that, for the first time in my three years of employment, I was going to take a vacation. I
watered all my plants and bolted all the windows. I dumped out the milk and took out the trash. Not
once did I stop to think about the fact that I had never set foot on an airplane before, nor did I have
any clue what to expect. Fortunately, the first class cabin, as the flight attendant had called it, was
relatively empty, and the seat to my left was unoccupied. There was no one nearby to witness my
panic as I'd grabbed a pillow, holding onto it like a child hugs a stuffed bear as the giant bird taxied
down the runway, it's mammoth steel body defying every law of gravity as it took flight.

The flight crew had easily identified my distress, and after a few well-placed questions, realized that
this was my first time flying. They did everything under the sun to keep me distracted offering up
movies, magazines and food. Once they realized I was of legal drinking age, they made me a
mimosa. After three, I'd relaxed enough to watch the movie. When it wrapped I finally worked up
the courage to look out the window – there was nothing there but giant, fluffy white clouds.

"Seattle usually has a low ceiling," the flight attendant informed me. "Once we break through the
cloud cover, you should be able to see the harbor. This time of year it's quite a sight, especially if it's
sunny."

I smiled weakly, watching out the window as the plane gently banked to the side, cutting through
wisps of fluffy white vapor. The intercom crackled to life, our captain informing us that we'd be
landing in Seattle shortly and thanking us for choosing United. Just as the announcements ended, a
break formed in the clouds, revealing the landscape below.

The harbor loomed large out the window, the dark green water sparkling in the early afternoon sun.
Long, white trails billowed out behind barges as they sped north towards the city, their wakes
stirring up small waves that sent ripples across the glistening surface. All the pictures in children's
storybooks could never do justice to a visual like this.

As the plane leveled off, I caught a glimpse of dense pine trees dotting the hills that dropped down
into the water. They reminded me of my mother's pleas…come where it's green, play in the rain.
She'd bombard me with calls, her desperation becoming more and more palpable with each
subsequent message. I'd finally answered the phone before the cab picked me up for airport,
informing her that I'd taken her words to heart, and would be enjoying some quality time in the lush
woods of the Pacific Northwest.

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While my delivery had been perfect in its execution, the satisfaction I'd gleaned from it was fleeting.
I'd always craved my mother's approval, her blessing making me feel like I could actually be
something special. But she had lied to me, kept things from me that I deserved to know. Her
blessing or support shouldn't matter anymore.

I closed my eyes, squeezing my pillow against my chest as the plane touched down, the seatbelt
clasped securely across my lap keeping me pinned in place as momentum and gravity tried to force
me forward.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Seattle Tacoma Airport. The local time is 2:25 p.m. Please stay
seated as we will be taxiing for the next few minutes, and please exercise caution, as items may
have shifted in the overhead compartments. Electronic devices are still prohibited throughout the
cabin, although the use of cell telephones is permissible at this time."

A man to my left reached down into his briefcase, digging out a cell phone. I followed his lead,
pulling mine out of my pocket and depressing the power button. I expected the voice mail icon to
illuminate when the screen lit up, but there were no messages. I didn't know whether to feel
disappointed or relieved.

Stashing my phone back in my bag, I unbuckled my seatbelt and followed the other passengers as
they disembarked. I wasn't prepared for the cooler weather of Seattle, the damp, fall air easily
cutting through my short sleeved t-shirt and jeans. In my mad rush to pack, I'd not taken into
account the temperature difference. It was going to be one hundred degrees in Phoenix today. Here
it barely felt like it was fifty.

"Ms. Swan?" A small Asian woman approached me as I cleared the jet-way, her smile bright. "If
you'll please come with me, I'll be escorting you to the Signature hangar."

Instinct kicked in, but I bit my tongue, not correcting the woman. I wasn't one hundred percent sure
I was Isabella Swan, but until I knew for sure, I wasn't going to make a decision one way or another.

The woman led me through a warren of tunnels to a dingy white van, the SEA/TAC logo painted on
the side. My suitcases had already been stowed in the back, along with a few large white shipping
boxes. She caught me eying the contents in back and laughed. "Mr. Whitlock flies down to pick up a
few things every few weeks. He's made arrangements with the airport to do an internal transfer
from the airline to the Signature hangar. He said it was easier to pick you up himself, but I think he
just likes the excuse to fly that little plane of his."

She continued her one-sided conversation as we climbed in the van, barely waiting for my door to
close before punching the accelerator. We dodged planes and cargo trucks ferrying luggage to and
from the main terminal as she sped across the airport. At the far end of the runway, she made a
hard left, winding up the hill to a large arched hangar.

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"That's his," she said, pointing at a small silver plane sitting at the edge of the tarmac. A pair of legs
were visible under the belly of the plane, clad in denim. As the van came to a stop twenty feet away,
the man stepped out, his face breaking into a wide grin.

"Well hello there, Isabella Swan," he said. It was the blonde man who had set this all in motion two
days ago. His hair was in the same state of casual disarray, his white oxford replaced by a thermal
grey t-shirt and a fitted fleece vest. "So glad you decided to take us up on the offer. There is a jacket
for you in the co-pilots seat. It gets cold above five thousand feet, so you'll want to bundle up before
we take off."

"Take off?" I responded lamely. Forks wasn't close to Seattle, but I'd anticipated a rental car, or even
a car service. Not what appeared to be a four seater airplane flown by a total stranger.

The man smiled. "Don't worry, I'm a pro. Flying is second nature to me."

"What, are you a bird? Superman?"

He laughed, shaking his head in amusement. "No, nothing that interesting - just Jasper Whitlock,
recreational pilot. Now come on, the flight isn't that long, and I think you might enjoy the view."

I followed his instructions, cautiously climbing up onto the wing, and then awkwardly stepping down
into the tiny cabin. There were two bucket seats in front, each situated behind a steering yoke. "You
go right there," he said, indicating the co-pilot seat.

"Don't you want me in back? I have no clue-"

"Better view up front," he said, climbing down into the cockpit and pulling the door shut behind
him. His shoulders were much broader than I'd realized, and I instinctively shifted closer to the
window to give him more room.

"Put your fleece on and buckle in," he instructed me. Before I could move, he popped open a small
inset in the window. "Clear!" he called, then pushed a button in the console. The plane's engine
roared to life, the fuselage vibrating as the propeller spooled up.

I watched as he pulled on a pair of bulky headphones and lowered a microphone down in front of
his mouth. He pointed at a similar pair hanging off the yoke in front of me, then at my head.
Following his non-verbal request, I pulled them on, and then tugged the large black fleece jacket
that had been draped on the back of the seat around me and buckled in. As I worked to pull the
harness over my shoulder, I caught a faint aroma from the jacket. It was sweet and heavy, reminding
me of Christmas scents – specifically pine trees and cinnamon.

"What are you smiling about?" Jasper's voice boomed in my ear. The volume startled me until I
remembered that my headphones would pick him up. I lowered my boom mic, blowing into it a few
times to test the volume.

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"Nothing, just something silly." The mic hissed a bit, feedback echoing through my headset. "Oh,
we've got a hot mic," I quipped.

He laughed, adjusting a few knobs on the console. "Whatever it was, it made you happy."

"I don't know about happy, it was just a nice thought."

The man pulled on a pair of steel rimmed sunglasses. "Well, Miss Swan, welcome to Whitlock
Airlines. We've got a short flight today, but with roughly forty five minutes from wheels up to touch
down in Forks, no cabin service will be available. To make up for it, I'll take the scenic route so you
can get a feel for the place."

I waited patiently as the man, Jasper, communicated with the tower. Unlike the commercial flight
from Phoenix, I wasn't nervous in the small plane. If anything, I was excited. An adventure awaited
me, along with the answers to questions I'd never known to ask.

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~ Chapter 3 – Actions Speak Loudest ~

"So this was all a logging town?" I stared out the window at the tiny houses below. They were
cloaked in clapboard, shades of light blue, white and yellow sitting in the middle of large lots.
Everywhere I looked there was green. Grass, trees, plants. There was something so soothing about
the peaceful little town below, the vibration from the plane's engine rippling through me like a tiny
little massage, soothing away any stress or apprehension. I was flying over a town that might or
might not be the place I was born, and oddly enough, I felt nothing other than curiosity.

"Yeah, logging was a big deal here back in the forties and fifties. Now most of the town's revenue
comes for the correctional center or the hospital," Jasper said, pointing out my window. "That's the
hospital down there."

"I can't get over how different everything is. Phoenix had mountains, but it was all so neutral and
dry. Everything here looks so…" I struggled, trying to choose the right word to represent the lush
landscape spread out below me. "Wet, I guess. Even the dirt looks like it's half water."

Jasper laughed, gently banking the plane to loop back around the town. "In the winter months it
probably is." He depressed a button on the yoke, activating the comm. "Forks Municipal, this is
Whiskey Alpha Bravo six eight Echo, requesting clearance to land."

My headset burst to life, pops of static followed by a man's voice. "Whiskey Alpha Brava six eight
Echo this is Forks Municipal tower, you are cleared to land from the North. Watch the trees this
time, will you, Jasper? Folks complain when you come in too low."

"Roger, tower - will watch the trees as I come in too low. Whiskey Alpha Brava six eight Echo out,"
Jasper joked as he eased the yoke to the left, leveling out the plane as we began our approach.
"Well, you ready to learn more about where it all began?"

"I don't know if I'll ever be ready, but I do think it's time," I said, watching as the ground slowly rose
up to meet the tiny plane. Unlike my commercial landing in Seattle, this touchdown was smooth, no
bumps or pressure forcing me forward. "Nice landing."

"I had precious cargo," he retorted. The hint of an accent flavored his a's, flattening them out just
the slightest bit. "My sister-in-law has my antiques in the back."

We both laughed, and the levity helped take the edge off the knot growing in my stomach. I was in a
strange town where I didn't know anyone, searching for a past I wasn't sure was exactly mine. Any
laughter I could get was a welcome thing.

"I'm going to log this flight and grab the car," Jasper said, popping the release on the door. "Why
don't you wait for me inside? It will be warmer, and you'll be out of the rain."

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I followed Jasper's lead, climbing out of the plane after him. A fine mist, like the peripheral spray off
a garden hose, fell gently, wrapping the tiny airfield in a gauzy veil. The moisture was cool, and I
tipped my face back, enjoying water against my dry face. Motion from the main building caught my
attention. A small, dark haired woman stared at us, her brown eyes wide, almost surprised. I was
accustomed to the urban sprawl of Phoenix, where I was a nameless face, blending in with
thousands of other people. In a town the size of Forks, I would not be able to blend in and escape
inevitable scrutiny. It made me pull up short, wanting to hide behind Jasper and take comfort in his
easy confidence.

"I'm going to wait here with you, okay?" I asked, my eyes never leaving the building.

"Why don't you go sit in the car?" Jasper said, not looking up from the storage area. "I'll be over in a
second. That way you are out of the rain." He tossed me a set of keys, which I bobbled and fumbled
until finally securing them against my stomach, the bulky sleeves of the jacket keeping the keys in
place.

"Yeah, I think we'll let you keep score when we play baseball, Gracie," he teased. "I'll just be a
minute. Black Suburban, just around the corner. Can't miss it."

Following Jasper's instructions, I crossed a median strip of grass between the tarmac and the
security fence, slipping through a narrow gate instead of going through the building. The small
woman was there inside the building, watching me, her eyes wide and smile bright as she waved
hello.

"Well, I'm not in Phoenix anymore," I said to myself. In a town of three thousand, the arrival of
someone new would probably be big news, something I'd not prepared for. Suddenly, life on the
periphery didn't seem like such a bad thing. Fortunately, the large black SUV was parked just the
other side of the security fence allowed me a place to escape, away from prying eyes. I deactivated
the alarm and slipped into the huge vehicle, pulling the black jacket tighter around me to cut the
chill. That same subtle aroma still permeated the material, and I closed my eyes, burying my nose in
the collar and breathing deeply. Was this what Christmas smelled like in this small town? A fresh cut
tree, wrapped in white twinkle lights and decorated with bright red ribbons, candy canes and little
tiny cinnamon sticks? I'd never had a real Christmas, at least not in the traditional sense. Would this
new world and new life grant me that?

The back gate of the truck popped open, and I could hear Jasper placing boxes and bags in the cargo
area. "Thanks, Tyler, I appreciate it."

He slammed the gate closed, and quickly moved around the car to climb into the driver's seat. "You
ready for this?" He asked, his strange, honey brown eyes boring into me - almost through me- with
their intensity.

"As ready as I'll ever be. Where are we going?"

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Jasper fired up the engine and flipped on the windshield wipers. "Well, first off to see Rosalie. She'll
have some things to go over. Then we'll get you settled in."

"Is there a decent hotel around here?" I asked, calculating how much this trip would end up costing
me. The flight had been covered by Rosalie's firm, but I'd not made any assumptions beyond that.
Fortunately, I knew how to live thrifty, and I could make the small amount of cash I have stretch for
as long as I needed it to.

"Why don't you worry about that after you talk to my sister?" Jasper said, effectively ending the
conversation. "She's made some arrangements already.

It was the first indication of any type of relationship between him and Rosalie Hale. I'd noticed the
gold wedding band he wore on his left hand. It hadn't been there when he visited the bookstore in
Phoenix. I'd wondered if maybe Rosalie Hale was his wife, never considering that there could be
another type of relationship between them. It wasn't my nature to jump to conclusions; I was
usually more cautious, hanging back and assessing the situation. Lack of sleep, nerves, and fear of
the unknown had worn me down, and I forced myself to take a deep breath. I needed to be level
headed, to go into this with an open mind. If I had preconceived notions, it was likely I'd end up
getting very hurt.

"You know, Isabella," Jasper said, "this town might surprise you. Things aren't like Phoenix. People
handle things differently here."

"What do you mean by that?"

He smiled, and made a left turn onto a two lane highway, heading what appeared to be north. The
houses and shops that lined the streets were older, but not run down. Faded store awnings were
neatly kept, the window displays filled with bright colors. A number of the houses had mums on
their steps, gold and orange and deep maroon setting off the ever constant green of the trees.

"People here know each other, grew up with each other. They approach things differently, and will
view you as one of their own, even if you didn't grow up here. People here are going to want to
know you, to help you out," he made another left turn, followed by another sharp left into a small
office complex. "Life here is different. But that's not a bad thing."

Ω Ω Ω

If Jasper Whitlock had made a strong first impression, it was nothing compared with that of his
sister, Rosalie. They shared the same coloring, fair skin, like ivory or alabaster, golden blonde hair
and the same strange eyes. Unlike her brother, who filled the room as much with personality as
looks, Rosalie dominated on looks alone. She was tall, close to six foot in heels, her long flaxen hair
hanging smoothly down her back, and she carried herself like she belonged on a catwalk, not a law
office. She wasn't waif-thin like the models in the magazines, no - she was more voluptuous,
reminding me of the movie stars of the forties and fifties with their curves and tiny waists.

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"I appreciate you coming up here on such short notice," she said, sitting down in the large leather
chair behind her desk. "I know that this all has to be quite a shock."

She placed her hands on top of a thick file folder, the length of twine wrapped around twice around
the width to keep the contents securely inside. "I thought we could go over the basics now, then go
get you settled. I would assume you're tired after traveling all day."

Unlike her brother, Rosalie Hale was not going to crack jokes to put me at ease. She had a job to do,
and would not be letting loose a smile or a joke just to ease me into the situation.

"That's fine," I said. "Settling in would probably be a good thing."

She nodded, unwinding the twine and extracting a stack of papers. "I'll give this to you once we are
through. The simple facts are this. Your grandmothers, Helen Swan and Marie Higgenbotham, set up
a trust in your name. You were their only grandchild, and they wanted to make sure that you had a
connection to your family and your history."

Dumbfounded, I sat silently, trying to make sense of it all. My mind was a riot of emotions – anger at
having been denied my family, sadness over all the things I'd missed, and most of all fear that they
might not have loved me, for I was not the easiest person to get to know or love. Renee's
protestations and lies had sent me running in this direction, desperate for another perspective on
my life. I'd never stopped to consider the ramifications of what I might find, or how it might change
everything completely.

"Are you okay, Isabella?" Rosalie asked, her eyebrows knitting together. "Do you need some water
or something?"

"No, I – " I gulped for air, unable to form a coherent thought. "They didn't even know me. I don't
know me."

She sighed, pulling a paper from the top of the stack. "Let's start with the basics. Your name, as
noted on the birth certificate filed with the state of Washington, is Isabella Marie Swan. You were
born at 10:27 p.m. on September 13, 1987 at Clallam County Hospital in Forks Washington to
Charles Swan and Renee Higgenbotham Swan. Your parents divorced shortly after your first
birthday. Your mother, Renee, told your father on March 19, 1989, that she was taking you to see
friends in Seattle. It was the last time that anyone in Forks saw or heard from you again. Legal
charges were filed against your mother for kidnapping, but after a year, your father dropped them,
claiming that accusing a mother with kidnapping her child was ridiculous. I don't believe he ever
gave up the search, though."

I'd been prepared for the words, the harsh reality that the life I'd grown up believing in had all been
a well-crafted set of lies. It didn't lessen the impact of Rosalie Hale's words, and it tore at my soul. I
did have a father, one who had wanted me. There was a whole side to my life, a history, that I knew
nothing about. I'd spent years longing for a normal life, one where we could stay in one place longer

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than a year, and I could make real friends and have normal holiday. It had all been right here, and
Renee had stolen it all away from me.

The question was, why?

Rosalie slipped the paper back in the folder, her expression softening. "This is an awful lot for you to
take in. Let's try this a different way. Why don't you come with me." The request was posed as a
statement, not a question. She stood and retrieved small key ring from a desk drawer. "I think I
know a better way to do this."

She led me through the small office, flicking off the lights in the empty reception area. There was a
desk and phone on the small table, but no pictures, no sign that anyone other than Rosalie Hale
occupied this space. It could have been a temporary set, something easily constructed and torn
down in a day, but I knew that was my overactive imagination, trying to make excuses or rationalize
a situation that made absolutely no sense. Renee's insistence of con artists after my money
immediately came to mind, and I bit back a chuckle. It would probably cost more to set up a fake
office than I had in my bank account. Any con artist worth their stripes would know that right away.

"One of the things left to you in the trust was your Grandmother Swan's house," Rosalie said as she
drove me through town, winding in and out of small residential streets. "It's been empty since she
passed away, but your father has maintained it. Everything is in working order. I thought it would be
more comfortable than staying at a hotel."

She made a left turn onto a narrow street, coming to a stop in front of a neat little white cottage, its
pitched roof dropping down neatly over black shutters and a bright blue door. A large black lacquer
pot sat on the front steps, filled with brilliant orange mums.

Tears filled my eyes. This looked like a grandmother's house, with its neat yard and white rocking
chair on the front porch. All that was missing was a big yellow cat curled up asleep on the mat. This
was everything I'd longed for and never believed I could have, and it had all been right here waiting
for me.

"Jasper already dropped off your things," Rosalie said as she passed me a small silver key. "Why
don't you go in, unpack and rest for a bit. The refrigerator and pantry are stocked with food, so
you'll have everything you could need." She glanced at the elegant gold watch on her wrist. "There is
a coffee shop on South Forks, just past the office. Do you remember driving by it?"

I vaguely remembered the restaurant with its faded red awning and large oval sign. "I think so."

"Why don't you meet me there at seven? It will give you time to get settled and freshen up. I have a
few things I need to attend to, but making it back by then should not be a problem." She smiled at
me, and for the first time it was genuine, the warmth lighting up her face, transforming her from a
stunning woman into something truly radiant. "Go explore the other half of your life, Isabella. You
don't need someone hovering over your shoulder to do that."

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There was nothing imposing about the house, yet I was frozen in the passenger seat, afraid of what I
might find inside. All those fears and doubts about not belonging suddenly took a very different
spin, for I wanted to fit into this neat little world, filled with life and kind people who acted like they
were truly excited to see me. This was my chance to finally fit somewhere, to belong to something
more than a loyalty program at the grocery store. But that required me to go out on a limb and have
faith that, as much as I wanted all this, it was for the right reason, and not purely to spite Renee.

"It's going to be okay," Rosalie said quietly. "Nothing is going to hurt you in there, Isabella. I
promise."

No, the hurt, the damage has all been inflicted already, I thought to myself. My entire life had been
based on a lie, starting with my name. The one person I had trusted implicitly had taken that trust
and twisted it when I needed the truth, using my faith in her as a tool to keep me close. She might
have had her justification, but short of telling me something truly horrific, like my father had been a
serial killer or he'd been beating her or abusing me, I struggled to rationalize Renee's actions.

"Thank you," I murmured, reaching for the door handle. I needed time to myself, to wrap my head
around the facts that had been laid out before me. "I'll meet you at seven at the coffee shop." I
stood at the edge of the street, staring at the glossy blue front door as her little red car pulled away
from the curb. I could do this. There was nothing to be afraid of.

By force of will, I walked slowly up the paved path, the silver key gripped tightly in my hand. It fit the
lock perfectly, the bolt easily sliding back into the door. Instead of a knob, I depressed a lever over a
wrought iron handle, and the door swung open quietly into a small living room.

I wasn't sure what I expected, but it wasn't the scene that I walked into. The room was dominated
by a large brick hearth, a wood burning stove nestled into the alcove where logs had once burnt.
The mantle was littered with wood carvings and picture frames, and a large simple mirror was
centered just above, the reflection of a pale, startled girl staring back at me. The picture window
visible from the front of the house was covered in heavy chintz curtains, complementing the taupe
couch and love seat that sat in front of the hearth. Heart of pine wood plank flooring, finished in a
satiny gloss, led to a small dining area just off the living room, where a rectangular table held small
arrangement of silk flowers.

It was all too much - the simple, neat furnishings, the pictures on the mantle, the table meant to
serve family meals that would unite everyone. I slowly sank to my knees, the tears coming
unbidden. Strangers, people I didn't recall ever meeting, had loved me enough to leave their worldly
possessions to me. Someone had put me first, moving things around in their life to make sure that I
had something to hold on to. It was the kind of attention I'd longed for, that kind of pure, selfless
love that could move mountains and cure all ailments. Right now, it was ripping a hole inside of me,
one that I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to fill.

Wiping away tears, I struggled to my feet. The pictures on the mantle stared down at me, unfamiliar
faces, frozen in smile. These were the people in my life, my relatives, the ones who'd done all this,

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and I was too afraid to go near them. Rosalie had given me the barest minimum answers, just
enough to send my brain into overdrive. She'd mentioned my grandmothers' actions, my father's
history. Beyond that, I had nothing to go on, no details to round out the picture. What if my father
didn't want me here? What if he had let go of me, or had moved on? The what if's screamed at me,
taunting me that I was a fool believe anyone could ever see me as special. They threatened to pull
me down into a funk that I'd been fighting off for the last forty-eight hours.

Facts, I told myself, ground yourself in the facts. Find the answers, then you can react.

The easiest, most logical place to start was the kitchen. I found it just off the little dining room, neat
as a pin with almond colored appliances and matching cabinets. Sunny yellow curtains framed a
window over the sink, as well as the one built into the back door. There were no mementoes on the
refrigerator, no pictures or notes, not even magnets. A small stack of paper and a thin book sat on
the counter underneath an old rotary dial phone, the bright colors and the iconic hand, two fingers
extended showing me exactly what I needed.

Picking up the slim phone book, I carried it through the house, looking in through open doors. A
small bathroom, the sink and tub bright porcelain white; a bedroom with a twin bed, blue curtains
and a small desk. Another bedroom, larger, with a queen sized bed, dresser and vanity. My suitcases
sat in the corner next to a closed closet door. Jasper had left a note on the bed:

I'm guessing you didn't pack for the weather. I raided the house - there are a few jackets and
sweaters in the closet for you. Wouldn't want you to turn into a Popsicle up here. JW

Pulling the closet door open, I found a stack of sweaters organized neatly on the shelf, along with
five coats in different styles and sizes. A bright red cotton sweater at the top of the stack
immediately reminded me of the tea towel that had bled all over my clothes in the wash. How had
that been just three days ago? At the time, I felt like I'd hit the lowest of lows, and now it seemed
like the most trivial thing in the world, like crying over spilt milk.

"I can't do this," I said, turning and walking quickly back to the living room, where I'd dropped my
backpack. There was a tiny rack hanging by the front door, a ring with a large black knob that looked
like a car key attached to it. I snatched it off the little hook, and let myself out of the house. I'd go to
the coffee house, get something to drink, and look through the phone book there, away from all
these memories that should have meant the world to me.

Ω Ω Ω

The inside of the Forks Coffee House was like something from another time. The booths and
captain's chairs flanking the lunch counter all had light blue pleather coverings, circa 1985. A large
head of something – either elk or deer – was mounted on a column in the center of the room. A
television hung over the lunch counter, tuned to the local news with the volume down.

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I walked towards the back corner of the restaurant, close to the lunch counter, and dropped down
into a small booth. Someone had left the newspaper there, folded in half. A photo on the front page
showed four young men, their arms thrown around each other's shoulders. When I read the names
listed in the caption, I couldn't help but laugh. Yorkie, Newton, Crowley and Cheney. I'd landed in
WASP-ville, filled with English, Irish and Scottish names. It was a far cry from the diversity of
Phoenix. Everyone I'd seen since landing here had been young, or younger. No one over sixty from
what I could tell, and everyone looked so healthy, so happy. The town would never be justified as a
"Stepford," but there was an other-worldly feel about it.

"Can I get you something, hon?" a woman in an oversize plaid shirt, her bleached hair pulled back in
ponytail called from the lunch counter. "Menus are on the counter if you need a second."

"Thank you," I called back, retrieving the laminated menu from a holder tacked against the wall. It
held a litany of red meat and fried food options, and informed me that there was a three drink
maximum. Laughing, I dropped the menu on the counter and scrubbed my hands across my face.
This day just kept getting more and more surreal, and I hated to think would cap it off.

"Excuse me?"

I lifted my face, my hands still pressed over my nose and mouth. A man stood, looking down at me,
his hand resting on the back of the blue pleather bench. He wore a dark brown windbreaker, a large
shield on the breast pocket with Forks Police inscribed in gold thread. His hair was a familiar brown,
hints of red and gold streaked through the crown. His sideburns and moustache also held the
faintest traces of gray.

"Bella?" he asked in a strangled whisper. My eyes immediately dropped to the other side of his
jacket, where the name C. Swan was embroidered in the same gold thread.

Rosalie's recitation of my personal history flew through my mind. You were born at 10:27 p.m. on
September 13, 1987 at Clallam County Hospital in Forks Washington to Charles Swan and Renee
Higgenbotham Swan.

My father was standing just five feet from me, looking like he'd seen a ghost.

"Hi," I croaked, not exactly sure what to say. We stared at each other lamely for what felt like an
eternity as I catalogued every single detail about him. The laugh lines around his eyes, which were
probably a byproduct of time outdoors, based on the tan line on the bridge of his nose. His eyes
were a deep, warm brown, so very much like my own. He was tall, maybe six feet, and lean, no beer
belly or extra weight hanging over the utility belt that held a radio and gun. I could feel people
staring at us, whispering behind their hands as this mini-drama unfurled in front of them.

"Would you like to sit down?" I asked, pushing my menu to the side. He slipped slowly down onto
the booth bench, his big brown eyes never leaving my face. He was handsome in an unconventional
way, the All American boy aging gracefully, the gray hair and start of wrinkles giving him an air of
gravitas that tempered the youthful face.

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"You look just like your mom," he said. I didn't want his first words to me to be about her, so I
quickly brushed them aside.

"No, I –"

"Actually, you're prettier than your mom. And you have your Grandmother Swan's hair. Women
used to go into the salon here in town and try to copy it, but it never came out just right. That color
is something that can't be faked."

A dull ache settled in my chest, a knot that crushed my lungs, forcing all the air out of me. A single
tear escaped my eye, which I quickly batted away.

"I didn't know about you until two days ago," I said. It come out like an apology, and excuse for
never writing or calling. What could I say to this man? I'd been fed lies for years, and here he was,
sitting across a table from me with the kindest, saddest expression I'd ever seen.

"It's okay, Bella. You don't have to explain. I looked for you for so long, but it was like you just
disappeared. After a while I had to stop, but I never gave up hoping." His voice cracked, and he
looked away, as if he was embarrassed by the show of emotion.

"Is that what you called me? Bella?" I asked, wiping another tear away. "Rosalie Hale kept calling me
Isabella, and it didn't feel right. Bella sounds better."

He cocked his head to one side, frowning. "You didn't go by Bella?"

"No, Marie. Marie Geoffrey." I answered quickly. He laughed in irritation, watching the television.
His left hand drummed absently on the table.

"With a G or with a J?"

"G. It's the only thing I ever knew about my real dad," I said quickly.

He laughed again, although I think it was to mask another emotion, something that made his cheeks
turn pink and his jaw jut forward just the tiniest bit. "Geoffrey was my dad's name. At least she kept
a tiny part of your history for you."

It wasn't spoken with bitterness, although it would have been so easy for him to be angry. Instead,
he sounded sad, like he'd expected something different. That resignation prompted me to act, and I
reached out across the table to touch him. He stared at my hand on top of his, brow knitted
together. Then he slowly turned it over, his long calloused fingers wrapping around my smaller
hand.

"I think I like Bella better than Marie," I said, the tears threatening to pull me down again. He tried
to smile, but his upper lip was wedged firmly in between his teeth, turning it into a grimace. "Is it
weird to say I don't know what to call you?"

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He laughed, and it was sincere this time. "Most people call me Charlie. Or Chief Swan," he hesitated,
giving me a sheepish grin, "although I don't expect you to use that."

We sat quietly, periodically catching each other's eye and then quickly looking away. It was like an
awkward first date, the man sitting across the table from me someone that I desperately wanted to
know. I wanted him to know me too, to like me, and to want to be my dad.

Dad. I let my brain wrap around the word, molding it to fit this man with the kind smile and warm
eyes. I'd spent years wanting something for my own, something that belonged exclusively to me,
and now, within the course of a few days, I was finding a whole new world, filled with people who
wanted to know me.

My brain kept going back to the strange dreams I'd been having, of the evil red eyes, the screams,
and the warm comforting voice that could wrap me in an embrace and provide a level of comfort I'd
never known before. That voice didn't match my father's, but the sensation was similar. Maybe, just
maybe, this was all leading up to something – an unknown bigger revelation that would make
everything to this point make sense.

I held onto that hope as I ate dinner with my father, listening to his stories and learning more about
this strangle little town that I had called home for the first eighteen months of my life. I didn't balk
as he introduced me to the waitress as his daughter, Bella. Nor did I pull away when he stood to hug
me goodbye as Rosalie Hale waited for me in a front booth.

It was followed by a promise to see me very soon. It was not an end. It was a beginning.

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~ Chapter 4 - Cinnamon and Pine ~

"You and Chief Swan look like you were having a nice conversation," Rosalie said. We sat in a booth
at the front of the restaurant with cups of coffee, legal documents spread out over the scarred
Formica countertop.

"This day just keeps getting more and more surreal," I said, not meeting her gaze. "I'm waiting to
wake up and realize this was all just a bad dream, brought on by a defective batch of store brand
ramen."

"Trust me, Bella, your dreams would be a whole lot more interesting than this." Rosalie was too
busy shifting papers to notice the dull heat that colored my cheeks a dark, vibrant red. Her
statement was too intimate, too insightful, reminding me of the strange longing I'd developed for
the voice from my dream. I couldn't call it a nightmare – even if the beginning had been horrific.

Wishing won't make him true. Let go, Bella. I told myself, only realizing after that I'd called myself
Bella. The transition from Marie Geoffrey to Isabella Swan was coming almost too easily, which
scared me. The answers that I could find in this town were important, but I knew I couldn't turn my
back on the life I'd had before. At some point, I would have to face Renee and the lies she'd spun to
understand exactly why she had taken me away from all this. I didn't doubt that she believed her
actions were for my benefit, but at this point, I was having an incredibly hard time discerning what
would have motivated her to run. Charlie Swan seemed like a good man, and everything about the
situation to date had been entirely above board.

There had to be something more, something that I either wasn't seeing or didn't yet know. For now,
I decided to push that to the side, focusing instead on Rosalie Hale and the information that she
could provide that would fill in the gaps.

"There are two pieces to the trust," she said, speaking slowly as she slid a document across the
table. "The first is the house, a gift from your Grandmother Swan, which you have already taken
possession of. It and all the items contained within are yours to do with as you see fit. The house has
been appraised at two hundred thousand dollars, and is paid in full. An escrow account covers
property taxes and any related insurance fees, so you won't have to worry about any of that. As for
items in the house of value, there are a number of books that would be considered local antiquities.
I am sure there are a number of people that would very much like to buy them from you."

My head was spinning; the numbers and facts Rosalie Hale was throwing out at me were mind
boggling. I owned a house worth two hundred thousand dollars – and it was mine to do with as I
pleased. I'd never lived in a house, and now I actually owned one. It felt like a little slice of heaven.

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"The second portion of the trust is a financial bequest on behalf of your Grandmother
Higgenbotham. When she died, she left you fifty thousand dollars. It has been invested for you, and
the amount has matured –"

"When did she die?" I asked, cutting Rosalie off. Talking about money in the same breath as a
woman's passing felt inappropriate to me. I needed to know more about her before I could process
what she might have done on my behalf.

"1999. The money has matured and grown with investment, and is just short of eighty thousand
dollars now –"

"So my dad is all I have left," I said, cutting her off again. "He wasn't wearing a wedding ring – he
didn't marry someone else?"

Rosalie took a deep breath, no doubt channeling her frustrations with my off topic questions. "No,
he's not married. I don't understand what that has to do with your trust."

"It doesn't," I answered quickly. "It's just – I spent my whole life thinking one thing, come to find out
it's the total opposite. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, my whole life has been based on a lie. I
have a family I didn't know about, a different name – I just need to understand why."

"Trust me," Rosalie said, leaning forward to place her hand over mine, just like I had with Charlie.
She'd been cradling her coffee mug, her poise and posture similar to that of her brother's. The heat
from the ceramic had transferred to her palm and fingers, warming them. It complimented the
resolve in her voice. "I had a big family, and when I lost it, everything I thought I knew was flipped
on its head. Even when you have all the answers it doesn't mean things are going to make sense. It
took a long time and a lot of bad things for me to figure out who I should be, let alone who I wanted
to be. You aren't any different. You'll get it. It just takes time."

Withdrawing my hand, I rubbed my eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm just completely exhausted, and this is all a
lot to take in."

She smiled kindly, nodding her head. "I can understand that. We can wrap this up, and I'll let you get
some sleep." She aligned a piece of paper to the edge of the table, tapping a finger at the edge. "In
addition to the two bequests, there are some stipulations. The house and the money are yours to do
with as you see fit, on the condition that you live in this town for one year. You must take possession
of the house by your twenty third birthday and maintain the property for one year."

"Maintain, you mean live there?" I asked, shocked. "But I'm in school! I've got a job and a life in
Phoenix."

"You must also have a paternity test done to verify that you are indeed Isabella Marie Swan. I have
no doubt that you are, seeing you and Charlie together is enough to prove that, but it's a mandate in
the trust that must be met. I've made an appointment for you at the hospital on Tuesday morning.
Once we have that formality crossed off the list, you can decide how you would like to proceed."

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"Proceed? I don't understand?" I was fumbling now, trying desperately to line everything up. The
trust had been the farthest thing from my mind, and now I was being forced to make a decision. It
was like a bizarre twist on a game show – this too can be yours if you choose to drop out of society
and live in the sticks for a year.

Was a chance to know my father, to learn the other side of my personal history worth stepping off
track for a full twelve months?

"Your grandmothers wanted you to know this part of your life, Bella," Rosalie said, collating the
documents and slipping them back into a file folder. "That is why they created the trust for you. I
know it's a lot to take in, and you don't have to decide now. Sleep on it, spend some time here. It's
only September fourth. You have nine days to decide what you want to do. The house is already in
your possession, and the paternity test will just be a check mark on the list." She stood, pulling the
file folder along with her. "You have my phone number. Call me if you have any questions."

She was halfway out the door before I'd gathered my wits to call after her.

"What would have happened if you hadn't found me by my twenty third birthday?"

She smiled, and something in the way she responded chilled me to the bone. "Never an issue, Bella.
We always knew we would find you."

Ω Ω Ω

Rosalie's words stayed with me long after I'd gone back to my grandmother's house. The shower,
meant to wash away the travel grime and relax me into sleep did little to calm my overactive
imagination. My day had been a blur of activity, highs and lows of emotions that I realize now had
been designed to keep me moving. Action meant no time to over analyze the day and all the things
I'd learned.

Pulling the faded quilt up to my chin, I rolled over on my side, exhausted and emotionally drained. I
wanted to fight off sleep, to dissect everything I'd learned and decide what came next. In the course
of a few days, I'd gone from not having two nickels to rub together to owning a house. There was a
chunk of money sitting in a bank, waiting for me to claim it. I would be able to do everything I ever
wanted. Finish my degree, actually own property, the list went on and on.

Those were the tangible facts, the concepts I could easily wrap my head around. The more esoteric
ones were what I was struggling with – like the fact that I had a father, man who looked at me like I
was the sun, moon and stars. It was almost impossible to reconcile his reaction to me with my
mom's insistence that I'd not been wanted. Where was the truth, or did it lie somewhere in
between, layered in the dynamics of divorce and love lost?

"Think about it tomorrow," I told myself, pulling the quilt in tighter around me. "Sleep first."

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Just like the previous two nights, the strange dream laid claim to me quickly, dragging me under
with a vicious tug. This time there was a face to go with the scarlet eyes, a dark haired man with a
wide, childlike smile. There was no kindness in his expression, merely a terrifying glee as he stalked
me, whispering things that made no sense.

You will be queen, and through you I will control it all.

The voice echoed all around me, everywhere and nowhere and I couldn't escape. The dark closed in
as I ran blindly, my hands extended, groping for an exit - some way of escape. When his hand caught
mine, I screamed, but the voice that filled my head was warm and calm, quickly soothing away all
my fears.

Shh, it will be alright, he promised, pulling me into his arms and stroking my hair. I let him hold me,
trusting that he meant what he said. Somewhere nearby there was water; the gentle crash of waves
and the salty tang of the ocean, pungent and strong. You're safe, he said, rocking me gently back
and forth. With my eyes sealed shut, I took slow deliberate breaths, my lungs filled with pine and
cinnamon.

You are the vow, he said. I believe in you.

I shot straight up in bed, gasping desperately for air. It had all been so real, the sounds and the
smells, the panic and then the calm more tangible than any dream I'd ever known. Closing my eyes, I
took a slow, deliberate breath, trying to slow my rapidly beating heart as it slammed painfully
against my ribs. The pain wasn't exclusively physical, for there was longing there too, a desperation
for the safety I'd felt just before I woke up.

"I have no clue who you are," I said aloud, "but god I wish you were here right now."

The small digital clock on the nightstand read 5:45. I doubted I'd be able to fall back asleep. Better to
get up and face the day with whatever new insights it might bring.

After dressing, I dug through the cabinets in search of coffee. There wasn't a pot or filters, let alone
beans, but there was box after box of tea. Herbal, English, green, all with different, clever names. A
rust colored carton caught my eye, the title literally jumping out at me - Cinnamon Apple Spice. It
wasn't a double shot of espresso, but it would have to do.

With a kettle on the burner, the water slowly warming to a boil, I wandered into the living room to
take a closer look at what could be my new home. In the early morning light, the space felt cozy, a
place that I would have happily spent hours reading books or watching TV. I approached the hearth,
using the top of the wood burning stove for balance so I could lean forward to study the framed
pictures. There was an old black and white photo of a young couple, their clothing dated from what
looked like the mid-fifties. The man was tall, his arm draped around a petite woman with dark hair.
They were both smiling at the camera self-consciously. It was flanked by two smaller frames, both
pictures of Charlie Swan. In the first, he was much younger, without his moustache, holding up a
giant fish proudly. The second photo couldn't have been much older than the first, for he still looked

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so incredibly young. He held a tiny bundle of pink nestled safely in his arms, and he stared down at
that, not at the camera. His attention was riveted on the snub nose and thatch of dark hair, the only
details visible.

I'd once asked Renee why there were no pictures of me as a baby. What few we did have were
always of the two of us, and seemed to start around age three. Renee's answer at the time had been
simple – she said we hadn't been able to afford pictures, that food had been more important.

It made absolute sense. In a way it still did. My mother had never been malicious, never denied me
things like love or attention. She'd simply approached it in a very different, albeit unconventional
manner. I never doubted my love for her, but when faced with all this, I didn't know how to treat
her deception, and I struggled to make sense of it all.

The questions continued to pile up, one after the other, obscuring the path that brought me here. At
some point in the near future, I would need to have a conversation with my mother about her
decisions. How would I begin to ask her why, and trust the answers she gave me? It felt as though
my entire foundation had slowly started to crumble around me, starting with a tiny crack - the first
time I heard the name Isabella Swan. I wasn't exactly sure who I was – Marie or Bella – but I did
know that the answer to that was mine to discover. That was, if I had the courage to ask the right
questions.

Stepping down off the hearth, I moved to my right. There was a large bookshelf that occupied the
far wall, filled with books, a welcome distraction from the why's that swirled in my head. The titles
were a combination of non-fiction and literary classics. A number of titles on local wildlife and
history appeared to be very old, and I slowly eased one out, my index finger tugging gently at the
spine.

The Making of Forks.

There was no author's name, nothing to indicate the year it was printed. The book appeared to be
professionally produced, but the traditional markings, an ISBN number, copyright date, or
production house were all missing. Inside was a short inscription, the handwriting masculine and
bold:

I am but a simple man, moved by acts I cannot control. They brought me to you, and they gave me a
new life. For this I am eternally grateful. We will change the world, make it a better, more beautiful
place because the destruction did not reach the town, and out of tragedy grew hope.

I will love you forever.

Geoff

I flipped slowly through the pages, skimming captions below black and white pictures. There was an
aerial shot of four rivers, the Quillayute, Bogachiel, Calawah, and Sol Duc. Small houses had just
started to pop up on the crescents of land that had been carved out of the foothills.

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Another photo, taken at the formal incorporation of the town on August 28, 1945, contained more
distinctly Irish and English names. Cope, Banner, Newton, Stanley and Higgenbotham. According to
the details on the facing page, the town had been founded by an unnamed benefactor, a wealthy
industrialist from England who helped ambitious young men and women escape the drab
workhouses and factories of London and work their way west, creating the backbone for the timber
industry that would create the town of Forks.

I flipped the pages slowly, stopping at a color photo, the tones faded from the years. Large trees,
their trunks scared black from fire, towered in the distance. The Great Forks Fire of 1951 burned
more than 38,000 acres of private, public and state held land. While many homes and businesses
were destroyed, it marked a boom time for Forks as the logging industry raced to process trees
marked by the fire. At its peak, post fire recovery efforts processed over 1 million yards of lumber a
day. Once the reclamation effort was complete, the area was restocked by seeding and planting new
trees.

An earsplitting shriek broke the quiet of the house, the book falling to the floor as I jerked my hand
to my chest in shock. "It's just the tea kettle, you ninny," I chided myself as I quickly picked it up and
slid it back into the bookcase. It might be a good thing there wasn't any coffee in the house – I was
edgy enough as it was. Artificial stimulants would only wind me up more.

In the cabinet next to the sink I found a collection of travel mugs, each one emblazoned with the
Forks Chamber of Commerce Seal. I unwrapped a tea bag and dropped it in the mug, inhaling deeply
as the hot water from the tea pot released the sweet aroma of apples and cinnamon. It wasn't the
same as the smell in my dream or the one on the black fleece from the airplane, but it was close
enough for now.

Using the olfactory tweak to create a sense of calm, I stood at the kitchen sink, looking out over the
backyard. The sky was awash in soft pinks and blues, frosted with gauzy clouds. There were two
chairs sitting in the grass, flanking a small wrought iron table, and beyond that, the edge of what
appeared to be an endless forest. Had this been part of the area burnt in the fire mentioned in the
book? I tried to imagine the trees charred black, the trunks oozing sap like wounded soldiers. Out of
great tragedy comes great potential, some people would say. Acres of trees destroyed, but it
brought the town together, maybe even creating the reason for my grandparents to meet. So much
loomed out of our control, things we'd never be able to comprehend, causing lives to intersect and
blend. There had to be a reason for all the madness that happened, the strange unexplainable
events that changed the path of our life.

If I told myself that enough, maybe I could make myself believe it, and find some logic to the last few
days.

I let go of all thoughts, loosing myself in the sights and smells that were dawning around me. Birds
fluttered through the backyard, light brown finches hunting for bugs and worms. A squirrel raced
down a tree, pausing at the edge of the woods before darting up what appeared to be a path that
disappeared into dark canopy of green. The entire town was enclosed by the forest, and I was

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desperate to wander through the shadows, run my hands along knobby bark and pick up leaves. I
wanted to experience everything about this strange new world, to let my senses loose and absorb
the natural glory that was all so foreign to me, and learn more about the place I'd called home for
just a little bit.

