LILY

I was twenty years old when I died.

The year was 1922, and I was walking home from seeing Joe "King" Oliver and his Creole Jazz Band at the Royal Gardens Café. The walk was a short one through a safe neighborhood, and I didn't blink an eye at walking home without an escort at that time of night. After all, it was the Roaring Twenties. Flappers had liberalized women from strict social and sexual norms, and speakeasies were on every corner. It was a cold, clear night, and the glow from the moon reflected off the snow, providing more than enough light for the walk home.

Unfortunately for me, it was more than enough light for the thugs who accosted me. I was raped, beaten, and left for dead in the snow. Eventually, as I gasped for air and my heart struggled to beat in my chest, a dark shadow fell across me. I gargled for help, but the figure said nothing, staring silently down at me, watching me die. As my vision faded, I was vaguely aware of a sharp prick to my wrist, and I wondered briefly if the rats had set upon me before I was even dead.

Then, for a brief, wondrous moment, there was nothing. The pain was gone, and I was floating blissfully in a sea of black. And just as quickly as that moment came, it was gone, replaced by searing, screaming pain. I don't know how long the pain lasted, only that I prayed for death as I never had before. It made me wish for the pain of the attack I had suffered at the hand of the thugs who'd accosted me on the street.

Eventually, the pain subsided and I was able to open my eyes. At first I was confused and overwhelmed. I thought I had died, although I wasn't sure I was in heaven. The whole world was so much more… intense. There was a sharpness to everything that hadn't been there before, like I'd only been looking at life through a sheet of wax paper until that moment. The slightest movement caught my attention, and I found myself mesmerized by the snowflakes that had begun to fall around me. That led to the realization that not only was I really seeing snowflakes for the first time, but that I could hear them as they sliced through the air. And not only could I hear them, I could smell them. They smelled cool and clean, like cotton without the bite.

There was another smell in the air. Something both familiar and foreign to me at the same time. Whatever the smell, my immediate gut reaction was to put as much distance between it and myself as possible. No sooner had I eyeballed a tree several yards away from me, then I was behind it, with no memory of having conveyed myself there. I staggered, gripping the tree for balance. It crumpled beneath my hands. Panic began to seep through me. What was going on? What had happened to me?

A flicker of movement caught my eye, and with it another wave of that foreign-but-familiar smell. This time, I didn't run, but poised myself to fight. Even as I took a catlike battle stance, I marveled at the fact that I even had the ability to do so. Warily, I eyed the inhumanly beautiful man that was slowly approaching me, his hands raised apologetically. I snarled, then started at the sound.

"Please," the man said, "I'm not here to harm you." He was gorgeous. Blonde hair, tall, slender but obviously muscular. His eyes were liquid gold, and every curve and angle seemed to be chiseled out of marble. Even his very skin was the color of marble, practically glowing in the light of the moon. He looked to be in his early twenties, about my age. The smell, the one both intimately familiar and eerily foreign, belonged to him.

"Who are you?" I snarled. "What's happened to me?"

And so I met Carlisle Cullen, who calmly and patiently explained to me that he'd transformed me into a vampire. Naturally, I was skeptical, but I was so frightened by my new superpowers, I knew something had happened. Slowly, I began to trust. I spent a year with Carlisle and his companion, a stunning and private young vampire named Edward, mastering my newfound skills and learning to feed. Carlisle was what he called a "vegetarian" vampire, meaning he did not feed on human blood. I did my best to follow his creed, but I slipped occasionally. After a year, we went our separate ways. I gave up Carlisle's vegetarian lifestyle, but committed myself to only feeding on the blood of murderers, rapists, and thieves. I justified it by telling myself I was improving the world and saving lives by removing the scum of society from it.

Many years passed before I encountered another vampire. I saw a second World War, and another