Retrieving the fleece jacket from the chair where I'd dropped it the night before, I slipped the bolt
and let myself out into the backyard. The air was cool and damp, carrying a pungent, earthy smell. I
pulled the jacket a bit tighter around my body, and set off towards the back corner of the yard and
the little path.

For the first four hundred yards or so the path was relatively flat, cleared of roots and debris, but
then it forked, the right leg angling off, up a hill, the route to the left narrower but still relatively flat.
I turned left, my free hand extended as I walked so I could skim the trunks of trees and bat at low
hanging ferns. The vibrant green leaves were damp from morning dew, and scattered droplets of
water down onto the path along with the intermittent leaf. It was all magical and beautiful, and
helped to alleviate the strange sense of gloom that had pressed down on me this morning.

"It's hard to believe that bad things can happen when the world looks like this."

The voice was gentle, and at first, I thought it was my imagination, for it was exactly what I was
feeling. But the speaker was masculine; the infections similar to my dreams and the man who
promised to keep me safe.

"I'm officially losing my mind, but at least it's in a pretty place," I said as I followed a sharp bend in
the trail. A young man was waiting for me on the other side, his hands clasped in front of him,
shoulders back as he placed most of his weight on his left leg.

I took an immediate step back, my foot snagging on a root. Unable to catch my balance, I tumbled
backwards, the travel mug full of tea falling to the forest floor with a quiet thud before rolling off
into the bushes.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" the man asked, taking a tentative step forward. His hand hovered in
the air, as if he intended to offer it to me in assistance. "I'm sorry – I didn't mean to alarm you."

He did not continue his approach, his hesitation clear. There was a good fifteen feet between us,
which he did not attempt to cross.

"You didn't mean to alarm me?" I shot back, wiping my palm on my jeans. "Why would standing in
the middle of the woods at seven in the morning alarm me?"

He frowned, cocking his head to the side as if he was listening for something, but he didn't move any
closer. When I realized he was not going attack me, nor was he going to help me to my feet, I braced
my hand against the ground and pushed into a standing position. My jeans were damp and muddy
and my muscles were sore from breaking my fall, but that seemed to be the extent of the damage.

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The man was still rooted to the same spot, his eyes narrowed and confused. He was young, probably
my age, with thin, aquiline features. The dense canopy of trees blocked out the early morning sun,
leaving him in shadow. I could make out thick hair, the color hard to distinguish in the low light.
Heavy cargo pants, maybe khaki, maybe darker, and a long sleeved black shirt. He looked about as
prepared to be wandering around in these woods as I did, and more keyed up than I felt.

"I'll just be heading back," I said, pulling the jacket tightly around me. The smell of cinnamon was
still there, mixing with the heavy earthy scents of the forest. It took me back to my dream and that
deep sense of peace I felt whenever the dream man was present. I buried my nose in the material as
I backed up, focusing on the smell and the calm that it brought me, not the stranger who had
popped out of nowhere, scaring me enough to knock me flat on my ass. Still frozen in place, he
watched, his eyes darting from my arms to my face, his brown creasing in confusion, and then what
almost looked like realization.

Once I cleared the bend, I spun around and started walking quickly back towards the house,
stumbling a few times over exposed roots. My hands, pressed close against my body, were curled in
fists, ready to hit should someone touch me without my permission.

"Wait, Bella," he called out. The use of my name, my new name, pulled me up short, and I spun
around to face my pursuer. The man approached slowly, his face composed into a neutral mask. He
carried my mug, the Forks Chamber of Commerce logo shining white against the blue plastic. "You
dropped this."

His voice was so close to the one in my dream – soft and reassuring, the diction very proper, almost
antiquated. He inched forward, each step slow and measured, as if I were a colt that would spook if
he moved too fast.

"How did you know my name?" I asked, confused by the presence of this man and the strange
reactions he brought out in me. He was closer now, some of the light breaking through the canopy
to illuminate his features. Out of the shadow, his thick hair was clearly in disarray, dark honey,
almost brown, with copper, bright red, and auburn streaks blended throughout. It reminded me of
Charlie's comment from the night before. Hair that color can't be faked.

"Why are you smiling?" he asked, his head angling to the side again. "Did I not scare you?" The
affectation made him appear childlike, confused by something he couldn't quite understand.

"How do you know my name?" I demanded, a little bit more harshly this time. I had been smiling,
here in the middle of the forest with a strange man who knew my name. My judgment was slowly
going to hell in a hand basket – at this rate I would probably end up dead before I got the answers I
so desperately wanted.

"You're wearing my jacket," the man said, tipping the mug in my direction. "There is a small bleach
stain on the left elbow. I liked it too much to throw it away. My brother gave it to you yesterday
when he flew you up here."

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Frowning, I extended my arm straight up into the air, tugging the material. A small grayish white
spot slid into view, roughly the size of a dime.

"If that isn't enough proof," he said, his eyes fixed on my face, "it's made by Patagonia. Size extra
large. There was probably a black roller ball pen in the pocket. I almost always have a pen on my
person."

He was babbling, his speech oddly disjointed, clearly uncomfortable about being the cause of my
distress.

"And you're Jasper and Rosalie's brother?" I asked, overcome by the ridiculous need to put him at
ease. "Does that make you a Whitlock or a Hale?"

The man laughed - a strange hiccupping sound. It was awkward, and his confused expression only
deepened. "My name is Edward, Edward Cullen. And you are Bella Swan."

"Yes," I said, drawing out the s to placate him, "I think we established that already." I extended my
hand, my eyes on the mug he held. "May I?"

"Oh, yes, my apologies," he said quickly, extending the mug in my direction without stepping
forward. "I didn't mean to startle you. I needed to get out of the house, a bit of peace, you know? I
guess I wandered a bit further than intended."

"That's okay. I'm a bit on edge too."

"The last few days must have been very difficult for you." He was studying me, and it felt as though
he was cataloguing my features, committing everything to memory. I ducked my head, forcing some
of my hair to fall like a natural veil. "Jasper told me a little bit about your conversations. He said you
were very clever, and rather shaken by the revelations."

Edward had not stepped closer, his arm still extended holding the mug. It made him appear like a
contrite little boy, an offering extended to placate me. How could I have ever been scared by
someone like him?

"He's a nice guy. Helped keep my mind off a lot of things yesterday, you know?" I said, filling the
awkward space with meaningless words. The need to run away was gone, replaced by my natural
curiosity. "He probably kept me from freaking out a few times."

"Jasper is good that way, he always seems to know what people need," Edward said, running his
free hand awkwardly through his hair. He was a study in contrast to his brother and sister, both of
whom were so cool and collected. He rocked awkwardly on the balls of his feet, his eyes, a darker
gold than the others, never leaving my face. His words inferred that he felt inferior to his brother,
envious of Jasper's natural charm. I knew what it was like to be on the outside looking in, not fitting
in with those that were more gifted, more adept. It made me feel as though I'd found a kindred soul.

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"I've spent my whole life in the desert," I said, smiling shyly at him. "This whole tree thing is kind of
surreal you know? At least these kinds of trees." I reached out to flatten my hand against the trunk
of a large pine. "I bet it is going to be absolutely beautiful here in a few weeks."

"It already is," he said quietly.

I blushed at the correction. He was right, there was a serene beauty here, a gentle, easy glory that
was easy to discount.

"I didn't mean the trees," Edward said, his voice low. "I meant you."

Laughing uncomfortably, I tipped my head back towards the sky. A slow mist had just started to fall,
the dense canopy all but blocking out the precipitation. The gentle tap tap tap of rain on leaves the
only indication that something might be happening outside of this little path in the giant forest.

"What is that old saying?" I asked, redirecting the conversation. "If a tree falls in the woods and no
one's around, does it make a sound?"

"Yes," he answered immediately. "Yes, it does make a sound."

The rain continued to drum gently on the leaves, and here and there, the chirp of a bird broke the
stillness. Edward stared at me, his expression soft and full of wonder. In less than twenty four hours,
I'd had two men stare at me like I was the answer to some deep life mystery. It unnerved me, but it
also unlocked something deep inside of me, a longing for something that I couldn't quite put my
finger on.

"Here's your drink," Edward said, leaning forward so that my mug was in reach. When I took it, he
didn't withdraw his hand, instead leaving it out, palm up, in invitation. "It's going to start raining
hard soon. Let me get you back to shelter. Someday, when we get a break in the precipitation, I can
take you exploring if you would like, show you things you've never seen before."

Without a second thought, I grasped his fingers. They were cold, as if he'd been out in the woods for
far too long. Edward stared at our joined hands, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile. He
was not as relaxed as his brother, for Jasper had a casual air about him, one that indicated he was
comfortable in his skin. No, Edward was more on edge, full of feline grace and quick movements.
That was the best description, really. If his brother was like a colt, brash and sure of himself, Edward
was more reserved - his body tensed and ready to react at a moment's notice.

"You're warm," he said when our eyes met. The tension was slowly ebbing out of him now, his smile
growing brighter as he gently squeezed my hand.

"You're cold," I countered.

"Not any longer. Come, let's get you out of the rain." He stepped around me, his grasp strong and
sure, and led me down the path towards my grandmother's house. He was tall, his long stride sure

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and confident as he led me deftly around exposed roots and puddles, and I found myself wishing
irrationally that the walk back was just a little bit longer.

At the edge of the forest, Edward stopped, releasing my hand.

"Don't you want to come in? I can drive you home," I said, glancing up at the sky. Now that we were
out from under the canopy of green I could see that the clouds had moved in quickly, obscuring the
sunrise and promise for blue skies. "At least let me make you a cup of tea."

"No, it's faster this way," Edward responded cryptically, stepping back into the shadow of the trees.
"May I come see you again? I could show you waterfalls that aren't too far from here."

He smiled shyly, and I smiled back, touched by this sweet, awkward man. The more I studied him,
the more the little details coalesced together. His features should have been too sharp, but his full
lips, impossibly red, softened the overly patrician features in a way one might consider handsome.
His hair, a mess of cowlicks and waves, gave him a youthful air and kept him from looking too
serious – and when he smiled, it transformed his entire face, angelic and pure, like something out of
a painting. No, he wasn't his brother.

He was so much more.

The first fat drop struck me smack in the center of my head. It was cold and ran down the back of
my skull, followed by another. I threw my arms up over my head to protect myself as we both
laughed at how ridiculous I looked.

"Come on, Edward," I pleaded, "You are going to get soaked!"

"Go inside, Bella," he said with a smile, taking another step back into the woods. "I promise I will see
you very soon."

With that, he was gone, back up the trail, blending into the trees. I ran into the house, slamming the
door shut behind me. My laughter filled the empty little room, and for the first time in as long as I
can remember, I felt light. I buried my face in the collar of the jacket, breathing deep, and wondered
if I'd gotten close enough to Edward, he would have smelled like pine and cinnamon too.

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~ Chapter 5 - Whirling Faster Out of Sync ~

If my introduction to the town of Forks and its inhabitants was unconventional, the subsequent days
did nothing to buck the surreal state that I found myself in.

My father arrived on my doorstep at noon on Sunday, his arms loaded down with bags and his face
lit up in a brilliant smile. As the rain fell outside, we ate sandwiches he'd picked up at the coffee
shop and flipped through three photo albums, full of pictures from the first year and a half of my
life: my first smile, my first steps, me sitting on top of a patrol car, clapping my hands as Charlie held
me securely in place.

These were not the photos of a man who didn't want his child.

When we finished with the photos, he placed a small pink wooden box on the table, the soft paint
faded with age.

"It's probably kind of lame that I kept all this," he said sheepishly. "It wasn't like you were going to
come home and play with it, you know?"

It took a bit of prying to loosen the brass clasp that held the box closed. When it did give, I gently
raised the lid, freeing a small plastic ballerina from its dark slumber. As a mechanical rendition of the
Overture from Swan Lake filled the room, she began to spin slowly, her pink tutu stiff and slightly
lopsided from years of being pressed on her side.

"I bought that for you on your first birthday," Charlie said quietly. "I thought the whole Swan Lake
thing was clever, you know? You used to love to listen to it. You'd shout 'again' over and over and
over. It just about drove your mom and me batty." He pronounced again as a toddler, would, heavy
emphasis on the ah, and a hard D sound replacing the G.

As the music began to slow, the ballerina's motions became less and less fluid, jerking stiffly as the
mechanism wound down. When the song ended, she stopped her rotation. Her arms were extended
gracefully out to her side, patiently waiting for someone to wind her up again. Round and round she
goes, where she stops, no one knows.

"Why did she do it?" I asked. My voice was thick, the knot in my throat making it difficult to form the
words. I was still struggling to understand how my mother could have justified her actions. "Why did
she run away with me?"

Charlie sighed, gently closing the music box. "There isn't an easy answer - at least I don't think there
is. Life here was going to evolve a certain way and Ren-" he stopped abruptly, like it hurt too much
to say her name. "Your mom had a hard time with that."

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"So, what," I said, the confusion and anger that had been building for days finally spilling over, "she
can't handle it, so she takes me and runs? How is that fair?"

Charlie shook his head, the smile that had lit up his face all afternoon fading into sadness. "Life is a
lot more complicated than we give it credit for, Bella. Your mom and I got married young, probably
too young. Hell, she had a baby before she was even legal to drink. You think you know a lot of
things at twenty, that you can handle everything life throws at you, but you're still growing up.
People change-"

"I'm still waiting for her to grow up," I said bitterly. "No mature adult would pull what she did. She
lied to me. She told me you didn't want me, that she was all I needed …" The tears were coming fast
and furious, fueled by my anger and grief. "I don't want to have to choose between the two of you,
and I feel like Renee robbed me of that choice because I wasn't old enough to fight for you. God, I
wasn't even old enough to remember you."

He touched my face, his index finger tentatively wiping away a single tear. "She didn't make you
choose, Bella. She thought she was doing the right thing. It wasn't meant to hurt you."

"Well it did," I said, sounding like what I was, a petulant child who wanted him to justify my anger
with his own. "How do I forgive that?"

He sighed, and wiped away another tear. "Love makes you do strange things. Someday you'll
understand that. It's the only justification I can give you."

We let the topic drop after that as Charlie distracted me with stories about his childhood in Forks.
He told me about his parents, his much older brother who had died in Vietnam. He told me about
his friends here and the things that he enjoyed doing. The picture he painted for me told me his life
story, revealing a kind, gentle man who believed absolutely that 'good will out' regardless of how
great the challenge.

I liked him very much.

That night, after he left, I took the garbage out, almost stepping on a small bundle of holly sprigs
that lay on the back step. The dark blue-green spiky leaves were peppered with red berries, the
branch, trimmed and cleaned, was wrapped in a soft satin bow. I stepped forward, searching the
backyard for his presence. The small outdoor light only illuminated a portion of the yard, leaving the
woods and all that lay beyond in shadow. I couldn't tell whether Edward stood at the edge of the
path, watching me as I accepted his gift. It had to be him, for it was such an old fashioned gesture,
gallant and chivalrous.

After I put the holy in water, I wandered around the living room, taking in the photos on the mantle
and the little tokens scattered throughout the room. When I did finally go to bed, Charlie's
comments about the things we do for love weighed heavily on me, and my ruminations on what it
must have been like for my parents prevented me from drifting off to sleep for a very long time.

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When I did finally fall doze off, the dreams came rushing up to claim me, vibrant and surreal in their
clarity.

The dark receded, leaving me in what appeared to be an empty stage. I was dressed in a simple
white satin leotard and stiff white tutu, one side slightly flattened like the plastic doll in my music
box. As the first strains of the Overture began to play from somewhere off-stage, my body reacted,
moving forward to execute a long string of pirouettes. I watched from far away, disembodied, as my
body executed the turns with an elegant precision I was incapable of in real life. Periodically, my leg
would extend, and I would catch a fleeting glimpse of scarlet red toe shoes, their long ribbons
snaking up my legs like angry trails of blood.

As the music grew to its crescendo, my spins increased, the motions out of sync with the song's
rhythm. I continued to whirl around and around the dark stage as the malevolent laughter echoed
around me, overtaking the music with an evil glee that chilled me to the bone.

Just as panic threatened to overtake me, there was a hand at my waist, gentle pressure slowing me
down and controlling the frenetic spins I was incapable of stopping. Each rotation was slower and
slower, until finally I stopped all together.

"You're safe now," Edward said, his hands gently holding me in place. The laughter and music were
gone. I dropped my head to his neck, breathing deep the scents of cinnamon and pine trees as he
folded me in closer to his body. "I will never let anyone hurt you. You are my vow."

When I woke up, I didn't feel scared or confused. Just safe.

Ω Ω Ω

"I still don't understand why this is necessary," Charlie said. He'd been harping on the blood test for
the last thirty minutes, trying to get Rosalie Hale to back down. "I know who she is. That should be
more than enough. You don't need to draw blood to tell me she's my own kid."

Rosalie sighed and smoothed back her perfectly coiffed hair. "I understand your frustration, Chief,
but the terms of the trust mandate a blood test to prove Bella is who she is. It was established
before the current paternity standard of cheek swabs became commonly available. Bella's blood
type will be checked against yours and your ex-wife's, and we'll use that to validate or rule out if it is
physically possible for her to be your child."

"Of course it's physical possible!" Charlie bit back, which clearly surprised Rosalie, her perfect
eyebrows shooting up in shock. "She looks just like her mother. Her eyes are the exact same color as
mine! Her hair is too! And she's got the weird swirly thing-" he held his hand up, making a circular
motion over the crown of his head, "like I do!"

"Dad, it's okay," I said, placing my hand on his arm. "I don't mind. And it's called a cowlick."

He took a deep breath, trying to reign himself in. "It's still unnecessary, I know who you are."

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"It's okay, it won't take long," I promised, sounding much more confident than I was. I knew that
Charlie Swan was my father, just as much as I knew that my mother's name was Renee Dwyer, and I
liked to sleep on my stomach. I just inherently knew. It didn't quell the fear that had worked itself
into a knot in my chest, the inevitable what if.

"Carlisle will be taking care of the blood draw," Rosalie said, her gaze level with Charlie's. This
seemed to soothe him, the rigid set of his shoulders relaxing just a bit. "You know that my brother
would never do anything to harm Bella-"

"Did someone just take my name in vain?"

A very handsome blonde man had walked up behind Rosalie, his hand extending to Charlie in
greeting.

"Hello, Chief. It's nice to see you again."

"Dr. Cullen," Charlie said, tipping his head in my direction. "This is my daughter, Bella."

When the blonde man, Dr. Cullen, smiled at me, it was genuine and warm, making me feel like I was
a long lost friend. "It's nice to finally meet you, Bella. I've heard a lot about you." Glancing down at
his watch, he looked up quickly at Rosalie. "Traffic is light today, and I need something to do, so I'll
be drawing your blood instead of a tech. Shall we get this show on the road?"

Charlie and Rosalie exchanged a glance as Dr. Cullen extended his arm, palm up, an invitation for me
to walk with him down the hallway. I could hear Charlie follow after us, his heavy work boots
echoing on the linoleum floor.

"You need to wait here, Chief," Dr. Cullen said kindly. Charlie stopped, his eyes focused exclusively
on me.

"I'll be fine, don't worry. Now go on, don't you have a job? Doughnuts to eat or something?"

The joke had its intended impact, as Charlie bowed his head to hide his smile. "Fine, but I'll meet you
at your house later, okay?"

I smiled, happy that it had morphed from his parent's house to my house so easily. I'd not made up
my mind whether or not I would be staying in Forks, but just the concept that I had a place to call
my own meant the world to me. Once upon a time I'd felt that way about my apartment in Phoenix,
excited to have something that was exclusively mine. I understood now that there was a difference
between a house and a home, a place that you rented and housed your things, and a place that held
memories and your heart.

Dr. Cullen led me through the hospital, pushing through a set of double doors to enter a large lab.
"Since we are doing a simple blood draw, no need to do an examination room," he said, patting a
tall stool that stood next to a counter. "Have a seat. I'll just need to get a kit."

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I climbed up on the stool and peeled off the sweater I'd thrown on over my t-shirt that morning. The
bright fluorescent lights overhead made my veins stand out against my skin, a web of dark blue that
crisscrossed the inside of my arm.

Sitting down on a matching stool across from me, Dr. Cullen tore open a narrow plastic packet and
eased a syringe out of the pocket.

"So much for hoping this would just be a finger prick," I said, eyeing the syringe uneasily.

"In most places it would be, but the hospital doesn't have the necessary equipment for that." Dr.
Cullen smiled up at me, trying to allay my concerns. "Don't worry, I've been doing this for ages, so
I'm kind of a pro. It won't hurt at all. If it does, you can say I was the prick, and I'll leave it up to you if
I was a big or small one."

"That's what he said," I mumbled as I watched him screw a small vial into the plastic sleeve.

"You aren't a big fan of needles, I take it?"

"I'm not a big fan of blood," I said, quickly shifting my focus to a brightly colored poster on the far
wall that outlined the steps for dealing with biohazardous waste. My cheeks blazed a furious hot red
as he secured a tourniquet around my left bicep. "If it hurts when you take it out, maybe it should
stay where it is."

Dr. Cullen laughed as he swabbed the skin just below the bend of my elbow. "I guess that is one way
of looking at it."

I could hear him shuffling things around, but I refused to tear my eyes away from the picture on the
wall. If I didn't look, I wouldn't know what he was doing, and it would prevent me from tensing up,
which would only make the blood draw hurt worse.

"When I was twelve, I fell down the steps of the apartment building we lived in," I said, babbling to
cover the sound of plastic clinking against metal. "I bit my tongue so hard my mom had to take me
to the emergency room. I'd hurt myself before, skinned knees, random cuts, that sort of thing, but it
was the first time I'd ever tasted blood, you know?"

"Just a quick pinch," Dr. Cullen said, as a sharp pain shot through my arm. My face flared red again,
tears welling up in my eyes.

"I can remember telling my mom that blood tasted like a penny that had been dropped in salt
water," I said, my voice choppy. "She laughed at me and told me I was crazy. She said blood couldn't
taste metallic, but it does."

There was gentle pressure as Dr. Cullen pressed a cotton ball against my arm. "Would you hold that
please? I'll put a Band-Aid on it in just a moment."

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He rolled his stool backwards, unscrewing the vial from syringe. "You know, I've never heard anyone
describe the taste of blood before, especially not while it's being extracted from their person."

"What can I say? I'm an odd duck." I watched as he jotted a quick note on a small label and affixed it
to the vial. "I think I met someone that was related to you the other day. He had the same strange
speech patterns that you do."

"That would be Jasper; he's my brother. Well, foster brother. We grew up together," Dr. Cullen
smiled as he jotted another note down on a piece of paper and inserted it into a file. "Although I
don't think we sound at all alike."

"I meant Edward."

Dr. Cullen looked up, the serene smile slipping into a look of surprise. "You met Edward?"

"In the forest the other day," I said, suddenly worried that I'd said something wrong. "I kind of got
lost, and he helped me find my way back." While not an overt lie, my admission had not been
entirely truthful either. I couldn't tell if Dr. Cullen accepted my answer at face value or not.

"That's interesting," he said, resuming his paperwork. "Edward doesn't typically venture into town.
He prefers staying to himself."

"Yeah, he seemed a little… I don't know, awkward?"

Dr. Cullen laughed, the good humor returning as he retrieved a Band-Aid from an overhead cabinet.
"That would be Edward. He's very perceptive, and it makes it challenging for him to interact with
other people. They don't quite know how to handle his…quirks."

"I think I can understand that," I said, unsettled by my need to justify or defend Edward's socially
awkward behavior. "I don't know how to 'be,'" I raised my free hand to make an air quote, "around
people either. The only person I ever spent any real time with is my mom, and I think I was the adult
in that relationship."

"That must have been challenging," Dr. Cullen said. "You remind me a lot of my wife, you know.
Your senses of humor are very similar. She was the one that stocked the house for Rosalie."

"She's the one that likes the tea, I guess." My observation came out sounding more sarcastic than I'd
intended.

"Did she go overboard? She has a habit of doing that sometimes," he said with a smile. "I told her
once I enjoyed a certain type of soap. Esme bought a case."

"I guess you could say she means well?" I had to laugh at the besotted expression on Dr. Cullen's
face. He was attractive, and I was sure that there were women at the hospital that pursued him with
a vengeance, but it was abundantly clear he had eyes for one woman and one woman alone.

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"We're all done here," he said, standing and extending a hand to me. "Was your father going to wait
for you?"

"No, I told him to go get some work done. I doubt the taxpayers would appreciate their Chief of
Police loitering around the hospital while you sucked my blood out through a tube."

Dr. Cullen actually snorted, then looked away, as if embarrassed. "I can see why you get along with
Edward. He has the same rather dry wit."

"I hope I'm not that painful to talk to," I countered, standing to follow Dr. Cullen out of the lab. "It
took him a few minutes to loosen up. At first he looked like he was terrified of me."

"Well, you are rather terrifying to behold," he teased, holding out a hand. "I'll get this moving. We
should have you typed in no time. Rosalie indicated that should be more than enough."

"I'm good with anything that means no more bloodletting," I said, my hand instinctively pressing
against the band-aid at the crook of my arm. "But you were pretty good, Dr. Cullen."

"Please, Carlisle. Dr. Cullen makes me sound ancient," he said lightly. "And thank you for being kind
to Edward. I know he could use a friend."

He pushed open the double doors for me, leading me back out into the waiting area. A nurse quickly
descended on him with a chart, and I was left alone to see myself out.

Ω Ω Ω

The whole experience of giving blood left me on edge, so with nothing urgent that required my
attention, I decided to go for a drive and clear my head. My rental car, left in the garage by Jasper,
had GPS and allowed me to wander aimlessly along wooded roads that dropped off near the ocean,
the pungent scent of salt water filling my lungs and reminding me of my dreams and of Edward. I
wasn't sure what it was about him that fascinated me, for we'd only had that one awkward
interaction in the woods, but it had been enough for him to burrow into my subconscious, invading
even my dreams.

Parking the car, I climbed out and stood on the shoulder, looking down over the guardrail that
created a barrier between the road and the beach below. The sun was beginning to set over the
water, deep rich purples streaking the early evening sky. It was beautiful here, exotic and wild in a
way that Phoenix had never been, and I found myself wishing for a way to channel that energy. I
longed to be exotic and beautiful, someone who captivated people and compelled them into action.
I'd watched my mother be like that, full of energy and excitement, and for the first time in my life I
envied her that ability. In the short time I'd spent here, I'd come to realize that my life in Phoenix
had been closed off at my own choosing. I wasn't any different than any other college student trying
to find themselves. I'd just never had the proper motivation. Standing here, on the edge of the
continental United States, staring out at the setting sun, I realized that I, too, could take a chance
and put myself out there. Who cared about what came next – it was time to live in the now. My

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mother's actions might have put me on this path, but I was the only one who could decide what
came next.

It was with that resolve that I climbed in the car and drove home, my mind turning over the
potential that came with my 'inheritance' and the decisions that came with it. I'd lost myself so deep
in the what ifs of leaving Phoenix that I didn't notice the small silver car parked at the curb, nor did I
realize that Edward was there, standing on the stoop, until I was halfway up the walk.

"Hello," he said, almost shyly. Without looking me directly in the eye, Edward extended his hand in
offering. He'd brought another small bunch of holly, the thin branches at the base wrapped in white
ribbon like a bouquet.

"Hi," I said back to him, and it came out like a sigh. I was happy that he was here, but I didn't know
how to articulate that in a way that wouldn't make him uncomfortable. The simple fact that I liked it
so much made me uncomfortable. "Have you been waiting long?"

"Not really," he said. "You liked the leaves so much, I wanted you to have more. I've never seen
someone so mesmerized by something as simple as leaves. Besides, holly is supposed to give you
pleasant dreams."

"I could use that," I said, accepting his offering. The white ribbon was smooth against my fingers,
and my hand shook a bit as I recalled the frenetic spinning from my nightmare. Before I could drop
the bouquet, Edward's fingers wrapped around mine, stabilizing me and holding me firm. It was just
like my dream, not too firm, just enough to balance me, to allow me to keep control. It was as
though he knew what I needed without me even having to ask.

"It's supposed to be clear tonight," he said, his voice soft and warm. "I thought you might want to sit
outside. I can show you the constellations. With the back light off, we should be able to see a
number of stars."

"It gets awfully cold here at night," I said, afraid to look up and betray what I was taking from his
simple gesture. "And I haven't had dinner yet. Would you like to join me?"

For some reason, the idea of sitting down at my grandmother's dining room table with Edward
made me nervous. I could cook, but what would I do that would impress him? There was food in the
refrigerator, but was it enough to put together something palatable? What if he didn't like my
cooking or didn't eat meat, or –

"I ate already, but I would like to stay with you, if you don't mind," he said. When I worked up the
courage to look up at him, tipping my head back because he was almost a foot taller than me,
Edward was smiling down at me. It was a radiant, beatific smile that lit up his whole face, erasing
any sign that he was uncomfortable or felt awkward. His brothers were both lovely, handsome men,
but they were nothing that compared to this, the beauty and innocence that shone through when
he smiled took my breath away. I wanted to press my fingers against his face, tracing the contours
of his cheek bones and nose in an attempt to understand the dimensions. What took him from being

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mildly attractive to this was a simple miracle, the combination of genetics and luck that, with a
fraction of a millimeter in a different direction, would have changed everything.

I broke away first, my cheeks blazing as I unlocked the door and led him into my grandmother's
small house. A chill had set in, the temperature probably dropping lower than anything I had ever
experienced.

"You're cold," he said, releasing my hand as if it had something to do with him.

"I messed with the heat last night," I said, chaffing my arms in a lame attempt to generate warmth,
"but I couldn't get it to kick on."

"Your furnace runs on oil. I'm sure no one thought to fill the tank, what with the house being
unoccupied." He stepped forward, tugging a throw from the back of the couch and draping it around
my shoulders. "There was a small wood pile in back. I'll bring some inside and start a fire while you
warm up."

Edward strode decisively across the room, the energy that coiled just beneath his skin converting
into clean, efficient motions. I opened my mouth to protest, but stopped, realizing that, for the first
time in memory, someone was taking care of me, and it wasn't because they had to or because I was
sick. Edward wanted to do this for me because, well – I didn't know his motivations, and I wasn't
going to question them. It simply felt nice.

I curled up in a ball on the couch, watching as Edward carried armload after armload of wood in
from the small bin next to the garage. He repeated the cycle four times, and each circuit was the
same. As soon as he entered the room, he would look to me, his smile growing just a fraction of an
inch as our eyes made contact. Then he would cross the room, long lanky strides that were almost a
swagger. It reminded me of a time in high school when Renee and I had stopped for ice cream. We'd
sat on a park bench, laughing at a group of middle-aged men playing softball. One guy had carried
himself in a similar fashion, and Renee had made a comment about a man like that being 'mad, bad,
and the kind of dangerous I would like to know.' At the time, I'd not understood what she meant,
but watching Edward carry firewood across the room, I had an innate understanding of just exactly
what she'd been thinking – and even more so, as I had to agree.

"Oh my god," I squeaked, slamming my hands against my mouth in mortification. Edward jumped,
the firewood he was loading into a large basket crashing to the hardwood floor.

"Are you okay?" He asked, his attention focused solely on me, eyes wide with concern.

"Yes," I croaked, infinitely thankful that he couldn't read my mind. I'd somehow managed to connect
the dots from a relatively innocent thought about how Edward moved to a rather crude statement
my mother had made year ago, and more importantly, I was more worried about him thinking badly
of me than embarrassed that I had objectified him.

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Oh, Bella, I chided myself silently. You have a crush on an adorably awkward guy you don't even
know in a town you don't even live in. Not the wisest move.

Edward turned back to the wood burning stove, pulling open the door and neatly stacking the
firewood inside. Once he was happy with his stack, he stuffed small shards of wood and around the
logs for tinder, eschewing the small pile of newspaper that was stacked in a basket next to the heart
to get the fire started. He fumbled with the first few matches, muttering to himself as the thin wood
shattered under his pressure, crumbling and fluttering to the floor. On the fifth try, a flint caught,
flaring to life, the orange glow casting a gentle light across Edward's face as he lowered the match to
the pile of kindling. As the first pine cone lit, he blew gently, the flames roaring high enough to catch
the wood and ignite. Within minutes, the fire was roaring, the door of the giant cast iron store
sealed shut as the temperature in the room slowly began to rise.

"Thank you," I said, staring awkwardly at my lap. "This cold weather takes a bit of getting used to."

"Was it really that hot where you came from?" He sank down on the couch next to me, one long leg
bent over the other.

"Like Hades on a bad day," I said with a laugh. "Friday was supposed to be one hundred degrees,
which is hot for September."

He nodded, his eyes never leaving my face. We were passing polite conversation, meaningless filler
as we sized each other up. Conversation about weather and my comfort with the temperature gave
him a reason to touch me and take care of me – something that no one else had ever cared or taken
the time to do. I wanted to tell myself that this was irrational, that I was behaving like a lunatic. I
shouldn't be flirting with a stranger, finding comfort with someone I didn't even know. I should be
on the phone with my mother, demanding answers, trying to figure out where my life would go
from here.

Those were the things I should have done, but not the things I chose to do. Instead, I spoke to this
stranger, telling him stories about my life, about my father and what I was learning, about my
mother and the anger I had for her at lying to me, and the fear I was suppressing that there might be
something underneath at all that justified her behavior. In return, he took my hand, and asked me
gentle questions that allowed me to wind through my own conflicted thoughts to vocalize all the
things that scared me too much to admit.

"I met Carlisle today," I said, changing the direction of our conversation. Edward stiffened and
moved to withdraw his hand, but I held on tight, refusing to let him go. "His hands were cold like
yours. I'd make a joke about you needing to see a doctor, but given that he is one…"

Edward laughed, but it was clear he was uncomfortable with the conversation.

"He told me a little bit about his wife-"

"Esme," he said, completing my sentence. "His wife's name is Esme."

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"He loves her a lot, it was written all over his face," I said, staring at a spot on the couch just above
where our intertwined hands rested. I'd had relationships, dated, even had sex before, but I'd never
had anyone love me the way it was clear that Carlisle loved his wife. Those were the looks that
storybooks were made of, a cottage industry of happily ever after.

"They are two halves of a whole." Edward's voice was low, almost reverential. "They have their own
identities, yet they blend together so seamlessly that there are times where it's hard to tell where
one ends and the other begins. It's been like that since the first day he brought her home – like no
one else in the world exists besides her."

"It all sounds very fairy tale," I said, awed by the reverence with which he revealed snippets of his
brother's story.

"Only in that fairy tales have often macabre, dark twists," Edward replied cryptically. "But they
found their happily ever after. All of my siblings have. Three perfectly matched sets, counter-
weighted to balance in every way."

The way he said it, so melancholy and lost, made my heart ache. While I'd never spent time
wondering about conventional relationships, Edward had been surrounded by what sounded like
the purest forms of love. I'd witnessed the short, bright blaze of glory that came when Renee met
and fell for Phil. It had been painful to witness her happiness, and I'd forced down my jealousy as
she'd gone on and on about him. But they were a more conventional type of relationship, settling
into the normal highs and lows that came with marriage. The way that Carlisle had spoken of his
wife today, and the awe with which Edward referred to the relationship, was something all together
different. People aspired to find someone like that, an all-consuming, all-knowing love that would
stand the test of time, of challenges, of threats and even death.

It made me wonder if my parents had loved each other enough, and had been willing to fight to
maintain that, maybe I would have grown up here in this town, and everything would have turned
out so incredibly different.

"What are you thinking?" Edward murmured, his free hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair
away from my face. "I wish to god that I could hear your thoughts, more than anything in the
world."

"Just wondering what if," I said, smiling back at him.

Earlier, I'd decided to focus on moving forward, on letting the here and now unfold around me and
take me where it would. Wondering what if would accomplish none of that. I would not dwell on the
past, nor would I harbor my mother any ill will. Once the blood test was complete and I had proof of
who I was, I would call her and allow her to tell me her side of the story. There had to be more to it
than what I thought.

At least I hoped.

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I glanced over at the bookshelf, and the thin spine of the History of Forks book I had skimmed the
other day. There were epic stories in this town. Ones of love, of life, and of loss, all coiled round
each other so tightly that extracting one meant cutting another. That was how Renee had extracted
herself from this town, and in a way, I guessed I could give her that. I also knew that I wasn't her,
and the idea that there could be a place for me here was a concept I wanted to explore. I would take
what this town, what my father, what Edward wanted to give me, and I would meet them in the
middle, hopefully turning this strange situation into something exponentially more.

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~ Chapter 6 – Not an Easy Day to Forget ~

When I was a little girl, my mother and I used to watch classic movies – old black and white's with
ridiculous scenarios like baby leopards being raised in a city or mysterious utterances referencing
children's sleds. My favorites had been the epics, which wove together adventure and mystery all
while pairing a quirky girl with a mysterious man. They would overcome the odds, falling madly in
love while saving the day. I can remember sitting curled up on the couch and watching as the story
unfolded thinking 'someday, that will be me.'

As I got older, I began to realize that the interpersonal dynamics of relationships didn't often
account for the confcept of 'magic.' There would most likely be no grand spark, no heated glance
across a crowded room, no roguish smile that would send my heart racing followed by an adventure
of epic proportions. The reality of life was much more mundane, and I'd resigned myself to the fact
that, if I did ever meet someone, it would probably be in some incredibly pedestrian manner, like a
blind date or bumping into each other in a grocery store.

That was, until I landed in a sleepy little town called Forks and met a strange young man in the
woods who could calm me merely by his presence. It wasn't the fire of eyes meeting across the
room, but a giddy euphoria. The spark that grew out of the moment was undeniable, and it only
continued to intensify, catching flame and soaring to life just like the fire in the large cast iron stove,
which warmed the air around as we sat in my grandmother's living room talking.

"Are you sure you are comfortable?" Edward asked. Before I could answer, he pulled a pillow out
from behind his back and passed it to me. "Do you need another blanket?"

"I'm fine, thank you," I said, hugging the pillow to my chest. It smelled like him, and I knew I would
hold on to this tonight once he was gone, maybe even sleeping with it in the hopes of keeping the
bad dreams away. "Thank you for building the fire. I don't think I could have handled another night
without heat."

"We've grown so accustomed to it here - I take it for granted that people might find the weather
jarring." Edward's gaze was unfocused, staring off into space. "I can't imagine what it would be like
to live in a place so hot and sunny."

"That's why I like the green so much," I said, leaning my head against the back against a cushion. "I
probably sounds strange saying I got tired of sunshine and warm weather all the time."

"No, I think it's nature to crave the unknown." Edward draped his arm across the back of the couch,
his long elegant fingers tracing abstract patterns along the rolled piping just a few inches from my
head. "Do you know why your mother took you there, to the desert?"

"We never really talked about it. I don't think she's a big fan of cold weather, although she's never
really said anything to make the think that. She also used to say that good old vitamin D was the

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answer for everything in life that could ail you." I extended my arm, forcing the sleeve of my sweater
up to display a long expanse of ivory white skin. "As you can see, it did a fat lot of good for me."

My sarcasm was an attempt to defray the more obvious issue. Renee had taken me to a place that
was the polar opposite of Forks; blue sky instead of clouds, dry instead of wet. It's like she created a
negative image for us to live in, one that flipped the colors and sensations. The question that still
nagged at me was why?

"Sunshine can be good for you," Edward said. I couldn't help but notice he refused to look down at
my arm, and the hand that had been resting on the back of the couch balled into a fist, making me
wonder if I'd done something to make him uncomfortable. "Sometimes if nothing more than making
you feel like you are safe."

"Safe from what?" I said, tugging my sleeve back down. "From the dark? The boogey man? They'll
get you no matter what. It might be sunny all the time, but the sun still goes down, and bad things
still happen. Light has nothing to do with that."

"Maybe some people just need the light to feel safe," he responded cryptically. "They don't like
shadows."

"Sunshine casts longer shadows then clouds do," I said.

"It also leaves fewer places to hide," he countered.

Before I could respond to his strange observation, Edward stood and extended his hand to touch my
face gently, just the faintest pressure against my cheek and then it was gone.

"It's late, Bella. I should go. A strange car out front at this time of the night will most likely cause the
neighbors to talk, and I wouldn't want my need to spend time with you to set the tongues of the
local gossips wagging."

"Why would I care what people say about me?" I asked. I was an adult, and there was nothing illicit
or illegal going on, nothing for anyone to get bent out of shape about. "They don't even know me."

"Because you are interesting, and people want to know you. You're new to them, the girl who was
stolen away. They all want to know you, and they all very much like and respect your father," he
inclined his head, holding my gaze as I tried to look away. "Layer in that you have a male visitor
staying into the wee hours of the night, and you'll fuel coffee shop talk for ages. It's the way of small
towns. If there isn't anything interesting going on, make something up."

"And you think you are protecting me from that fate by being the proper gentleman?" I teased,
trying not only to lighten the conversation but to extend his time here. "I appreciate that, but I think
I'm capable of defending my own dignity. I have twenty three years experience with it."

"Twenty two," he corrected me. "You aren't quite twenty three quite yet."

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"Semantics," I said, rolling my eyes in mock indignation. Edward snorted a laugh, his eyes full of
mischievous glee. I'd managed to get a few laughs like that out of him over the course of the
evening, and the effort had been worth it, for when he did laugh, the smile transformed his face was
breathtaking. The awkward, formal air fell away, and I could see the man who lurked underneath,
full of humor, sarcasm, and spirit.

"My brothers like you," he said, ducking his head. "Jasper said you were full of 'piss and vinegar,' and
Carlisle said you were dealing well with this whole 'arsy varsy' situation." His inflections were spot
on, picking up the way Jasper would have pronounced the soft vowels in vinegar and Carlisle's
strange r sound in varsy. "But this is a small town, and people will talk. So it's better that I go."

Before I could argue, Edward had moved across the room, tugging the front door open.

"Sleep well, Isabella Swan," he said quietly. "Thank you for bringing some sunshine to this cloudy
little corner of the world. It might be an inverse of what you know, but it's a welcome change of
pace for me."

If my life had been a movie, there would have been a sweeping crescendo of music as the door
clicked gently shut, the heroine pressing her hand to her chest and sighing heavily.

Ω Ω Ω

Wednesday morning was overcast, which I had come to realize was the norm in this part of the
country. I'd woken up just a little after ten, surprisingly refreshed and free of nightmares. I wanted
to chalk it up to exhaustion, but a small part of me refused to let go of the fact that I'd slept with a
sofa cushion that smelled like pine and cinnamon clutched to my chest all night.

I decided to spend my day running errands and exploring the area on my own. The bulk of my time
in Forks had been guided, either by Charlie or Rosalie, and I thought it would be wise to get an
independent feel for the town and its inhabitants before making a decision that could very well
affect the course of my life. I would find the grocery store and stock up on supplies (and maybe
coffee), find a hardware store to buy some fire starters and an oversized lighter, and I'd search out
the library. If I were to stay, I would need something to do, and books usually did the trick.

In the end, there wasn't a whole lot to see. Three major roads, Bogachiel, Calawah, and South Forks
split the town into lopsided quarters. The majority of activity was concentrated along South Forks,
which also served as the major artery in and out of town. In the course of ninety minutes I easily
found the high school, the bowling alley, my way back to the hospital, a handful of restaurants, and
the airport. Short of driving through the individual little neighborhoods, I'd pretty much found all
that Forks could offer.

"Well, you wanted change," I told myself, pulling to a stop in front of the library. It was on the main
drag in the middle of the town, the long awning that fronted the building making it look like a bank
circa the late 60's. "This is most definitely change."

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The towns and cities that I'd grown up in hadn't been thriving metropolises, at least not until we'd
moved to Phoenix, but they'd always been on the outskirts of a larger city with more to offer. I
couldn't ever remember living in a place that didn't have at least two fast food restaurants, let alone
a big box retail store. With its lack of outside commercial influence, Forks felt like a town that time
forgot. Were it not for the modern cars dotting the road, it could have been 1960 just as easily as
2010.

If the town was quaint, then the inside of the library was downright antiquated. It was small, with
outdated computers and faded vinyl covered chairs. The woman at the reference desk had a large,
over-lacquered helmet of curls and garish pink lipstick. It matched her fuchsia sweater set perfectly.

It would seem I'd stepped back twenty five years in time.

"I was wondering if I could take a look at some of your newspaper archives," I asked, assuming that
a facility this small would keep everything on microfiche or hard copy. I wanted to learn more about
my family, and short of asking my father, the newspaper would be the best place to start. Birth
announcements, obituaries, divorces, everything should be documented in the local paper, along
with whatever else might have been going on at the time. It would provide an agnostic source of
information, something that could give me a clue as to what had set off this whole strange chain of
events in the first place.

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear," the older woman clucked. "We're in the process of indexing everything right
now. The main branch in Port Angeles has archives of the Peninsula Daily News, you can try there if
you'd like."

I glanced around the library, taking in the stacks and rows with dated magazines, wondering what
else could give me insights into this strange little town. A large black and white picture on the far
wall, five men standing around a pile of charred tree trunks, was just the push I needed.

"How about anything on the fire of 1951?" I asked, searching my memory for anything that might
help. The inscription in The Making of Forks, most likely written by my grandfather, had alluded to a
tragedy. Maybe my families had something to do with the fire, or maybe the fire was what had
brought them here in the first place. I was grasping at straws, but there had to be some little nugget
or factoid that would give me something.

At this point, anything was more than what I had.

"I'm so sorry, the high school AP class is doing some research work right now, dear," the old lady
said sympathetically. "Checked out everything we had this morning. I can give you a call when they
come back in, if you'd like."

I sighed, exasperated by another blind alley. In a town the size of Phoenix, with multiple universities
at my disposal, this wouldn't have been an issue. I would have been able to pull up the info, cross
reference it, and move on. But Forks wasn't Phoenix, and I was coming to realize that might be at
the heart of the issue. I'd expected opposites, green for brown, wet for dry, but not the other

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differences inherent to a small town. It would seem I didn't think about a lot of things. "No, that's
okay, thank you for your time."

"It's nice to have you back," the woman called after me. I pulled up short, looking back over my
shoulder at her in surprise. "You look just like your mother, but there is no mistaking the Swan in
you – that Irish blood is strong."

She smiled at me, and it was meant to be kind, but the familiarity with which she spoke of my family
spooked me. I'd gone into this whole endeavor so blindly, never stopping to think beyond the
immediate questions about my father and the trust. I hadn't taken into account what it would be
like going from an area with millions of people to a town of three thousand, nor had I ever stopped
to consider what these people might think they knew about me. I was slowly starting to understand
why my mother would have chafed under circumstances like these.

You're new to them, the girl who was stolen away. They all want to know you, and they all very much
like and respect your father.

I'd discredited Edward's observation the night before, considering his outdated sensibilities
chivalrous. Maybe he'd been on to something after all. That sense of discomfort, of being under a
microscope lens, continued as I left the library, where I was greeted by a chubby man with a bulbous
nose. He patted me on the head like a child and told me 'it was good to have Charlie's girl home.'

It was all I could do not to pull away and run for my car. These people thought they knew me, when I
didn't even know myself. I'd come to Forks to find the answers to who I really was, but it would
seem that there was a readymade identity for me to walk right into, and I didn't know enough yet to
willingly accept that.

I willed myself to walk slowly to my car, taking deep, even breaths to quell the bubbling
claustrophobia that rose up in my chest. Cars rolled by, heads turning to look in my direction, but I
refused to meet their gaze.

"Hey, stranger!"

The shout scared me, and I jumped, dropping my backpack. It landed on the sidewalk, where it
caught the lip of the curb and flipped over into the street. I scrambled to retrieve it, then chided
myself at my ridiculous reaction. I wasn't in Phoenix, and the traffic was light, no one was going to
run over my bag.

Not like it had anything in it anyway.

"What is it about you dropping stuff?" Jasper Whitlock called from across the street, where he
leaned up against his black suburban. He waved me over, then turned to face a tall, dark haired man
who was staring at me openly. I waited for an old beat up pickup truck to pass before I darted across
the street, my empty backpack grasped securely in one hand.

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"Out exploring, huh?" he asked, smile wide. "Find anything exciting?"

"The bowling alley, a few bars, and a library that had a whole lot of nothing," I replied sarcastically.
"What do you do for fun around here, watch the grass grow?"

"Can't say that I didn't feel any differently at first. This town rolls up its sidewalks at eight, doesn't it,
Jasper?" the dark haired man said, smiling at me. He had deep dimples, like little commas,
bracketing his mouth and creating the mental visual for 'insert laugh here.' "So you are the one
that's been keeping my wife so busy. Rose said you were little, she should have said bite sized."

"Emmett, don't be an ass," Jasper chided him. He shrugged apologetically, "As you can tell, Rosalie is
the charming one in their relationship."

"I guess that would make you Emmett Hale," I said, extending my hand. "I'm-"

"Isabella Swan, I know. And it's McCarty, Emmett McCarty. Rose kept her last name."

I frowned, darting a glance at Jasper. Wasn't his last name Whitlock? But Rosalie was his sister, and
she'd kept her maiden name of Hale. They looked too much alike to not be related, but the last
names didn't make any sense.

Emmett reclaimed my attention when curled his hand up, fist extended. "I only shake for business,
and since this isn't business," he said, waiting for me to return the gesture. I made a fist, and gently
tapped my knuckles against his. The smile grew, his nose wrinkling like a little boy. "That's what I'm
talking about, none of this proper b.s."

He was disarmingly handsome, with a youthful air about him, which was completely out of keeping
with his sheer bulk. I could only imagine the image that he and Rosalie created together, dark and
light, beautiful and charming. Everyone I'd met in this strange extended family had been incredibly
attractive. It had to be intimidating to have them all together at the same time.

"Listen to Mr. All American, sucking up," Jasper teased his brother in law. "Watch him, Bella, he'll
steal candy from a baby if you let him."

"You are such an dick," Emmett said, shoving Jasper off balance. "Don't listen to him, Bella. I'm nice
as pie."

"In your dreams, huckleberry," Jasper shot back. They had an easy, comfortable banter, reminding
me of two boys in a school yard, posturing for the attention of a girl. Only that girl was…me.

"So now I get why Eddie-boy has come home all happy the last few days," Emmett said, smiling
wickedly at me. His eyes were the same honey gold color as Rosalie, Jasper, Edward and Carlisle.

That's strange, I thought to myself. What are the odds of all these people, having the same color
eyes?

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Jasper shot Emmett a warning look, but Emmett was having none of it. "You've had him climbing
the-"

The mechanical ring of an old telephone interrupted Emmett, and sent me scrambling for the cell
phone I'd shoved in the pocket of my coat. "Hello?"

"Bella, it's Rosalie Hale. Do you have a minute?"

"Sure," I said, hiking my backpack up onto my shoulder. "Jasper was just introducing me to your
husband. What's up?"

If Rosalie was surprised that I was meeting her husband, she didn't indicate it. In fact, she didn't
make note of it at all.

"Carlisle typed your blood this morning. You are B negative. Given your parents' rare blood types
and the strong resemblance you have to both Renee Higgenbotham and Charlie Swan, I'm
comfortable with his endorsement that you are their biological child."

I must have swayed a bit, for Jasper braced his hand underneath my elbow, his eyes searching my
face. I shook my head to let him know I was okay, taking a deep breath and focusing on the topic at
hand.

"So now what?"

"A few things," Rosalie said, and I could hear paper shuffling in the background. "We'll go ahead and
have the blood sent out. Charlie has provided a sample as well, and I'll request that a traditional
analysis be run to verify Carlisle's endorsement. I will inform Charlie, in a legal capacity of course,
that the typing was complete and the results were as expected. He is the trustee responsible for the
execution of your grandmother's instructions, so he will need to be informed of any decisions made
related to the trust."

"And I still have until the thirteenth to decide anything, right?" I asked, my gaze drifting down the
stretch of South Forks Avenue. A school bus had rolled to a stop at a light, the bright gold vehicle
filled with children, their mops of blonde and brown hair just barely visible through the windows. It
was the end of the school day here, and children would be running home, their books tossed aside
for a few hours of play time.

I suddenly wanted to do the same exact thing – to run around in the backyard, blowing bubbles and
playing dolls. I didn't want to be a practical adult, making big kid decisions. I wanted to be free – be
careless – be the child I'd never really been allowed to be.

"Yes, you have a few more days," Rosalie said, bringing me back to reality. "If you choose not to take
residence, the house will revert to your father and the money will be given to a local charity."

She delivered the terms with a clipped efficiency that would have been off-putting to others, but not
to me. I'd watched her interactions with my father the other morning. Rosalie clearly respected him,

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and I had a sneaking suspicion that this was her way of trying to protect my dad. It made me like her
just a little bit more.

"That's fair," I said, lamely providing something to fill the dead air. "Rosalie, do you by chance have
my father's address? I'd like to drive by where I used to live."

Rosalie rattled off a street which I recognized from my explorations earlier in the day. I thanked her,
and slipped my phone back in my pocket.

"Off to check out the old homestead, then?" Jasper asked. His expression was guarded, and it made
me wonder if there was something he wanted to say.

"Something like that. It was nice to meet you, Emmett," I said, waving at the large man. He returned
my gesture, and I could feel them both watching me as I jogged across the road to my rental car.

Ω Ω Ω

The address Rosalie had given me was a mile from the 'downtown' area of Forks, a simple, two
story, craftsman style house with blue paint. Charlie's cruiser was parked in the drive, the windows
down despite the cool afternoon breeze.

I parked at the curb and stared up at the house, trying to recover some memory, some little nugget
of information that would make this all real. It was ridiculous to try – Renee took off with me before
I was two – there was no way I'd ever remember living here. It still didn't stop me from trying.

Letting myself out of the car, I walked slowly up the drive, my hand trailing along the side of
Charlie's police cruiser. Closer to the house now, I could see that the paint was peeling under the
wide bay window, and the lawn was as much weed as it was grass. Even with that, the property was
neatly tended and clearly loved, just like the man who lived inside.

The screen door squeaked open, framing my father against the open door. "Hey, Bella, what are you
doing here?"

"I wanted to see if I remembered," I said, sitting down on the step to stare out at the street. "I
wanted to see where we lived and what it felt like. But I don't feel anything; I don't know if I can."

The emotions were all jumbled up and turned around inside of me, where they'd been slamming
against the artificial barriers all week. Something about sitting on the front porch, knowing that I'd
lived here, that somewhere in that house might be my possessions, my crib, or other things that had
belonged to me once upon a time broke down the final walls. Anger and sadness, wrapped in
confusion tore through me, wiping out my ability to think rationally. I wasn't sure what I'd expected,
maybe some epic montage of memories to unspool, like a long lost B roll, full of answers. It never
came.

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Unlike the memories that never materialized, Charlie anticipated what I needed better than I ever
could. He sat down, two steps above me on the porch, and slipped his arm around my shoulders. I
leaned my head against his knee as tears slowly soaked his pants leg. I cried for the things I'd never
known, for the normal childhood I'd always longed for. I cried for my father, who'd been robbed of
the chance to participate in my life, and for my mother who felt the need to take it all away. I cried
for all the lies and the deception, and for the fact that, no matter what happened next, someone
would invariably be hurt by my decision. I had no doubt that both my parents loved me, and it made
everything that much harder. I didn't want my life to be a lie, but I didn't want to lose this man
either.

I stood at a crossroads, still not armed with enough answers, and a decision to make.

"You have no idea how hard it was," my dad said quietly, "knowing that you were out there
somewhere, and that I couldn't find you. I'm a cop, and even with that, one day you disappeared off
the face of the earth."

"Someone knew where to look," I said, wiping my nose on my sleeve. "Or else I wouldn't be here."

"Pride is a strange thing," Charlie said, ignoring my comment. "I thought we could forget about
everything, ignore what we were told. But Renee couldn't, and in the end she took you and ran. In a
way, I don't think I can blame her. We got married too damn young, and I realize now that it was
more about making other people happy. Maybe if we'd put each other first, things would have been
different, but if we'd done that who knows where we would have ended up."

Charlie was talking faster now, and he wasn't making any sense. I rambled the same way when I was
scared or confused.

"At first, I looked so hard. I hated that she took you away from me, and I was desperate to find both
of you. But then, after a time, I decided that it wasn't a bad thing. Renee would take you somewhere
safe, somewhere that would allow you to be a normal kid with a regular old vanilla life. You wouldn't
have had that here."

"I didn't have a normal life," I countered. I wanted him to be just as angry at Renee as I was. I
wanted his indignation, his insistence that he'd never stopped looking for me. Somehow, hearing
that he'd accepted that I was long gone made Renee right. He had given up on me, just not in the
way I'd always thought. "We jumped from shitty town to shitty town. I never learned how to ride a
bike. I didn't have a puppy. I've never had a birthday party. Until we moved to Phoenix, I was never
in the same school for more than six months at a time. How is that a normal life? I never got to be a
kid, Charlie," he winced at my use of his proper name, but didn't correct me. "I spent years following
Renee around, taking as much care of her as I did of myself. Tell me how I was better off. Tell me
that is a vanilla kind of childhood, because I sure as hell don't see it."

The arm he'd draped around my shoulders held me in place, his breathing ragged. If I hadn't known
better, I would have thought he was crying – or maybe trying hard not to. "Bella, sometimes you do

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things, you make choices, even sacrifices, that are for the greater good. It's hard, but then when you
see how happy the people are around you, it makes it all a bit more bearable."

"I fail to see how letting Renee disappear, and thinking that I would be better off was for the greater
good," I said, trying to pull away, but Charlie wouldn't let go. "You gave up on your daughter,
Charlie. All those things you wanted for me, they didn't happen. How is that acceptable?"

"I didn't give up on you, I just-"

"Let me live a normal life. I'm sorry if I don't buy into that for one second." My voice rose in volume,
hysteria and anger distorting the normal cadence of my speech, little droplets of spittle flying.
"Renee was right, wasn't she? You didn't want me. If you had, you would've kept looking - you
wouldn't have stopped."

"Bella," Charlie said. He sounded so defeated; as if all the strength ebbed out of him. "I love you
more than I've ever loved anything in my life - more than your mother, more than myself. But I'm
not a saint. I knew if I found you, I wouldn't be able to let you go again. I'm not that big of a man."

"Why would you have to let me go?" I demanded. "Why all these weird convoluted comments that
make no sense, and why a trust to get me back to the one place where it would seem you don't
want me to be? I am tired of everyone talking in circles, and I want an answer god damn it! What
the hell is it that was so bad about the place that Renee had to take me and run?"

Charlie sighed, releasing my shoulder. Once he'd pushed himself up off the front step, he extended
his hand to me, his calloused fingers hovering just at the edge of my peripheral vision.

"It's time you know the truth, all of it. Once you do, you'll understand, and you'll know why I made
the decisions I did."

I looked up at him, at the weather beaten face that was still handsome, despite the lines around his
eyes and the gray in his temples. He reminded me of the actors I'd loved in my old black and white
movies, world weary and full of a stoic wisdom I could never begin to understand. I searched his
face, trying to find something that would indicate deception or guile, but there was none; just a man
full of hope. That's what spurred me on, and I accepted his offer, using the leverage provided by his
hand to pull myself up, off the porch of my childhood home.

"Where are we going?" I asked as he led me down the walk to his squad car. "Do I need to follow
you?"

"No, I'll drive," he said, pulling the car keys out of his pants pocket. "I'll bring you back after we're
done talking to Carlisle. He was there at the beginning. He'll be able to tell you the truth better than
I ever could."

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~ Chapter 7 – By Heritage, Not by Choice ~

Inside the town of Forks, Highway 101 becomes Forks Avenue (either South or North), the main road
that intersects the town. Within the incorporated city limits, houses and businesses flank the road,
along with stop signs, traffic lights, and the typical hodge-podge of mailboxes and other suburban
paraphernalia. Once outside the general boundaries of Forks, the buildings and other signs of ‘city
life’ grow fewer and far between, and give way to small fields, all lying dormant in preparation for
winter. Trees or hills constrained the fields, casting long shadows where they blocked out the light.

After making the declaration that we needed to go see Carlisle Cullen, Charlie had shepherded me
into his squad car, not waiting for the telltale click of my seatbelt before revving the engine and
whipping out of the driveway. He didn’t speak as we drove through town, his eyes focused straight
ahead. It made me wonder if he really saw the road, or was simply going on some deep-seated
instinct that came with years of familiarity. Trees, houses, fields – he’d grown up with it all, this was
a known entity for him. It had been for Renee too. To me, it was all brand new.

“Charlie, where are you taking me?” I asked once we left the town proper. His cruiser picked up
speed, the trees and fields whipping by – a steady blur of green and brown as the needle crept
higher. Sixty, seventy, seventy five miles per hour. Charlie didn’t answer my question, his eyes
focused on the road, knuckles white from griping the steering wheel so tightly. It wasn’t the lack of
conversation that sacred me, it was the complete absence of blood where his hands gripped the
wheel, like he was as terrified as I felt. “You’re starting to scare me. Please talk to me.”

Instead of responding, Charlie slowed the cruiser, flipping on the turn signal before making a broad
right handed turn onto a long winding lane. It was paved for the first two or three hundred yards,
then turned into a narrower path of crushed stone, deep tire grooves worn into the ground,
indicative of heavy use.

“Keep an open mind,” Charlie said cryptically as we pulled into a broad, oval shaped clearing. At the
far end was a large white house, the modern design in odd harmony with the nature around it. “I’ll
be here with you the whole time.”

He didn’t say anything more, merely climbed out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him. I
followed suit, pulling my sweater tightly around my body, more for comfort than for warmth as I
pursued Charlie across the clearing to where Carlisle Cullen waited for us.

Edward stood on the steps behind Carlisle, his eyes frantically darting back and forth between my
father and his brother. He did not acknowledge me.

“Chief,” Carlisle said pleasantly. “This is a pleasant surprise. What can we do for you?”

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Charlie darted a glance at me, his face unreadable. “It’s time.”

Carlisle’s brow furrowed, not deep enough to be considered a frown, but the expression revealed a
glimmer of concern, or maybe even displeasure. Then as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

“That didn’t take long at all, did it?” Carlisle said, turning to face me. “Edward, will you please ask
Emmett and Jasper to join me in the garden?”

When Edward didn’t move, Carlisle looked back over his shoulder and shook his head, as if
responding to some unspoken question. Edward returned Carlisle’s gesture with a scowl of his own,
refusing to budge. The whole experience was strange, like watching a silent battle of the wills, each
man communicating through expressions and slight tilts of the head. Had I not been so spooked, I
would have probably found the whole thing comical.

“Fine,” Edward finally muttered. He stepped backward, and then turned to enter the house, the
heavy wood door swinging open without a sound. “But I don’t agree with the way you plan to deal
with this.”

“When do you?” Carlisle called after him.

Once Edward was inside with the door shut behind him, Carlisle shifted his attention back to me, his
smile gentle. “Bella, I’m sure this is all incredibly confusing, and you must be wondering what’s
going on.” He slowly descended the steps, his hands safely tucked in the pockets of his khaki
trousers. It felt like he was trying to read me, to evaluate my reactions so that he could adjust his
words or actions appropriately. Everything about him, from his easy smile to his relaxed body
language asked for trust. It was in direct contradiction to our strange flight out of Forks and the
non-verbal standoff that had just occurred on the steps. I stepped closer to my father, seeking
comfort in his bulk.

“It’s okay, Bella,” Charlie said. He placed his hand at the small of my back, applying gentle pressure
to encourage me forward. “Nothing is going to hurt you. I’m right here.”

The contact was only mildly reassuring as we followed Carlisle around to the side of the large white
house. There was a garden area on the north side of the building, full of well-tended flower beds,
boxwoods and small trees. A number of oversized rocks, more like boulders, were scattered around
the area in an attempt to marry the more formal gardens with the wilderness that surrounded it.
The effect was a calming - the elegant English landscaping designed to fade into the organic growth
that surrounded it, seamlessly melding manicured boxwood with natural pine and rock. It was a
surreal visual, and yet the blending of the two concepts felt strangely normal.

“Bella Bella fo fella!”

Emmett’s loud greeting split the silence, his smile one of genuine pleasure as he rounded the back
corner of the house, Jasper following closely behind. It took me a minute to put my finger on what
felt so strange about the scenario. In all my interactions with Jasper, he’d been a leader or an

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individual, charting a course for me to follow. Seeing him hang back behind his brother-in-law
spooked me just as much, if not more, than my father’s perplexing reaction back at the house.

“Bella,” Carlisle started slowly, “I am sure you are wondering why your father has brought you here,
and why he wants me to talk to you. Before I do, I want you to know that you are safe here. No one
or thing is going to hurt you.”

It was the second time someone had mentioned that I was safe from harm – which set me further
on edge. I’d asked for answers, an explanation as to why my mother felt the need to run or why my
father hadn’t looked harder for me. Those answers should reside with Charlie, not some strange
man who wasn’t that much older than I was. What could Carlisle Cullen know about something that
transpired between my parents when he and I were both no more than children?

“Do you read much, Bella?” he asked, stepping a bit closer. His strange golden brown eyes were
gentle and full of wisdom – much older than a man in his mid to late twenties.

“Yes, but I don’t see what-“

“Have you ever read anything about vampires?” he asked. The accent I’d picked up on at the
hospital was more pronounced now, his a’s sound like eh’s, very proper and suddenly very British.

How the hell would a British child end up in the American foster care system?

I glanced back at my father, but Charlie wouldn’t meet my eye. He was focused exclusively on
Carlisle, his jaw locked so tight I could see a muscle pulsing just below his ear.

When I looked back at Carlisle, Emmett had moved to stand beside him. The large man was a
bundle of energy, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet like an excited little boy. Jasper
stood in the same position on the opposite side of Carlisle, his gaze focused solely on me. When our
eyes met, he smiled, giving me a gentle nod of encouragement.

It’s okay, nothing bad is going to happen, I reassured myself before returning my attention back to
Carlisle.

“Dracula was on the curriculum in high school.” I said, answering his query. “And I’ve read some
other things here or there.”

Carlisle nodded to Emmett, who, in a few long strides, was halfway across the garden. He bent over,
grasping one of the giant boulders on the perimeter at the edge of a flower bed.

“I hope you cleared this with Esme,” Emmett said before tugging the giant piece of stone out of the
ground. My hand instinctively flew to my mouth as Emmett lifted the boulder easily over his head.
It could have been made of papier mâché or foam the way he hefted it around. “Where do you want
it?”

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“Toss it in the woods,” Jasper said. I tore my gaze from the unbelievable display of strength
unfolding in front of me to stare at him in disbelief. The corners of his mouth angled upward into a
small smile, and he nodded again, a small show of encouragement. He wanted me to trust him, to
keep an open mind. Jasper had helped me get to this point, and even if it was misguided. I had to
believe he wouldn’t steer me wrong now.

“Alley-oop!” Emmett said, pulling my attention back just in time to see the giant boulder fly high in

the air. The effort came from the size, not the weight, for the giant stone flew forty or fifty feet
before falling back to earth, taking down a few small trees in its descent. When the rock crashed to
earth, so did I, my legs giving out from underneath me.

What I’d witnessed was not humanly possible.

I could feel Charlie’s hand on the back of my head, his leg solid and warm against my back. “Was
that really necessary, Doc?”

“Yes, Carlisle, was that really necessary?”

Edward knelt on the ground next to me, his hand bracing my elbow. It was like he’d appeared out of
nowhere, his eyes narrowed in anger. He hardly resembled the hesitant, shy man who I’d come to
know over the past few days.

“Bella is visual,” Carlisle said, his hands still tucked in the pockets of his pants. “I believe she is part
of the Harry Truman ‘show me’ school of thought. Emmett’s little display was to open her up to
what I need to tell her.”

“Little display,” I gasped, my ability to speak rushing back to me. “He – it – whatever that thing is-” I
said, pointing at Emmett, whose face had fallen during my waffling as to what exactly he was,
“threw a boulder that probably weighed four hundred pounds like it was nothing more than a beach
ball. That is not normal!”

“Nothing about us is normal, Bella. You’ve noticed that by now,” Jasper said, finally stepping
forward. “You’ve picked up on the little details, things that don’t make sense. I know you have.”

I looked from Jasper to Carlisle, and then to Emmett. They were all the same, their eyes a strange
honey gold color, their skin incredibly pale. Even stranger, they didn’t have any markings – no
freckles, laugh lines or scars. Nothing at all that would indicate age. They were all flawless and
beautiful.

I immediately turned to my right, staring directly into Edward’s face. It was more of the same, only
his eyes were shadowed by subtle purple crescents, the same ones I get when I am overly tired.

It wasn’t physically possible. They weren’t related, and yet they all had the same basic features.

“What are you?” I demanded as I catalogued the other little details - the different last names, the
lack of physical resemblance beyond the coloring, the different accents. They all stood too still, and

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when they did move, a little fidget here or there, the motion wasn’t quite casual. It was like every
action was a calculated effort as opposed to an involuntary gesture. I looked up at my father, whose
face was composed and completely neutral. “What do they have to do with me, with us?”

“You wanted to know why Renee left, Bella, why she took you and ran. You need to realize that this
is a lot bigger than just your mother and me.” He knelt down, his knees popping as he lowered
himself to eye level. “They are good people. Some of the best I know-“

“Are they even people?” I demanded, scrambling to my feet. Both Charlie and Edward followed suit,
Edward moving much faster, his hand never leaving my elbow. “People aren’t that strong. People
have marks on their bodies…” my eyes darted to the house, considering the others I’d interacted
with. “People that aren’t related don’t have the exact same funky eye color and pasty white skin.”

“We are all related, Bella. Well, most of us,” Carlisle glanced quickly at Jasper. “I made both
Emmett and Edward. Rosalie, too. Jasper came to us later.”

“Made?” I asked, too stunned to temper my words. “How can you make someone? You aren’t God.
You don’t make a person!”

“No, I can’t make a person,” Carlisle answered, his response almost…weary. “But they were dying,
and so I saved each of them by making them vampires.”

Vampires. The whole concept was ridiculous and irrational. Vampires were bedtime stories, things
that populated horror movies and bad paperbacks. They were not strange, beautiful people who
lived in the middle of nowhere.

“That’s rich,” I laughed, my voice betraying the panic that was quickly overtaking me. These…things

had completely conned my father, but why? And why would they try and convince me to believe in
some ridiculous myth that only existed in literature and movies? “You say vampires like it should be
rational. People are democrats, they are vegetarians - they aren’t vampires.”

“Well, I’m two out of three,” Carlisle countered, smiling indulgently. “I can’t register to vote,
therefore I don’t have a political affiliation.”

I opened my mouth to pop off with a smart assed response, but checked myself. There is no point
arguing with a mad …

Mad what? Mad man? Was he even a man?

“I don’t know what sick game you are playing, or how you…” I threw a pointed glare at Charlie,
“were sucked into this, but I refuse to listen anymore.”

My intent had been to turn and walk back to the squad car, but somehow Jasper moved fast enough
to block my way. I could have sworn he was just standing next to Carlisle. He must have moved
when I wasn’t paying attention.

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“Bella, you know something isn’t right with us. There are too many little things. Why can’t you
accept what we are?”

“What you claim to be defies logic!” I shot back. “Vampires are the thing of literature and bad
movies, made up morality tales!” I pointed at the large windows that flanked the garden area, our
images clearly reflected back at us. “If you are a vampire, prove it. Turn into a bat. Show me your
fangs. Do something!”

Emmett snorted at my rant, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

“What?” I demanded, the panic giving way to a strangely irrational anger. “Just because you are big
as a house and freakishly strong, it doesn’t mean that you are the walking undead. Freaks are
freaks, plain and simple.”

“And obstinate is obstinate,” he countered. “But there are some things you can’t deny. We talk
funny, at least by your standards. Carlisle has a hint of a British accent, Jasper and I sound southern,
but our accents aren’t the same. Rosie sounds like she’s a damn Canuck. None of us are related but
we look alike, and all appear to be the same age. What more proof do you need? How can we look
similar, yet sound different? Give me a rational explanation.”

“Contact lenses and SPF 50,” I countered. “Makeup-“

Emmett was suddenly just a few inches from me, his large frame towering over mine. “Take a good
look, Bella. I wasn’t born with it, and this most definitely isn’t Maybelline.”

“Emmett,” Carlisle cautioned.

“No, let him be,” Jasper said, “touch his face, Bella. He won’t hurt you.”

My hand shook as I slowly raised it to touch Emmett’s cheek. The skin was solid, the surface smooth
and soft and incredibly cold. It didn’t give like skin and muscle would though, the tissue underneath
Emmett’s pale cheek was freakishly solid. No makeup gave way under my fingertips, and there was
no telltale fine line around his irises to indicate the presence of contact lenses.

In a blur of motion, Emmett whipped his head to the side, a snarl escaping his lips. I jerked my hand
back to my chest, a sound that was half shriek, half squeal filling the quiet of the forest. Just as
quickly, Edward was in between us, his hand locked on Emmett’s throat as he threw the large man
just as far as the boulder had flown just minutes earlier. Emmett came down with an ear splitting
crash, chunks of wood and leaves raining down on him.

“Do not-” he hissed as Emmett sat up, a twig sticking out of his hair. “You’ve made your point, now
back off.”

“You are worse than I thought,” Emmett said, climbing to his feet. He was smiling again, the same
genuine smile he’d worn at our first meeting. “It’s about damn time, too.”

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“ENOUGH!” Edward roared, his hands clutched in fists at his sides. There was no resemblance to
the quiet, sweet man who’d helped me find my way in the woods or left me holly. He was a
stranger. They all were.

“Boys, please,” a petite woman called from the corner of the house. She had long light brown hair,
which framed her small, oval face. She looked like an ingénue from a 40’s film, wavy hair and
curves. Everything about her said ‘trust me’ – until I made it to her honey gold eyes.

“Emmett, Edward, inside please, you’ve made your point,” Carlisle said, his voice even. He sounded

like a father dealing with two petulant children, not a –

A what?

“I’ll stay,” Jasper said, inching closer to me. “It’ll be okay.”

At first I thought he was talking to me, and I wanted to tell him it was far from okay, but then I
realized Jasper was looking directly at Edward. In all the uproar, I’d forgotten about him. It’d been
disturbing enough to watch Emmett pick up a boulder and heave it half the length of a football field.
Watching Emmett fly the same distance, tossed by the man who I’d held hands with less than
sixteen hours ago was another matter all together.

“I’m not-” Edward said, but Carlisle refused to cede any ground, holding up his hand to end Edward’s
argument.

“Bella’s fine with me,” Charlie said, making it clear he would accept no back talk.

“Go, it will be okay,” Carlisle assured Edward, who shot me a pleading glance. He wanted me to tell
him to stay.

All I could think was that I didn’t know him at all.

Charlie slipped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me in closer to him. The nonverbal cue was
clear – he would protect me. I didn’t need Edward for that.

“Very well,” he said, head bowed to avoid all eye contact as he slowly began to cross the clearing,
away from us, his broad shoulders drooping in defeat. Emmett fell into step beside him, an arm
draping loosely around Edward, just like my father had done for me.

Edward did not shake him off.

“Bella, I think you should sit down,” Carlisle said, pulling my attention back to the clearing. He
inclined his head towards a large rock, which was flat on top, almost like the surface of a table. I
looked up at Charlie, who nodded slowly.

“It’s okay, I’m right here. I promise you, I am not going anywhere.”

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Pressing my hands flat against the rock, I pulled myself up onto the surface, wrapping my arms
around my knees and hugging them against my chest. Carlisle stepped closer, Jasper mirroring his
motions, always just a step behind him.

“This isn’t going to make a lot of sense, Bella,” Carlisle said slowly, “but everything I say is true. The
display you just saw, the strength, the speed, it’s just a tiny portion of who we are.”

“Vampires,” I said dully. It wasn’t a confirmation, more a recitation. Maybe I’d misunderstood or
misheard – this was his opportunity to correct.

“I’m the eldest,” he said, continuing without missing a beat. “I was born in the 1640’s. I was
changed to become what you see sometime in the 1660’s. Time was not logged the same way it is
now, so I’m not quite of my actual age. I probably wasn’t much older than you when I was made
this way.”

“I’m twenty-two,” I muttered lamely.

“Twenty-three next week, but we’ll be getting to that soon enough.” He didn’t pause, just plowed
straight ahead, like he was telling a story. Which, I suppose, he was. Whether it was true or not
remained to be seen. “After my change, I spent some time wandering by myself, learning the ways
of my new world. In Italy, I came across a coven of vampires, powerful and ancient, who took me in.
They are called the Volturi.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but Carlisle continued on, oblivious.

“The Volturi are led by three men, who call themselves ‘brothers,’ although there is no physical or
biological connection. The three, Aro, Marcus, and Caius, act as a Triumvirate, a sort of monarchy if
you will. They consider themselves civilized, and claim a foundation of peace, but their rule is
dictatorial. They mete out punishment for laws they feel are broken, although justice has also been
used to protect knowledge about our existence. One such example of that power in execution was
the Southern Vampire Wars, which took place in Mexico roughly one hundred and fifty years ago.
Great hordes of vampires swarmed the area, trying to stake their claim to power. That is where
Jasper came into existence.”

I jerked my head in Jasper’s direction, my eyes wide. This was the last chance, the one rational
person who would tell me that this was all a lie. Jasper had been straight with me. He wouldn’t lie
to me now.

He inclined his head in an informal bow. “Major Jasper Whitlock, ma’am. Terry’s Texas Rangers.”

No, I wanted to cry, as my last shred of hope faded away. Not him too.

He nodded slowly, understanding what I didn’t say. It was true.

“I spent a few decades with the Volturi,” Carlisle continued, “during that time I came to realize that
Aro, who is the de facto leader, is a megalomaniac who will do anything to maintain control. While

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the Southern Wars were harmful to our existence, there were other ways it could have been
handled. In the end, the Volturi used it as a show of force, a way to establish their absolute
dominance over our kind. People are afraid of them now, afraid to violate their laws or gain
attention for fear of reprisal.”

“What reprisal?” I asked, too far sucked into his story to resist any longer.

“Destruction, plain and simple,” Carlisle hesitated for a moment before continuing. “The Volturi
have grown lazy and apathetic in their power. They refuse to allow us any type of interaction with
the human world. We have knowledge, abilities that could make the world a better for everyone.
The damage done to your bodies and this planet hurts us too. We can help to fix things, make
things better, but the Volturi fear exposure, and therefore will not allow it. Some of us have grown
tired of living under their antiquated approach to governance.”

“You make it sound like you are planning a revolution,” I said. “All clean and organized. Capitalizing
on the Major’s military skills to lead the putsch?” It was a logical leap – overthrow a corrupt
government and reform it. Vampire, communist, dictator, it was all relative. It was also mad and
ridiculous, and I was losing my mind for thinking that way. I was accepting things that made no
sense.

“In a matter of speaking, yes,” Carlisle agreed. “We’ve been making plans, biding our time, waiting
for the final piece to fall into place.”

“And what would that be?” I asked, every last instinct shouting abort, abort!

“You, Bella,” Carlisle said, pausing for dramatic effect. “We’ve been waiting for you for two hundred
and eighty nine years.”

“No,” I said, refusing to sit quietly any longer. I was up, off the rock, moving towards my dad’s
police cruiser. “This is just …no. I want to go home, now.”

“Bella, wait,” Charlie chased after me, grabbing my wrist. I spun around to face him, everything that
had been bottling up inside of me finally breaking free.

“What? I totally get why Renee ran now. You people are loony tunes. Keep the house, keep the
money. I don’t want it. Just …just let me go!”

I tried to yank free, but his grasp on my wrist was too strong…and then it didn’t matter, because
Carlisle was talking again, and his words chilled me to the bone.

“Within a canopy of green, six months past Saint Marcus Day, Irish servant will bend English oak to
make a vow of strongest stone. In the enigma year, purest gold embraces ruby red as the libertines
suffer their fate. Regina Vampira, one woman to guide all.”

I spun around to face him, shocked and confused.

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“How could you know about the vow?” I demanded. It was the same as my dream, the vow. I’d
been hearing it over and over again in my dream for almost a week.

“St. Marcus Day is March nineteenth,” Carlisle said. “Exactly six months before your birthday. The
surname Swan is Irish, and means servant. Higgenbotham is English, and is a reference to oak.”

I put my hands up to stop him, but his words continued on, like a torrent of water slamming against
the fragile walls of my emotional fortress. “Your proper name is Isabella, which means vow, and
next week you will turn twenty-three. In some ancient mystical, the number twenty-three is
considered an enigma, a harbinger of important things or events.”

Carlisle continued on, my father doing nothing to stop or correct him.

“The prophecy, for that’s what it is, Bella, a prophecy, was made on St. Marcus Day in 1721. I was
there, I heard it. So did all the Volturi. We’ve all been waiting for you, watching for the Irish Servant
and the English Oak. That’s why we came to this area after World War II, and why they followed.
They wanted to stop you before you were even born, and did everything in their power to make
sure that the necessary unions never came to be--“

“The fire of 1951,” I interrupted, recalling the inscription in the book. Out of tragedy grew hope.

“They were ready to destroy the entire town, to eliminate the risk. I convinced the Volturi that I had
nothing against them, that I was not pursuing the prophecy, merely living out a peaceful existence
with my family. Unfortunately, by then it was too late, and they started the fire that engulfed a
portion of the town. It was ironic in a way, for their actions set off a chain of events that brought
your grandfather to Forks. The fire sparked the economic surge that brought your grandparent’s
marriage to fruition. They are responsible for your existence, the one thing they wanted to prevent
from coming to be.”

I’d thought the inscription in the book was a romantic gesture, some declaration of love. Maybe it
had been, but it was more than that. Out of their marriage had grown my father, and from my
father came me.

The vow.

“That’s why Renee ran away,” my father said. He let go of my wrist, but didn’t step away. “She
knew what would come, and she didn’t want that. Not for you, but not for herself either. She took
you to the desert, to the hardest place for any of them to follow. She took you to protect you, and
to give you a chance at a normal life.”

Carlisle extended his hand, his palm facing down. I hadn’t realized until he moved that he was
standing in the shade of the pine trees. When the faint rays from the sun hit his hand, it
shimmered, like a million tiny crystals were hidden below his skin.

There was no way he could have ever escaped notice in the perpetual sunlight of Phoenix.

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Maybe some people just need the light to feel safe. They don’t like shadows.

I turned, and walked across the clearing, directly into the shadows.

I didn’t know where to feel safe anymore than I knew what was real. I embraced the shadows, not
allowing Carlisle to explain what the rest of the prophecy meant. If the dreams that had been
haunting me were any indication, I already knew, and it was too damn much to take in. Red eyes,
gold eyes.

Regina Vampira.

Vampire Queen.

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~ Chapter 8 – Better Left Unspoken ~

Perspective can be a very strange thing. Take, for example, distance. The space between point A and
point B can be calculated in yards, time, or a number of other mathematical units, and is fixed, never
changing. Introduce less finite, more abstract concepts, like emotions, and the predictability of
distance goes out the window. Dreading something makes time move one way, anticipation the
exact opposite.

Our drive up the winding path, to what I presumed to be the Cullen house, had originally felt like ten
minutes, if not more. Walking back down the stone drive, I was surprised to realize that the house
was no more than a mile and half from the road. I didn't know what I would do once I reached the
highway, for I'd be focused solely on flight and self-preservation. It was easier to shut down my
brain and walk away than stay in that clearing and listen to things that belonged in a book or movie
script.

Things that, instinctively, deep down, I knew were all true.

It was insane and completely illogical, and therefore, the easiest way to deal with the situation was
to try to forget the conversation. Use logic to disprove freakish strength and speed. Find some way
to explain away the eyes and the skin tone and the strange relationships that shouldn't exist but did.

None of it was real. It couldn't be.

"Bella!" Charlie's cruiser followed slowly behind me, the tires crunching against stone. "Come on!
Slow down and get in the car. You can't walk all the way back to Forks."

"Just watch me," I said, picking up my pace. I had no clue how far town was, and at the moment, I
really didn't care. I was mad and confused and needed to get as far away from these people as
possible. Alone I could handle; it was safe. That's what I needed, to get back to the house and be
alone. No one could disappoint me or manipulate me or lie to me that way. Alone was the one thing
that wouldn't let me down.

"Isabelle Marie Swan," my father said sharply, "stop right there and get in the car. You are acting
two, not twenty-two."

His tone, one of parental authority, made me pull up short. For my entire life, I'd been an equal with
my mother. I was the responsible one, getting myself ready for school, reminding her to pay bills or
getting things out for dinner. She'd never once had to call me out on my behavior or attitude,
because not only did I never give it, I never required it. When Charlie used my full birth name and
told me to stop acting like a child, he might as well have dumped a bucket of cold water over my
head, for it immediately cooled me down to the point where I could think rationally.

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Charlie didn't look at me when I climbed in the car. Like our drive out here, he kept his gaze focused
straight ahead, navigating the winding path that led us back out to Highway 101.

We drove in silence, neither quite sure where to begin or who should say what first.

"I'm sorry that you had to find out like that, but explaining any other way would have made me
sound like a lunatic," Charlie said as we passed the Forks city limits sign. "I had a similar reaction
when my dad told me, you know. It was right after we broke the news that your mom was pregnant.
I guess in hindsight, the context was a clincher."

"What do you mean?"

Charlie laughed, shaking his head wistfully at the memory.

"My parents were what you would call 'old school.' You get married, you settle down, you have a
family. They pounded that into me big time, always talking about when I have a little girl and all
that." He glanced quickly to his right, catching me in profile before turning back to the road. "No talk
of boys, always a little girl. When your mom found out she was pregnant, she was hell bent on
getting out of this town, of running free and seeing the world. But your Grandma Higgenbotham
found the pregnancy test in the bathroom. Bet you can't guess who forgot to hide the box."

"That sounds like my mom," I said. She did it once to me too, when she and Phil first started dating.
I'll never forget the white box with a brilliant blue plus sign staring up at me from the tiled floor. It
had devastated me, the idea that she could think of bringing someone else into the world. It was like
she had pushed me to the side, and was moving on to create a new life. "How she makes it through
life sometimes I'll never understand. No one exists outside of her immediate field of vision."

"That's what sucked me in about her, you know? She was single-minded and selfish at times, but
man could she make life exciting." Charlie took a deep breath before continuing on. "Anyway, your
mom had plans, but our parents thought otherwise."

We pulled to a stop at a red light, waiting as a woman pushed a stroller across the street. A little boy
trailed behind her, playing tag with his mother's shadow. Every time she moved, he'd jump, landing
squarely in the middle of the dark form. As soon as he caught his balance he would be back in the
light, jumping again, perfectly happy to repeat the cycle under the watchful eye of his mother.

"When our parents insisted that we get married, Renee balked," Charlie said, watching the little boy.
The corners of his lips turned up into a gentle smile. "She tried to convince me to take her to Port
Angeles to have an abortion. It was a half-hearted attempt -we both knew she would never go
through with it. The minute she found out she was pregnant with you, she loved you, and she
wanted to do everything she could to keep you safe."

I inhaled deeply, then released, letting the air leak slowly out of my lungs in the hopes the action
would relax me. "I sense a 'but' coming."

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"There's always one. Right after you were born, my dad took us to meet Carlisle. It was a few hours
away from here – they didn't live in Forks then. This is the first time they have, actually, although
they've always stayed close. Anyway, there was a display similar to yours-"

"Boulder and people throwing?" I asked sarcastically. My caustic retort was a defensive response
that was difficult to suppress

"It was something more subtle, but just as shocking," Charlie answered cryptically. "There was no
way to deny what they said, just like you can't deny what you saw today. As they explained the
prophecy and the visions that go with them-"

"What visions?"

Charlie drummed his fingers on the steering wheel for a moment before continuing. "I can't tell you
that part. I think you need to hear it from Carlisle. Let's just say that he knew, without a doubt, that
the prophecy was about you. It spooked your mom. She wanted to take you and run, get you away
from everything and let you have a chance at a normal life."

"And you?" I asked, curious.

"I saw the potential," he said slowly. "I was just as selfish as your mom was, just in a different way.
We both wanted you safe and happy, but there were our lives to consider too. Renee didn't want
the responsibility of being the mother to a potential savior. Me, I kind of liked the idea that my kid
could make the world a better place. It's the one thing that every parent wants for their kid –to
change the world, you know? Unfortunately we are talking something worse than a radioactive
spider bite to make it happen."

"What, you never wanted me to marry a prince?" I asked sarcastically. "Save the world, get a crown,
split the atom, is there anything else worth putting on the list?"

My attempt at a joke was lame, but it worked. Charlie laughed and shook his head.

"I wanted you to have a chance to explore, that's why I let you go without looking, Bella. I put on a
front, making it look like I was searching for you, but it was half-hearted. It killed me to know that I
would miss out on you growing up, but I knew that you would make your way back here when it was
time. And when you came back, you would be comfortable with who you were and ready to assume
your place. Unfortunately, things didn't quite turn out like I'd hoped."

Charlie's assessment stung, but I pushed it to the side, only capable of dealing with so much at one
time. "So what he said back there-"

"Yeah, it's a lot to accept. Trust me, I get it, and I only supplied the ingredients, I'm not the actual
cupcake," Charlie said glibly. "I can understand being spooked by it all. But think about it – all the
good things you can do, all the people you can help. You have an opportunity other people will
never have."

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"But at what cost?" I countered. "I'm not some amazing person. I screw up my laundry. I don't
always remember to balance my checkbook. I'm not the strongest person and I am not a leader.
Carlisle inferred-" I couldn't even bring myself to say the words.

"You're also smart. It didn't matter how many times you moved schools, your grades were top
notch. You didn't get in trouble. You have a strong sense of self lurking underneath all those smart
alec comments, Bella. That can't be manufactured."

"How do you know those things?" I demanded. He'd said that he stopped looking, that he let me live
my life. There was no way to know these things if he hadn't known where to find me.

"After Jasper came back from his visit, he stopped by with a full brief on you, something Rosalie had
compiled. He told me that he'd found you, and that you might be coming here soon. He wanted to
prepare me. He and I, well, he, Emmett and I, have formed a sort of healthy respect for each other,
and I believe that he did it out of kindness."

"Or responsibility," I answered sharply, not wanting to accept any goodwill from people who'd spent
the last few weeks lying to me. "This was all manufactured to get me back here, wasn't it? The trust,
the stipulations −everyone was in on this, weren't they?"

Charlie sighed, and turned onto his street. My rental car sat in front of his house, a sedate,
responsible, black four-door. That was me. Sedate, responsible. Maybe someone you would want on
your side, but never a leader. If I were a chess piece, I would be the pawn, not the Queen.

"I know you've picked up on things around here, things you question, that don't make sense. Take
some time, go home and cool off. Maybe even call your mother and get her side of things. Just don't
make any snap decisions now," he said, putting the car in park. "Ask questions, pay attention, let
this town show you what can be." He shot me a quick glance. "Maybe even get to know me. I missed
you, Bella. Prophecy or no, I am glad you're back."

Ω Ω Ω

I managed to keep it together until I got back to the house. In the kitchen, I ransacked through
drawers, tugging out can openers, measuring cups, and spatulas, but I couldn't find a corkscrew.
Whoever had stocked the kitchen had supplied a nice array of red and white wine, labels I didn't
recognize, but they'd not left me the necessary utensils to get the damn thing open. I grabbed one
bottle at random and impatiently ripped the heavy foil off the neck, then wrapped a dishtowel
around the pointy end of a screwdriver and forced the cork down into the bottle. When the cork did
finally release, dark purple liquid splattered over the counter and my jeans, leaving a trail of drops
that reminded me of a bloody rainfall.

There were wine glasses in the cabinet, older and dusty from disuse. I quickly rinsed one off and
poured the wine into the bowl, not carrying if it sloshed over onto the counter. I needed something
to shock my system, to help me calm me down. This was going to have to do.

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"The blood of life," I said sarcastically, raising my glass in the air in mock toast. The wine was heavy,
a deep oaky scent that shocked my taste buds. I took another long slow drink, staring out the
window that looked over the backyard. There was a flicker of motion at the mouth of the path, just
a shadow, but it broke the remaining thread of sanity I'd been holding on to. I crossed the room in
long, fast strides, jerking the door open with my free hand.

"I know you're out there," I called into the backyard. The clouds had broken up, allowing the weak
late afternoon sun to cast long shadows across the backyard. "Come on, I've got my blood. Why
don't you come on over? We can have a party. Should be right up your alley."

There was no motion from the woods, but I knew better. They wouldn't leave me alone. One way or
another, I hadn't really been alone since I had gotten to this godforsaken little town. There was no
way they would let me be now.

"Stop being such a coward," I shouted at the trees. "You think I'm your queen, fine, then I order you
to get out here. Stop being such a chicken shit." I threw my arms wide, the wine sloshing
dangerously in the glass. "Olly olly oxen free!"

"This isn't like you."

I jumped, spilling wine on the wooden steps. Edward stood at my elbow, my elevation bringing us to
eye level. He was dressed for the woods: heavy cargo pants, boots and a fleece pullover. Everything
about him looked absolutely normal.

"You are living proof that appearances are deceiving," I said, taking a step backwards. The door had
shut behind me, and the knob hit me squarely in the back, sending a shot of pain up my spine. I
forced myself to ignore it – I would not show any signs of weakness, not around them. "So what
were you, some elaborate ruse? A sweet distraction for lonely ole me while you kept lookout?
Obviously you aren't as aww shucks as you pretended to be. Which is the real you, the one I met
here or the one at the house that shouts and throws people around like sacks of potatoes?"

"What makes you think I was lying to you, Bella?" Edward moved slowly, climbing the first two
wooden steps, his eyes focused on mine. I couldn't back up any further, the door solid against my
back. One more step and he would be inside my personal bubble, too close and too damn confusing.
"Did I tell you anything that wasn't true? Did I deceive you in anyway?"

"You didn't tell me what you are," I retorted.

"And you accept that now?"

"I don't know. Why, should I be scared?"

He laughed, not so much a sound but a breath, as he shook his head.

"Carlisle wasn't joking about the vegetarian bit, Bella. We don't consume…human blood."

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It was my turn to laugh, and it came out like a bark. My cheeks were burning, both from Edward
being so close to me, closer than he'd ever been, and the alcohol that I'd consumed too quickly on
an empty stomach. "Is that like the TV show on cable? Is there some syndicate out there that makes
synthetic blood for you? The tofu equivalent?"

"There is a reason we live so close to the woods," Edward countered, "Easy access for quick fixes.
Kind of like you and this-"

He took the glass of wine out of my hand, tilting in the light so that the dark red liquid looked like
blood.

"What did you call this, the blood of life?" Edward tilted the glass in the opposite direction. For some
reason it didn't surprise me that he knew what I'd said in the house. I should have questioned it, but
one would lead to another and another, and I wasn't sure if I was ready for that yet. "Do you know
that the Bible actually references our kind? Lilith, Adam's first wife, was cast out of the Garden of
Eden for expecting to be an equal. I find it ironic that a religion that teaches forgiveness and offers it
up via wine-" he slowly held the glass up, mimicking the motions of a priest offering the sacrament,
"would also be one of the primary perpetuators of the mythology of vampires."

"I highly doubt there is synchronicity in the symbolism," I said, refusing to be cowed by his
comments. "People put too much stock in words. They can be twisted, made to mean anything. It's
why there is so much debate over the symbolism of blood and wine. People will believe what they
want to believe, and that is what makes something real or not. Seeing, faith, those are the things
that make it real, not religious dogma."

"Kind of like vampires and prophecies," Edward countered, trying not to smile.

He'd argued me into a corner, and to refute him would basically be agreeing with the point I'd been
trying to deny. I'd watched as he and Emmett had accomplished feats of strength not humanly
possible. My father believed, without a shred of a doubt, that this convoluted prophecy was true.
Where did the answers lie? In faith? In reality? Or was it a strange blend of the two?

"So what was real?" I demanded, redirecting the subject back to safer grounds. Ironic in a way, that I
thought toying with my heart was more acceptable than toying with my head, even if the two were
related.

"Everything, Bella. Everything was real. How can you doubt that?"

"Well, up until a few hours ago, I would have sworn that vampires weren't real. Do you really want
me questioning my logic?"

He sighed, passing the glass of wine back to me. It was cold, the wine having dropped to the
territory of a chilled white.

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"Red wine is meant to be consumed at room temperature – not borderline frozen," I said, slipping
my free hand behind me to open the door. "I am going to get some more. Do you need…" I
hesitated, not quite sure how to frame out the question. "Well, I am not going to be the polite
hostess and offer you something to drink, because I am rather attached to my bodily fluids and I
don't have a pet. Is there anything special I have to do?"

"You mean do I need to be invited in?" Edward asked, smiling. "No, and I've been in your house
before, therefore if you buy into that-"

"Enough," I said, cutting him off. "I am not sure I'm ready for a thorough dissection of what is real
and what isn't. I just want to know that I'm going to be okay."

"I will never hurt you," Edward said quickly. "As for whether you will be okay, that fundamentally is
your decision."

"If I do invite you in, you are going to answer my questions, right?"

Edward nodded, his eyes wide as if an innocent expression would make him appear more earnest.

"And you will answer my questions – no pulling punches or dancing around the subject."

"I would never-"

"Hurt me, yeah, I got that." I pushed open the door, stepping back into the kitchen. There was just
enough space for Edward to slip by. "Well, I guess I have at least one mystery solved."

"What's that?" he asked, truly curious.

"When Jasper came to see me in Phoenix, his hands were warm. He used the coffee cup to warm
them up. That's why the cup was ice cold when he finished with it."

"You don't miss anything, do you?"

"That's up for debate," I said, pushing the door shut. "I have questions, and I expect you to answer
them. If you won't, then you can leave and I'll call Rosalie. If she won't answer them, then I am
calling my mother, and I am going to Jacksonville."

Edward cocked his head to the side, as if surprised by my declaration. "You would go to her after she
lied to you?"

"She lied to me, but I understand why now. I don't agree with some of the things she did, but it
couldn't have been much of a life for her either, running from town to town, stuck in the desert
because she thought it would be safer for me. I somehow doubt that is what she wanted."

"Why do you say that?" He started to prowl slowly around the kitchen, lifting items and turning
them over for inspection. A ceramic mug left in the drainer, an apple on the counter. I'd always put
things away in Phoenix, everything in its place. For some reason, I hadn't done that here. Maybe it

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was the need to leave my mark or make this place my own, I'm not sure. His scrutiny of items I'd
touched was unnerving, and I had to keep reminding myself that this was not a date, and this was
not a normal man. He could kill me in a heartbeat, and there probably wasn't a whole lot I could do
to stop him.

I wasn't sure exactly how to feel about that, which scared me more than his actual presence.

"I always resented Phil," I said, dredging up memories that had been painful for an insecure teenage
girl. Today's events had shed and entirely different light on it all. "She was so happy with him, full of
life and laughter. When they got married, and then decided to move to Jacksonville, I felt like I'd
been abandoned."

"Why is that?"

I took another sip of my wine, letting the alcohol warm my body and take an edge of painful
memories. "Because she left me on my own. I never stopped to consider that she never had a
chance at a normal life either. She spent years running and protecting me. Yes, I missed out on
things, but she did too. Maybe that's why she latched onto Phil the way she did, letting me go when
she thought everything was okay, and pursuing her own life. If she thought I was safe, maybe she
felt okay leaving me in Phoenix sunshine." I glanced down at Edward's hand, the cuff of his fleece
pulled down over his wrist so that just the back of his hand and knuckles were visible. "She never
took into account that there are ways to camouflage, even in the sun."

"The brighter the light, the longer the shadow," Edward responded.

"I told you I want answers," I said, leaning back against the counter. "I meant that. What is it that
you expect of me?"

Edward placed the apple back on the counter, but didn't look up at me. "There will be a group
convened in the next few days. You will meet them, and they will discuss that with you."

"What group?"

A muscle in Edward's jaw flexed as he clenched his teeth together. "A council, so to speak."

"Are they all like you?"

It took him a long time to respond. "Not all of them. Some have red eyes. They drink human blood."

Red and gold. Well, there was one answer down.

"Why is everyone here so young, Edward? I've not seen anyone that looks older than sixty."

He laughed, shaking his head again. "Sixty is the new forty, Bella. People look younger than they
used to. Especially if they take good care of themselves –follow their doctor's instructions."

"What, is Carlisle conducting experiments on the town?" I asked, only half joking.

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"No, nothing like that. He simply makes better recommendations than most. People are healthier,
live a bit longer, and when it's their time - " he broke off, his fingers drumming on the counter.
"When it's time they either die of nature causes, or have an option to go quickly and painlessly."

"You kill them?"

"We don't, no," Edward answered quickly. "There are others of our kind, who provide options for
the elderly or pursue the truly malevolent forces in our society. We provide a function that modern
medicine and the legal system are opposed to."

"A function…" I let the world trail off, not sure I understood what Edward meant.

"Dignity," was his only answer.

My jaw dropped open, my mouth forming a silent O of understanding and shock. Assisted suicide,
euthanasia, murder, call it what you will, the simple fact of the matter, the lack of elderly people in
the town was not a fluke. They were overly happy and healthy, and then they were gone. Simple as
that.

"Don't act so shocked, Bella," Edward said. "This town has everything. Good schools, the best
healthcare, no crime. It's a perfect application of everything we can do. Most of the people in this
town aren't aware of who we are or what we do. They simply know that everything they need is
right here. We've helped them create a better life, and when it's time, a painless, dignified death.
Isn't that worth something?"

"I don't know," I said, my voice shaking as much as my hand as I sat the wine glass down in the sink
too hard. The base slammed into the porcelain, and the stem snapped in two. I dropped the glass,
and then instinctively reached for the shards, wanting to clear them away before they slipped down
into the drain.

"Don't touch that!" Edward was in front of me, pushing me away from the sink. "For someone so
smart you can be so stupid. Do you really think that my will power around you is that strong? You're
in a room with a vampire and you want to handle broken glass-"

He picked up a piece, the base of the shattered stem jagged in the overhead light. "Just one drop is
all it would take. Do you not realize how hard it is to resist you?" He squeezed his hand around the
shard, and I watched in horror as the glass literally disintegrated - the solid mass suddenly a shower
of fine dust.

Edward spun to face me, his eyes wide and a bit frenzied. "No, you don't realize. And yes, it was all
real." He stalked towards me, slowly, his eyes filled with a burning light. "You are not the only one
who is pre-ordained for things, you know. We all have roles to play, our little parts were cast in this
grand drama of yours years ago."

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I'd quickly stepped away from him, shocked by the vehemence of his words, but the kitchen table
blocked my exit. Edward was back within my personal bubble, closer now than he had been before,
his jaw locked as he stared down at me.

"You said the other night that you've spent your whole life trying to figure out where you fit.
Imagine it being flipped, Bella. Imagine knowing exactly what your life will be, and you are
completely helpless to stop it. Which torment do you think is better?"

He grasped my wrist, gently raising my hand to heart level.

"I will give you my obedience, because you will be the queen of us all," he said, bending his head.
When his lips brushed the back of my hand, they were ice cold and hard. Then, just as quickly, he
flipped it over, so that my palm was face up. "But I will not go down without a fight, no matter how
much you intend on torturing me."

His lips were cold against my palm, the kiss longer than the one he'd placed on the back of my hand.

"Goodnight, Bella. You will be safe here." Edward released my hand, and was out the door before I
could say another word. The curtains on the small window swung back and forth with the force of
the closure.

I clutched my hand against my chest as my blood sang through my body, lighting me on fire. The first
kiss had been a commitment, a promise to follow. The second had been entirely different, a
challenge thrown down by a man who would not be constrained by who I was supposed to be.
Someone who wanted to be my equal, who challenged me where no one else had.

Throwing the bolt on the door, I walked blindly into the living room, and lit the fire I'd built earlier in
the day. As it flickered to life, I wrapped myself in a blanket, recalling the strange conversation in the
kitchen, realizing that, while I had been shocked, I'd never been scared, and that when Edward
kissed my palm, I finally felt like I was home.

The fire in his eyes hadn't been of thirst for my blood. Maybe that had been part of it, but there was
something more, something I obviously didn't know, but would find out very soon.

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~ Chapter 9 - The Needs of the Many ~

If the 'great revelation' of my heritage had been surreal, then the days that followed were oddly
mundane. The Cullen clan left me alone, respecting my need for distance as I processed the reality
of my situation. Their absence granted me the opportunity to tear apart my grandmother's house,
searching for some shred of evidence which might support the 'truth' that had been presented to
me on that cloudy September afternoon.

In the end, all I found were Swan family artifacts, mementos of life gone by. Box after box of old
albums, the photographs safely packaged to avoid moisture or bugs. A vintage wedding dress, circa
1920, wrapped in plastic, the soft white satin and lace yellowed with age. Tucked in the back corner
of the attic was an old phonograph and records, which I lugged down to the living room. After a
liberal application of furniture polish, I restored the ancient machine to its earlier glory, and sat it up
proudly on a table in the corner.

Charlie let me stew for two days before showing up on my doorstep with pizza and a six pack of
beer. He insisted we needed to establish a Friday night tradition, and that this was a good way to
start. After dinner, we flipped through the old photos as he told me stories about his parents and my
uncle, who died when Charlie was little. Nothing was mentioned about the trust or the Cullens, even
though my birthday was just a few days away.

I spent the rest of the weekend by myself, trying to read and cleaning the house in an anticlimactic
countdown to Monday morning. I awoke at six thirty on Monday, September thirteenth with a
sinking sense of dread. Unlucky thirteen, my mother had always joked. She'd been right.

The phone rang at eight, forcing me to get out of bed to retrieve my cell phone from the kitchen.

"Hello?" I mumbled groggily.

"Happy Birthday, baby," Renee said. She was reserved in her greeting, bypassing her typical, effusive
bubbling. "You're all grown up now, Marie."

"Bella," I corrected her. "It's Bella. Marie is my middle name."

"After my mother," Renee said, not missing a beat. "Isabella Helen didn't roll as well. You were
named after an actress, you know. "

We were both quiet for a long time, the line that connected us hissing as the cell packets relayed
across the country, reinforcing the physical and emotional distance that lay between us.

"Your father is a good man," Renee started slowly. "I never wanted to say anything bad about him,
but you kept asking. I had to come up with something that would make you drop it. I never wanted
to lie to you."

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"But you did lie to me. You said he didn't want me."

"One lie versus one thousand," Renee said sadly. "I needed to get you away from there, Marie-"

"Bella," I corrected her. "My name is Bella."

She sighed, "I know I failed at a lot of things, baby, but I've always loved you, and I did everything I
could to keep those…those…things away from you. They don't care about you. They see a symbol,
something they can use. You deserve more than that."

"Dad said something similar," I told her, ignoring her quick intake of breath when I referred to
Charlie as my father. "That you did what you did because you loved me." I didn't acknowledge her
attack on the Cullens. I'd called them something similar, but to give voice to her concerns wouldn't
have been fair. Truth be told, I wasn't quite sure how I felt about them, but they deserved better
than what we'd called them.

"How is Charlie?" Renee asked. Her voice was softer, almost wistful, and it made me sad. I would
never know what really transpired between my parents, let alone if they'd ever stood a chance in
the first place. If it weren't for this whole convoluted prophecy, would they have stayed together?
Would I even be here?

"I like him in a weird sort of way. He's the Police Chief in Forks now. He was all turned around at
how much I looked like you, but he said that I had my-"

"Grandmother Helen's hair," she said. "He always joked it was no fair how much you looked like me.
The hair thing was a way to lay claim to you."

There was an awkward silence as we both struggled for what to say next. There was no rulebook for
awkward family situations, let alone something as surreal as the place we found ourselves in.

"Listen, Mom, there was a trust set up for me. With conditions," I said, intentionally ending the
statement there.

"I know. I talked to Mom not too long before she died and she told me about it," Renee admitted. I
could imagine her sitting in her kitchen, doodling on a notepad to fill the silence. "Are you going to
stay?"

"I'm not sure," I said, although we both knew that was a lie. "Here or there, I don't think anyone's
really going to let me walk away, you know? Just like I don't think you hid me as well as you
thought."

"Maybe not," she conceded, "But you understand why I had to try?"

In less than two weeks, I'd gone from one extreme to the other as I tried to cope with Renee's
betrayal. It was only in the last day or so that I'd managed to find it in myself to empathize and
forgive. I kept thinking about the little boy following his mother across the street, jumping in and out

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of her shadow for entertainment. Even in the bright light of the desert, there would be shadows.
Running wouldn't keep me safe, just prolong the inevitable.

"Yeah, Mom, I do get it. And I'm going to be okay, you know that don't you?"

"Yeah," she said, trying to sound upbeat, but I could tell she was crying. "You are more than okay,
you are amazing. How could you be anything else?"

I had a right to feel a lot of things, but what stood out to me most was sadness. Renee had made her
own sacrifices to keep me safe. They weren't all the best choices, but they'd been made with the
best of intentions. We'd grown up together, and the person I'd become, good, bad or otherwise,
was because of her. She didn't deserve my anger.

"I love you, Mom," I said, hoping that it wouldn't be the last time I got to say that to her.

"I love you too, Isabella."

Ω Ω Ω

In total, there were three surprises the day of my birthday. Renee's phone call and subsequent
admission had been the first.

The second arrived just moments before the third.

As I stood in the living room, reading the message scrawled on a white florist's card, Charlie pushed
open the door, his arms loaded down with bags.

"It's not your birthday until you make a wish!" he'd insisted, shepherding me into the kitchen where
he stuck a candle in a cupcake. Somehow he knew that yellow cake with butter cream frosting
would be my favorite.

After I made my wish and blew out the candle, he passed me a small black velvet box. Inside was a
gold locket, the small oval engraved with an elegant script S.

"It was your Grandmother Helen's," he said, his voice husky. "It was a wedding present from my
father."

We sat in the kitchen, and he told me more stories about my family. Not once did he comment on
the elaborate floral arrangement that sat on the dining room table, the garish pinks and yellows of
hot house flowers out of sync with the simpler, elegant furnishings. The card that had accompanied
them was safely stashed in my pocket, the message burned in my mind.

I shall see you soon.

There had been no signature to tell me who they were from.

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That evening, after another round of pizza, Charlie sat next to me as I called to inform Rosalie Hale I
would be staying in Forks. If she was surprised by my decision, she betrayed no emotion.

"I'll drop by with some papers for you to sign tomorrow."

"If you don't mind, I'll come to you. I'm having lunch with my father," I replied. I still wasn't sold on
their grand plan for me, but I was not going to waste another minute getting to know the man
who'd sacrificed twenty years so that I could have a normal life.

Ω Ω Ω

Four days after my birthday, on September seventeenth, Jasper arrived on my door step, his arms
loaded down with boxes. He'd gone to Phoenix to retrieve personal effects from my apartment.
Everything else would be sold off or placed in storage until such time as I wanted to reclaim it. My
resignation had been tendered at the bookstore, and I was officially free of any ties to Phoenix,
Arizona, the desert, or anything else related to one hundred degree weather.

I waited patiently as Jasper lowered the stack of boxes to the dining room table. He was dressed in
what I'd come to know as his every day clothes. Jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt, which made him
look like the average college or post grad student. No one would have ever guessed what he really
was.

"It's time," Jasper said, dusting off his hands. No other preamble was needed. The council was here,
and the proverbial moment of truth had arrived.

I locked the door and followed him down the walkway to a sleek black car. The interior was elegant,
with soft ivory leather and a burled wood dash. Unlike the Suburban, this automobile was made for
business, and lent an air of gravitas to the situation. This wasn't some college kid being schlepped
home from the airport, it was something much larger.

"Are you nervous?" Jasper asked as he gunned the engine.

"Terrified. Who wouldn't be?"

He laughed, and slowly eased the car out onto the street. "Good, 'cause I would've known if you
were lying to me, ma'am."

"That's because you're Captain Whitlock," I said as I closed my eyes, searching for a calm that
wouldn't come. "Captain Whitlock knows all."

"Major."

"Major Whitlock," I amended. "You are like the walrus, Kookookachoo."

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"May God rest his soul," Jasper said with reverence. "And channel that thought, John Lennon is just
the vibe you need to have going on right now."

"Asking everyone to make love, not war?" I said, holding up a peace sign, "Or would that be lying in
bed naked while people take pictures of my love in?"

He snorted. It was the first time he'd shown any outward sign of true amusement. "It takes a lot to
slow down this crowd, Bella. You're good, but not even you are that good."

"All in time," I said, taking a deep breath and trying to find some kind of inner peace. Kookookachoo
my ass.

We didn't speak for the rest of the ride. Just like my first visit to the Cullen home, the drive came up
suddenly, the turn appearing from out of nowhere.

"You'll be fine," Jasper reassured as we pulled into the large clearing in front of the white house.
"Just be you."

"Me isn't very interesting," I admitted, studying the elegant façade and heavy wood door. On the
other side waited a council of vampires, ready to take stock of me and decide what came next. The
concept was so surreal it was laughable.

"You've led a double life, you've met vampires, and you're subject of a great prophecy. Everything
else is old hat."

"Thank you, Jasper."

"For what?"

"For helping me find the confidence to face this," I said, too embarrassed to meet his eye.

"The confidence was always there, Bella. I just had to prod you a bit." Jasper nodded at the house.
"Go bust on in there and kick a little ass. You're going to be perfectly-"

"Safe," we said in unison. Jasper held his hand up, and I gave it a quick slap before climbing out of
the car.

I was at the top of the steps when Jasper called after me.

"I'd follow you," he said. "Just name the time and place, Bella Swan, and I will follow wherever you
lead."

Glancing back over my shoulder, I gave him a half-hearted smile. Then I turned the giant brass door
knob and stepped inside the house.

It wasn't at all like what I'd expected, giant skylights and picture windows reflecting ambient light off
blonde wood floors and white carpet. There was a long hallway, lined with black and white photos

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of trees, flowers and other assorted wildlife. I followed the sound of voices, the long corridor ending
at a large room filled with people sitting around in large leather chairs.

"Bella," Carlisle said, standing in greeting. "Please come in and meet our friends."

The other people in the room stood at his greeting, their hands all clasped politely behind their
backs. They were all graceful and striking, their coloring and ethnicities different, but a preternatural
beauty and pallor betrayed who and what they were.

Carlisle made quick introductions around the room. There was a tall, sandy haired man named
Garrett, with a posture so relaxed he appeared apathetic. A stunningly beautiful woman named
Tanya, who greeted me with a gentle nod of her head. A larger woman, called Siobhan, her soft
blonde hair and lilting voice betraying her origin as somewhere in Ireland or Scotland.

The fourth man, apparently impatient, crossed the room to greet me, his jet black hair and sharp
features a striking contrast to his soft, melodious voice. "Hello, Isabella," he said. His pronunciation
made my name sound exotic, almost primal, the sibilant S and the extension of the –ella at the end
making it much more attractive than it or I could ever be. "I am Eleazar. I cannot tell you how long
I've looked forward to this moment."

He took my hand as he spoke, his palm turned upward so that he could cup my hand in his as he
smiled down at me. His eyes reminded me of the tourmaline pendant that Phil had given Renee
when she went through her artsy streak. I could remember him telling me that tourmaline fostered
creativity.

"Fascinating," Eleazar said, his face full of wonder. "It's just as you said, Carlisle."

"We were all surprised," Carlisle admitted, smiling at me proudly. "Everything about Bella has been
amazing."

Eleazar released my hand, his eyes sparkling with something that I could only call excitement, or
maybe curiosity. "Isabella," he trilled, "We would like to interview you. To do so, we will be bringing
some others into the room. This is not meant to scare or intimidate you in any way, do you
understand?"

For the last week I'd tried to form some preconceived notion of what my interview would be like. A
dark dungeon, black robes, burning candles even. Not a scene out of a home and garden magazine
with proper etiquette and gentle behavior.

"Just don't tell me I'm going to be safe," I joked in a feeble attempt at covering up my nerves. "It's
getting a little old."

The blonde man laughed, but I had the distinct feeling it was at me, not with me. His expression was
similar to Eleazar's, full of curiosity, but that did not put me at ease. Perhaps it was the red eyes,
which I understood now were indicative of his preference for human blood. Two of the five

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vampires in this room could very well turn me into a midday snack, and I was acutely aware that, for
the first time, I could actually be in real danger. The reality of the situation crashed into me like a
wrecking ball, my adrenaline spiking and heart racing as Garrett's nostrils flared. His eyes closed as
his chest expanded. It was like he was breathing in my fear.

"Stop scaring the girl," Tanya insisted, slapping his foot off the edge of her chair. "You have the
manners of a cretin."

"Old habits," Garrett said, smiling at me impishly. "Nothing personal you know."

Everyone fell silent as a small, red haired girl entered the room, followed by Jasper. He flashed me a
quick wink before sitting down on the arm of Tanya's chair. Red eyes three, gold eyes four. I didn't
like the ratio.

"Isabella," Eleazar said, reclaiming my attention. "This is Maggie. She is going to sit here and listen
while Garrett asks you a few questions. Is that acceptable?"

"I can't really say no, can I?" I retorted, hating the way my voice shook. I was scared, and they all
knew it.

Eleazar chuckled, and nodded to Garrett, who sprang from his chair, walking towards me in a long,
loping stride. When no one else could see his face, he grinned at me, and sniffed the air. He was
toying with me, trying to get a rise, and push to the limits. That's when something strange
happened. Instead of frightening me more, I got mad. He was intentionally trying to intimidate me,
playing on my knowledge of what he was to break me down. It reminded me of every arrogant man
I'd ever run across, and it made my blood boil. I began to imagine the joy I would feel in taking him
down a peg or two. The visual of throwing him across the yard, like Edward had with Emmett,
brought a rush of satisfaction I could feel all the way to my fingertips.

Jasper snorted from his roost on the chair, his hand clamped over his mouth to hide a smile. Carlisle
shot him a quick look, shaking his head in warning.

"So you are the little girl we are all expected to follow," Garrett said, his hands clasped behind his
back as he circled me slowly. "Carlisle insists you are the one from the prophecy. I have to admit, I
expected someone more…impressive."

He continued to survey me, taking my measure. "Tell me why I should follow you."

"Why would you want to?" I shot back, his attitude and arrogant tone irritating me. I focused on the
irritation, forcing back my fear. He wanted me to be scared, and I wouldn't let him. "I didn't ask for
this. I also don't make any declarations to you about what I am or am not. You're the ones that seem
to want a savior."

Before I could say another word, Garrett was in my face, his vibrant red eyes full of a zealous gleam.

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"I don't want a savior, little girl," he hissed, the dropping the R at the end of the word so that it
sounded like 'say-v-yuh.' It reminded me of old interviews with John F. Kennedy, and I laughed at
the irony. He was the great harbinger of democracy, felled by an assassin's bullet. Garrett was
surprised by my reaction, his brown creasing in curiosity before recovering quickly. "I want
freedom," he demanded, leaning just a little bit closer. "Can you give me that?"

"Why can't you take it yourself?" I retorted, my fear long gone. Garrett wasn't going to hurt me. He
was trying to provoke a reaction; one that I would refuse to give him.

"I take a lot of things for myself," Garrett said, adjusting his attack. "You see my eyes. You know
what I am. Does that give you pause?"

He wrinkled his nose, pretending to take another deep breath, but I stood my ground.

"I don't like what you do, but it's not my place to deny you your choices," I answered candidly. "So
long as people don't get hurt and there is a greater good involved, I can accept the way you choose
to live. Just like I can accept other people might not like my choices. I think that's called living in a
democracy."

Garrett smiled, his red eyes full of wisdom. If he was impressed by my answers, he didn't show it.
"The needs of the many versus the needs of the few - does that make you a diplomat?"

"No, I'm a college student who took a few history classes," I glanced at Carlisle, hoping that he
would step in, but he did nothing.

"Well we aren't living in a democracy, little girl. More like an totalitarian regime, and I for one I am
very tired of-"

"That's enough," Tanya said, leaning forward in her chair. "Stop running her in circles. I've heard
everything I need. It's time to decide what comes next."

"Bella, there's a kitchen at the other end of the hallway, fully stocked with anything you could
desire. Would you mind waiting for us there?" Carlisle framed his query as a request, but I didn't
need to be asked twice, I was more than happy to get away from Garrett's probing questions and
scary eyes.

I left the room at a brisk pace, my footsteps muted by thick carpet as I passed a large music room.
Through an archway I could see a cavernous kitchen, filled with stainless steel appliances and a long
farm house style table. It was like something out of a home decoration magazine, replete with a
large bowl of fruit on the counter.

"This is nuts," I said as I sat down on the edge of the chair. My adrenaline rush was fading, and I
licked my lips, which were dry and cracked. I had a habit of chewing on them, pulling at the dry
strips of skin until I made myself bleed, but I forced myself to abstain today. Drawing blood in a
houseful of vampires, vegetarian or not, would not be the smartest move. Instead, I closed my eyes,

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focusing on Garrett's questions. He'd been prodding at me, trying to provoke me, but to what end?
His questions, while irritating, had been fair in concept. Was this all to see what type of leader I'd
be? If I'd buckle under the pressure? I didn't understand the game they were playing, but there was
only one way to find out.

I stood and tiptoed to the doorway, pressing my back against the wall so I could listen to the voices
that drifted down the hallway from the living room.

"…others will rally around her, you know that, Tanya," Garrett insisted. I could imagine him pacing
around, waving his hands in righteous indignation.

"He's right," Carlisle concurred. "People will flock to her, and it will create an organized dissent. We
can use that to force change."

"They won't go down without a fight," Siobhan said calmly. It might have been my imagination, but
her heavy brogue made the words sound harsh and inflammatory, like that was exactly what she
wanted them to do.

"If the show of force is big enough, they might not have a choice," Garrett countered. "We can break
them down on number alone."

"Says the man who was borne of war," Tanya interjected.

"I've watched enough wars to know that brute force is not always the best option," Garrett shot
back at her. "Especially for people that are desperate to save-"

"Enough," Eleazar said, cutting off all conversation. "We all agree that Bella is the one. She fits the
prophecy, and she has skills that will prepare her for our life. She needs to be changed immediately.
We do not have a minute to spare. She is already twenty-three, and I'm surprised they have not
descended on this town yet."

There was an outbreak of chatter, over which Garrett's voice won out.

"And I assume you will want to be the one to change her?" he said, venom dripping from his voice.
"Is that where you are going with this, amigo?"

"Better me than one who is accustomed to drinking from humans. You would most likely drain her,
not change-"

I'd been so wrapped up in the conversation that I didn't hear Edward approach until he was right
next to me. He tapped my arm, his index finger pressed against his lips to keep me quiet. When I
nodded, he took my hand and led me down the long hallway and out of the house, the door silently
clicking shut behind us.

"Are you okay?" he asked as we walked quickly across the clearing. There was a barn like structure
hidden under the trees; the doors were open to reveal an array of cars.

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"I don't know," I admitted, still confused by the conversation I'd overheard. "When they say change
me, they are talking about making me one of you, right?"

"Get in," Edward said, yanking open the door of a small silver sedan. "I'll explain on the way."

"On the way where?"

"I'm taking you home. You don't need to sit there and listen to a bunch of theoretical revolutionaries
play God with your life."

I didn't argue, happily allowing Edward to play knight in shining armor and sweep me away from the
surreal scene playing out at the house. He drove without talking, allowing me to recap the strange
conversation I'd eavesdropped on. These people were dead set on my role in their great insurgency,
and were ready to turn me into one of them. My self-preservation instincts should have kicked in
with that, instilling some fight or flight mentality at my pending mortality, but they never came.
That's when I realized they never would.

For years I'd floated along, never truly fitting in. The only person that had ever needed or wanted
me was my mother. She'd released me when she thought I was safe, moving to Jacksonville with her
husband to pursue her own life. I'd come to Forks, hoping to find that piece of me that had been
missing. I'd jumped at a small glimmer of hope, the idea that I could find a place where I belonged.
In a strange, warped way I had, it just wasn't at all like I'd expected.

"I wish I could read your mind," Edward said. His voice was soft and wistful. "I can't begin to imagine
what you are thinking."

"None of it would make much sense right now," I admitted, leaning my forehead against the
window. The glass was cold, and reminded me of Eleazar's firm grasp. "It's the mental equivalent of
doodles."

"You amaze me, you know that?" Edward said, and I fought the urge to press my fingers against his
vocal cords to see if his words felt like they sounded, slightly rough and warm. "I wonder how I
would have handled myself were I given a choice. Carlisle claims he changed me to save me, but I
can't help wondering if this is a fate worse than death."

"If you are trying to make me feel better, you are doing a lousy job, Edward." It wasn't true - he was
distracting me merely by his presence. The people at the house were long gone; my attention
completely wrapped up on the quiet, enigmatic man who had stormed in, insisting he was taking me
home. "And I'll pretend not to be offended by your fate worse than death comment."

He laughed quietly and shook his head. "I didn't mean you. It's this life. Carlisle feels he saved all of
us in some form or fashion. I was dying from Spanish Influenza. Rosalie had been attacked and left
for dead. Emmett was mauled by a bear. Esme lay dying at the bottom of a cliff. He claimed we were
all worthy of redemption, capable of some great good. Carlisle likes to go on and on about the
power of humanity and our responsibility to lead a better life, but I'm not so sure. Are we still

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human, Bella? Can we really help this world, or is this all some naïve romantic concept? Will
mankind accept what we have to offer, or are they as much the monsters as they believe us to be?"

I stared out the window, trying to find the right response. I could give him platitudes, tell him that
everything would be okay, but we both knew that wasn't the truth. Life required people to take
leaps of faith, and trust that it would all work out. It was a scary concept, giving someone the power
that came with blind trust, but it reminded me of something Renee used to say with each and every
move. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

"There are woulda's and coulda's," I said softly, trying not to laugh at my childish analogy. "You can
spend your days thinking about them, or you can do something. At the end of the day, I think
everyone worries about the what if's – that's why philosophy and religion exist. You can't have good
without bad. The challenge is striking balance, and acting is part of that." I turned to face forward,
extending my arm, so that I could rest my hand on top of his of his knee. "Sometimes you just have
to trust. Right now I am trusting that you don't see me as lunch."

The corner of Edward's mouth quirked up into the tiniest hint of a grin, and he spread his fingers
over the top of my hand, twining his together with mine so that I couldn't pull away.

"You of all people shouldn't trust us," he said, not taking his eyes off the road.

"Maybe I am a bad judge of character," I conceded, squeezing his hand. I tried not to notice the way
the muscles and tendons didn't give at the pressure, or how cold his skin was. It would only remind
me of our differences. If I held on long enough, the heat of my skin would start to sink into his,
making Edward feel normal. At least to me.

I stared out the window, letting my mind play what if with this strange little scenario. What if
Edward was a normal man and none of this had ever happened. Would we still be here, talking
about mundane things or going on a date? Was that type of life even possible for me? How much
control did I have and how much was pre-ordained?

"You know, in some states this is illegal," Edward joked as he pulled up in front of my house,
bursting my little bubble of what if. "Physically, I'm frozen at seventeen."

"Veritable jailbait," I teased, trying to maintain his valiant attempt at humor. "Good thing I know
some people in this town. Think they can pull strings for me?"

He laughed quietly, his thumb running slowly across the backs of my knuckles. It raised a trail of
goose flesh on the back of my arm.

"Edward," I asked, curious at his admission, "When were you born?"

He parked the car in front of my house and turned off the ignition and angling his body to face me.
"1901. I became this…" he gestured towards his torso, "in 1918."

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"That would explain the funky speech," I said, my brain unable to wrap around the years he gave
me. "I thought you were just going overboard on the Prince Charming thing."

"I haven't tried to be charming," he teased. "You have a way of making that difficult."

The comment about difficult brought to mind Garrett and his blood red eyes. It was a reminder of
Edward's true nature, and the constant risk that I'd never truly appreciated until now. "Edward," I
asked hesitantly, "is it difficult, being around me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Because I'm human. You don't want to…" I frowned trying to find the right way to ask the question.
Finally I gave up and clicked my teeth together twice, a visualization of my thought process.

"Yes," he admitted, quickly looking away. "I want to. That day you broke the glass, I don't know if…I
don't think I could have resisted your blood. We abstain, but the way you smell, it's just..."

He didn't finish his statement. It hung in the air between us, making me all too aware of my
breathing and the frenetic beating of my heart.

"I guess that makes me irresistible." My weak attempt at a joke fell short, and Edward pulled his
hand away. "No one's ever said that before. It's kind of nice."

"You are," Edward admitted, casting a quick glance in my direction. His expression was different
from Garrett's, the hunger mixed with wonder and confusion. It gave me hope and spurred me into
action, completely disregarding this nature. I quickly brought my index and middle fingers to my lips,
and kissed them. Then I turned my palm toward Edward, pressing the kiss to his cheek. As I touched
him, I could hear the popping of metal and leather as he squeezed the armrest, the car taking the
punishment he wanted to unleash on me.

He sees you as food, Bella, I chastised myself. You don't mean anything to him.

In a flash, I was out of the car, running up the drive. I'd tempted fate. I needed to live to tell about it.

"Bella, wait!" Edward called after me, but it was too late.

As I went to insert the key in the lock, the pressure forced the door to swing open.

A man stood in the middle of my living room. He was dressed in all black with red eyes, like the ones
that haunted my dreams.

"Ah, the lovely Isabella Swan," he said, his tone sickeningly sweet. "Please do come in, I've so looked
forward to meeting you."

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~ Chapter 10 - Introductions All Around ~

I stood, frozen in place as the red eyed man strolled slowly around the couch towards me. He was
tall and thin, with heavy sideburns and thick long hair. Everything about the man was dark, his hair,
his suit, even the stone in the small ring he wore on his right hand. I found myself checking his nails,
looking for black nail polish – it was ridiculous, but he reminded me of the Goth kids that hung
around the bookstore on Saturday nights, overly pale and swathed in rich silks and dark clothing,
although it was doubtful this man had anything to do with that scene.

A soft touch, no more than a whisper of pressure, ghosted across the small of my back. "I'm here,"
Edward whispered in my ear. "You're safe. I will not let him harm you."

The red eyed man smiled, his eyes shining with a childlike glee as he watched our interaction. It was
clear he'd heard our exchange.

"And so it would seem that Bella is already aware of us." His observation was sickeningly sweet,
almost cloying. He affected a paternal tone, which was pleasant enough on the surface−light and
almost playful - but there was an edge, something manic that lurked underneath, reminding me of
political fanatics, thumping the podium as they fired the crowd up with their zealous promises of
what should be. "I'd not anticipated this. It is a most welcome turn of events."

Edward grasped my hand, pulling me to the side so that he could cross the threshold into the house,
effectively creating a buffer between me and the stranger roaming my home. "You have no place
here," he insisted vehemently. "You are breaking your promise to Carlisle to leave this town alone."

The man clapped his hands together in delight, his high, grating laugh echoing off the walls. The
noise drew people from another room. A boy, maybe fourteen or fifteen, stood in the archway to
the dining room; his chubby pale face was only missed the requisite rosy coloring to look cherubic.
He wore dark, well tailored clothes that were almost military in fashion, a lovely wool coat with a
high collar and frogged closures over a matching black shirt and pants. His hair was longer and
shaggy, just a bit too much to be considered fashionable, and his red eyes were flat and bored as he
surveyed the room, his gaze sweeping over me as if we'd crossed paths a hundred times. Behind the
boy, a tall blonde woman, dressed in a similar fashion, glowered menacingly at us. Her face was
classically beautiful, reminding me of Rosalie, but her physical appeal was marred by the same
garnet red eyes, which were narrow slits of frustration as she glared at our clasped hands.

The red-eyed man stood in front of us now, hands outstretched, smile wide as if he were welcoming
long lost friends. Outside, the rain had started up again, pattering gently against the large glass
picture window, settling a gloomy pall over the room. It was oddly appropriate to the scene that was
unfolding around me.

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"You must be young Edward, Carlisle's beloved first born," the man said. "I recognize you from his
letters. You no doubt know who I am?"

Edward inclined his head in acknowledgement. "You are Aro of the Volturi."

The man clapped his hands together in delight, and then, in a blur of action that was almost too fast
to follow, he stood just inches from us, a hand extended to Edward, his smile wide. The speed at
which the man moved was shocking, and I quickly glanced to the place where he'd stood before,
trying to mentally calculate how fast he would have to move to cover the distance in a fraction of a
second. The strength, the speed, it was all too much to take in, and I was quickly coming to realize
just how dangerous this entire situation could be.

"Please, come forward and greet me, young Edward. I've heard much about you from your maker."

Edward hesitated for a moment before extending his hand, his teeth locked together in frustration.
It forced his jaw forward, his chin jutting out in unspoken defiance as grasped Aro's short, stubby
fingers. On contact, Aro clapped his other hand over the top of Edward's, securing him in place.
Aro's eyes slipped out of focus, his lips slackening as if he'd fallen into a trance. Beside me, Edward's
body was taut, a muscle in his jaw pulsing as he ground his teeth together. I could tell that he
wanted to jerk away, to shake off the contact, but Aro's grasp on Edward's hand too firm to escape.

"Most interesting," Aro said, blinking his eyes rapidly, the pupils constricting into focus. "Most
interesting indeed." He made no effort to release Edward's hand.

"Master?" a small voice whimpered from behind Aro. There was a woman, petite and wide eyed,
hovering behind him, her small frame lost behind his broad black clothed form. She stood
possessively close, her hand placed at the small of his back. The positioning was identical to the way
Edward and I stood, but their polarity was reversed. Instead of drawing strength from their contact,
she appeared to be terrified, her crimson eyes frantically shifting between the two men as she
waited for her master to step away and ease her pain.

"Peace, my dear Renata," Aro soothed, patting Edward's hand before releasing it. "I merely wanted
to greet our young friend."

The two observers in the doorway did not move, but they watched the entire scene with interest,
their eyes darting from Edward to Aro in thinly masked curiosity. I found their presence just as
unnerving, if not more so, than Aro's. They were an unknown entity, positioned easily for an attack
that Edward might not be able to fend off, no matter how freakishly strong he might be.

"How curious," Aro murmured, his eyes shifting to me. In another blinding flash of motion, Aro
reached out to wrap his cold fingers around my wrist, his vivid red eyes narrowing as he waited,
although for what, I wasn't sure. After a long, awkward moment, he relaxed and let out a delighted
chuckle of glee.

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I jerked my arm free, and Edward moved to block me completely, his arms fanning out to create a
barrier between the two of us. Aro found this infinitely amusing, letting loose another maniacal
laugh, his evil cackle chilling me to the bone. It was identical to the one in my dreams, where a man
with brilliant red eyes tormented me, driving me to the safety of Edward's arms. But unlike my
dreams, this was not something I would wake up from.

"So they were fighting over who would change you, is that true?" Aro smiled down at me, his eyes
burning with the fire of the zealous…or the insane. "They want you to be their rallying point, but
they are already arguing over who would control you."

"Aro can read people's minds," Edward muttered. "He's aware of what transpired at the house, and-
"

"And the great future that lies in wait for you, Bella," Aro said, smiling at me. "It would seem that
there is a small faction intent on overthrowing the progress my brothers and I have made. They see
you as a tool to do that, an ancient myth come true. You are the standard they will wave as they
wage their war on us."

"Carlisle was there," Edward countered, his words clipped and cold. "He saw it all. He heard the
prophecy first hand."

"Or so he claims," Aro shot back, the first sign he'd shown of irritation. It was a momentary blip, and
Aro quickly composed himself, shifting his attention to me. "Carlisle misunderstood, and is leading
all of you down a primrose path based on his own misconceptions and the misguided delusions of
other, less stable minds."

Edward hissed and took one menacing step forward, spurred on by something I didn't quite
understand. Aro smiled, amused by the reaction he'd managed to provoke. In the doorway, the boy
and woman echoed Edwards hiss, their hands flying up, ready to launch an attack.

"Alec, Chelsea, please," Aro soothed, never looking away from Edward. "He means no harm. Please
escort him outside so that I may speak to the lovely Bella in peace."

"I'm not going anywhere!" Edward spat. "Anything you can say to her, you'll say with me here."

"Young Edward, do you really think that I would do anything to cause Bella harm? The word is
already spreading, people are talking. If I touched one delicate strand of hair on her all too human
head, I would set off a war the likes of which you could never imagine." Aro pursed his lips, his eyes
taking on a calmer, more knowing gleam. "Unless, that is what you desire…"

"It's okay," I said, applying gentle pressure to Edward's back. "Just don't go too far. Promise?" I
needed his commitment, as much to complete the surreal execution of my dream as to reassure me.
There needed to be a balance, a yin to the malevolent yang I would be left with.

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"Are you sure?" he asked, not looking back at me. He was ready to spring into action at the first sign
of danger.

"You rescued me once today. I'll be okay," I promised, pressing my hand a bit more firmly against his
back, my fingers scratching gentle paths against his rock hard skin. I hoped it relayed the confidence
I was willing myself to feel.

"She will be safer with me than she will be with you and your little band of miscreants," Aro said, his
hand placed over his heart in mock solemnity. "I will not harm your precious little Bella."

Edward stared at Aro for a long moment, the air around us thick with distrust and something I
couldn't quite understand. When he did turn to face me, Edward's features were composed into an
unreadable mask. "I will be close by, and I will know if you so much as touch her. "

Aro tsk-tsked in irritation.

"Will you hear me if I shout?" I asked, my hand resting on his chest.

He smiled, and nodded his head.

"Then I'll shout if I need you. I promise."

Edward touched my cheek, "I will always come," he promised quietly before stepping back, his voice
rising, clear and strong. "If you need me, I'll be here before he can lay a single finger on you." He
turned to face Aro, his voice dropping to match his words. "Move back by the couch. I don't want
you near her, and I don't want you touching her again."

Aro inclined his head, a placid smile on his face. "No harm will come to her in my presence. I
promise you that."

Edward snorted, but didn't respond. I watched as he walked slowly towards the door, which was
had been left open in the excitement of the moment. The boy and woman, the ones Aro had called
Alec and Chelsea, followed Edward. The woman glared at me as she passed, her vibrant ruby eyes
taking measure of me, as if she was frustrated or disturbed by my presence. Aro waited until the
door clicked shut to sit down on the edge of the sofa, one arm draped dramatically over the side for
effect.

"Wasn't that just lovely? A fit of genius, I would have to say," Aro said, smiling innocently. "He's part
of their bait, you know. That silly little boy with his wide eyed awe and poorly disguised longing has
sucked you right in. As if he could ever be worthy of your attention…no, someone like you would
require so much more than a bumbling, inexperienced child who has spent his existence dreaming
about or dreading your arrival."

He extended the fingers of his right hand, slowly twisting the heavy gold ring on his right pinky
finger, the dark onyx stone a stark contrast to the elegant gold filigreed setting. The move was too

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calculated, too practiced. Aro was putting on a show, trying to lure me in with his over affected
manners and manufactured charm.

"They are trying everything they can to win you over, even though the little one knows that
you will rule by my side. There will be no revolution, no great uprising." He stopped toying with his
ring and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, all subterfuge falling away. "Let their band
of insurgents plan all they'd like, they are nothing more than a simple itch, which I can easily scratch
any time I want."

With his hands extended, I could see the translucent layers of his skin, deceptively fragile in the
weak afternoon light. It almost tempered the dark, manic glint in his eye, the fervent gleam of a man
on a mission. No, there were other things, clearly broken or not quite right with him, but fragility of
body was not one of them.

"It's laughable," Aro said as he stood, looking around the room with clear disdain. "This is all quaint
and comforting in a simple sort of way, but would it really be enough to keep you happy for an
eternity?" He gestured at the bookshelf, full of books I'd so lovingly perused the week before. "The
boy sees himself at your side, happy in a place like this, reading and living out a blissful life of peace.
Why would you accept that when I could give you so much more?"

In another burst of mind boggling speed, he was in front of the small bookshelf, his index finger
crooked to ease The Making of Forks from its place. I held my breath, waiting for him to open it and
read the inscription inside, afraid of what those simple words might unleash. That book held the
simplest facts of their assault on this town. It was also the action that put everything in motion, the
introduction of my grandparents, the creation of the family lines that would ultimately result in me.
I was a byproduct of this man's megalomania as much as I was any indiscretion my parents might
have committed on a couch or in the back of a car. The book in his hands was a testament to his
own manic obsession with power as much as it was my family's strength, our courage and spirit.

"These books would not even fill one row of stacks at my home in Italy," Aro said, delicately flipping
through the pages with feigned interest. "I have everything you could ever want. Books, art, they are
merely the beginning. And if there is something…or someone you desire, you may have it. Follow
our ways and there will be no interference otherwise."

He continued to thumb through the book, not paying attention to the images or words that filled
the pages. My history meant nothing to him, at least not any more than I did. Carlisle had alluded to
this – that I would be but a mere chess piece in an epic battle between right and wrong. Take the
queen, rule the board - wasn't that how it worked in the game of Chess? Was war really any
different?

"Carlisle told me that you had some very clear laws about what is and is not acceptable," I said,
trying to sound strong. All of these people believed that I would buckle under their platitudes and
promises. I hadn't come all this way to fight their battles. I'd come to find myself.

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"Laws, Bella, protect those incapable of protecting themselves," Aro said dismissively. He placed the
book gently back on the shelf, running his flattened hand along the row, aligning the spines in neat,
distributed order. "They shelter our kind and keep the world safe. We are not unreasonable. We
merely keep the balance. A life without balance is one of chaos."

"And in doing so, you control everyone."

"Control creates order and keeps our ways secret," Aro hissed. It was the first crack in his artfully
crafted façade, betraying the irritation that lurked underneath his carefully cultivated assault.
"Without control, people will follow anyone who claims to have a better way. Just like they are lining
up to follow you, isn't that right? Do you aspire to be the one that saves them all? Will you allow
them to drain the old, under the plea of dignity? Will you allow them to push technology that
extends human life, and in doing so, allows our kind unbridled free reign?"

In a blur of shiny black, he stood in front of me, my right hand clasped between his ivory white
fingers. "You don't want anyone hurt, do you Bella?"

"You hurt people," I said. "You eat people."

His face split into a wide, amused grin. "Yes, I do eat people, Bella. I've eaten a great many people,
and I will continue to do so for a long time. But I will not allow my kind to run rampant and out of
control. That would be destruction worse than you could ever imagine. Under me, vampires are
controlled and diligent. What is to stop this from turning humanity into an abattoir, a fertile feeding
ground to appease their every whim?"

Even though he appeared incapable of reading me or my reactions, Aro was hitting the points to
which I'd reacted most violently. In doing so, he was positioning himself as the great savior of
mankind, ruling over a world that lived in the shadows, preying off humans in sporadic, yet civilized
fashion. The justification was made to cast him as the benevolent ruler, one who sacrificed his
desires for the good of the people he served. But if prodded, his reasoning did not hold. It was not
about order or the preservation of the human race; it was about maintaining his order, his world.
One that I was pretty sure I didn't want to live in. But did I want the alternative? Which was the
lesser of the two evils?

"In the enigma year, purest gold embraces ruby red as the libertines suffer their fate. Regina
Vampira, one woman to guide all," Aro recited. "You will convince the dissenters to step in line.
You will be the one to reunite me with my old friends, Carlisle and Eleazar, while dissidents that feed
off the sick and elderly, like Siobhan and Garrett, suffer their fate. You will bring everyone under a
single rule, and you will return harmony to our world."

"And if I don't?" I demanded, refusing to be cowed by this megalomaniac with delusions of
grandeur. "These people don't want your rule any longer. If I were to listen to them, you are a
dictator, controlling their right to self-determination."

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"What if the world knew of us, Bella? What would we have of self determination then?" Aro said,
the sickeningly sweet simper falling away, revealing the malevolence and arrogance that lurked
underneath. "We have everything that a human could ever covet. Eternal youth and beauty, endless
life, access to great fortunes. What would keep us from becoming their science experiments, hunted
and tortured into non-existence so that they could unlock our secrets and ruin the world with their
arrogance? Your little band of rebels wants to share our knowledge with the world. They claim that
they can help, but in reality, they will only cause more harm."

Aro elevated our joined hands, my fingers perilously close to his blood red lips. He breathed deeply,
his eyes slipping closed as he let out a contented sigh. When he opened them, his pupils were
dilated, his voice husky.

"Come with me, Bella. I can give you everything. Be our Queen, unite the world that-"

"Be your puppet is more like it," I snapped, trying to pull my hand away. "I may not have a strong
grasp on who I am, but I sure as hell will never be someone's toy. I am my own person."

"Oh, you can be your own person, just with us," Aro pled, his eyes wide in mock innocence. "Come
to Volterra and be my Queen." He let out another high pitched giggle as the horror registered on my
face. "In name only, of course. I have a mate, one who I hold above all. You can have your little
diversion with the boy who thinks he would be your champion. Let him try to keep you happy, for
that is exactly what he aspires to do."

"And if I say no?"

Aro smile faded just a tiny bit, his eyebrows rising in mock sorrow. "Then we will unleash a fury on
this town that will make the fire but a mere memory. Everything that has been built here, every
person, will be erased," he paused, allowing his words to sink in. "You will bend to my bidding, Bella.
The sapling can't withstand the shadow of the ancient oak. You cannot defeat me. There are only
two choices, join me, or die."

Before I could respond, there was a whir of activity in the room. A mountain of a man with dark
brown hair, bigger than Emmett, scooped me up like a parent would carry a child, my small form
securely cradled in his mammoth arms. Another man, smaller with sandy brown hair, stood in the
archway to the dining room, his handsome face marred by the same zealous glee that Aro had
allowed to shine through.

"We have a car waiting, Master," he said, extending a hand towards the back door. "Just a few miles
away. The boy left, and-"

The front door slammed open, the knob bouncing off the wall with force hard enough to knock
pictures to the floor. The glass that protected old drawings shattered on contact, sending small
shards scattering across the floor.

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"Hi honey, I'm home!" Emmett crowed from the doorway, Jasper and Garrett standing directly
behind him. The large man holding me growled, turning quicker than any human would ever move.
The motion sending a violent ripple of vertigo through me, my pulse escalating as my body broke
out in a cold sweat. Jasper cut the man off, appearing between us and the kitchen door, one hand
extended towards the sandy haired man behind him.

"It's not very nice manners to bully a lady in her own home," Emmett drawled, his voice dripping
with sarcasm. "Here in the twenty-first century, I believe the term is 'no means no,' wouldn't you
say, G?"

"Yes, yes I would," Garrett replied, his voice low and even. "Then again, Aro has never been one for
respecting people's wishes. At least not in my experience."

The man who'd scooped me up loosened his grip, no doubt preparing for an onslaught from both
sides. It gave me just enough space to curl into myself, my body easily slipping between his
outstretched arms. The man adjusted, trying to catch me, but the angle was awkward, and I hit the
floor hard, my teeth slamming together painfully.

"Don't go there, bubba," Emmett said, his aw shucks attitude doing little to mask his irritation at the
intrusion. "Leave the lady alone. She's with the locals."

The large man darted a glance at Aro, who did nothing to intervene or correct the situation. When I
realized the large man wouldn't pursue me, I scrambled to the far corner, where the phonograph
from the attic stood, the lid still propped open. The small room was filled with men, all poised and
ready to strike, and I was caught in the middle with nowhere to hide.

I needed to take back my home, to show them that I was the one in control, and that I was not going
to be manipulated by any of them. I searched the room frantically as I backed into the corner,
bumping the small wooden table. An aerosol can clattered to the floor, a lone furniture polish can
abandoned there during my phonograph restoration early in the week. I darted forward, retrieving
the can and the oversized lighter from the mantle. With one click, the flame was lit; the nozzle of the
aerosol can pointed in the direction of my would-be attacker.

"I think it's time for you to go now," I said, trying to modulate my words for maximum effect. I had
no clue whether or not my actions could actually hurt any of them, but it was the only make shift
weapon I could think of on such short notice. To my left, I caught Emmett nodding his head in
approval, his eyes never leaving the giant man who had been ready to carry me off.

"Come, my dear friends. It would seem that we may have overstayed our welcome," Aro said with
the same smooth, cloying tone he'd used to greet me earlier. "Let us seek a more hospitable retreat
and leave Bella alone." He glanced at me, but there was no fear in his eyes, only amusement at how
his visit had played out. "I believe she has some thinking to do."

He walked slowly towards the front door, trailed closely by the petite woman who'd stood quietly by
the wall through our entire exchange. She'd been a silent observer, fading easily into the woodwork.

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I felt a strange, unsolicited empathy for her. I could remember all too well what it was like to be the
one forgotten on the sidelines.

Aro stood at the door, waiting as his retinue filed out silently, the small woman hesitating on the
stoop has he inclined his head to me. "Bella, I bid you good day."

I didn't lower the lighter or aerosol can until the door clicked shut behind them. When it did, my
knees gave way, but I didn't drop to the ground. Edward appeared, scooping me up the same way
the large man had, and quickly carried me to the couch. His cold hand pressed against my cheek was
better than a compress, for it helped to calm me down and to regain some clarity as Aro's words
rushed round and round in my head, the cold, calculating manner in which he twisted everything
making me doubt everything I thought I knew.

"Are you okay?" he asked, searching my face. It gave me a chance to study him in return, to look for
the tiniest shred of deception. I'd accepted everything that they'd told me, the existence of the
prophecy, of vampires, even my role within this whole drama, with little to no argument. I had given
my trust easily, and in return I'd been lied to and manipulated. Maybe not with malicious intent, but
the lies were still there, and I was not sure who I should trust.

"You said that Aro could read your mind," I whispered, afraid that if I spoke any louder I would fall
apart. "He said that you were my bait." Tears welled up in my eyes, for fear that speaking it aloud
would make everything true, and with an undeniable terror that none of this growing bond between
us had been real. "Our meeting in the woods was not an accident, was it? You planned that, you
probably planned everything. This was all a set-up, wasn't it?"

The knot in my chest grew as Edward's face crumpled, the stoic look of resolve slipping into
confusion and sadness. His brows puckered, and the corners of his mouth drooped, as if I'd dealt
him a blow that he couldn't comprehend.

"Just tell me the truth," I said, swallowing back the bile that rose in my throat. "What was real?"

"Everything was real," he said, his voice low and steady. "Everything. What I've told you, what Aro
said, what you are afraid of. It's all real and wrapped up together, and you don't have any more
control over it than I do. Yes, I waited for you in the woods. Yes, I had Jasper take my jacket to
Seattle in the hopes that you would wear it, and that it might make you feel comfortable around me.
I want to save you - to protect you - even if that's not my right. But this," he hesitated, touching my
cheek again, the back of his hand trailing down to outline my lower lip. "This is all real. I can't
manufacture this anymore than you can deny it. We are incapable of stopping this, Bella. You know
that."

I shot up off the couch, jerking away from his touch. "What I know is that everyone has been lying to
me, twisting things so that I'll do what they want me to do. I am not a marionette, some little toy
that dances for your enjoyment. I am my own person, not your queen."

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Storming towards the door, I jerked it open to find Charlie and Carlisle standing on the threshold,
Charlie's hand raised, ready to knock on the door.

"Bella, thank God, are you okay?" Charlie demanded, frantically scanning my face and body for any
sign of injury. Physically, I was fine. The damage from my altercation with Aro had been purely
emotional.

"Just ducky," I cracked, pushing past him. "Why don't you ask Edward all about it? I'm sure he'd be
more than happy to fill you in. I need some time alone."

I forced my way past my father, who called after me, begging me not to go. I could hear Carlisle
telling him to let me be, that I would be okay, but I didn't stop to hear more. The garage door was
open, and I quickly backed the rental car out of the drive, whipping out onto the street. Edward's
car, a large sleek black sedan, and Charlie's cruiser were all lined up in front of my house, just three
of the litany of men who'd paraded through my life today, all claiming to know how it should play
out. I'd been intellectually poked and prodded, stretched and laid emotionally bare, like the type of
science experiment that Aro desperately wanted to avoid. In their struggle to control their own
destiny, these people had destroyed my life, turning me into their first casualty of war.

That's when I realized that hiding would never be an option for me again. One way or another,
someone would find me, and they would take everything away. My life was no longer my own. As if
it ever had been.

I punched the accelerator, taking off down the street with no set direction or destination. I drove
aimlessly, winding along roads that felt vaguely familiar, only to turn and find myself completely
lost. I followed the coast until the road veered east to follow a river back inland. At the bend there
was a small marina, the parking lot empty because of the rain that fell steadily, turning everything a
dark, dull grey.

Paying no heed to the weather, I parked my car and walked down to the river, following it out to
where it met the ocean. The air was pungent here, the salty ocean water clashing with the fresh
water of mountain run off. Two different entities, so similar, clashing and melding, until there was
only one single identity left, the cold water violent and churning as it formed a new existence.

To protect the marina, somewhere along the line, a break wall had been built, giant chunks of
concrete and rock piled up to buffer the waves as they struck land. I worked my way out, past the
beach, along the rocks, refusing to let the slippery surface or the rain, which had slowly eased into a
drizzle, stop me as I balanced precariously on the jagged pieces of rock. My hair was wet, plastered
to my face, and my shirt was drenched. I knew I was crying too, but with the rain, I accepted that
they were mingling together, just like the river and the ocean. Let the one diminish the other, just
for a bit, and wash away the evidence that I had not broken down. Everything was a weakness now,
every emotion on display one to be preyed upon. I could not show this to anyone else.

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At the end of the break wall, I stopped, squinting out into the quickly fading late evening light. There
was a small island a few hundred feet off the end of the breaker, great chunks of rock and trees
scattered across what was no more than a small sand bar. It was like a mini oasis in this turbulent
sea of chaos, a place to run and hide, if only there was a way to reach it.

I was twenty-three years old. My whole life should have stretched out before me, a great adventure
to be explored. A career, a family, maybe even children. Instead, I was faced with the fate of the
world, which as melodramatic as it may sound, was more than I was prepared to bear. I wasn't much
more than a kid, one who'd spent her life watching the world pass her by. How could I be expected
to change the very place I'd hardly had a chance to live in?

"You ran away from me," he called out, his voice filled with hesitation and remorse.

I didn't have to look. I knew exactly who it was. Deep down, I knew that Edward would follow. I
simply hadn't granted myself the time to think about it.

"No, I ran away from me," I said, staring out at the tiny little island. It was so close, and I wanted
desperately to jump in the water and swim across. Once I was there, I would find the answers,
maybe even figure out a way to control the chaos that swirled around me. Brackish water, the point
where fresh and salt swirled together, would be dangerous, and I very well might drown trying to
reach the island.

But that was what it really came down to. I would have to jump, for the way back was closed
permanently. I'd spent my life on the outside, longing for inclusion. There had never been any
thought to the consequences of inclusion, and now, faced with my own mortality and lack of
control, I knew that I couldn't turn back. I had two choices, jump or stand my ground. There was no
guarantee that I would live through this, but there was one thing I knew for certain.

I would not go down without a fight.

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~ Chapter 11 - Compulsion to Move ~

We stood, locked in place, caught in limbo between two worlds.

We were the island and the mainland. Fresh and salt water.

Vampire and human.

This impasse shouldn't have been a surprise – it had been looming since that day at the Cullen's
when rocks and people where thrown epic distances. Everything since then had been a dress
rehearsal for today's events. I was caught in a struggle between two factions, each offering me their
best, all for the promise that I would support their side in this great battle between perceived
totalitarian rule and the desire for self determination. The rub of it was that, for others to achieve
their right to live as they saw fit, I had to bend to the will of a collective group. It reminded me of
Garrett's verbal tirade from earlier in the day…the needs of the many versus the needs of the few.
Only in this case, the few was actually one, and the cost was my life, or at least a portion of it.

Everywhere I turned there were choices to be made, decisions with radical consequences, and
people pulling the strings, hoping that I would come down on their side. Everyone, it seemed,
wanted a piece of me, but no one was willing to give me all the facts to make an informed decision.
My commitment to supporting a side marked the end of my mortality, maybe even my humanity,
but I had no clue what the personal ramifications of that decision might mean.

Slowly, I turned to face Edward, my face wet from tears and the spray of breaking waves. They
crashed against the rocks below me, soaking the legs of my pants and weighing me down. He was
wet too; his hair plastered against his head, his dark gray shirt soaked through with ocean water. He
was the one constant in all this, the person who had been with me since day one. In my dreams, in
my home, in the background, he had always been there. He would be the one to finally give me all
the missing pieces that would balance out Aro's vitriolic insistence on a greater good. He had to be.

"I want the truth, Edward," I demanded, my voice barely audible over the roar of the waves. "Who is
the little one, and what did Aro mean when he called you bait? I am not leaving this beach until I
hear it firsthand. All of it this time."

Edward nodded slowly, as if he'd expected my request. "Just come back to the beach with me,
please, Bella. These rocks are slippery, and I don't want you to fall and hurt yourself. I've called
someone. She's on the way with dry towels and clothes. She'll be able to explain everything."

When I didn't move, Edward stepped forward, one hand extended in offering. "Please, Bella. I
promise that she'll tell you everything, just come away from the water.Please."

The waves were coming in harder now, turning the chunks of concrete into treacherous expanses of
slick stone where the water spilled over the wall. I moved slowly, fighting for balance as the waves

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broke around me, the water pooling in my shoes and weighing me down. I'd moved far enough to
reach out for Edward when a new wave, larger than the others, broke directly against my back. It
threw me off center, down the slippery chunks of concrete towards the dark swirling water and the
jagged outcropping of rock that shot out into the ocean. I closed my eyes and gasped in a deep
breath, prepared for the impact and inevitable undertow of the waves.

But they never came.

Instead, there was a painful crash against my ribs, knocking the wind out of me as I hit something
hard. I was spinning around and flying through the air, and then as fast as I fell, I was sitting on my
ass in the wet sand, ocean water dripping from my hair and clothes. Edward stood over me,
breathing heavily. He'd caught me and hauled me back to safety. Once again, he'd been there when
I needed to be saved.

"You can't make anything in my life easy, can you?" he shouted, the words coming out almost too
fast to catch. "Are you intent on pulling me under? Is that it? You won't be happy until you've
destroyed me completely?"

"Me?" I demanded, scooting back, away from the waves. "I didn't ask for any of this, and you were
the one lurking around in the woods behind my house. You're the one that started all this!"

Edward opened his mouth, but instead of speaking he threw his hands up and made a strange,
strangled noise that came out sounding like 'gah!' The nonsensical sound sent me over the edge, all
my frustration, fear, and confusion pushing me to the point of no return. I grabbed a handful of wet
sand from the ground and threw it at Edward.

Hard.

The clump broke apart when it hit his chest, peppering him with thousands of tiny grains of sand,
which stuck to his wet clothes. Edward froze, staring down at his torso in disbelief.

"If this is the future of the vampire world," a high, clear voice called out from behind me, "then we
are all screwed."

"Your humor is not appreciated, Alice," Edward said. He looked up, his eyes narrowed in fury. He
made no effort to brush the sand away.

"Jasper appreciates my humor immensely. Now if you two are done with your little temper
tantrums, I have towels, just like you requested." The speaker, whom Edward had called Alice, could
be heard walking away, her heels clicking against the wet pavement.

I pushed myself up off the ground, angrily swiping at the sand that coated my jeans. They were
soaking wet, and I was quickly getting cold. As much as I didn't want to accept anyone's hospitality, I
didn't want to stand around freezing either.

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Edward didn't say anything, staying behind me as I crossed the sand to the sidewalk. Across the
street, parked next to my rental car was Edward's small silver sedan, a tiny woman with dark hair
sitting on the hood in a royal blue rain coat. Beside her on the car was a brightly colored pile of
beach towels, their cheery stripes and dots out of sync with the cold grey night. As we approached,
she leaned back, her elbows propped against the hood to support her tiny frame.

"If you are done overreacting, there are some dry clothes in the back," Alice said, eyeing Edward
dubiously.

He nodded and jerked the back door open.

"Oh, and while you are at it, why don't you take a long walk and cool off before you change. You're
being an ass, and you need to take it down a notch or three."

The car door slammed, and I was shocked at the absolutely furious expression that Edward shot the
small woman. I'd never seen this side of him, wild and out of control. Flares of anger, yes, but not
like this.

The small woman raised her eyebrows at him, and inclined her head in my direction. Edward merely
growled and stalked off towards the street, a pile of towels and clothes stuffed under his left arm.

"I love him like a brother, but he can be so bitchy sometimes," the woman said airily as she passed
me a towel. "I'm Alice, by the way. Jasper's wife."

"Bella," I said, wiping my face on a corner of bright pink terry cloth. It had become second nature
now to identify myself by my birth name. There was no Marie Geoffrey anymore. It was like she'd
never existed.

Maybe she never really had.

"Oh, I know," Alice said, leaning forward to prop her chin against her hand. "I know all about you.
But there is time for that. I brought you some of Esme's clothes. Rose said she was the closest of the
three of us in size. You climb in back and change. Then we can talk."

She didn't move from her roost on the car, content to stare out at the breaking clouds as I struggled
to change into a dry pair of cotton leggings and a giant sweatshirt. The leggings were too long,
bagging out at the knees, and the sweatshirt completely enveloped me, which provided an innate
sense of comfort, like being wrapped in a warm embrace. This was the type of thing I would have
worn on a bad day, happily lost in the clothing equivalent of grilled cheese and warm chocolate
cookies.

"I knew you'd be good for my brother," she said as I closed the car door, "but I didn't realize you'd
be putting him in his place so soon. It's about time someone did that. Lord knows, Emmett has
tried."

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I'd leaned over to dry my hair as she made her cryptic statement, and stood up too quickly. All the
blood rushed to my head, my vision filling with bright white spots.

"Mmmm, head rush," I groaned, reaching out to steady myself against the car.

"Why don't you sit down," Alice said with a laugh, "and I'll start at the beginning. You're as on edge
as he is."

She slipped down off of the car, and lowered herself to the pavement, patting the spot next to her.
"Come on, Bella, I won't bite. I promise."

It was her ridiculous joke that finally broke me down. I barked out a laugh, but it let loose the
torrent of tears I'd reined in on the break wall. Once they started flowing, there was no way to stop.

"Shhh, honey," Alice cooed. Aro had affected the same empathetic tone earlier in the day, but his
had been all saccharine and false. Nothing about Alice came off that way, her hand against my leg
gentle reassurance that I would be okay. I accepted that, letting everything loose, sobbing until
there wasn't anything left anymore.

"I didn't ask for this," I said when I could finally catch my breath. "I just wanted to belong
somewhere. I wanted someone to love me."

"Sit down, Bella," Alice said, tugging at the end of the towel I'd wrapped around my body for
warmth. "I need to explain some things to you, and I want you to see my face when I do. I need you
to know that I am telling the truth."

I plunked down on the pavement, pulling my knees up to my chest to shut out the cold that chilled
me inside and out. Edward's car blocked the wind as it came in off the ocean, but the sun had gone
down, lowering the temperature well beyond the range where I was comfortable. The towel
provided a little bit of warmth, but I wouldn't be able to handle these elements for long.

"Bella, how long have you been having the dreams?" Alice asked.

"I'm sorry?"

She sighed, and pulled her knees up to her chest to mimic my posture. "The dreams. You know, the
ones where Aro chases you through the woods, and then Edward pops up to save you. How long
have you been having them?"

"How did you know-" I gasped, shocked. Alice nodded, encouraging me. She knew and she
understood. "The night after Jasper showed up at the bookstore," I said, taking a quick gulp of air
before continuing, "and most nights since."

"And it's always the same thing, Aro chasing you, Edward saving you?"

"Yes," I responded hesitantly. I didn't fill in any of the detail. Somehow I didn't think I needed to.

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"I've been seeing variations of that same dream since the summer of 1950," Alice said, rocking
slowly back and forth. "Details would change, but it was always the three of you, both of them
insisting that you were the vow and trying to convince you to choose them. The vision haunted me
for a few months before I finally broke down and told Carlisle. Jasper and I had only been living with
the family for a few months, and I could tell that my visions still kind of spooked them a bit." She
laughed and leaned her head to the side. "Especially Rose. She's rather literal."

She smiled, and looked up at me, her small, heart shaped face open and incapable of deceit. Others
might lie to me, but I got the sense that Alice wasn't capable - at least not with this. The last thing I
should be doing is trusting first impressions now, but with her, I was incapable of doing anything
but.

"I worried that Carlisle would think I was crazy. I mean, people have thought that of me before. But
he understood what I didn't. He's the one that pieced it all together. The landmarks in your dreams,
the forest, the ocean, it all brought us here," she held her hand up, swirling it in the night air. "And
this is how it all began."

The natural, logical thing would have been to laugh at her. As Alice said, she was used to people
calling her crazy. Maybe a few weeks ago I would have done exactly that, twirling my index finger
around my head and humming cuckoo before climbing in my car and driving away. That was before I
came to this tiny town in the middle of nowhere to meet my father and a group of vampires, and
learned that the fate of the world might rest on my shoulders. Somehow, after that, precognition
simply wasn't a big deal.

"I still don't understand," I said, too confused and tired to play games. "You saw my dreams, but I
didn't exist. How could that be? Wouldn't I need to be alive for you to see those sorts of things?"

"I don't know, Bella," she said, her face falling. "I don't understand how this thing works, and I can't
control it. Lord knows I've tried. I have visions, and then they come true, it's as simple as that. They
don't always make absolute sense, and sometimes they play out differently than I expected them to,
but they almost always end up happening." Alice took a long slow breath, struggling with something.
"It's like seeing a snippet of a movie or hearing a conversation out of turn. I don't know why or what
came before or after, only that single bit of information. It could mean anything."

We sat quietly for a long time, listening to the sound of the waves crashing down on the break wall.

"Alice, Edward said that Aro could read minds. He said that you saw me ruling by his side."

She sighed, shaking her head. "I didn't see that, although it shouldn't surprise me that Edward might
have interpreted it that way. No, what I saw was you offering Aro your hand, your head bowed. That
is the extent of my visions related to you and Aro."

"But why would Edward interpret something differently that you saw? He would only have your
description. That wouldn't be enough to form his own impression, not unless you said something to
make him think differently." I was completely lost.

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Alice was quiet for a long time, rocking back and forth to some unheard music. "Some vampires
have talents, Bella. I see the future, Jasper can influence people's emotions, and Aro reads minds. So
does Edward. Aro sees every thought you've ever had by touching you, whereas Edward catches the
here and now just by being in close proximity. He saw my visions, and formed his own interpretation
of what he thought I saw. Aro is informed based on Edward's perceptions of my visions. Second
hand sight, if you will."

I ground my teeth, shifting through memories of events and conversations to string all the little bits
together. The dreams, Edward saving me, his ability to read Alice's mind. My lashing out at him for
playing me hadn't been far from the truth. This had all been staged, put into motion long before I'd
ever set foot in Forks. Edward hadplayed his part, and I'd bought into it, bait just like Aro said. I'd
been duped, and I'd fallen for it without even a second thought.

"I don't know what to believe anymore," I said, swallowing back the bile that rose in my throat. "I
don't know who is telling the truth and who's feeding me what I want to hear." I leaned forward,
cradling my head in my hands, eyes closed. "I want to go back to two weeks ago and start over. I
won't bitch about the red towel that turned my underwear pink, and I won't oversleep for work. I
don't want this."

"Edward said something similar the first time he saw one of your dreams," Alice said
conspiratorially. "He went ballistic, ranting and raving about how he refused to be a pawn. I think he
pouted for a few months, but deep down, he knew that you were meant to be." She paused,
laughing. "Did you know he was with Jasper in Phoenix? He wanted to be the one to approach you,
but when he saw you in the book store he panicked. He couldn't hear your thoughts, and he refused
to go in blind. Yeah, he can talk a big game, but in the end he couldn't stay away from you if he tried.
You weren't even in town twenty-four hours and he was lurking in the woods behind your house,
desperate to meet you." Alice waited for a beat before calling out into the dark night, "Isn't that
right, Edward?"

She climbed to her feet, gently tapping the top of my head. "You are brave, Bella. Don't let anyone
manipulate you. In the end, this is all your choice to make. Just yours."

Before I could ask her what choice she meant, Alice was gone, the parking lot quiet and empty,
nothing but the waves to keep me company.

I sat in the dark, thinking for a long time about Alice's version of the truth. Facets of her story rang
true – her knowledge of my dreams, how Carlisle had known to come here, and how the fire had set
everything in motion. Yet there were other pieces that still didn't make sense. It was all mixed up
between Aro and Edward, the simplest tweaks on a concept sending me one way or another based
on the turn of a phrase or the inflection of a word. I didn't know how to separate propaganda from
reality anymore, and until I did that, I wouldn't be able to decide what came next.

"She's right, you know," Edward said. His voice came from behind me, and was soft, almost
sheepish. "I was all set to go in and be the one to break the news to you. I had this romanticized

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vision of me striding in like some modern day cowboy, taking control and changing the world. I could
swoop in to save the damsel before she knew she was in distress," he paused a beat before
continuing, "I should have known you were perfectly capable of saving yourself when the time
came."

I sighed, releasing the air and dead weight that had been building up inside of me. That's exactly
what he'd done, swooped in and given me hope, something to focus on. Edward couldn't have
played it any better if he'd been scripted. The sweet, innocent shy man had lured me right in, and
deep down, I had to admit that there was a part of me that hoped it wasn't an act. The glimpses of
temper had only fueled that, making me want to know more.

"Are you here because you want to be, or because you have to be?" I asked, prepared to release him
based on his answer. "If it's the latter, then you can leave. I don't want you to be something you're
not. I'll figure out a way to protect myself. It's what I do."

My mind was already in motion, playing out the options. I wouldn't want to stay at the house alone.
It wasn't safe for me anymore. Maybe Charlie would let me stay with him. If not, I would check into
one of the hotels in town, and then figure out things from there.

"That won't work anymore," Edward said, avoiding my question. "You are human, Bella. You can't
hurt us, which means you can't protect yourself. Yes, the little flamethrower stunt might have
scared someone off for a few seconds, but they would've gotten to you eventually. Crosses, holy
water, none of that will work against a vampire. As long as you are alive, you'll be in danger. You
need to accept that, and what happens next."

What happens next…I'd known this was coming well before the argument in the Cullen's living room
over who would be the one to change me. Everything to this point had been a slow, gradual ascent,
like a car climbing up a rollercoaster track, the tension and anticipation building until I hit the top of
the hill, the plummeting drop inevitable. I would become one of them; I was unable to fight that. If I
didn't offer it, they would take it. What came after that, well, I don't think anyone really knew.

Alice's words came back to me, unbidden. It's your choice to make, she'd said.

She was right. It was my choice. It always had been. It wasn't just about their right of self-
determination; it was mine too, just in a different way.

I stood, dropping the towel and moving quickly across the parking lot with long, determined strides.
Edward was in front of me in a blur of motion, arms outstretched to block my forward progress.

"Where are you going?" he demanded. I brushed passed him, moving as quickly as I could back
towards the dark ocean.

"Taking control of my own destiny," I said, focused on the waves and the roar of the ocean that filled
my ears. I have the courage, I chanted to myself. I am strong. I can do this. "You might want to think
about trying the same, Edward. Quit being a puppet and man up."

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I'd chosen the words for maximum effect, and they hit the target dead on.

"Do you think I enjoy this?" Edward demanded, the heels of his shoes echoing on the pavement
behind me. "You keep going on about being manipulated. Where's my say, or does that not matter
to you so long as we are here for you to command-"

He was getting angry again, my cheap shots weakening his self control. It was scary how quickly we
could provoke a reaction out of each other, be it good, bad or otherwise. That visceral push and pull
had existed since day one, and I hated to capitalize on it, but I didn't know of any other way and I
didn't have time to figure out.

"That's laughable," I shot back. The break wall was in front of me now, the large jagged rocks
blocking me from the water. I reached out to touch them, gauging the distance. I hated what I was
about to do, but I honestly couldn't think of another way. I tried to focus on what needed to be
done, avoiding all of the unknowns. They would scare me out of acting, and I needed the element of
surprise on my side. "I have no control in this, no say. You expect me to be whatever the hell it is
you want - your own personal little savior. Well, what if I don't want to be, Edward? What if I don't
want any of this?"

Edward caught my wrist, spinning me around to face him. He was furious, up in my face, his eyes
wide and frenzied. "You have no clue what I want, Bella. No clue at all."

"No?" I hissed, jerking my arm free. The motion knocked me off balance, and I landed against the
break wall, the jagged edges rough against my palms. "I know what you want. It's all about power,
about taking control. Everyone wants it, and I seem to be the only way to get it."

We were both breathing heavily, anger and frustration swirling around us. I took one last deep
breath of ocean air, praying that this would work – that I wasn't committing suicide by taking fate
into my own hands. It was laughable in a way - I'd been on a collision course with my own mortality
since setting foot in this town. The only difference now was that I understood just what the sacrifice
meant, and exactly how I would make it.

There would be no grand staging, no people arguing over who deserved the honor. It was not theirs
to take, it was mine to bestow. Queens were born, not made, and I was going to enter the world in
my own distinct style.

Grabbing the sleeve of the sweatshirt, I jerked it up over my elbow, my movements jerky and
awkward. Edward watched me, brow furrowed as I extended my arm to the side and then slammed
it back against the break wall with every ounce of strength I possessed.

"No!" He roared. But it was too late. He couldn't stop me, and the blood broke through my skin
where the rocks had pierced my body. I raised my arm again, slamming it back against the rocks one
more time, the pain burning its way up my arm, the flames licking at my body.

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"You want me," I taunted Edward, holding my arm aloft. The blood was running free now, down my
arm in slow steady drops. "Come and get me."

Before I could say anything else, I was flat on my back in the sand, the pain from my wounds nothing
compared to the fire that ripped through my body. Edward held my arm to his mouth, and I could
feel his tongue, lapping at the wounds I'd inflicted. With a piercing clarity, I felt his teeth sink into my
arm.

The needs of the many, I reminded myself as a pain unlike anything I'd ever known tore me apart
from the inside.

And then everything went blessedly black.

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~ Chapter 12 – Slipping into Place ~

Dreams are strange things. One moment they are tangible and lucid, like memories of something
that just transpired. In them, the simplest sensations, taste, smell, touch are all tangible, almost
visceral. But in a heartbeat (or a ringing alarm bell) they can change, slowly fading away until there is
nothing more than the faintest impression of what was…a false memory of actions taken or
resolutions found. I read an article once that claimed dreams were the subconscious's way of
dealing with traumatic events or other stressful situations. Dreams put an individual in a situation
that mirrors some event of great angst or frustration, and enables them to act out different
situations, ultimately allowing for resolution and, hopefully, relief.

Maybe that is why, while my body burned, my dream repeated over and over again, an infinite loop
that I was unable to escape. Unlike normal REM state dreams, these visions were crystal clear, every
little detail registering. I recalled everything, the inflections, the turns of words Aro used when he
chased me... You will be queen, and through you I will control it all. He was trying to scare me, but he
was wooing me too, lodging subtle little jabs to undermine anything I might have learned from the
Cullens. He was also herding me, trying to drive me to the place he wanted me to be.

In these versions of my dream, Edward wasn't as quick to save me. I ran, bumbling through the dark,
desperate to escape Aro's empty promises and thinly veiled threats. My lungs ached as I gasped for
air, my heart slamming against my chest so hard it felt my ribs would burst wide open. When
Edward did find me, his embrace was not protective, but more reverential. He held me like I was
china or spun glass, something that was precious and worth fighting for.

While my body burned, pain searing through me, my brain continued to process through its infinite
loop, always stopping short of resolution. Edward would find me, tell me I would be safe, and then
all sound would fall away, his face fading slowly, like a ghost or a vapor. I would be alone in the dark,
locked in silence for an indeterminate amount of time; the only thing keeping me company was the
never-ending pain; my skin blistering from the inside out. I was locked in a silent hell with no way to
resolve it.

At some point, my dreams morphed, and I became my music box ballerina. The Overture from Swan
Lake hummed around me, soft violins and cellos weaving their plaintive tune. My spins were
controlled, methodical, the firm hand at my waist balancing me but never constraining me. I felt like
I could fly, so graceful, so elegant.

"You are the most beautiful thing in the world," the man said as he spotted me gently through each
turn. In my earlier dreams it had been Edward, but now it was my father keeping me balanced. Not
the Charlie Swan that I'd come to know, who brought me pizza with extra green pepper and
sausage, no, he was younger, more carefree. The gray in his side burns had not advanced yet, and
his eyes were unlined. This was the man Renee had left, the man who had loved and worshipped

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me, who had promised me the world. "You are my baby girl. You can do whatever it is you set your
mind to. I believe in you, Bella."

Charlie slowly began to fade away, replaced by faceless voices, full of meaningless words and
platitudes. They promised me things, swore to follow, swore to believe, but they were all hollow
commitments of those looking to benefit from my good graces. Everything was empty; there was
nothing, just an intense, burning pain that tore me up from the inside, finally shutting out everything
but agony.

I don't know how long I burned, but somewhere along the way the pain began to crush me. It felt
like Emmett's giant boulder had been dropped on my chest, the rock pinning me to the ground, my
vital organs slowly shutting down under the strain.

"Bella," a voice broke through my haze, familiar but unnamed. "Come back to me. I'm so sorry.
Please, don't leave me. I need you here. I want you here; everything else doesn't matter."

The voice would fade, in and out. Sometimes it was a man, and I thought it might be my father or
Edward. Other times it was feminine and indistinguishable. I knew it wasn't my mother, in fact it
never occurred to me to call out to her – Renee couldn't come to this place – it would never be safe
for her. That's why she fled Forks with me. Forks had never been safe for either of us.

I floated like a piece of burning debris, for minutes, hours, days, as the world spun on around me. At
some indeterminate point the pain started to subside, although I didn't realize it was receding until
it was almost over. My limbs were heavy, reminding me of the way my foot might feel when it fell
asleep. Tiny pinpricks of fire seared my hands and feet, moving up from my extremities through my
limbs, higher and higher, until they reached my torso, and ultimately my heart.

For one, absolute moment of utter stillness, everything ceased to exist. There was no sound, no
light, no feeling. I floated in blackness, blending into the oblivion around me. It was warm and quiet.
It was peace.

Then, just as quickly as it had descended on me, the stillness broke in a cacophony of sound. Creaks
and chirps, punctuated with the scrabble of paws on rough wood, filled the space around me, and
brilliant fractals of light exploded behind my eyes. My body lurched to life, and I sat up, gasping in a
deep breath, which caused me to choke and cough. The action wasn't painful, but rather
uncomfortable, like breathing in the hot air from a car that had sat out in the desert sun all day.

"Hey, shhh, slow down. It's going to be okay," someone reassured me, rubbing my back gently. "The
first few minutes are disorienting, just take it easy and slow down. Everything is going to be just
fine."

The room was so bright that I couldn't get my bearings. I brought my hand up to block my eyes,
closing out the brilliant yellow light.

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"Alice, honey, can you pull the curtains closed? This side of the house can be a bit too much in the
afternoon."

A grating screech of metal loops against a rod preceded the fading of light, and I slowly dropped my
hand, relieved to be free of, what I realized belatedly, was sunshine. A slight form sat on the edge of
my bed, light brown hair pulled back in a low elegant knot at the base of her neck.

"Shhh," she soothed me, gently stroking my forehead now. "Just lay back and relax. It's all going to
be okay. Your body just needs to get accustomed to things. Close your eyes, and try to focus on
something, an image or a thought, just something simple. It will help you find some control as you
adjust."

"Who are you?" I asked, confused and disoriented.

"I'm Esme, sweetheart, Carlisle's wife."

Esme, the woman Carlisle loved to distraction. She was the one who'd broken up Emmett and
Edward that day in the garden, and she was the one who'd been here with me. It was her voice from
my dreams. She was filling the role that my mother should have played, if only she could.

I followed her instructions, lying back on the bed and closing my eyes. Her fingers were soft and
warm against my forehead, her touch meant to relax and reassure me as I came to terms with the
scents and sounds that rang too loud or hit too hard. It reminded me of the way Renee used to trace
my features to help me fall asleep, her touch whisper soft against my skin. She would lie next to me
in bed and sing silly pop songs as I tried to find my way through the cobwebbed maze of stucco
indentations on the ceiling. I must have reacted, for Esme hummed, a light, contented murmur that
sent ripples through the room. I could feel the gentle wash of the sound as it floated across my skin
like the current of a summer stream.

But, when the first ripples of air touched my skin, I bolted upright, gasping in shock. The breath that
I sucked into my lungs itched and choked as strange little particles burning me up from the inside.
"Where am I?" I demanded, my throat dry and aching. It felt like the time in sixth grade when I'd
come down with a horrible case of strep throat. Renee had fed me ice chips and ice cream, anything
to diminish the fire that left angry red welts in my mouth.

"You're okay, sweetheart," Esme said, pushing a strand of hair over my shoulder. "You just needed
some rest."

She placed her hands on my shoulders, gently pushing back on the bed. The cotton rustled around
me, sending little puffs of a manufactured floral scent into the air. "Where is my dad?" I pled, my
eyes darting around the room, desperate for anything familiar. It was full of antique furniture, the
soft yellow walls soothing and warm. This was not a room in my house, nor was I at my father's, for
this space was much too large to fit in his small little cottage. This was somewhere completely new.

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I closed my eyes, breathing deeply again. As my lungs filled with air, I could smell furniture polish,
orange, not lemon like I'd used to clean the phonograph and to fight off Aro. It reminded me of
spring in Phoenix, when the trees were all in bloom. There was an orange grove not too far from our
apartment, and Renee and I would climb over the wall and run through the trees, laughing as the
white petals cascaded down on us. She called it our desert snow, the perfect way to enjoy the
beauty of white coating the ground without having to freeze while waiting for a bus.

The memory twisted in my chest…so many little details I'd never had the clarity to understand. How
many times had she slipped? If I'd been paying attention, could I have pieced all the little clues
together years before? Would it have even made a difference? Memory after memory assaulted me,
twisting me up and turning me around. I didn't want to feel it anymore, all the lies and the betrayal,
made more bitter because they were for noble causes.

"I hear someone one is awake."

I opened my eyes. Carlisle stood in the doorway, smiling down at me with the type of smile I would
expect from Charlie. It was warm and paternal, hitting straight at my heart. He was happy I was
here. He wanted me here. It radiated off of him in waves, and bathed me in warmth, helping to
soothe the confusion and anger. Just behind him in the doorway stood Jasper, hands clasped behind
his back like a soldier told to stand 'at ease.'

"Are those real?" I asked him, "are you pushing those at me?"

"It's what he feels, Bella. I can't fake it, just amplify." He glanced from Carlisle to Esme. "Just wait till
I let her loose on you."

Esme's arm jerked up quickly, flicking her hand at Jasper in a backhanded gesture. "Go be
useful…make sure your brothers aren't killing each other." She cocked her head to the side, as if
listening for something. "Or if they are going to have at it again, please make sure they don't break
any more of my furniture. I loved that chair."

Jasper ducked his head, a quick bob indicating he'd heard her, and winked at me. "See you later,
alligator. Welcome to the family."

Carlisle stepped into my line of sight, obstructing the door and the spot Jasper had occupied. Placing
his fingers gently under my chin, he tilted my face left and right as he stared intently into my eyes.
"How do you feel?"

"Groggy, and sore." My hand rose instinctively to my throat, trying to soothe the fire that raged
inside. "It reminds me of when I had strep."

He laughed, his eyes sparkling in appreciation. "I never quite thought to describe it that way, but it
does make sense. Your throat burns because you are thirsty. I have something to tide you over, but
you are going to need to hunt soon. Are you ready for that?"

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I scrubbed my hand across my face, pushing my hair back from my eyes. It was knotted and dirty
from unknown days spent tossing and turning. "How long was I…" I didn't know what to call it.
Comatose? Out? Half-dead versus all dead? A lifetime of English comedy gave me great fodder, but
none of it seemed appropriate when talking about my life.

"Alice left you and Edward on the beach late in the evening on Friday, September seventeenth. It's
Tuesday, September twenty-first now. Don't worry," Carlisle's hand shot out, catching my shoulder
as I struggled to swing my legs over the side of the bed. "Charlie knows where you are, and that
you're safe. You can call him in a little bit."

"Why can't I see him?" I demanded, my eyes beginning to itch. It was the same sort of ache that
throbbed in my throat, a dry, slow cloying burn that wouldn't go away.

"Bella, you know why," Carlisle said softly, his hand still pressed securely against my shoulder. "It's
not safe. At least not right now."

My hands flew back up to my face, the heels of my palms digging into my eyes in an effort to rub
away the fire that consumed me from the inside. "No," I gasped, my words choked. "I just found
him. I need him."

"You can talk to him in a little bit, sweetheart," Esme promised, her hand wrapping around my wrist
to pry my hands away from my eyes. "I need you to drink something first. Get your wits about you.
Then we'll take you out to hunt. Real sustenance will help you think more clearly. Once that's done,
you can call him."

I dropped my hands to my side, and allowed my eyes to close as I listened to Esme pad stealthily
across the room. Somewhere, at the other end of the house, plastic bags rustled and a microwave
beeped. The sounds were louder than they should have been, but I didn't have the energy to
wonder why – I was too focused on the here and now.

Slowly, I flexed each finger, then my arms and legs, taking inventory of the way my body reacted to
motion. After three days prone, it should have been difficult, even awkward, but my body was
completely under my command. The giant bed creaked as I swung my legs over the side, my toes
coming to rest at the edge of a large stack of mattresses and blankets. I was a good four inches off
the ground, and I could feel the subtle heat rolling off the hardwood below me, the orange zing of
furniture polish stronger now that I was elevated.

Somewhere, maybe out in the hallway, footsteps echoed on the pine floorboards. They stopped at
my closed door, and I could see the outline of a shadow just below the crack. The sharp knock on
the heavy door scared me, and I scrambled back up into bed, realizing that I was still dressed in the
oversized leggings, but the giant sweatshirt had been replaced by a long plaid men's oxford.

"May I come in?" Edward asked hesitantly. He stood in the doorway holding a metal cup, not unlike
the old time ones that miners used in movies. The sun from the hallway created a backlight for him,

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setting off the corona of his hair in a brilliant blaze of gold, brown, red and copper. He reached up to
run his hand through the riot self-consciously. "I brought you something to drink."

"Thank you," I mumbled, suddenly incredibly aware of how awful I must look.

I may only be half dead, but I probably looked completely dead. Monty Python for the win.

Edward crossed the room slowly, stopping just short of the bed to pass me the mug. "You should
drink it now – it's really hot. If you have to drink from a reserve, heat makes it taste better."

The brushed metal was warm in my hand, the way that the hood of a car gets after sitting out in the
sun. I took a tentative sniff, afraid of how my body would react to what I knew lurked in the
innocuous tin cup. There was no coppery smell, no aftertaste of salt water or ions. This was deeper,
pungent and crisp. It was the same smell from the forest behind my grandmother's house, full of
moisture and life.

"It's okay," Edward encouraged, his hands shoved firmly in the pockets of his jeans. "Just close your
eyes and try - "

"Like taking medicine," I said. "Renee would always give me a piece of chocolate after I had to take
medicine. She called it a chaser."

"I can't offer you chocolate, but I think you will be pleasantly surprised," he promised, not moving
from his observation point. "Then I can bring you more if you'd like."

"Baby steps," I said, slowly raising the cup to my lips. Don't think about it, I told myself. Just drink.

The motion of raising the cup to my lips was surreal on so many levels. The way my body moved,
fluid and seamless, every muscle working and flexing with no effort – I focused on that to avoid
thinking about what I was about to do. Taking a quick breath, I placed the tin cup to my lips,
chanting mentally 'don't think, don't think."

When the hot liquid hit my lips, I gasped, unprepared for the thick, sweet fluid that felt like hot tea
with extra honey. It coated my lips and the tip of my tongue, soothing the burn that bubbled up
from inside of me. I drank slowly, savoring the warmth it generated throughout my body, the power
I could feel slowly filling me. A small part of me wanted to scream and cry that this was wrong, that I
was drinking blood, but logic was no match for hunger or desire. I forced myself to go slow, to learn
from the experience, but my appetite would not be controlled, and I drained the cup, running my
tongue along the edge greedily to catch the last few drops that lingered just under the rim. I
repeated the process, licking my lips greedily to gather the fluid that had collected at the corners of
my mouth.

An audible swallow, liquid and muscle working together, brought me back to reality, reminding me
that I wasn't alone.

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Edward had stepped closer, his eyes wide. In the soft light I could make out details I'd never noticed
before. Slight nuances in the color where his skin stretched across his cheekbones, reminiscent of
the way a human would blush. His eyelashes were multi-colored, dark brown at the base, more
golden at the tip. When he blinked, they dusted the hollows under his eyes, the dark circles horrible,
like an old bruise or scar.

"You look horrible," I said, extending one hand to touch the angry dark mark. "You look like Emmett
hit you."

He was warm to the touch, the tender skin giving easily as I skimmed my finger along the bruised
crescent. Everything felt different, and I realized that it wasn't him, it was me.

"You are beautiful," Edward murmured. He stepped back, swallowing quickly, checking himself.
"Would you like more? I can bring you some. After you clean up and get dressed, that is. Esme is
bringing you clothes."

"Already done," she announced from the doorway, her arms loaded down with stacks of cotton and
denim. "Edward, please be a dear and go warm up some more. We'll meet you downstairs in a little
bit."

Esme moved efficiently, sweeping through the room in long, elegant strides. She deposited the pile
on an embroidered chair, and then slipped through a well hidden door, the sound of running water
drifting from the other room. Edward didn't move, his gaze still fixed on me. A subtle clearing of the
throat, ladylike but firm, prompted him into action. Without a word, Edward turned and briskly
walked away, his hands balled in fists at his side.

"What was that all about?" I asked as Esme re-entered the room, holding a soft white terry cloth
robe.

"Come," she said, beckoning me forward, "you need to take a shower. I'll explain as you get ready."

"Ready for what?" I asked as I followed her into the steamy room. There was a half wall partition,
blocking a large tiled shower for privacy. The main area was full of brushes, towels, and makeup, a
regular bathroom with all the regular girly things, yet nothing about this was regular.

Esme reached out to swipe her hand across the mirror, the fogged glass clearing momentarily. "You
look different now, Bella. You need to be prepared for that. Do you remember Garrett and
Siobhan?"

She tapped the cleared portion of the mirror, directing my gaze to the girl that stared back at me,
features distorted by the condensation that had gathered on the silvered glass. Esme was right, the
changes were startling. My features, while still mine, had morphed slightly. The faint trail of freckles
which had dotted my nose was gone, as was the subtle blush of pink that had graced my
cheekbones. My skin was smooth, like buttermilk, white tinged with the softest yellow to keep it
from appearing completely ice cold. My eyelashes, what I'd always considered my best feature,

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were a stark black and thick like sable, a shocking contrast to my blood red irises. Garrett's and
Siobhan's had been darker, like a plum or deep Bordeaux – not this violent scarlet that stared back
at me.

What have I done?

Balancing on the edge of the marble countertop, I leaned forward to study my face more closely. It
was a stranger's now. The little marks I'd known so well were gone, replaced by an expanse of
flawless white.

Behind me, Esme pulled a stack of towels out of a cupboard. "I grew up in Ohio," she said quietly.
"My parents were very traditional Catholics who made sure their children made their first
communion and were thoroughly educated in the ways of the church. They were very proud of our
ancestors and their English heritage, not just the dogma, but the role that religion played in
founding the new world."

Esme placed the towels on the counter, and I noticed a slight indentation slightly off center between
her brows indicating deep thought. "We lived in a town named after Christopher Columbus.
Everyone knows who he is, of course, but did you know that his exploration was funded by Isabella
of Castile?" It was a fact every child learned in elementary school, but I didn't interrupt her story.
"Queen Isabella might have done some questionable things in her time, but she helped unite her
nation as well as discover a new one. Isabella, Elizabeth, they were both great leaders, women who
helped to redefine the world. They derived from the same Hebrew name, Elisheva – which means –
"

"Yeah, I got that part," I cut her off, not wanting to go through another spiel about my great destiny.
"But what does that have to do with me?"

She reached out to comb her fingers through my hair, gently working free a knot. "You aren't a
queen in the formal sense, nor do you have to be anything more than what you choose. That
doesn't mean you don't have power to change the world, Bella. Lead by example and others will
follow."

Esme smiled at me, her lovely face full of empathy and compassion. "You have a quiet strength, we
all see that. You've shown so much courage – I have no doubt that you'll find your way. You are an
individual – that alone makes you strong."

"I don't know about that-" I said. Her direct analysis felt gratuitous, ego stroking that I didn't need or
want.

"Bella, people are waiting on you. Take your time," She said. "I'll be downstairs if you need
anything."

She let herself out, the soft click of the door echoing through the steam filled bathroom. I tore my
eyes away from the mirror and began to strip out of my clothes. I shed them like skin and stepped

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into the shower, ready to wash away the last remnants of Marie Geoffrey and the final days of my
human life. The hot water was my proverbial baptism, carrying me forward into a new existence,
one that I was quickly realizing I knew very little about.

Ω Ω Ω

After showering and dressing in jeans and a light weight purple sweater, I followed seven clear
voices through the house. They were talking about me, about my actions at the beach and the way
I'd 'woken up.'

"I've never seen that type of poise or possession," Jasper said, clearly awed. "And I still can't get to
her. I can project things and she can feel them, but I can't do anything directly to her or project from
her."

"Edward?" Carlisle asked.

I couldn't hear a response.

"She'll need to hunt, most likely somewhere close by and controlled," Carlisle continued,
nonplussed. "Charlie has put out a warning that there are some bears loose in the area, which
should help keep people away for a few days-"

"Why do you need to keep people away?" I asked, still a good fifteen feet down the hallway. I didn't
shout, yet the occupants in the room, which I realized was the kitchen, all went silent, the lack of
motion or of breathing creating an eerie silence throughout the large house. Clocks ticked, a
refrigerator hummed, but there was no human motion of any type.

"For your safety and that of the people that live around here," Rosalie answered. She was as cool
and efficient as the day she'd delivered the terms of the trust. "We can't presume anything about
you, Bella, but we need to protect everyone involved."

They slowly filtered out of the kitchen, crossing the hallway to the large sunken room where I'd had
my formal interview. Emmett winked at me, and inclined his head towards the area, an unspoken
invitation to follow. As I approached, Esme passed me another warm metal cup, filled to the brim.

I drank it quickly and without thinking, my back turned so as not to provide a show. Drinking blood
came entirely too easily, and the sensations derived from it were not uncomfortable. I didn't find
comfort in the easy adoption of my new diet - food had always been a necessity, something that had
to be done. I'd never gained pleasure out of it the way that I did this.

Carlisle waited, respectful and patient, until I finished with the tin cup. Not two seconds after I'd
finished licking the final drops from my lips, he launched in with the practiced efficiency of a doctor
relaying the prognosis to a patient.

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"Bella, if you would come in here and sit down please, I have some things I need to talk with you
about."

Esme took the cup from my hand, and nudged me forward gently, like a mother bird sending her
chick out of the nest for its first flight. I moved slowly, still awed by the strange sensations that came
with motion. Everything was fluid, easy, as if I was walking through water, my body light and
gestures effortless. I paid special attention as I sat down in one of the large chairs - it felt as though I
were floating as opposed to consciously moving.

A snicker pulled me out of my physical analysis. Emmett sat cross legged on the floor, Rosalie to his
right in a large chair like mine.

"Man, it's going to be nice not being the baby anymore," he said with a grin. "You are going to be
one of these types to sit and watch your fingers move, aren't you?" Emmett fluttered his fingers in
front of his face, his nose wrinkling in amusement. "Ooohhh, pretty."

"Baby is subjective, Em," Jasper corrected him. A small throw pillow flew across the room, lightning
fast. Jasper caught it easily, tucking it under his elbow as he leaned back in his own chair. Edward
hovered behind him, his arms crossed over his chest, clearly unhappy with the way his brothers
were playing. Alice was nowhere to be seen.

"Bella, we've taken some precautions that will buy some time, but you need to be aware of what
has transpired over the last few days," Carlisle said, putting an end to the playful banter.

"What sort of precautions?" I asked, uncomfortable with his too precise phrasing. I wasn't sure if I
wanted details yet, for fear that I would be horrified by truths that I might be better off not
knowing.

"We hired someone to pretend to be you," Carlisle said. He stared directly at me, his tawny eyes full
of ageless wisdom. "We packed up your suitcases and Charlie drove to Seattle, where this woman
was placed on a plane to Jacksonville. She wore your clothes, and we took other evasive actions to
help convince people that you had indeed fled the area."

I frowned, my brain cycling through the different ways they could have created the illusion. Packing
bags and a look alike were good, but would they be enough?

"The glass," Jasper said. "Remember the wine glass you broke? Carlisle used a little of the blood
from your paternity test to coat the end, create a real scent for Aro's guard to follow. He placed a
few more drops in Charlie's squad car, as well as on your luggage. We created a false scent for them.
They went trotting off on a wild goose chase, at least for now."

The vial of blood. I'd completely forgotten about it in the craze of the previous week. I'd never
questioned that it would be used for anything other than a paternity test. Now I wondered if that
had been the plan all along, to have a small stash if, for some reason, they needed to do something

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to protect me. Had the blood test even been necessary, or was it a charade to cover a darker
reason?

"He will be back soon," Carlisle continued, his words clipped and efficient. "If he doesn't find you, he
will let those that came with him loose on the town. They willhurt people, Bella."

"How do you know? How can you be sure?" I asked, horrified.

"It's how they work. Aro dictates and watches as other people wreak havoc. He will have no issue
with destroying an entire town to get you. And he will, trust me on that."

"I still think we should go after him and take him down directly," Emmett said, serious for the first
time that I could recall. "Between Jasper, Garrett and I, we could take the guard down no problem."

"Not with Chelsea and Renata protecting Aro," Carlisle reminded him. "Renata especially."

"Can you please stop speaking in code?" I demanded. They were talking around me, and I had no
tolerance for it. "I don't understand a single thing you are saying."

"The people at your house," Edward clarified, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet clear and
distinct. "The people in the doorway watching – the woman was Chelsea, the boy Alec. The woman
at Aro's back was Renata. They are part of the guard, a group that Aro has assembled due to their
special abilities. The men that stormed your house, Demetri and Felix, they were members of the
guard too. Were it just Demetri and Felix, we could handle the situation, for their powers are not
things that affect us. The others, well…"

"The others can immobilize or divide us," Jasper finished for Edward. "We have to be smart about
how we approach this. Renata has a special shield, which protects Aro. No one can touch him.
Chelsea is a link-maker. She connects or breaks apart groups so that the Volturi can create dissent-"

"-or accord," Edward finished for him.

"And Alec?" I asked, acutely aware that he'd been left out. "What of him?"

Jasper shot a nervous glance at Carlisle, whose face was composed in an unreadable mask.

"Alec," Carlisle began, "and his twin sister Jane, can control your mind. They create the illusions,
either of absolute pain or of nothingness, a yin and yang if you will. They can immobilize a whole
room with just a thought."

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Jasper looking at Edward, who shifted uncomfortably. Carlisle
was unaware of this exchange, his attention focused solely on me. It had been like this in the
backyard when they'd revealed themselves. This clearly meant something different to Carlisle than it
did to the other Cullens.

"And…" I prompted, trying to hold his attention. There was a subtext here, something I'd not picked
up on before, but I couldn't put my finger directly on it.

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Carlisle took a deep breath, his eyes betraying nothing as he spoke. "And they could take out all of
us, but Alec couldn't take you out. He tried at your grandmother's house."

"How do you know?"

"None of us can influence you, Bella," Edward answered softly. "I can't hear you, nor could Aro.
Jasper can't read you. Alec couldn't shut you down – even though he tried. You are completely
impenetrable to everyone around you. You cannot be swayed by anyone's undue influence."

"I sense a but coming…" I said, uncomfortable with Carlisle's choice of words.

"Yes, there is one," Carlisle agreed. "Alice told you about her vision of you, and how we found you.
She's had three visions that tie to you and the prophecy. Three visions which Edward, with his ability
to read minds, has seen. Once Aro touched Edward, he became aware of those as well."

I caught a flash of motion out of the corner of my eye. Alice stood in the hallway, hidden from
everyone but me.

Remember, she mouthed. Remember what I told you. She tapped her temple, nodding
encouragement. At the beach, remember.

In a flash, I could hear the surf crashing against the sand, smell the saltwater, and then, as if
bubbling up from some hidden stream, there it was. The answer I was looking for.

What Aro saw, he saw through Edward's recall. Aro is informed based on Edward's perceptions of my
visions.

Everything was so literal - Carlisle's insistence that the prophecy related to me, Aro's confidence that
I would do exactly as he demanded – it was all too neat, too clear. What had Alice said about her
visions? They were like snippets of dialogue out of context, sometimes coming true in ways she'd
not anticipated. Anything out of context could not be treated literally, which is what they were
intent on doing.

Aro believed I would bow to him, and ultimately rule at his side. Carlisle claimed I was the prophecy
incarnate, the one who would overturn this heinous rule they bristled under. Both too literal, too
absolute. Where was my chance at self determination? It's what they claimed to want, but what
about me?

"I need some time alone," I said, standing abruptly. Everyone jumped to their feet, prepared to stop
me from flight or to calm me down. "I need to think." I shot an imploring look at Edward, hoping he
could understand, and would follow my lead.

"Can you take me out, please? I think I need more food."

I did need food, for the burn in my throat was back with a vengeance. But I also needed to talk to
someone who would tell it to me straight, someone who had seen all three of Alice's visions.

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Someone who was just as tired of being used and manipulated as I was.

"Please, Edward?" I held his gaze, hoping that he understood, and that he wasn't so angry at me that
he wouldn't come. Like it or not, we were tied together now, and it appeared that the only way out
of this would be together.

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~ Chapter 13 – Occurrences in Context ~

There was, as a matter of course, a debate over the viability of my going out to hunt. It would seem
that the newly converted, or newborns - a term I found highly ironic - were not known for their self
control. With a number of small towns in close proximity, there was significant concern over my
ability to handle myself, should I come in contact with a human.

While Edward and Jasper argued over what I could or could not do, I wandered over to Emmett,
who was watching the exchange with great amusement. He raised his eyebrows at me, shaking his
head slightly to indicate he didn't understand. I rubbed my stomach, a childish gesture that worked
well to communicate my intent.

Just go, he mouthed, inclining his head towards the hallway. I frowned, shaking my head and
pointing at Edward. Go, he mouthed again, his gaze darting back to Carlisle, who had stepped into
the fray, trying to balance both sides of the conversation.

When Emmett was sure no one was watching he reached out, placing one large hand on my hip and
pushed me in the direction of the hallway, the heavy carpet muffling my steps as I stumbled
forward. I shot him a dirty look, but that didn't stop Emmett. He stood, blocking the path out of the
living room behind me, and jabbed his finger at the hallway impatiently. Go.

Rosalie leaned forward in her chair, nodding agreement. I glanced back into the room, where
Edward, Jasper and Carlisle were all still deep in debate. They'd not noticed Emmett's
encouragement or my motion. The time for talking and analysis paralysis was over.

"You can talk all day," I announced, backing out of the living room. "I'm going. Whoever wants to
come babysit me can."

I spun on my heel, not stopping when Carlisle called after me, "Bella, wait!"

Everything happened in a bit of a blur. Emmett turned sideways, allowing Edward to slip by him. The
moment Edward was through, Emmett turned and straightened up to his full height – his broad
shoulders making it impossible to pass him without either knocking him over or doing physical
damage to the furniture around him.

"It's not safe!" Carlisle called, but Edward was already in motion. He grabbed my hand and dragged
me towards the large doors in the kitchen, the rooms whipping by us in a blur of motion.

"Back in a bit, don't wait up," he called hastily, throwing the backdoor open so hard it slammed
against the wall with an earsplitting crack. "They can't catch us," Edward promised as we all but flew
away from the large white house, the trees streaking by. "I can outrun them all, and you're young;
they can't stop you, not even Emmett."

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"Not like Emmett is going to try," I said, sidestepping a large boulder to follow Edward through the
trees. "Where are we going?"

"Up, into the forest. It will be away from people, so you won't have to worry about temptation."

Temptation. Yet another thing I'd not considered in my rash move to meet my fate head on. I'd
jumped before taking the time to understand what this life meant. Were there rules or constraints
that I would have to live by? What could hurt me, or potentially end my life? Would it always be
hard for me to be around humans or would I grow comfortable with it, so that in time I could
interact with people the way the Cullens did? I'd just found my father and started putting down
roots in a place that I could call my own; I didn't want to lose that, not yet.

Beyond the questions and the fears, there was something that burned deeper, a curious longing that
gnawed at me since I woke up from my epic sleep. When first told about the prophecy, and later
about Alice's ensuing visions, I'd been angry at the Cullens for lying to me. They'd dabbled in my life,
bringing me back to the one place I never knew existed, which also held the greatest threat, all to
create some new vampire world order. I'd believed that, or at least a variation, until I'd woken up to
find Esme hovering over me like a doting mother, and Carlisle looking at me with awe and
admiration. Everyone had looked past the aspirations, the great future, to see a girl, warts and all,
who just wanted to belong, and accepted me for that.

I stewed on the concept as Edward and I ran together, up hills and over jagged rock formations,
dodging large trees and easily scaling those that had fallen across our path. The only sound was that
of the wilderness around us, chirping birds, rustling leaves in the branches high above, and the
intermittent call of a wolf far in the distance. I lost myself in the sounds, allowing them to sweep
away the questions that swirled about me. The beauty of this uncharted world placated me,
wrapping me in a gentle embrace, the simplicity and elegance of life giving me hope that there
might be something better out there after all.

With Edward leading the way through the forest, we cleared an amazing distance in no time. To our
east were large mountains, their craggy faces reaching towards the sky with fierce solemnity. Every
once in a while, Edward would glance back in my direction, as if he was concerned that I might not
be able to keep up or that I'd slipped away. When our eyes would meet, he would quickly turn away,
his expressions shuttered and unreadable. Everyone else had been such an open book, encouraging
and supportive, yet Edward remained an enigma to me, closed and protective of whatever it was he
might be thinking.

After an indeterminate amount of time, he stopped at the crest of a hill, the wind gently wafting up
through the valley below to ruffle his hair, which was mussed from our run. Below us, stretched out
like a long winding snake, was a river where a herd of deer waded in the shallows. Edward held up
his hand, an indication for me to wait where I was. Before I could respond, he was off, flying down
the embankment with blinding speed, and was upon the herd before they knew to run. I watched in
shock and awe as Edward grabbed the short blunt tips of a buck that'd not yet developed his full
rack. The buck brayed, alerting the herd who scattered at the intrusion, sprinting along the banks of

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the river, water splashing in their frenzy to get away. When the mêlée cleared, Edward was left,
soaked to the bone, holding the blunted tips of two struggling bucks, one in each hand, like a
conquering hero.

"Dinner for two?" he called up the hill, his eyes raised to me in innocent glee. Faint rays of sunlight
had broken through the clouds, dappling the entire valley in warm light. He was beautiful and exotic,
and the entire scene took my breath away. I'd never believed in fate or destiny and had longed for
something more, something magical that would solidify my place in someone's life. Even in my
wildest dreams, it had never come close to anything as confusing or convoluted as this, yet I knew,
deep down that the more I fought, the harder it would be to resist.

"Come on, Bella," Edward called after me again, his voice light. "I got you a seat with a view."

I wanted to relax, to allow myself to give into a primal instinct or urge to consume what Edward was
offering, but the hunger for these animals didn't come. I watched as they struggled in his grip, awed
by their sheer size, and slightly horrified at what their capture meant. Something in my expression
must have betrayed my apprehension, for Edward nodded slowly, the corners of his mouth turning
up in a gentle smile.

"Come down and I'll walk you through it," he promised. His voice was soft, reminding me of our first
meeting in the woods, and how cautiously he'd approached me. I'd been a skittish mare, one that he
patiently held his hand out to, offering kind words to calm me down. With a few exceptions he'd
always been that way. He could be kind when we were not provoking each other.

"I'm scared," I admitted. This was real, and I would be killing something. The liquid in the cup had
been blood, but there had been no loss, no body attached, at least not that I knew of.

Another gust of wind whipped up through the valley, grabbing the ends of my hair and swirling them
around my face. In one smooth motion, I jerked my head, flipping my hair out of my eyes. My
muscles didn't protest at the sudden movement, and I fought back a wave of strange nostalgia. I'd
spent years getting neck spasms from flipping my hair, and now it was all gone. My hair trailed out
behind me, like ribbons in the breeze, and all I could think was no more…

"I don't know if I can do this, Edward," I said. There was a knot in my throat – fear at destroying an
animal, mourning for what I'd lost, terror for what lay ahead.

"It's going to be okay," he promised, walking forward slowly. His arms were extended, holding the
bucks securely in place, their heads forced down so that they wouldn't fight as he led them out of
the water. "I'll be with you every step of the way. It will be okay."

I nodded, forcing myself to focus on his confidence, and not on what I needed to do. Of all the things
I'd not thought through, the most basic of which was the actual mechanics of being a vampire.
When I was seventeen, I'd gone about sex the same way, choosing a local boy and getting it over
with, focused more on the end game than the actual event. As I recalled, I'd had the same reactions
then, too. Being a vampire and losing my virginity were both approached with the same focus.

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Forget the logistics in between like blood and condoms and the death of a part of you. Why consider
those things at all when the end state was the goal? It seems that I'd spent all my life that way,
focusing on the end, and not the journey in between.

With a deep breath, I started slowly down the hill, trying to repress the nagging fear that was
bubbling up inside of me.

"I wish I could get in that head of yours," Edward said as I climbed over a fallen tree. "I just want to
help, and you are so hard to reach." He smiled, and with the breeze rifling through his hair, he was
surreal and perfect, drawing my attention away from what I was about to do.

"You don't want to read my mind right now," I said, stopping a few feet from him. Beyond us, it was
easy to make out fish swimming lazily upstream, the first of the salmon on their migration north to
spawn. "Maybe that's why no one can get in my head, it's such a convoluted mess."

Edward bowed his head, in what I could only describe as embarrassment. "Maybe it's not a
convoluted mess. Maybe we simply aren't meant to touch that part of you. You stand apart, mystical
even to creatures like us."

"You make me sound so special," I said, "I'm just me. I'm just-"

"Bella," Edward finished for me. "You are Bella. That is special." He released one of the bucks, given
it a nudge to run. The deer brayed again, then sprinted away, kicking up water and stones in his
flight. "Come on, I'll help you."

He easily jerked the other buck forward, out of the water, and forced it down onto the rocky shore.
The buck, which, when it was standing, had been as tall as Edward, struggled under his hands,
fighting and trying to force his way up.

"Don't look at his eyes," Edward cautioned me as I approached. "I made that mistake the first time.
Look here," he tapped a point on the deer's neck with his free hand. The pulse thumped just below
the animal's skin, and with it, I could feel the percussion of his heart, tapping a gentle beat through
my body, which was hypnotic and elemental. Edward was aware of the sounds and how they lulled
me, encouraging me on. "Good, now close your eyes and breathe deep," he instructed. "Let go, let
your body feel this. Don't think…just be."

With the trees and river shut out, I was more aware the deer stretched out in front of me, the
pounding of his heart louder than it had been before. There was a pungent, peaty scent saturating
the air, reminding me of the way the forest had smelled behind my grandmother's house. Wild and
free and full of life. This was primal, exotic, almost sexual the way my body burned, my desire for
this animal and the throbbing life force stronger than any sexual desire or longing I'd known.

"Good, now give me your hand," Edward instructed softly. "Don't open your eyes."

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I did as I was told, raising my arm slowly. His fingers wrapped around my wrist, guiding me towards
the deer and the rich, tantalizing scent of blood. The animal's skin was blazing hot beneath my hand,
the large vein pounding out a staccato beat against my palm.

"Trust yourself," Edward murmured, releasing my wrist. "Let go."

That's exactly what he did, letting go of me and the buck at the same time. The animal hesitated for
just a millisecond too long, maybe not quite realizing it was free. By that point, I was close enough,
both in body and in mind, and was able to react without thinking. My arms flew around the buck's
neck, using my body to pin him back against the ground. Unbidden, my lips sought out the hot skin,
and I shuddered as my mouth made contact with the coarse fur at the animals neck. The pulsing
blood just below the surface was hammering in my head, the drumming of the deer's heart so loud
that I had to shut it out for fear of losing my mind.

My teeth sank easily into the muscle and sinew, like a rock through wet paper, and when the blood
hit my tongue, I sighed in relief. The fluid was hot and pungent and rich, coating my throat and
dousing the fire that had started to rage out of control. I drank in long, greedy pulls, no longer
repulsed by the animal that lay dying beneath me. Only when the loud thumping in my head ceased
and my desperate need was satisfied did I allow myself to look up.

Edward sat, a hundred yards down the river, on a large boulder looking up at the sky. His back was
to me, his broad shoulders slightly bowed from looping his arms around his bent knees.

I stood, swiping the back of my hand across my mouth to wipe away the remnants of my feeding
frenzy. When I drew it back, there was a streak of blood across my knuckles, brilliant scarlet. I
started at it for a moment before licking it away greedily, like the final tiny crumb of a gourmet
meal.

"That wasn't that bad, was it?" he asked, not looking back at me. "Once you stopped thinking."

"I do stupid things when I don't think," I admitted, high on the blood and the rush that came with
new knowledge. "That's how I ended up here. I accepted things at face value. I goaded you."

"You ended up here because you didn't have a say," Edward answered sarcastically. "Neither of us
does, even though you believe otherwise. You need to stop fighting and accept it."

We seemed to bring that out in each other, a push and pull, a fire that was not rational or thought
out. He kept insisting that it was all pre-ordained, and this was my chance to finally learn why.

"You keep saying that, but I don't understand." I stepped around the deer, which lay limply at the
water's edge, his big brown eyes open and unseeing. "Why don't we have a say?"

Edward cocked his head to the side, watching as a hawk circled overhead. "Do you see him, up
there? He's following his instincts. That's what we all do – we follow the path that has been laid out

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for us. You have yours, I have mine, and now they are intertwined. Short of death, our lives are
joined forever."

I wasn't sure if I was ready for that sort of commitment or declaration yet. I hardly knew him, and
while I was intellectually and physically attracted to Edward, there were still a lot of holes. Ones that
he needed to start filling. "What about things that haven't happened yet?"

Edward smiled and shook his head ruefully, never letting the hawk out of his sights. "Don't you get
it, Bella? The prophecy, Alice's visions, they are all leading up to some grand showdown, where you
bow down to Aro, and I follow along like some trained puppy to keep you happy. We are both going
to be at his disposal, watching as the world marches on. We couldn't fight this, not even if we tried.
This is the life we are fated to live. It's time to accept it."

A few feet away, a fish broke the surface, a splash of water breaking the quiet burbling of the river.

"You said I would torture you," I whispered, unable to raise my voice any higher. "Is this what you
meant? How I made you attack, and how you can't get away?"

"Part of it," Edward admitted, his voice husky. "The worst part of it is that I don't care. And it's
because of where it leads, and what it means."

"I don't understand?"

He sighed, his eyes still fixed on the hawk overhead. "If you can perpetuate the prophecy, and I can
make you happy, who I am to question? I've spent my entire life waiting for this. If anything, the
reality will be better than the waiting."

"I don't believe that there isn't a way to change things," I said, a little louder now. "Alice's visions are
sound bytes, which, out of context, can mean a lot of different things. The same could be said for
whatever it is that has you turned around. It's all about the context, Edward."

He swiveled slowly on the rock, his legs straightening out to provide stability as he leaned forward to
face me.

"You want context?" he said, his words measured and angry. "Which one would you prefer? Where I
see you bowing to Aro, your hand offered up in supplication while we all watch? Or the constant
iterations of me chasing you, and you tormenting me with your words and accusations, always out
of reach as I try to live up to what you want me to be. Do you want to know that, for the past sixty
years, I've watched myself falling in love with you via Alice's visions, and I've been helpless to stop it
or understand why? And then you show up here, clueless as to everything, and I get sucked right
in?"

He was off the rock, moving towards me quickly, his eyes dark and angry. "Do you have any idea
how frustrating it was to watch everything play out, and be completely helpless to stop it? I've seen
you giving up, Bella. There is nothing to fight for."

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Edward's angry tirade crystallized it all for me - my dreams, me bowing down to Aro, Edward. They
were three pieces of a puzzle, all joining together to form a picture which, in different contexts,
could mean radically different things. In my dreams, Edward had saved me. In his reading of Alice's
mind, Edward saw me turn the other way, shunning him to follow in Aro's stead. Both Edward and
Aro believed that I would buckle and fall, when I hadn't even been aware that I could stand.

But, the thing was, I could stand. That was Esme's point in the bathroom. I might not be a leader, but
I was an individual – I could make my own decisions, which would form my own path. So could
everyone else.

"So stop it," I said, not willing to give in to the future that Edward believed. "Take control."

"All the world is your stage," he said, eyes dropping to the ground. "We are but backdrops in your
production. In the end, the applause is only for you."

He was so bitter, and I finally had enough information to understand why. To spend his life, waiting
for the inevitable, feeling incapable to change a thing. Had Edward rebelled, trying to turn away this
destiny? Or had he waited for me, believing that this could not be avoided?

None of this was fair. We'd both lost our lives in different ways – Edward in waiting, me in running.
So much time lost.

"I'm sorry," I murmured. "I didn't know. Not about any of this. I didn't…"

There was no point in making excuses, for we both knew the truth. We'd been pawns for too damn
long. It was time for that to end.

"I am not going to run, but I'm not going to go blindly either," I said, trying to sound braver than I
felt. "I am not willing to accept that this is the only way."

Because everyone had fought for me, I wanted to say. And someone should fight for you.

I took a deep breath, willing myself to find the strength and courage that I didn't feel, and raised my
hand to touch Edward's cheek. His skin was warm under my fingers, and I flattened my palm against
it, marveling at how different he felt from before. I replayed all of our interactions - `the awkward
fits and starts, the way he would approach and withdraw, or the strange moods that I didn't
understand. I'd accused him of lying to me, deceiving me to win me over. It'd been the opposite.
Edward had fought our connection with everything in him, and yet here we were. We'd always come
back together, because together and united was where we could be strong.

"I dreamed about you," I said, bringing my other hand up to his face. "Always you. And then you
showed up in the forest behind my house, and it was so overwhelming. You were always there, the
one to save me when I thought I was lost. You kept me from running away and gave me the courage
to be strong. You fought for me, but who fights for you?"

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Edward closed his eyes, as if shutting out the light would block my words too. Without those sad,
tawny eyes staring back at me, he looked so young, very much the seventeen year old just on the
brink of manhood. He should have been off, living his life, not frozen in place, decades waiting for
his destiny to play out.

Impulsively, I tipped my head back, and balanced on tiptoe so that I could press my lips to his
forehead, breathing deep as I did. That same heady scent, cinnamon and pine, was so much
stronger than before, and tinged with something deeper, rich and calming like old books and
leather.

These were the scents of comfort, of aspirations. I'd always thought that they were tied to my
personal preferences, my love of reading or of the things I wished for. I'd been so wrong. Everything
I'd ever wanted or needed; it all had always been about him. He was the combination of all the
enigmatic preferences that had jumbled together over my scattershot life, the one consistent
comfort. With him I'd always felt safe; not from outside threats or what people wanted, but to be
myself.

I kissed the bridge and then the tip of his nose, continuing to breathe deep all the scents that had
been home and confidence during my short time in Forks. I could feel his breath against my lips,
warm puffs of air mixing with the cooler wind that gently drifted through the narrow space between
us.

"We can change things if we choose," I whispered, "we lend the context. Only we can decide how
this will end. You and me, Edward, no one else. Nothing in this mess is literal other than what we
believe."

Edward didn't move when I kissed him, his lips stiff but soft against mine. It almost deterred me, all
the insecurities and memories of being less than enough bubbling up through me like a fresh assault
on an old wound. But I couldn't pull away or give up. That's what he expected - what Aro expected. I
might not be a great queen or a leader, but I could stronger than I had given myself credit for, and I
would not back down. Nor would I fall.

Without telltale signs, like heartbeats, physical reactions cannot be gauged. No thrumming pulse
visible at the throat, no flush of pink across the cheeks to show excitement. I had to go by sense and
instinct, hoping that the decisions I made were correct, and that I could repair damage that had
been wreaked long before I ever arrived to make a wake. When I kissed him again, Edward's lips
were still stiff, but a gentle pressure at my back, his hand flattening against my spine, held me in
place and encouraged me to soldier on.

"I know what you are doing," I whispered before kissing him again. "If you want me to chase you to
even things out, I will. You aren't just a backdrop to me. You saved me. You kept me safe. You fought
for me, and I will fight for you."

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He gave a little, his mouth relaxing as I continued to wear him down, plying one kiss after another to
prove that there was some control to be claimed beyond the predetermination he so fervently
insisted was real. When his lips finally did soften and finally move under mine, I wanted to cry in
relief, my arms snaking around Edward's neck to hold on tighter. Slowly, the wall began to crumble,
each kiss growing a little bit more, until we were tightly wrapped around each other, my hand
knotted in the hair at the base of his neck, holding on for fear that he would pull away.

That's when it happened, the shot in the dark, the bolt of lightning that crystallized everything in a
crisp, brilliant flash of light. I'm not sure who initiated, or how it came to pass…the lightest swipe of
tongue across a lip or a gasp of unnecessary breath, but suddenly the kiss was on fire, all hesitation
or trepidation falling in tatters on the forest floor. I could breath him in, taste him, feel his mouth
warm against mine, and it would never be enough. It had all been a long slow progression to this
point, and Edward was right, there was nothing we could do to stop it.

I didn't want to.

Edward pulled me tighter against his body, forcing me to tip my head back even further to maintain
the kiss as it slowly burned me from the inside out. I was giddy and overwhelmed, and all I could
think was more...more of this, more of him, more of everything. I let my hands drop to his chest,
hesitating for a moment before starting to work at the buttons on his oxford, clumsy because I was
too distracted by him to be coordinated or subtle. In less than a split second, Edward had my wrists
locked in a vice grip, his eyes open wide in confusion and shock.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice rough and low.

"What do you think I am doing?" I shot back, fighting to keep my voice steady. "I'm chasing you."

He dropped my wrists and stepped back, away from me. There was an audible crack as he collided
with the rock, one hand slipping back to spot himself so he could vault over the rock to land
gracefully on the other side. I watched mystified as Edward worked to refasten the button I'd
popped free, a scowl marring his handsome face. "This isn't about being chased, Bella. It still doesn't
change things."

He was flustered, scrambling for composure. In the short time I'd known Edward, he'd been many
things; shy, awkward, angry, but never flustered. He was acting like a scared little boy.

"What's wrong? You're acting like you've never kissed a girl-"

I stopped abruptly, the look on Edward's face, his reaction suddenly making absolute sense. He had
waited. For sixty years, for a lifetime, it didn't matter. He'd waited for me.

"I have too," Edward answered brusquely, completely unaware of my realization. "I am a gentleman.
I do not kiss and tell."

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My smile grew, as I replayed the entire scene over in my head. No wonder he'd bolted. "I was your
first kiss, wasn't I? You waited all this time so that I would be your first kiss."

Edward opened his mouth, ready to rebut my question, but then his face literally transformed, the
frown morphing into a look of incredulity. His eyes swept over my body, then the surroundings, and
his eyes grew even larger.

"What?" I demanded. "What's wrong?"

He threw his head back, laughter ringing through the forest. When he finally dropped his head to
look at me, a delighted smile was stretched across his face, the polar opposite of the scowl he'd
leveled at me just a minute before. In three long strides, he was back in front of me, his hand tipping
my chin back so that I had to look directly into his eyes.

"That's what you said to me in Alice's vision," Edward said, his expression fierce and victorious. "You
were wearing this sweater, and we were kissing, and then we were far apart and you were laughing
and asking me if I'd never kissed a girl before. I always thought you were making fun of me because I
was a bumbling idiot, being mean, but you weren't. You changed the context."

He brushed his mouth across mine in what was intended to be a quick kiss, but neither of us could
pull away - the attraction was too strong. We were entwined, arms wrapped tightly around each
other, all mouths and tongues and desperate for more.

"We will come back to this, I promise," he murmured against my lips. "I waited forever for you, and I
want to have the time to enjoy it. You just gave me a reason to believe."

Edward released me and ran a hand through his hair, mussing it back into its normal disarrayed
mess. Then he reached out to pull my hair back away from my face, holding it at the nape of my
neck like a ponytail.

"You're acting crazy -" I started, but Edward chimed in to finish my statement with me.

"-and all over the place," he said, his smile vibrant. "I saw that too. You're right. It's context. Which
means if I was wrong about this, then there are other things I could've been wrong about too. There
might be an alternative after all."

He wrapped my hair around his fist, and then fanned out his fingers, letting my hair fall gently back
to my shoulders, his eyes focused on the way the strands fell in the soft afternoon light. Reluctantly,
he released my hair and extended his hand.

"Come on, Isabella," Edward said, his voice even and confident. "You and I are going to go change
the world."

With fingers twined together, we ran, back towards the house and what came next. Alice had been
right, everything did cycle together; the visions, the prophecy, as well as our understanding, all

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turning and evolving around itself. Parts had come true, where as other facets had evolved,
revealing details that could and would change everything.

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~ Chapter 14 – Glittering in the Sunlight ~

The large white house that the Cullens called home loomed like a ship marooned in the forest, the
plate glass windows reflecting the trees and motion that swirled around it. As we approached, I
could hear noises – the clacking of computer keys, the shuffling of papers, a washing machine
agitating water, soap and fabric. The sounds were not remarkable, for they existed in every house at
some time or another. But standing half a mile away, listening to what was most likely towels going
through the rinse cycle, further reinforced the fact that everything would be very different now.

Aside from my voracious liquid appetite, the most noticeable changes to the 'new me' had been my
senses, which were heightened to epic proportions. I could see the details on trees that loomed on
the horizon, hear Emmett talking to Rosalie on the far side of the house, and smell window cleaner.

There were other changes, like my speed and stamina, which felt boundless. In our quest to find
food, I'd run inconceivably fast, covering miles in mere minutes, never getting winded or needing to
stop to rest. The vampires I'd encountered were all fast and strong, more like superheroes than
humans. Were these traits special, like the way some people could curl their tongue into a U, or did
everyone have some simple latent gift that could be called upon as needed, like Edward's mind
reading or Alice's precognition? Could I capture a buck by the antlers or throw a boulder fifty feet?
Without putting my body through the paces, there was no way to really know.

"Hang on a sec," I said, breaking free of Edward's grasp.

We'd just crossed over the rise of the hill, roughly five hundred yards from the house, passing a
stand of cedars and pines. At the far end of the group, one cedar stood alone, towering over the
others, its massive trunk a dark, dusky brown. While not as wide, the cedar was easily as tall as the
giant redwoods in California tourism posters, calling to mind the silent sentinels who'd endured a
lifetime of storms, cold, and fits of nature. The sapling can't withstand the shadow of the ancient
oak.

We'll just see about that.

"Come on, Bella! We don't have time!" Edward insisted, but I was already halfway up the hill, kicking
rocks and pebbles out of the way in my assent. They scattered easily, forgotten residue from glaciers
and rivers that had carved out these valleys thousands of years ago. No two were alike, the years
turning each stone into a distinct entity; some round, others flat, each one truly unique.

I stopped fifty feet short of the large cedar, and bent to scoop up a rock. It was strange oblong
chunk, roughly the size of a small child's football, which I could heft easily. A week ago, I would have
no doubt dropped the rock due to its sheer weight. Now I could toss the stone around as if it were
made of plastic or something even lighter without fear of dropping or bobbling it.

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"What are you up to?" Edward asked. He'd crept up behind me, his hand slipping underneath my
hair to massage the muscles in my neck. Since we'd reached an understanding by the river, Edward
and I hadn't been out of physical contact. The anger and the distrust had been shed, replaced by the
sweet, attentive man I'd come to know over the past few weeks.

"I thought you would be mad at me," I said, finally finding the courage to address the proverbial
elephant in the room. "I forced your hand at the beach. Everything was about me and never about
you. That was wrong."

Edward laughed, his fingers kneading my muscles gently. "You are apologizing for the one thing I'd
accepted a long time ago, Bella. I've always known I would be the one to change you. I just didn't
know when."

"If you tell me that Alice saw this…"

"No, she didn't see it. I'm kind of surprised Carlisle didn't figure it out, to be honest. He's the one
who has dissected the prophecy a thousand times."

He slipped his free hand down my arm, his palm cradling my hand so that we both supported the
rock. "Irish servant will bend English oak to make a vow of strongest stone."

"If you are saying I am plain like this river rock, I am going to make what you did to Emmett look like
child's play," I warned him. It was easier to be light and joke now, but I found that I craved his
approval, and I needed to hear him spell everything out. I wasn't completely ready to read in
between the lines just yet.

"Everyone's always been hung up on the first part of the prophecy, which identified Charlie and
Renee, and then you. But there's one more person in there. Someone had to turn the vow into
strongest stone."

"Enough, Nostradamus, spit it out already." I tried to pull my hand away, but Edward refused to let
go.

"I'm the only one that sticks with the name Cullen consistently. Well, aside from Esme that is. The
others float in and out, but they always return to their given name." Edward elevated my hand so
that it was level with my heart, my arm extended out in front of us like an offering. "After this long,
they've probably all forgotten that I'm not a Cullen. I may have to start using my real last name
again, since it suits you so well."

A small thrill pulsed through my body, the same traitorous flutter I felt when we kissed by the river.
After years of being alone, someone wanted me enough to keep me around. Maybe forever. It had
nothing to do with who I was supposed to be, but who I was now, who I'd always been. Edward saw
through it all, and he liked what was underneath.

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"I hope it's not Button," I said, trying to joke away the charge that hung in the air between us. "Bella
Button would be a fate worse than death."

"No," Edward said, his index finger tapping the underside of the rock. "It's Masen. Like a stone
mason. I helped create you, Isabella Masen. Vow of Strongest Stone."

He released my hand, his fingers trailing slowly up my arm, leaving a raging fire in their wake. I was
finally starting to understand how must it have felt for him, watching this all unfold, helpless to stop
it, and not entirely sure he wanted to. His anger over the broken wine glass made so much sense
now. It had always been just a matter of time for him, and yet he'd still been brave enough to
approach me, the ticking time bomb who controlled his fate.

Edward kissed the side of my neck, his breath raising little trails of goose flesh as he spoke. "It's
always been about you, but I didn't see the 'us' in that equation, too." He blew on my exposed skin,
laughing as I shivered. He was acting like a little boy, playful and lighthearted as a whole new world
rolled out before him. "We are a team, you and I. We are stronger together. Nobody was banking on
that."

I turned the rock over in my hand, studying the grooves and crevices, considering Edward's point. It
appeared solid, with no fractures. It was so tiny and compared to the giant cedar tree. Could such a
plain little object cause much damage to something so large and ancient?

"I need to know what I can do," I said, breaking free of Edward's grasp. He let me go, stepping back
without protest.

Raising my arm, I cocked it back behind my body, mimicking the motions of a pitcher going into a
windup. I aimed high, targeting the massive trunk of the red cedar. As my arm whipped forward, the
rock sailed high, a gray blur on a collision course with the tree.

The rock by itself wasn't large enough to do a significant amount of damage, but the velocity at
which I threw it was. The projectile arced to the left, missing the trunk and crashing through a dense
clump of branches. There was a deafening crack as the limbs were shorn free from the tree, the
debris plummeting to the ground with a muted thud. The rock continued its flight, crashing to the
ground roughly twenty feet further into the forest. When I retrieved it, I found the surface exactly as
it was before, no scratches or pits. My one little rock hadn't taken down the tree, but it had made its
mark and come out unscathed.

I looked up, squinting as the sunlight filtered in through the bare spot. The sky was a soft, gentle
blue with gauzy clouds frosting the afternoon sky. One little rock had changed the dynamic of the
forest, letting light into an area that be shrouded in constant shade.

"What are you thinking?" Edward called from behind me.

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I knelt on the forest floor, watching as the sunlight brought the unassuming gray river rocks to life.
Swirled into the gray stones were subtle blues and purples, along with tiny crystals, which danced in
the afternoon sun. I'd revealed a new world just by sheering off just couple of limbs.

"How much does Garrett weigh?" I asked innocently.

"I haven't the foggiest, why?"

"When this is all over, I am going to launch him at least fifty yards, and I hope he comes down in
some water." I wiped my hands on my jeans as I stood, mixing streaks of dirt with the blood I'd
managed to splatter on myself during my feeding frenzy. "And I am going to enjoy every minute of
it."

For the first time in as long as I could remember, there were things to look forward to. Not arbitrary
concepts like when I finish school or when I find a job, but tangible things like terrorizing Garrett or
finally seeing a tree change from green to red, or snow coating the ground.

Edward must have caught the shift in my mood, for he darted forward to catch me around the waist,
lifting me easily up off the ground. I didn't fight, allowing him to spin me around as our laughter
mixed together, rising up to blend with the birds and the leaves before fading into the sky.

"When this is over, we are going away," he promised. "We'll leave the world behind and get to know
each other, no titles or ominous prophecies. Just you and me."

Edward stopped spinning and released me, his hand grasping mine so that he could turn me around
and pull me into an embrace. I closed my eyes, allowing the sounds and scents of the forest to sink
in. This was real, this dream that had unfurled in my head for weeks. There were things I wanted to
control, my role in this grand drama and the impact of the so called prophecy. But there were other
things – like this, that I wanted to live in. There was a balance to be found between control and fate,
and we were both slowly coming to understand just exactly what that meant.

"You are the vow," Edward whispered, kissing my forehead. "I believe in you."

Ω Ω Ω

Half an hour later, the family, as Edward called them, convened in the kitchen at our request.
According to him, the living room and the dining room were their normal conference locations, but I
needed us to be on equal ground in a place where no one had any sort of physical or emotional
advantage. Short of going to my grandmother's house, the barely-used room that represented a
normal human life would have to suffice.

Alice, Rosalie, Esme and Carlisle sat at the long kitchen table, their hands clasped in front of them
patiently as they waited for what was to come. Emmett had hopped up on the island, his long legs

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dangling over the edge like a large child. On the other side of the room, Jasper leaned against the
wall; his arms crossed over his chest as he silently took everything in.

When we made eye contact, he winked at me, the corner of his eye crinkling slightly. He was so
comfortable in his skin. I envied that, and wondered if there would be a time when I could feel that
way in mine.

"Well, we're all here," Emmett said impatiently. "What gives?"

Edward glanced at Alice, who stared up at him, her big round eyes full of wisdom.

"Do you remember when Alice had her first vision?" Edward asked. He leaned back against the
island, just a few feet from Emmett, with his hands stuffed in his pockets and ankles crossed. He
created the outward appearance of complete relaxation, as though he was finally at ease with the
events that had unfolded around us. "The weird dreams, the forest, and the prophecy?"

No one spoke, waiting for him to continue.

"We weren't in the area four months when the Volturi arrived and started the fire." Edward stared
intently at Carlisle, who was composed, waiting patiently for him to continue. "It was only the guard
the first time. Why would Aro know to come now?"

"It could be a number of things," Carlisle replied, nonplussed. "Once Bella was found and the
communication went out to the Council, I'm sure word leaked. The Volturi have a wide range of
contacts, any of whom could have found out about Bella's presence."

"That makes an awful lot of people aware of this prophecy," Edward said, "a lot more than you led
us to believe."

He and Carlisle stared at each other for a long time, as the others looked on in silence. Behind
Rosalie, Emmett shifted uncomfortably, glancing from Edward to Jasper as if he expected Jasper to
intervene.

"There were a number of people in the room that night," Carlisle responded, not at all put out by
Edward's thinly veiled attack. "News spreads. People like gossip."

"This is just a bit more than gossip," Edward said sharply. "What you've lead us to think about Bella
isn't as black and white as you believe.

"I don't see where you are going with this, Edward." Carlisle said, leaning back in his chair. "We all
know Alice's vision came true. Bella's here, just like the prophecy said."

"The prophecy is subjective," Edward corrected him, "at least parts. So are Alice's visions."

They stared at each other for a long time, something strange and unspoken passing between them.
The room might as well have been empty, for none of us existed, just Edward and Carlisle, locked in
some strange philosophical battle that no one else was following.

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"Look at you," Carlisle finally said, his hand drifting lazily between Edward and me. "Ruby red and
purest gold, what more proof do you need?"

"It's one version of the truth," Edward countered, his voice flat, "but it's not the only one."

Out of the corner of my eye I caught Jasper move subtly, shooting Rosalie a look, his brows raised in
an expression that looked an awful lot like 'I told you so.' She nodded slowly.

Everywhere I looked there were fissures forming. Veiled looks, arms crossed across chests, and
uncomfortable silence betraying the fact that the others might have their own doubts where the
prophecy was involved. I was amazed at the shift in dynamics, for the Cullens had always presented
a united front to me. In hindsight, I realized it wasn't that the others were in agreement with
Carlisle, they simply never spoke out.

Edward pushed off the counter to slowly circle the room. "Charlie wanted Bella to have a normal
life, away from all this insanity. He believed she would return to Forks with the ability to take
everything in stride. Look at how she's handled herself, Carlisle. The way she faced down Garrett's
verbal sparring, as well as a room full of vampires. She knows who she is, and she's not going to be
controlled. Charlie sent her away, not to let her live her life, but to help her find her will."

Rosalie nodded slowly, her gaze locked on Edward. No one looked at Carlisle, who was clearly
wounded by her apparent defection. The dynamic in the room was shifting, away from Carlisle as
leader to one where everyone was on equal footing. I'd never realized before just how much Carlisle
held sway, and it was clear he was not handling this realignment well at all.

"When Bella came back to Forks she set off a chain of events, both through me, and through Aro
when he touched me. She needed to be scared and confused, just like I needed to resentful and
hotheaded," Edward paused, letting the point sink in. "The minute Aro saw my thoughts he saw
everything I knew: the visions, the council, Bella's reactions, how I felt, everything. He accepted
them as fact because I believed them all to be true. He's making his decisions based on my view of
the world."

"Which is hardly fact," Rosalie murmured. "He's treating your take on everything, including Alice's
visions, literally."

Edward nodded, his pace around the room picking up as he continued to speak. "Aro believes that
Alice is infallible, because I believe it, although I realize now it's more complex than that. By being so
angry and resentful, I lulled Aro into a false sense of comfort. He thinks his cause has already been
won. He expects us to fold."

"That's all well and good," Rosalie interjected, taking over the questioning from Carlisle, who sat,
head cradled in his hands, in stunned silence. "But how does that solve our problem? We still have a
potential war brewing, with the lives of a lot of innocent people at risk. Aro's not going to give up
until he takes Bella back to Italy with him. He wants her bad."

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"Oh, he wants her bad," Edward said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He'd seen into Aro's mind,
and knew just exactly what the man had planned, things I was suddenly grateful I didn't know. "He
wants her so bad, and is so sure, that he forgot everything outside of Bella. Even a mile away I could
hear what was going on in his head. That's where he went wrong. He tipped his hand, and I think I
know how to slow him down."

Carlisle looked up, suddenly alert. "Tipped his hand how? What did you hear?"

Edward stared at him for a long time, his arms crossed over his chest. When he did speak, his words
were measured and thoughtful. "I never understood the part about the libertines. The Volturi are
controlling, manipulative even, but they aren't malevolent. They enforce their laws, but they don't
kill randomly. Or do they?" Edward hesitated, his eyes boring into Carlisle's. "Aro was thinking about
his sister, and how he wished she could be here to see this."

"That means nothing," Carlisle said sharply. "Didyme died thousands of years ago. Aro was
devastated. As was Marcus."

"You're not making sense, Eddie-boy," Emmett said, trying to diffuse the tension in the room.
"Who's this Didyme chick, and why should we give a hoot?"

"Marcus's wife," Carlisle said reverently. "She died long before my time with them, cut down by an
unknown attacker. Everyone who knew her loved her, most of all Marcus. Her death ruined him,
turning him into a shell of a person." He paused, reaching out to clasp Esme's hand. "People said
that she soothed a savage side of him, allowing Marcus to find peace where there had been none
before. To know her was to know happiness, and when he lost that, he lost his will for anything."

Carlisle's voice grew wistful as he recalled the tragic story. "They had planned to leave, to live out a
life of peace, but in a blink she was gone, and Marcus didn't have the will to face life without her.
He's stayed, hidden in the shadows of Volterra, helping to create the kingdom that we know today."

"How did he help create the kingdom?" Emmett asked. "What makes him so powerful?"

"Outside of mated vampires, those that consume human blood don't often establish emotional ties.
There are pacts, alliances even, but to live in harmony the way that we do is all but unheard of,"
Carlisle explained. "Without emotional connections, bonds are weaker, and can be easily broken.
Marcus can sense the emotional connections of groups, and sense the points of incursion or
weakness. He is invaluable in battle or negotiations, showing where to attack and how to break
dissenters down. And unlike Aro, he doesn't need to touch you to see this."

"O-kay," Emmett drew the words out as he digested the information. "And all this means what to
us?"

"Out of context, nothing," Edward admitted, "but add in the fact that Didyme died at Aro's hands,
and it changes matters entirely."

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Esme gasped, her hand flattening over her mouth in shock. Over her shoulder, Jasper was lost in
thought, his tawny eyes distant and unfocused.

"You're sure," Carlisle demanded of Edward with uncharacteristic harshness, "Aro destroyed
Didyme?"

"With the silver spark weapon Caius carries on him," Edward responded. "Aro destroyed her, and
then gave it to Caius as a gift."

Emmett whistled. "That's twisted."

"It makes sense." Carlisle murmured, his hand pressed against his forehead as if he needed to
stabilize himself. "Aro can't stand without Marcus's skills and Caius's zeal for destruction. If one
were to leave, they would fall apart."

"But if he had something that made Marcus want to stay," Edward ventured, finally looking at me.
"Maybe even bring him back to life…"

"Like a queen," Alice said, breaking her silence. "One who brings happiness with her."

"Someone that everyone can love." It was the first time that Jasper had spoken, and it was strange
to hear him speak so dispassionately. "Someone that everyone believes in."

"You're both right," Edward agreed. "A re-engaged Marcus brings back the full strength of the three.
Add in the mythological Queen," he hesitated, glancing quickly at me before continuing, "Who
would refuse to follow? Rule by myth or rule by intimidation, either way the power is absolute.
Marcus mated to Bella, the power restored, the Volturi would be unstoppable."

"We can't allow this to happen," Carlisle said, his eyes burning with conviction. He'd forgotten
Edward's verbal sparring from earlier, intent on the weakness of his enemies. "We have to use the
prophecy, and rally those that want to fight back. We can use it to win support - "

"No one will come," Edward said, cutting him off. "They're too scared. The boy, Alec, showed me a
coven in Sweden who was destroyed for spreading word about the prophecy. It would seem that
Aro has recently formed a secret group, led by the boy's twin sister, tasked with executing anyone
who dissents. They are here, and they plan to destroy us after Aro takes Bella. We will not be
allowed to live."

"That's not going to happen." Emmett jumped down off the counter, drawers and cabinets rattling
at the impact. "They want a fight? I'll give them a fight. No one is messing with my family. We stick
together."

"I have no doubt about that," Edward said. His expression softened as he took in the large man, the
affection for his brother etched clearly across his face. He loved these people more than I ever
realized. They might not actually be related, but there was no doubt about the bond. "And I think we
can use that to our advantage. The boy knew of the attacks, but the woman, Chelsea, does not."

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"That doesn't mean anything," Jasper cut in. "A good military structure doesn't share information
across all branches."

"True," Edward agreed. "But they also do not depend on one individual to keep the group together.
Chelsea is their unifier, their strength. She keeps Marcus in Volterra, and she links the guard.
Without her, the center will not hold. It makes Aro's duplicity a very powerful weapon."

"Could it be that simple?" Rosalie was leaning forward, her elbows propped on the table, all of her
attention focused on Edward. "Use propaganda to bring him down?"

"I recall Chelsea and Renata both having very clear senses of right and wrong," Carlisle said, his
posture mirroring Rosalie's. "They are happy with their place in the guard because they believe it
keeps the balance. They are not malicious, they want peace."

"Peace that you are threatening," Edward shot back. "They are aware of the nomads that move
through here, practicing their own special brand of euthanasia. To the guard, we are monsters
offering false promises for salvation."

"That argument sounds familiar," Jasper mumbled under his breath. Carlisle shot him a look, one of
weary irritation.

Everything seemed to be swirling together in a dizzying blur of absolutes, with Aro at one pole and
Carlisle at the other. The people I'd believed were cleanly aligned were actually trapped in between,
like a game of monkey in the middle, waiting for all the facts before declaring allegiance.

"The point being," Edward said, ignoring Jasper's commentary, "a large portion of the guard has a
distinct view of right and wrong, and trust that Aro is upholding that. They all believe he is
something that he's not -"

"And if," Carlisle cut in, his accent more pronounced in his excitement, "if the people that protect
Aro and keep the others loyal question his commitment, specifically Renata and Chelsea, can we win
them over to our side?"

"Purest gold embraces ruby red as the libertines suffer their fate," Alice said, her voice low. "It was
never about Edward and Bella; it was about us embracing those in the guard who believe in good to
shift the balance of power. They are the ruby red, not the libertines."

"That is correct," Edward said, staring directly at me. "They aren't the libertines. Not at all"

Everyone was so focused on the revelations about Aro and the potential hole in their united front,
that no one noticed the change in Edward. He'd found his confidence. He was right. We were
stronger, simply because we were together. Aro wasn't banking on that, and it gave us a true
advantage.

Context really was everything.

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~ Chapter 15 – Children of the Revolution ~

The revelation of Aro's master plan set everyone in motion, scrambling to deal with all the little
details that would need to be put in place.

First and foremost, it was agreed upon that Alice and Esme should be as far away from any potential
danger as possible. They didn't have any fighting skills and were not aggressive creatures. With the
added knowledge that Aro lusted after Alice's talent, everyone agreed that it would be safer for
them to stay with Eleazar's wife, Carmen, in Alaska until after, well… after. Carlisle would drive them
north to the Canadian border, where Carmen would pick them up and make the day and a half drive
back to her compound. Eleazar and Tanya were planning on driving down with Carmen, then they
would come back with Carlisle, and they'd already been in touch with the rest of the council. Garrett
had not wandered far, and he committed to return in a few hours. Siobhan, having just arrived
home in Northern Ireland, would stay there and wait, for it would take her at least two days to get
back to Forks.

"I don't like being gone for this long," Carlisle said as he placed a bag in the trunk of his car.

"Aro wants more than Bella, and I will not let him near Alice." Jasper stood with one arm wrapped
tightly around Alice, his chin resting on her head. "We're better suited for combat, and having
Eleazar here will help diffuse Aro."

Carlisle had been quite disconcerted to learn that Aro wanted both him and Eleazar back in Volterra.
I'd been aware of Carlisle's time there, but Eleazar had been a member of the guard, a trusted
member who had been instrumental in the recruitment of new members. The more we talked, the
deeper and more malevolent Aro's intentions appeared to be. Not only did he believe that he would
return home with the Queen, he intended to bring back other valuable 'tools' to further his
domination. He would truly be unstoppable.

That was enough to defer any argument on Carlisle's part.

"Depending on the ferry schedule, I should be back by early morning. Please call me if anything
happens." He patted his shirt pocket absently, checking to make sure he had his phone. "I will do the
same."

"We will," Rosalie promised. She and Emmett stood at the top of the steps, their arms draped
around each other. Edward hovered on the periphery, strangely quiet as they finished loading the
car. There was a flurry of goodbyes, hugs and kisses and promises to be safe. Esme held on to me for
a long time, her long hair tickling my nose as I buried it against her shoulder.

"You are brave, remember that," she whispered to me. "Be what you want to be."

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I lost myself in her embrace, letting Esme's confidence brace me like words never could. In her eyes,
I was invincible. I knew it wasn't true, but she made me want to believe. "I will. Thank you," I
promised.

She kissed my check and released me, taking with her the warmth and security that only a mother
could lend. Without her arms around me, I felt like that scared little girl again. But she placed her
hand over her heart, and gave me a Mona Lisa smile.

Everything you need is always here, she mouthed before climbing in the car.

We watched, subdued as doors closed and the engine started, none of us willing to say anything
more definitive than 'see you soon,' because goodbye felt too final. We would see them again. All of
them.

None of us moved until the car was well out of sight.

"Kitchen, now," Jasper said, spinning and striding towards the house. He was stoic, revealing nothing
of the turmoil he had to be feeling watching Alice leave. Jasper could have taken her and run – he
didn't have to stay here and fight, but he did. This was more than self-determination to him; it was
about family. It was for all of them. "We don't have much time."

Emmett released his wife to tug open the large wooden door, holding it as we filed into the house.
The yin to Jasper's self contained yang, he waited until I was inside to smack my butt, bumping me
forward and off balance. I yelped and dropped my hand back behind me to cover my butt, waiting
for another assault. Edward beat me to the literal punch, growling and pushing Emmett backward
into the open door. It crashed into the wall with a loud crack, knocking pictures askew all the way
down the hallway.

The rebuke didn't rattle Emmett, who simply laughed off Edward's attack. "This is going to be more
fun than I expected," he teased. "And it's only just the beginning."

"You're making me look forward to throwing you again," Edward warned, but Emmett didn't stop,
waggling his fingers at me in mock threat. It earned him a smack on his wrist from Rosalie, who
muttered something under her breath about large children and how they should know better.

The playful banter ended as we reconvened – Rosalie and Emmett claiming the seats abandoned by
Carlisle and Esme while Jasper sat next to me on the other side of table. Edward returned to his
position at the head.

"What's our game plan?" Edward asked, but Jasper was already ahead of the game.

"We aren't going to be able to take the Volturi down, you know that. It doesn't matter what the
guard believes is right or wrong; there are some who will still fight."

"We have to keep them away from the humans," Rosalie murmured. "No repeats of 1951. We can't
let them get hurt again. I don't think this town could bounce back like it did last time."

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"Charlie knows what's going on," Emmett said. He "He's going to come up with a reason to get as
many people out of town as possible. I'm half tempted to start a fire just to roust the natives."

"Be kind to the trees," Rosalie reminded her husband. "You've already hurt enough of them."

"You want me to save the trees or save the people? I don't know if we can do both."

"Funny you should mention trees," Edward said, effectively ending their back and forth. "Bella gave
me a different perspective on that during our hunt. We can't beat them, nor do I think we should.
The Volturi have been in power too long - pulling them down would only cause more chaos, like
cutting off the head of the hydra."

"One always grows back," Jasper threw in, nodding his head in approval. "You can't kill it; you have
to figure out a way to control it."

"Exactly." Edward leaned forward, his hands pressed flat against the table top, bracing himself.
"The way to deal with this is to use the information we have for leverage. We might not be able to
overthrow them, but I don't think we need to. If we can control or heavily influence them, we can
accomplish the same thing."

Emmett stood and walked over to the window, his hands laced behind his head as he stared out at
the forest. With his arms bent, elbows pointing out he reminded me of the old myth about Atlas
supporting the world. Pulling it down would only cause harm, but if we could alter it just a bit, how
would things change?

"Libertine can mean two things," Edward said, staring intently at Emmett's back. "Aro is one
extreme, morally corrupt and willing to do whatever it takes to get what he wants. But we
discounted the other definition," he hesitated, taking a deep breath. "A libertine can also be a
freethinker, an idealist, a -"

"Carlisle," Rosalie said softly. "Carlisle is a libertine."

"And others on the council," Jasper interjected. "They're all so idealistic about granting everyone
their freedom but they haven't thought about the cost. If the Volturi fall, there's no way to control
the countless vampires around the world. We would be unleashing a thousand kids in a candy store
unsupervised. I've seen this type of idealism before – it never ends well. There is a way to allow for
more interaction with the world while keeping the laws that work."

"You're talking about a hybrid?" Rosalie was leaning forward on the table, her arms bent to support
her weight.

"No, more like an evolution. If we can supplement their rule and make it more democratic, we can
accomplish what the council wants, protecting ourselves and creating the desired changes from
within."

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Emmett let out a long breath. "You mean no pitch fork brigades with flaming torches? When they
talked about coming out, that's all I could think of. Staying in the shadows isn't always a bad thing."

"I agree," Edward said, staring directly at me. "Absolutes one way or another are never a good
thing."

He was right. By bringing down the Volturi, we could actually make everything exponentially worse.
The council started this ball rolling with their idealism and desire to make things better, but without
thinking through the consequences.

"So what do we do?" Emmett asked. "You don't think we can take them down. I never thought we
should, especially not if it means vampires running around unchecked. But the train has left the
station - how are we going to keep this from spinning out of control?"

"That's where Bella comes in, at least according to Alice," Edward said. "This is bigger than we ever
realized. Vampires all over the world know about the prophecy. Why else would Aro be killing off
the supporters?"

"She's a figurehead," Rosalie observed, one long finger tapping against her lips. "People are waiting
for her, hoping for change, right?"

"Aro sees Bella as a way to lure everyone in. She's the theoretical Holy Grail, giving him ultimate
power. Once he has her in the fold, people will stop dissenting. They'll follow her because of what
they perceive she is. Aro would be able to rule the world."

They continued to debate strategy and probe at Aro's likely responses to the wild goose chase he'd
been sent on. I tried to follow the conversation, but I couldn't get past the fact that people had died
for believing in me. A month ago I was no one, a random college student barely making ends meet.
I'd been oblivious to the fact that there were people out there waiting and hoping for me, or at least
the concept of me, believing that when I arrived I could make everything better.

They believed in me more than I believed in myself.

"Can we just stop for a minute?" I gasped, shooting up out of my chair. It grated across the wood
floor in protest, teetering precariously and then slamming to the floor with a loud bang. I didn't stop
to right it, running out of the kitchen and down the long hallway. At the far end of the house there
was a lone door open, the room shaded and dark.

Slipping inside the room, I pushed the door closed and leaned against it with my eyes shut. After a
moment of silence, the conversation resumed at the other end of the house, hushed voices talking
about points of weakness and how best to set the scene for the inevitable showdown. I forced
myself to block them out, focusing on my surroundings in the hopes that there would be something
here to help me escape the inevitable for just a little bit longer. The room was small, not quite the
size of a bedroom, and appointed as an office or study. A large distressed brown leather sofa
dominated one wall, a series of oddly matched oil paintings and wood panels hanging just above.

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The remaining three walls were covered in bookshelves. This was the room of a thinker, not a
frivolous reader, someone who craved knowledge.

Two full walls of shelves had been dedicated to medicine, with journals, books and folios spanning
what appeared to be hundreds of years. The remaining wall, which had been built around two large
picture windows, was divided in half. On the far side, books by John Locke, Emmanuel Kant and
Thomas Hobbes were mixed in with more familiar names like Jefferson, Franklin, and Thomas Paine.
The other section was filled entirely with books about England: histories, biographies of kings and
queens, as well as more than a few books on the formation of the Church of England. Oddly enough,
it reminded me of my mother, and of watching Princess Diana's funeral on television, the thousands
of people watching her sons mourn her publically, all sharing the boys' grief as a way to validate
their own loss.

What was it like, I wondered, being born into a life where you knew what your purpose was from
day one? To be raised, every day bringing you one step closer to whatever that destiny was? If I'd
been brought up, preparing, training, or even accepting that this would be my lot in life, would I
have rebelled, or would I have accepted it, like my father had? Or, was my ignorance necessary as
Edward claimed? There was no easy answer, but I did know that, like those boys leading their
mother's funeral procession, I was just as much a figurehead, and there was nothing I could do to
change that.

I eased a book about Queen Elizabeth I down off the shelf and carried it over to the desk and sat
down. There was a phone on the corner, an elaborate console with buttons and names programmed
in: Esme cell, Edward cell, Jasper cell, Forks Hospital, Rosalie Office. The name Charlie Swan jumped
out at me, and before I could stop myself, I had the phone pressed to my ear as the flat, dull ring
tone echoed through the line.

"Forks Police," a woman's voice answered.

"Chief Swan, please."

"He's out right now, can I take a message?"

"It's urgent that I get in touch with him," I said. "Can you transfer me to his cell?"

The woman sighed, and I could hear papers rustling on the other end of the phone. "We don't-"

"It's his daughter. It's important."

The noise on the other end of the line stopped, and I could hear the woman's breathing increase.

"One moment," she answered brusquely.

There were a series of clicks, followed by the low hum of the phone line, then another click.

"Chief Swan." His voice hummed through the phone, full of confidence and authority.

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"Dad?"

"Bells? Where are you? Are you okay?"

I'd thought that hearing my father's voice would be a relief, a safe haven in the middle of this
chaotic storm. Instead it made the distance between then and now that much more profound. I
couldn't ask him to come get me and take me home. There was no home anymore, at least not in
the traditional sense that I'd defined it. Maybe that was the point to this whole epiphany – maybe it
was time to bury the old part of me, and allow the new to shine through. Holding on to the past
wasn't going to allow me to go anywhere.

"How did you do it? When your dad took you to the Cullens, how did you accept what they told
you? Didn't you want your own life?" The words tumbled over each other, each one a desperate
plea for reassurance. "I don't know how to do this. They want me to be something that I don't know
how to be."

"Hang on a second," Charlie said. I could hear his blinker, and then the jangle of keys as he turned
the car off. "Yeah, I did want my own life. But I wanted you more."

"But you missed out on so much." My throat ached, a different fire from thirst. This felt like I was
drowning, my lungs searing with a pain I could only internalize, not release. "If you had to do it all
over again, would you do the same thing?"

Charlie sighed, and in my imagination I could see him, rumpled and tired with dark circles under his
eyes. Who took care of him? Who loved him?

"I just found you," I choked out, the fire inside me raging out of control. "It feels like no matter what
I do, I lose everything, including you. I don't want that."

"You won't lose me, Bella," he promised. "I'm like a rash you can't get rid of."

I leaned forward on the desk, one arm stretched out to create a makeshift pillow, my cheek pressed
against soft cashmere of my sweater. My free hand cradled the phone against my ear, a life line to
the world. Charlie was trying so hard to make me laugh, but there was no joy to be found.

"I'm scared," I admitted. For all the conflict I'd experienced, the fluctuations of strength and
confidence and trepidation, this was the first time I'd admitted it to anyone out loud. It made me
feel so incredibly small and fragile. "What if I fail?"

"You make it sound like you're alone in this," Charlie said. "Yeah, you are the center of it all, but
there are a lot of people lined up around you. You are a lot of things, kiddo, but you are not alone."

"People have died because of me, Dad." My voice cracked, and I wished desperately that I could cry.
"People were destroyed because they wanted me to come. Everyone has this great expectation that
I am going to solve everything. What if I can't?"

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Charlie sighed, and force of his breath whistled through the receiver. "I wish I knew what to tell you
that would make it all better, Bells. But I don't know that answer. I wish to God I did."

We were both quiet for a minute.

"I heard that Edward has an idea on how to handle this," Charlie said, easing back into conversation.

"Yeah, he found out some stuff out that may give us the upper hand."

"He's good at that." Charlie laughed, which surprised me. "The first time I met him, Edward called
me out for saying he had bed head. I thought it, and he immediately corrected me that
he absolutely did not have bed head. He was all indignant about it, which I guess was pretty funny at
the time."

It took me a minute to realize that Charlie was talking about his version of the great revelation. "I
could see Edward doing that," I admitted, fighting back a smile. "He's a good man, Dad."

"I know he is. All of the Cullens are, and they legitimately care about you. Not what they think you'll
be, but what you are. I wouldn't have let them near you if I didn't believe that."

"I don't know if you could have stopped them."

"Are you kidding?" he said, his voice lighter now. "I'm stubborn as hell. It would take more than a
couple of vampires to stop me. So are you. You grabbed the bull by the horns a few days ago, Bella.
You can do anything you want if you believe in it. You just have to believe."

"I guess I don't have to ask how you feel about Edward then, do I?" I tried to tease back, but the
laughter didn't come.

"Well, aside from the fact that I don't like anyone biting my daughter, I think he'll be good for you.
Just don't go too fast, okay? I don't care what all the prophecy stuff says.."

"Dad, I'm twenty-three," I said petulantly. The whole thing was ridiculous and just the levity I
needed. Somehow, my dad always knew what I needed, even when I didn't.

"Doesn't matter," he said, laughing. "Little girl is little girl. I'm keeping you that way."

When our laughter died, we fell into an awkward silence. I could hear cars passing him by, the hum
of the engine and the pinging of rocks as they hit his cruiser. He was out in the real world, trying to
save lives. He was brave and strong. If Charlie Swan could do it, then I should too.

"I love you, Dad," I whispered. "You're better than anything I could have ever wished for."

"I love you too, Bells." Charlie's voice was gruff, and I wondered if he was trying not to cry. "And you
are everything I could have hoped for and more."

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It was the first time we'd said those words, and they burned into my brain, a permanent mark from
Charlie Swan, one that I would never give up.

Ω Ω Ω

When the light began to fade, I turned on a light in the study. After hanging up with my dad, I'd
opened up the book on Queen Elizabeth, flipping carelessly through the pages. She'd not been born
a queen, and had been treated horribly throughout a good portion of her childhood, lied to and
manipulated by people who claimed to have her best interests at heart. Instead of letting that break
her, she channeled and learned from it, emerging as a strong, capable woman because of her
experiences, and not in spite of them.

There was a light tap on the door before Edward slowly eased it open.

"You okay?" he asked tentatively.

"Relative statement, but yeah. I just needed some time to myself. Once an only child, always an only
child."

Edward sat down on the couch, his long legs stretching out in front of him as he reclined back
against the cushions.

"That was difficult to get used to at first," he admitted. "I was an only child, too. When I woke up
with Carlisle hovering over me, I could hear him. Not just him, I heard the people in the house next
door, even the man walking down the street. I went from being comfortable on my own to never
being alone. In some ways, you and I are exact opposites, you know. I can't keep anyone out, and
you can't let anyone in."

"What do you mean?"

"You're closed off," Edward said. He'd propped his elbow on the arm of the couch, supporting his
cheek as he stared at me. "Neither Aro nor I can read you. Jasper can project things at you so you
can feel them, but he can't access your emotions or influence you in anyway. Alec tried to
immobilize you, but he can't. You are perfectly closed off, the one mind that no one can touch."

"Well if that doesn't win a girl over, nothing will," I answered drily.

"You're missing the point," Edward insisted. "You can't be influenced, at least by anything invasive
like others talents. It levels the playing field, and forces people to revert back to the skills from their
human life. That's something that you are in touch with which we aren't. It gives you the
advantage."

"How do you figure that?"

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"You force us to use parts of ourselves that we've abandoned." Edward didn't look away, and I was
surprised by the honesty of his admission. "I've gotten so used to reading people that I'd lost the
ability to observe and form my own opinion outside of what the person thinks. You helped me
rediscover that. Jasper, too. You've done so much for us in such a short time, Bella, and you don't
even realize it."

"Stop trying to butter me up," I said, trying to sound more irritated than I felt.

"I'm just telling you the truth. People learn a lot when they are faced with what feels like
insurmountable odds. Sometimes they even have an epiphany, revealing things they didn't realize
they were wrong about."

"What did you learn?"

Edward smiled and turned so that his chin could rest in his palm. "In the summer of 1945, Emmett
read something about the vernal equinox. He was all fired up about the concept of perfect balance
between night and day, and the ability to stand an egg on its end. While he acts like a large child,
he's very structurally oriented, and geometry and physics fascinate him."

"Emmett acts like a kid? I hadn't noticed."

He laughed, and continued with this story. "Emmett bought two dozen eggs, and we spent a full
afternoon trying to balance them on their end. The first few broke, but Emmett would not give up.
He kept at it, lying on his stomach on the kitchen floor, gently balancing those damn eggs. I wanted
to give up after the first dozen broke, but he refused. Finally, when Emmett was down to his last
egg, he got the thing to stand on its end."

When Edward didn't continue, I frowned and sat up. "I don't get it."

"It was the first time since I was reborn that I had quiet. We'd been so focused on balancing the egg
that I forgot everyone around me. I was in a room full of people, and I found a few minutes peace. It
was the perfect balance for me between silence and a family. That's when I knew this was where I
belonged."

Edward sat forward, bringing his elbows to rest on his knees. I watched as he wove his fingers
together, thumbs tapping to a silent rhythm.

"I felt that again with you today. For all the frustration, all the fear that we both face, we balance
each other because you force me to find the parts of me that I'd lost. I'm scared of what comes next,
but I have you and my family with me. I can face anything with that. "

I closed my eyes, picturing nameless, faceless people who had died believing in me and what I could
do. Running and hiding would not accomplish anything, nor would it vindicate their deaths.

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"What did Emmett do when he found out you can balance an egg on its end any day? It's not just
the vernal equinox," I asked, trying to find something to hold on to, some little piece of hope that I
could carry with me like a talisman. "It's all just a myth."

He laughed and stood, smoothing invisible wrinkles out of his jeans. "It might be a myth, Bella, but it
doesn't ruin the magic of the memory. We make of things what we want. You are a myth, but you
can be a legend, you just have to choose it."

"Who are you?" I asked, amazed at how much Edward had changed from the angry man in the
woods. He was calm and composed, but not passive. There was a fire underneath, an untapped
passion that changed everything about him, revealing depths and facets that had been hidden from
the light.

"We went over this already, Bella."

"No, I mean it, who are you? You're different every time I talk to you."

"If you ask my family, a pain. I brood too much. My expectations of myself and others are too high. A
perfectionist."

"Is that who you are, Edward?" I watched as he tipped his head to the side, thinking about the
question.

"Maybe some, but not all. I can laugh too, especially when I'm with you. I guess it's fortuitous your
second life started on the vernal equinox. Two of the memories that bring me the greatest joy,
bound together on one auspicious day. They both bring balance to me, just in very different ways."

"When this is all over, do you think Emmett will let me balance eggs with him?"

Edward opened his mouth to speak, but the ringing of the phone cut him off. He stepped forward,
hitting the intercom button. "Hello?"

"Edward, it's me," Carlisle's disembodied voice echoed through the room. "I'm on my way back, but
you need to get everyone together now."

"Why, what's going on?"

"The girl we sent in Bella's place has been found dead in Jacksonville, completely drained of blood.
Aro called to relay the news himself."

"What did he say?" Edward demanded. He didn't look at me.

"He's tired of our games. He is demanding that we deliver Bella to him in the morning." The door to
the study slowly eased open. Jasper and Rosalie stood in the doorway, Jasper's arms crossed over
his chest as he took everything in. "He said that if we don't give Bella up, they are going to attack the
town. We can say our goodbyes, give her up, and they will destroy us as quickly as possible."

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I could hear fear and apprehension in Carlisle's voice. Rosalie was right; Carlisle was an idealist who
simply wanted to find a better way. A war wasn't part of his motivation. He hadn't wanted this.

"The hell we will," Rosalie said. "Aro wants her, he can come through us to get her."

"When can you be back?" Jasper asked. He was cool and reserved, and I could almost feel the
wheels turning as he made tactical decisions.

"Three hours. I have Eleazar and Tanya with me."

Jasper moved across the room, leaning forward to brace his hands on the desk. "Good. Tell Aro to
be here at sunrise. He can claim his trophy and all the glory that goes with it."

I closed my eyes, pulling on the image of those faceless masses that had fought for this, for me. In
my mind, they stood with their hands extended, eggs balanced perfectly on their end.

This was not about reality; it was about believing. It was time to for me to make a stand and be the
queen the people demanded.

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~ Chapter 16 – Level Playing Field ~

When I was in the fifth grade, I had a teacher, Mrs. Baker, who loved idioms. She had one for every
situation – a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, taking an arm and a leg, talking out the side
of your mouth. Whenever she would use one, everyone in class would roll their eyes and make faces
behind her back.

As annoying as I found those sayings, some have stuck with me, and I find myself using them from
time to time. It's a testament to the power of suggestion, the way that ideas can lodge in your head
if they are used enough times, and they tend to stand when I hear other people use them.

After we hung up with Carlisle, Jasper dragged me outside for a crash course in hand to hand
combat. Edward insisted on coming, but Rosalie claimed she needed him inside.

"To plan things out," she said, staring at him directly. "We need to be in sync."

Edward frowned, his gaze slipping back and forth between Rosalie and me.

"It'll be okay," I promised. "Go."

He stared at me for a moment, struggling with something I couldn't quite understand. We stood in
the hallway, Rosalie at the far end, me at the door, and Edward, stuck in between where he wanted
to be and where he should go.

With a blast of speed, he darted forward, grabbing my wrist and pulling me off balance. I crashed
against him, hard. "What are you - " before I could finish, Edward tipped me backward, not overly
dramatically, but just subtly enough to keep me from pulling away.

Edward smiled at me. "Sweeping you off your feet," he said.

And then he kissed me. Right there, on his own terms with Rosalie watching. It was slow and sweet
and playful – a gentle nip at my lip, the passing graze of a tongue, the slightest tease of an open
mouth and I wanted to sink into him. If this was new, what would it be like when he really got
comfortable around me?

Rosalie chuckled behind us, but that didn't stop Edward. He kissed me once more, hard enough for
me to feel it all the way down into the pit of my stomach, a ball of energy and nerves and
excitement that shot electricity out to my arms and legs, where my fingers tingled and my toes
instinctively curled. My breathing, which I had come to realize was more out of habit than need,
came in rapid little puffs, and I was sure that, if I could blush, I would be fire engine red. Thank
goodness for small favors.

"What was that for?" I asked, my voice husky.

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"Because I can," he said. "I will not let them take this from me. We have things to see, you and I. Aro
will not take that away from us."

Edward released me, and turned quickly to follow Rosalie. They slipped easily into talk of strategy,
neither one overpowering the other.

The world as I knew it had somehow tilted on its axis, leaving me disoriented but strangely
invigorated. There was too much to fight for now – I would not allow myself to think about failing.

Ω Ω Ω

"I thought we were going for the peaceful alternative?" I was bent over, hands braced on my knees,
surprised at how my body could ache when there was nothing left to destroy. Apparently being
slammed to the ground by a mountain of a man could still hurt, even though all of my organs were
technically dead.

It was just before midnight; we'd been running through the paces for at least two hours. Jasper
would not let up, continuously throwing challenges at me.

"You're giving into your emotions too easily," he said, picking up a large rock and chucking it at me.
The rock whizzed at my face, and I reacted without thinking, swinging my arm up to protect myself. I
began the response too slowly, and instead of covering my head, I caught the stone with my fist. It
shattered on contact, like a loosely packed snowball coming in contact with a tree. Jasper
immediately threw another rock, and I timed my motion better. Instead of blocking my body, I
caught the stone easily, using my momentum to whip it back in Jasper in one smooth motion.

Jasper dodged the stone easily. "See! You reacted, you didn't over-think. Newborns are stronger
than almost all vamps, including Chuckles…" he nodded to Emmett, "But they are impulsive, they
are governed by their emotions-"

"Like an epic case of PMS." Emmett didn't move as quickly as Jasper, but he caught me off guard, his
arms wrapping around my upper body like steel bands. "Getting mad won't get you free, but
following your instincts will."

I struggled against Emmett's grasp, but he held me tight, pinning my arms securely to my sides, just
above my elbows.

"Slow down," Jasper coached me. "Don't give into the anger. Trust your instincts and what you
know."

I closed my eyes, trying to pull on the countless self-defense classes my mom had forced me to take
over the years. Rotating my forearms, I reached up to grasp Emmett at the wrists and leaned
forward, pulling him off his feet. His grip was too tight, and tossing him over wouldn't be enough to
break that grasp. I'd have to fall too, and be prepared to adjust once we hit the ground.

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Thrusting hard with my legs, I threw my hips backwards, forcing Emmett to fly forward. He didn't let
go, taking me with him as he tumbled over, landing flat on his back in the gravel. The shock of the
impact loosened Emmett's grip, and I scrambled free, spinning to sit on his chest with my knees
pressed firmly into his shoulders, his forearms easily pinned to the ground.

"Don't move," Jasper called, walking slowly across the crossing. "Stop and look at what you are
doing."

My weight was forward, my hands clamped on the top of his head and his chin like I was about to
crank it to the right. Emmett didn't move, and I noticed that his impish smile was gone, his eyes
serious.

"To destroy vampires, you have to tear them limb from limb, then light them on fire. The head," he
leaned down to tap Emmett's dark curls, just to the left of my hand, "Is the smartest spot to attack,
but the hardest to access. If you can't rip off his head, which is what you were about to do, I'd go for
the arms. That way they can't fight back."

I let go of Emmett's head, and slipped quickly to the side, horrified that I'd been so close to hurting
him. Emmett sat up, running his hands through his hair to knock loose small pebbles and a few
leaves.

"You know…" he said, shaking his head to drop his hair back into place. "There is an old saying, keep
the home fires burning. I think we should make our guests feel welcome."

"Sometimes, Curly, that homespun wisdom is worth its weight in gold," Jasper teased, offering a
hand to his brother. Emmett grasped him around the wrist, and Jasper pulled him easily to his feet.
They left me, sitting on the crushed stone in the giant clearing, confused and more than a little bit
scared.

I had the power to take down someone as big and strong as Emmett, the ability to keep up with
someone as fast as Jasper, and no one could get inside my head to influence me.

I was a fortress. But only if I could stay in control of my emotions.

If Mrs. Baker had been here, I'm sure she would have had something wise to say about not losing my
head. I was glad that she was far away. I had enough going on without her commentary as well.

Ω Ω Ω

While Jasper and Emmett lugged four giant copper disks and wrought iron stands from the barn,
Edward and Rosalie were busy talking inside. Not wanting to disturb them, I entered the house and
climbed the stairs, retreating to the room where all of this had started to unfold less than twenty-
four hours before.

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In my haste to dress and re-enter the world, I'd not had much time to explore or look around. This
time I was slower, more methodical, taking in every little detail of the place where I'd started my
new life. The furniture was simple and elegant, reminding me of country houses. The walls had been
painted a warm sunshine yellow, creating a perpetual glow that matched the soft floral of the
draperies and the bed linens. There was a corner set up like a mini office, with a desk and chair, an
elegant brass lamp, and a narrow shelf filled with books and photos. All around the room were
glimpses of me…the things Jasper had brought back from Arizona, framed pictures of both my
parents, even the phonograph from the house and the music box my father had given me.

This was my space, a place to call my own, even folded in amongst all these people. It awed me to
realize that they'd done all this for a relative stranger. A cynical part of me wanted to believe that
this was all part of the courtship, their attempt to woo me, but even that fell short. There was no
need to make me a room and place all my belongings here unless I was wanted.

I slowly explored the room, pulling open the closet door, looking under the bed, even peeking in
dresser drawers. My belongings were all here, neatly put away along with new things I didn't
recognize. In the top dresser drawer, I found neatly folded stacks of white underwear and bras.
There was a small note folded and tucked in the corner.

I hate pink too. Don't tell Rosalie. Alice.

It was all too much, and I sat down on the edge of the bed, trying to process emotions that
threatened to pull me under. In exactly three weeks - twenty-one days, my life had been turned
upside down. I went from a lonely, scared little shell of a girl who longed for more to…I didn't even
know what to call it. I had a father, people who wanted me around, who cared about what I thought
or what I needed. Even a man who claimed I was his future. No, the path wasn't all sunshine and
roses, but for the first time in my life, I felt a purpose.

After washing my face and changing out of my dirty, blood-stained clothes, I sat down on the corner
of my bed and pulled my music box into my lap. Someone had smoothed out her tutu so that it lay
gracefully around her slender form, making her appear regal and not ragtag. I gently wound the
mechanism, all too aware of my new, freakish strength, terrified that I would twist too hard and
break the mechanism. Somehow I managed to wind it without an issue, and the Overture began to
play, its tinny, mechanical notes filling my gigantic new room.

The ballerina turned slowly, her arms held aloft as she spun round, helpless to stop until the
mechanism ran down. It was how I'd felt in my dreams, the perfectly molded show piece, spinning
madly on while Aro cooed and taunted. Like Alice said, it was all about context, and with the clarity
of knowledge, I saw facets to my dream now that I'd never understood before. I'd been so focused
on the pieces happening around me that I never stopped to pay attention to the whole. Forest for
the trees, sum of the parts equal to the whole…I realized that had never been just my production.
There were acts and arcs, which fit together to tell a story. That's when I finally understood what it
all meant, and how this macabre little drama would play out so that Alice's third vision would finally
come true. I understood just exactly how I could be what everyone needed of me.

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"What are you doing?"

I jumped, accidentally slamming the music box lid shut. The song ended with the grinding of tiny
gears, leaving the room in silence.

"I'm sorry," Edward said, leaning against the doorway. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay, I was just thinking. Would you like to come in?"

He smiled, and stepped forward into the room. The contrast between the smaller, more feminine
furnishings and this tall man dressed all in black was remarkable. Night and day, sun and moon –
two halves of a whole. Oh, how Mrs. Baker would have approved.

"How are you feeling?" Edward asked, his voice soft. "You weren't hurt out there, were you?"

"No, I'm fine. It was just a little unnerving."

An awkward silence hung between us, the sounds of the house, pipes and clocks and settling beams
filling the space but not the void. Edward shifted uncomfortably, his eyes dropping to the floor.

"How long until Carlisle's back?"

"He's been back about thirty minutes. He looked in on you, but apparently you were off in la la land,
staring at that music box."

"Oh." I ran my hand over the top, drawing one final shot of strength from the soft wood. "I tend to
space out when I think. But it was good. Do I need to go down and talk to him?"

"No," Edward said. He stood, just inside the threshold of the room, looking around like this was all
new to him too. "I've never come in here before today. I was too scared, I guess."

He reached out to run his finger along the edge of the dresser, tracing the elaborate millwork.
"About a year ago, Esme decided that she needed to get things ready for you. Everyone had always
assumed that you'd be thrown right in with me, but she insisted that you have a space of your own.
She said you deserved time to yourself, and a place where you could be alone."

"It's funny," I admitted, my gaze fixed on the wood music box. "When Renee moved to Florida, I was
so excited to get my own apartment. It was my place, but it wasn't my own, if that makes sense. And
then, when I got here, and I found out the house was mine, I had a place where I could be myself,
and it was mine, but it still wasn't everything I'd hoped for. It wasn't until now that I put my finger
on just what was missing."

"What's that?"

I scooted back on the bed, crossing my legs underneath me. It made room for Edward, who after a
moment's hesitation, walked slowly across the room and sat down on the edge.

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"I had a place that was mine, but I was still alone. I've been alone for too long. Whether that was of
my own making or something else, I'm not sure, but I don't want to be that way anymore. I have my
dad. I have all of you-"

"Does that mean you don't think we we're using you anymore?" he asked softly. "I don't blame you
for that, by the way. It would be easy to see why."

"Short of the council, no, I don't think you are using me," I said, unable to raise my eyes to meet his.
"You have as much to lose as I do. Probably more. You don't have much to gain from using me."

We sat quietly for a long time. I traced the patterns on the duvet, the flowers and leaves seamlessly
blending together to create a small forest of images. Edward didn't move.

"I'm not sure what to do," he admitted after a while. "It's very strange knowing that someday I am
going to love you so much it hurts to breathe, but right now I feel like this bumbling school boy
getting to know a crush. It's surreal to bridge the two. And then…"

"And then what?"

Edward laughed, shaking his head in embarrassment. "And then there is another part of me that
wants to touch you all the time. It's very difficult for me to balance."

I sucked my lower lip in between my teeth, and let I slide slowly out. It was a mannerism I'd
developed as a little girl. Renee claimed it was my tell, the way to show I was deep in thought.

"Don't do that," Edward said, placing his thumb against my lips. "It's very distracting."

"You're being very seventeen," I teased him, trying not to focus on how his hand felt against my
mouth. "I kind of like that."

"Like what?" he asked, confused.

I took a deep breath and glanced up at him. Edward's brow was furrowed, head cocked to the side.
I'd mistaken it for thinking, but I understood now that he was listening, trying to read my thoughts.
He truly was at a loss without his ability to anticipate what people wanted or needed. This was his
way of reclaiming those dormant skills he credited to me, the lost human side of him coming back
into play.

"Come here," I said, crooking a finger it him. I held my hand very close to my face, making it clear
where 'here' was. He frowned, but followed my instructions. "Let the older woman teach you how
it's done."

"Bella, I'm one hundred and nine," Edward said peevishly.

Slowly and methodically, I sucked my lip back between my teeth, releasing it slowly as I continued to
beckon him forward. In a flash, I was on my back, my mouth covered by Edward's, repeating the
innocent teasing and exploration from the woods and the hallway.

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For just a little while, we were two kids, learning together, no hidden agendas or things happening
outside of the four walls that kept us safe.

"I think I like being seventeen," Edward murmured against my neck. "I like seventeen very, very
much."

Ω Ω Ω

Light broke across the morning sky a little after six. The Cullens, plus Tanya, Eleazar and Garrett, sat
in the living room, waiting patiently. Outside, four large copper braziers had been set up at the
corners of the clearing, giving the morning an ancient, timeless feel. Edward and I hovered on the
periphery, staring out the long windows into the forest. Whether through command or respect, I'd
been given a wide berth since coming downstairs, left to my own thoughts as we waited for the sun
to rise and the day to begin.

"We should probably go outside," Edward announced solemnly. "They are coming."

He was right. When I focused, I could hear the faint snap of twigs, the shuffling of leaves as a large
group moved across the forest.

Without a word, the entire assemblage stood and moved in a single file line towards the front door.
Emmett winked at me as he passed. Jasper tapped his index finger against his temple, a subtle
reminder of what I'd learned the night before.

"Are you ready?" Edward asked, his hand warm against the small of my back.

"No turning back now," I said, sounding stronger than I felt. "Don't leave me, okay?"

"Never in a million years," he promised.

"Do we have a million years?" I asked, latching on to the concept. If we made it through this, how
many years would there be? One Hundred? One Thousand?

"As long as you want," Edward said with a wink. I took a deep breath, storing his promise in my
heart, along with the response I would give him when this was over.

The sky was overcast as I stepped out into the morning light, Edward by my side. Rosalie stood to
my left, with Emmett and Jasper in front of her, creating a defensive front that would protect both
of us. Tanya, Eleazar and Garrett were to my right in a mirror formation, two flanks to ward off
potential attacks. Carlisle was at the base of the steps, directly in front of me, the tip of the spear
waiting for the advancing assault.

Across the clearing, a group of dark cloaks broke through the trees, moving in precise, orderly
fashion. Their hoods were up, shadowing their faces, but I could make out the familiar forms from
the invasion at my house. Aro. The boy, Alec. The woman Edward had called Chelsea, and the two

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men who'd barged in to grab me. Mirroring Alec's position to the right of Aro was a small girl with
similar cherubic features. This must be Alec's twin. They were the dangerous ones, I reminded
myself. They could hurt everyone but me. I would keep my attention focused on them, trusting
Emmett, Jasper and Edward to deal with the others.

"Greetings, old friend," Carlisle called across the clearing. His voice was even, but I detected traces
of bitterness. The information about Didyme's death at Aro's hands had colored Carlisle's
perceptions, turning Aro into something much worse than a zealot.

"Greetings?" Aro countered, taking in the group on the steps. "I hardly consider this an appropriate
greeting, Carlisle. Where is the rest of your family? The lovely Esme, and little Alice? Why do you
meet me with a show of force?"

I glanced to my left. Jasper didn't move, nor did he manifest any outward signs of emotion. He stood
erect, like a soldier ready to charge into battle, defending his family to the end. I was so incredibly
grateful for these people, and I tried to project that at him. It was probably useless, but it was the
least I could do given all they were risking on my behalf.

When Carlisle did not respond, Aro stepped forward, slipping his hood back from his face. The
others followed suit, mechanically. I scanned their faces, noticing that Chelsea was focusing directly
on Carlisle, her brow furrowed in concentration like it had been at my house. Was she sensing the
division amongst the family, or something different, a rift between her master and his old friend?

"I had planned to take Alice back to Italy with me," Aro said, smiling up at me. "I'm sure Bella would
enjoy having company. In addition to the boy of course. But no bother. The little one will come soon
enough."

I imagined Alice whispering in my head Context, Bella, context.

Before anyone could speak, I moved forward, easily side stepping Carlisle to stand out at the front of
our small group. I prayed that the others would trust me and follow my lead.

"No one will be coming with me," I said, my voice ringing across the clearing. "I come alone."

Willing myself to be strong, I took another step forward. The girl, Jane, launched forward, placing
herself between Aro and me, her scarlet eyes glowing in malevolent glee. I stopped, folding my
hands in front of me, waiting patiently for pain that never came.

Jane hissed, taking another menacing step forward, but Aro would have none of it.

"Peace, Jane," he said, patting her on the head like a pet. "Bella can do us no harm, my darlings. She
has no offensive skills. Her value lies…elsewhere."

He moved close enough to place his hand under my chin, and even though I wanted to jerk away, I
willed myself to be still, waiting for the proper opening.

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Aro moved my face up into the weak morning light, studying the changes to my features. "Red suits
you. Much better than that muddy brown. Eyes are the window to the soul, and now yours are a
true reflection of the nobility you've become." He leaned closer and I cringed, thinking that he might
kiss me. Instead he let out an ominous giggle, and released my chin.

"Do you cede to my power?" Aro asked, his palm extended for me to grasp. "You can stop this from
spinning out of control, Bella. You can make the choice. It's in your power to unite the world and
keep us all in peace."

From behind me, I felt a blast of power slam into my back, wrapping me in the confidence that
rolled off of the Cullens. Faith, hope, love, and respect. It spurred me forward, and I accepted Aro's
outstretched hand, bowing my head in an attempt to approximate the descriptions both Alice and
Edward had given me of their visions. I was grateful not to have a heartbeat any longer, for it would
have betrayed me had I been alive. Even so, a strange sort of energy, not unlike adrenaline,
hummed through my body, every nerve ending tingling and aware. I didn't know if it was the blast,
which no doubt came from Jasper, or something more, but I channeled that, locking it up inside of
me until the moment I needed it most.

"I told you it was foolish to stand against me," Aro called out. "The prophecy was clear. Bella will be
queen, and the libertines shall suffer their fate. You should have heeded my warning, Carlisle. I am
sad that you must be destroyed, for I would have liked for us to resume our friendship, but alas…"
he let the words trail off, a clear indication he'd washed his hands of any guilt or remorse.

Aro tried to pull me forward, towards the guard, but I was locked in place, a familiar arm wrapped
securely around my waist.

"She doesn't leave without me," Edward insisted. "I will not let her go alone."

Aro laughed, his giddy giggles echoing across the courtyard like a selfish child who'd been given two
toys instead of one. "By all means, young Edward. I believe I would most enjoy your company. You
will provide an entertaining…diversion."

He glanced between Edward and me, his eyes glittering with thoughts I was sure I didn't want to
know.

"This is all rubbish," Garrett hissed from behind us, his words dripping with acid. "You are cowing no
one into submission. We've only begun to fight. You will not win-"

Everything unfurled in a flash, frenetic and disjointed. I heard Garrett cry out, Tanya whispering
words of consolation to him as he screamed in pain. The girl, Jane, stood to Aro's right, a smile
stretched across her face as she stared in Garrett's direction. This was her, I realized, making him
burn. She was their strength, and she could not be allowed to act.

I moved like Jasper had instructed me, locking away emotion and acting on instinct. I broke free of
both Edward and Aro and grabbed the girl by the throat. She was smaller than I was, and much

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easier to manhandle than Emmett. I picked Jane up and slammed her to the ground, sending small
shards of stone flying in every direction at the force of the collision. Before she could jump up, I had
her pinned, exactly the way I'd done to Emmett, my knees pressed against her shoulders, her golden
blonde hair tumbling loose from its braids as I grasped the top of her head tightly, the palm of my
other hand pressed tightly against her chin. Power tingled through me, driving me forward into an
action I wouldn't have the courage to undertake in a rational state of mind.

"When he goes down, it will be because of me," I hissed, jerking her head hard to the left. I didn't
stop as her neck snapped, twisting until it popped loose with a sickening snap.

Something hit me hard in the back, and I went flying, losing my grip on Jane's now limp body. The
boy, her brother Alec, was all arms and legs as he tried to pin me to the ground, his teeth gnashing
in fury when he realized he still couldn't immobilize me mentally. Like the others, he was impotent
without his talent, and no match for someone as strong as I was. He'd lost his connection to the real
world, and with it, he was impotent to stop me. They all were.

"Enough!" Aro roared. "Demetri, stop him now! Protect her!"

Alec was jerked roughly off me, his arms still flailing madly as he growled like a wild animal. A loud
popping and hissing noise mixed in with his shouts as a bright light flared from behind me. I could
feel the heat, searing my back but not raising any blisters. Alec's eyes went wide as an anguished
shout tore from his lungs, then he collapsed in Demetri's arms.

I didn't need to look to know that Jane had just been thrown into one of the copper braziers, their
presence in the clearing now making absolute sense.

"How will you explain that loss?" Carlisle called to Aro. "It's bad enough Jane's been out doing your
dirty work. How many innocent people died at her hands because of your fear? Or more
importantly, how many did you kill in your desperation to hold on to control?"

There was a murmur through the guard, the giant man glancing uneasily at Chelsea. Aro's hand shot
out, placing it on the head of the woman who crouched behind him, her hand no longer clutching
his cloak.

"Only one," Edward said. "He's too cowardly to take on more than that. And the only reason he
killed her was because he couldn't let anyone else have that power over him." He hesitated,
studying Aro with clear disdain. "Tell me, Aro, how did it feel to kill your own sister?"

Chelsea gasped, her hand flying up to her mouth, too late to stifle the sound.

"And more appropriately," Carlisle said, his voice smooth and gracious, "how would Marcus react,
knowing that you killed his wife to keep your power?"

Aro let out an anguished cry. I expected him to crumble, but instead, he spun, dropping down on top
of me, a strange silver tool clutched to my temple.

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"I burnt Didyme, and I will burn you, too, if I must," he hissed. "I will burn you all!"

The clearing was absolutely silent, no one breathing, no one moving. I stared at Aro, waiting for him
to move, or for the zealous light in his eye to fade. One way or another, this all had to end. If it was
my sacrifice that kept them safe, so be it. This is what it meant to live the myth, to give people
something to believe in. I didn't want my life to be over, but I would not sacrifice anyone else. This
was my gift to give – the way to help them break free.

I fought the instinct to close my eyes, staring at Aro with as much defiance as I could muster. I would
not beg or plead. I was better than that. I would not be his toy. The metal of the sliver tool dug into
my temple, the cold metal uncomfortable but not painful.

"No, Aro," a woman's voice rang through the woods, clear and distinct. "The game is up. This ends
now."

He looked up, releasing the pressure against my temple. I took advantage of the opening, pushing
him off me and scrambling to my feet. The minute I was standing, Edward had me around the waist,
dragging me back to the steps, where I was flanked by Emmett, Jasper and Garrett.

"After that display, you can beat me any time you want," Garrett mumbled, but no one replied. We
were too busy watching the scene unfolding in front of us. Ruby red embracing brightest gold. It had
finally come to pass.

Chelsea stood in the center of the clearing; her hands clasped with two others to create a wall that
could not be breached.

"This ends, now," Renata said, with both Chelsea and Felix bobbing their heads in approval. With
one swift action, Aro had lost his protection, his ability to link everyone to him, and the warrior that
would lead his charge.

The gamble had paid off. Our dark horses had come through after all.

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~ Chapter 17 – Checkmate ~

In the end, it's often the simplest, albeit crudest moves that can win the day.

Read all you like about great strategy and elaborate plots. When facing an enemy of enormous
power, a united force is often the strongest, especially if the bonds that tie them together can't be
broken.

Aro stared at his former guard members in shock as they stood, united and impervious to any attack
that might be launched at them. I have to give them credit; it was a brilliant move, one worthy of
the best chess games. Playing off my queen's sacrifice, Chelsea bound the three of them together
and Renata wrapped a veil of protection tightly around them, removing any chance for attack. They
stood, unmovable and strong in their resolve. With Alec rendered useless by his sisters destruction,
only Demetri was left. He couldn't stand against the nine of us. Even if Alec were to come back
around, there was no way to stand against a force nine strong.

As simple as that, Aro had lost.

"And now what?" he spat, all good humor and false benevolence gone. "You bring us down; you
bring down the world. Is that what you want?"

"Who said anything about bringing you down, Aro?" Carlisle asked pleasantly. "That's your own fear
talking."

Aro frowned, clearly confused. He was prepared for an attack, if not worse. That's when I realized
that, for him, living with the proverbial axe over his head was a fate worse than death. One that he
so richly deserved.

"We are willing to offer you terms," I said, speaking slowly. It was as much to lend gravitas to my
actions as it was to keep myself calm, for my insides were on fire, and I felt as though I were going to
combust as everything built up inside of me. "We will let you leave, with those that choose to
accompany you back, in return for concessions."

I looked beyond him to the group of three, their hands locked firm in unified defiance. "First and
foremost, nothing will happen to these people. You will not lash out at them, and they are not tied
to you any longer. They are free to leave if they want."

The large man didn't move, nor did Renata. Chelsea dropped her head, her hair falling to cover her
face. Had she been human, I believe she would have been crying, although I wasn't sure if it was out
of relief or sadness. Maybe later, when this was all over, I would ask Jasper what she had felt.

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"Second, you will to return to Volterra and establish a committee of elders from all over the globe,
other vampires who will help you to govern fairly. This body will be responsible for all issues,
including whether or not to disseminate knowledge beyond our kind."

I thought of Jasper's comments, of how other vampires perceived some of the council's actions.
There would be no arbitrary decisions anymore on anyone's part. This was the first step towards a
democracy, one which had been a long time coming.

"Bella," Carlisle interjected, "you can't-"

I held up a hand, cutting him off. "What is done will be done for the good of all, Carlisle. Majority
rules. Until then, we live by the structure in place. This will be done logically, and with order.
Anything else will bring chaos."

Behind him, Garrett nodded, his red eyes bright with conviction.

"That includes noshing on people who don't want to live anymore, Beantown," I informed him. I still
wasn't sure if I liked Garrett, but I respected his conviction and his willingness to act.

"I concede that," he agreed. "And I want to go to Italy with Aro. I can bear witness, and help institute
a transition to a fair and logical process. The good of the many…" he said, reminding me of our
interview in the Cullen's living room. I had no doubt in my mind that he meant it.

"I'll return as well," Felix said, his words strangely accented, reminding me of Boris from The Rocky
and Bullwinkle Show. "I think it would be wise for, how do you Americans say….a few checks and
balances to be in place."

Aro said nothing, staring at me with an undisguised anger. He'd brought this on himself, and it was
clear that he still didn't see what he'd done wrong or how this all could have spun out of his control.

"You offered me everything within your power," I said, staring directly at him. Aro didn't scare me
anymore, nor did this fate that stretched out in front of me. "You offered me things, which are all
disposable, in exchange for this myth that I represent. Yeah, I grew up poor, and I'd love to have
every book known to man, and maybe a pretty painting or two, but you know what? You took away
my first chance at the one thing I really wanted. I won't let you do it again."

Aro frowned, not following.

Behind me, Emmett snorted. A second later, a pebble hit Aro in the center of his forehead. He shook
his head, dazed and furious, but incapable of doing anything about the assault.

"A family, you jackass," Emmett said, eliciting snickers from both Jasper and Rosalie. It would seem
that Aro's ability to intimidate had completely evaporated, and his jaw dropped open as the
laughter grew, until the clearing was full of it, not just from the Cullens, but from his former guard
members as well.

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Ω Ω Ω

It's amazing how things change with the shift of power. Demetri and Alec decided to return to
Volterra, but they chose not to accompany Aro. Jasper claimed that Alec was bereft and confused at
the loss of his sister, and Demetri felt it his responsibility to look out for the boy. What that meant
for the future was anyone's best guess, but for now, they were no threat to us.

True to his word, Garrett accompanied Aro back to Italy. Without Renata protecting him, it turned
out that Aro was too frail to put up any sort of grand fight, and the simple presence of Garrett was
enough to cow him into submission. He knew that Garrett was one person he would be unable to
turn with his pretty words and empty promises, and that Garrett would have no compunction outing
him to his brothers Caius or Marcus. Because of his lust for power and desire to control everything,
Aro was now completely at our mercy, incapable of eluding the council's influence. All it would take
was one word to destroy the fragile balance of power he clung so desperately too. Truth be told,
with multiple people in on his 'secret,' it was only a matter of time before Aro ultimately feel.
Whether it was one week or one hundred years, it didn't matter, change had been started, and he
would not be able to stop it now.

After Aro departed, Felix approached me slowly, drawing Emmett away from the crowd to hover
protectively over my shoulder.

"I mean no harm," he said in heavily accented English. "I just wanted to say that you are very brave,
and I am happy to tell the world that I have indeed met the queen." He bowed stiffly from the waist.
"I will also tell them all of your beauty and grace."

"Back off there, Bubba," Emmett said with authority. "The lady is spoken for."

"Lucky is the man," Felix said with a wink. "I am happy to have met you, Bella, and I promise I will
keep Renata and Chelsea safe."

"Thank you." I smiled at him, charmed and a bit amused by this giant beast with the easy wit and
what I hoped was a heart as gentle and kind as Emmett's. "He's strange, but you can trust Garrett."

"I will keep him away from old people, and call him Beantown as a reminder," he hesitated,
frowning. "I am not sure I understand this term, Beantown. What does it mean?"

A very soft, girlish giggle drew my attention away from Felix. Renata was smiling, her hand extended
to Felix patiently.

"Come on, Casanova," she said. The O in Casanova was drawn out, making the name sound off
balance. One hundred years from now, I'd probably still be fascinated by the way these people could
be so alike and yet sound so different. "I grew up in those parts; I'll explain it to you on the way
home."

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I watched as they walked away, a feeling of inexplicable sadness washing over me. I hoped it would
work out for them, that they would indeed be going home, or at least to a place where they felt like
they belonged.

"What are you thinking about?" Edward asked, his hand slipping under my hair to rub my neck.

"It would be so much easier sometimes if you could read my mind," I said, half joking.

"There might have been a time I agreed with you, but I think I am starting to enjoy this."

I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against his chest. The sun had broken through the clouds,
warming my face. I'm sure that it was quite the spectacle, more than half a dozen people scattered
around the clearing, all of us sparkling in the early morning light like chunks of pretty, unbreakable
crystal.

"I don't know how to feel," I said, trying to find a way to explain the strange void in my chest. "It's
like I am coming down off this massive adrenaline rush, but I know physiologically that's not possible
without a heartbeat. It's like I am waiting for the crash, to be tired, but it won't come."

"It will, just not in the way you expect it."

"Maybe so. I will say I'm glad I can't go to sleep. I'm afraid of what I might dream," I admitted, my
thoughts returning to Jane and her death at my hands. "I don't want to know what my psyche would
do with me popping someone's head off so easily."

It was a flip statement, but Edward saw right through me, understanding just exactly how unnerved
by Jane's death at my hands.

"She was going to kill us," Edward said. "It was just a matter of time. Don't feel guilty about her
destruction."

I sighed, trying to force the negative energy out of my body with the air. "Destruction. That makes
me sound like such a badass."

"Em and Jasper were both quite proud of your badass ways, as you so eloquently put it," Edward
teased. "And Garrett was very intimidated. I think he's scared of you now."

"So there is some good to this after all," I joked half heartedly.

"No, there is a lot of good, Bella. You just need time to internalize it."

"I don't know, it feels so…" I struggled to find the right word. "Anti-climactic?"

Edward laughed, and kissed my neck. "Before you say that, call your dad, okay? Let him know that
it's all taken care of, and then make that decision."

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I had a feeling there was more to it than that, but I didn't question Edward. He stuck a small cell
phone in my hand, and hit a button.

"I'll give you a minute to yourself," he said as the phone started to ring.

Before I could protest, I heard my father answered the phone, and I hurriedly pressed the small
sliver of plastic and metal to my ear.

"Chief Swan." His voice was gruff, and I immediately pictured him with his bushy moustache and salt
and pepper in his sideburns. He sounded tough, but I knew better.

"Hi, Dad," I said, feeling infinitely lighter. "It's over."

There was an exhalation of air on the other end of the phone. "Are you okay?"

I glanced around the clearing, taking everything in. The fires were out now, the braziers cooling
before being put away. Jasper and Emmett stood by the garage, and I watched as Emmett threw his
head back to laugh and Jasper smiled in wicked delight. Carlisle, Eleazar and Tanya had disappeared
into the house, no doubt calling Siobhan to relay the latest occurrences and strategize on what came
next. It left Rosalie alone, sitting on the steps. Edward walked over and dropped down next to her.
She leaned into him as he draped his arm loosely around her shoulders. She smiled, her eyes closing
in relief.

"Yeah," I said, my voice cracking. "Yeah, I think everything is going to be just fine. Better than fine."

"No fires?" he asked skeptically.

"Well, there was one, but it was controlled," I admitted. "Nothing like 1951. Not in the least."

"Good," he said, and I could hear the pride in my dad's voice. "I like controlled fires."

It was a ridiculous, nonsensical conversation, encapsulating so much that neither of us would ever
truly understand. The threat had been controlled, and Aro hadbeen forced to cooperate. It wasn't a
perfectly solution, but it was a start in the right direction. We'd controlled the prophecy, and turned
the words to mean what we wanted them to. Maybe it wasn't done, but for now, it felt like it was
enough.

"I'm going to be okay," I promised. Across the clearing, Edward smiled at me, and I felt a small tug in
my chest. It didn't mean everything was all clean and organized, but I knew it was true. Everything
was going to work out just fine for all of us.

"You're going to be more than okay," Charlie said, his voice cracking. "You were already amazing."

"I'm just me, Dad."

"Exactly."

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It was my turn to take a deep breath, filling my lungs full of air and dust particles, feeling the strange
sensation of things inside me before I exhaled, drawing out the moment so that it could go on for
just a moment longer.

"I'm not sure when I'll be able to see you again," I said. My throat ached, not from hunger but from
pain, and I knew if I could, I would be crying right now.

"It's okay. We can still talk as much as you want-"

"Every day?" I asked, sounding much younger than my twenty three years, eleven days.

"Every day," he promised.

"I love you, Dad."

"I love you more, Bells. I always have, and I always will."

Ω Ω Ω

I'll never know if they left me alone because of something Edward said, or if it was merely their
understanding that I needed to say goodbye. After disconnecting, I placed the cell phone on a large
boulder in the formal garden, and wandered into the woods, not following any particular path or
direction, just wandering aimlessly.

As I cleared the crest of the hill, I stopped in the small pool of sunlight that filtered through the hole
in the giant cedar tree. The small opening changed everything in the area, shedding light and helping
to germinate new growth. In the spring, it was likely this entire area would be filled with sprouts, the
sun allowing dormant seeds to reach towards the sky and claim their own space in this great forest.

I reached up to play with the small gold locket my father had given me on my birthday, my finger
tracing the ornate S carved in the soft gold. My grandfather had given it to my grandmother at the
beginning of their life together, and my father had passed it along to me as I entered a new phase of
mine. This should be a time for me to mourn what was lost: my life, my humanity, the simple things
like having a mortgage and being a mom and someday dying, but I couldn't focus on that. There
were things I would miss, like afternoon naps and the ability to have a good cry, but those couldn't
outweigh all the good. I had two parents, both of whom loved me and would do anything for me.
They were free now, and I hoped that they would both be able to find their own happiness, away
from shadows or fear. It hurt to know that it would probably be without me for a long time, but
knowing that they were safe, and that I loved them, tempered that loss.

What I'd told Aro was true. Everything else was just trappings, things that I'd longed for simply
because I didn't know any better. I would laugh with Jasper, learn from Rose, and balance eggs with
Emmett. I would see the leaves change, and I would build a snowman and catch snowflakes on my
tongue.

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And I would allow myself to fall in love with the one person who balanced me out, and allowed me
to see what lies ahead. I would no longer live on the sidelines. I had a place where I belonged.

"I know you're following me," I called out. "You can stop stalking. Only freaks do that."

"It's not stalking if I'm trying to keep you safe," Edward insisted. He stepped out from behind a tree
on the other side of the rise, his hands shoved into his pockets awkwardly. "I wanted to give you
some time alone, but I wanted to make sure you didn't run into any issues."

"Haven't you saved me enough for a while?" I tried to keep my voice level, but I wanted him to know
that he'd played just as much of a role in this as I had. We stood as a united front, and we'd won as a
team. None of this would have happened if he'd not been there, standing by my side, helping me to
find the strength that had lain dormant inside. Like the prophecy said, I was the vow, but he was the
one who carved it in stone. I couldn't have done any of this alone.

"I don't know, I was kind of getting used to it," he said, smiling sheepishly. "It's kind of intimidating
to be the other half in this relationship."

"Is that what we are?" I asked. "A relationship? It sounds so... contractual." I waited for him to
respond, but instead, Edward sucked in a quick breath, and I realized I was pulling at my lip again. It
reminded me that power was subjective, and there were many different ways to both lead and
guide. "Would you rather do this?" I asked, scraping my teeth across my lip once again.

In a flash Edward was across the hill, arms around my waist, his face just inches from mine. In the
soft morning light, the skin across his cheekbones glowed, the shimmering color making it appear as
though he was flushed and incredibly alive.

"I thought you'd never ask."

My laughter was muffled by Edward's kiss, and he picked me up, his arms tight around me as we
rocked slowly back and forth in the light. I was stronger because of this, because of him and
everything that transpired. There was a world to explore, and I wanted it to be with him.

"You doing anything this afternoon?" Edward asked, his forehead pressed against mine. "I know
where there's a good take out place. Maybe we could grab some lunch?"

"Are you offering me fast food, Edward?"

"Only if you can keep up."

He released me, spinning and taking off at a sprint through the woods, laughter trailing in his wake.

It only took me a second to take off after him, anxious to meet this new life head on.

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~ Epilogue - October 31, 2010 ~

George Parks Highway winds through the wilderness, parallel with the Alaskan railroad. It connects
Anchorage to Fairbanks, and is the principal access to the Denali State Park, over three hundred
thousand acres of undeveloped wilderness.

Taking a left turn off of the highway, just past the town of Trappers Creek, a road winds along the
edge of the mountains. It’s an old mining track, paved for the first eleven miles. The remaining
eighteen are gravel, and heavy snow makes them impassable during the winter. The majority of the
traffic comes through in the spring and summer months for hiking, fishing, and the Aurora Borealis.

That hasn’t stopped one family from taking up residence at the top of Cache Creek Road. The
people in Petersville have only met a few of them since their arrival in late September. They are
quirky, all ridiculously attractive with big SUV’s and lots of money. They bought and restored the old
mining camp years before, but short of periodic visits over the years, they’ve never spent much time
in the area.

When they’d arrived at the end of September, their cars were loaded down with boxes and
provisions. More has made its way up by rail and truck, including a heavy duty Cat so they can get
down off the mountain, as well as other electronic and mechanical equipment. To paraphrase the
Clement Clarke Moore poem, it appeared they would be settling in for a long winters nap.

Ω Ω Ω

The snow starts early in the day, dropping large fat flakes on the house and gravel paved driveway.
The accumulation piles up quickly, and by four in the afternoon there is half a foot of white powder
coating the hills, creating a storybook visual for the few around to see.

While the townspeople of Petersville scramble to prepare for the first storm of the year, the family
at the top of the old mining road doesn’t bat an eye. On the contrary, they go about their lives as if
it’s any other day, planning, building, and dreaming.

In the main lodge there are three blondes gathered around a large table, a satellite phone

connected to a conference speaker broadcasting an eclectic mix of heavily accented voices across
the room. Italian, English, American, Egyptian, and Brazilian blend in with other voices, which have
taken on a strange, Mid-Atlantic inflection from thousands of years of wandering. The participants
on the call are all passionate and vocal, which is unsurprising after hundreds of years without a
voice. This call is a momentous occasion, uniting vampires from all over the world to discuss the
first request put forth to the newly formed intervention committee.

An ancient vampire, living in the farthest reaches of South America, has made a discovery, one
which can staunch the flow of oil from two distinct rifts in the ocean floor.

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If the technology is deemed worthy, a smaller group will be responsible for vetting candidates for
taking the technology into production - humans with viable aptitude, who will use the discovery for
the right reason. This is the first foray into helping the human world, and the Committee is nervous.
They all want to get this right.

A small, dark haired woman slips up behind one of the men to rest her forehead on his back.

“He’s the one,” she says, “the man in Portugal. He will speak with conviction and they will listen. It
will work.”

The blonde man smiles, and extends his arm for her to slip under. “You sure about that, Alice?”

“Absolutely.”

“I can’t think of a better endorsement,” he says, placing a kiss on her forehead before turning his
attention back to the phone.

In a room upstairs, a large, dark haired man is measuring walls, while a slight woman, her light
brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, gives him instructions.

“No, Emmett, the shelves need to be deeper. The elephant folios are two feet tall. We either need
to create a section that can house them, or build a separate bookshelf.”

“You act like we are going to be here forever,” the man teases her. He adjusts his measurements,
and jots down a few notes on a piece of paper. “We go through this every time we find a new
house.”

“Yes, and by now you should know better.”

The man opens his mouth to tease her back, but a sound claims his attention. He hesitates for a
moment, and when he realizes what it is, he quickly leaps to action, rattling tools and paper. If it
masks the sounds that are drifting in from the forest, he does not know. All he can do is try.

In the woods just beyond the house, a boy and girl lob snowballs at each other as the snow coats
their hair and eyelashes with puffy flakes of white. Periodically the boy will grab the girl around the
waist, spinning her as she laughs with delight. They float together, kiss, then drift apart to throw
snowballs again; happily oblivious to the epic changes unfolding around them.

When the boy tackles the girl, pinning her in the snow to kiss her, the innocence of their exchange
fades away. Kisses go from playful to passionate as lips trace down throats and promises of forever
and love and happiness are offered up into the quickly fading afternoon light.

“I love you, Bella,” the boy says, his words earnest. “Stay here, stay with me. Be mine. I want you, I
always have.”

“In the snow?” she asks, laughing with him, not at him. “I don’t know how I feel about public
displays of affection.”

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The boy jumps up, pulling the girl after him as they run for the nearest outbuilding, a small storage
building that has been turned into a studio. A large iron stove had been lit earlier in the day, and
they quickly shed their clothes, kissing and touching as they finally consecrate the vow made five
weeks before on a sunny fall afternoon in a forest in Washington.

“You are the vow, Isabella Cullen,” the boy says.

They make love for the first of what will no doubt be a thousand times, if not more, as the snow
blankets the wilderness around them in a layer of innocence, hiding for a time the ugliness that can
exist in the world around them. The girl holds the boy, combing her fingers through his hair as he
struggles for breath that is not necessary, a remnant of his human life she has allowed him to
rediscover. This is how they bring balance to each other – he gives her life, she makes him human
again. Once he stops breathing so heavily; they begin again, slowly kissing and touching as they
learn together.

In the house, the large man continues to rattle around to mask the noise coming from the building.
The others may be too distracted to hear the sighs and whispers, but when his brother’s cries of
pleasure become louder, he knocks over a stack of books, giving them the privacy they most
desperately deserve.

As the boy and girl lay wrapped in each other’s arms, whispering and making promises of what is to
come, the small dark haired girl slips from the house to sit on the back steps. The snow falls gently
on her, creating a soft veil of white over her short hair. She tilts her face up to stare at the sky. This
is a perfect moment; one that her family deserves. The visions have started again, and in time,
maybe as early as next summer, they will need to shift into action, for they have merely claimed one
battle; they have not won the war. For now, she will keep these things to herself, and allow her
family peace, prosperity, and tranquility.

The indeterminate snippets of the future she sees are mixed: eggs being balanced on end to
laughter, arguments as the newest member of the family learns her way, chafing at the boys’ desire
to keep her safe, but always coming back together, stronger for that love. Edward and Bella still
have a lot to learn, but learning means growth, and when they do come into their own, they will be
a force to be reckoned with.

She smiles as she hears her brother sigh again, happy that he and Bella have found this peace.
Theirs will not be an easy life, but the foundation they are building together is deeply embedded,
capable of withstanding any attack. They will face their future together, stronger as two halves of
the whole rather than as two individuals. These moments are precious, because they are the first,
but they are most definitely not the last.

The snow continues to fall as noises filter out from the different buildings. Love, a new world, a
home. These are the ideals that are worth fighting for, the ones that give their ageless existence
meaning and hope.

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Alice tilts her head back and smiles at the sky. The clouds have cleared, and the stars twinkle over
her head.

“And at least, for a little while,” she says, her words soft, “the all lived happily ever after.”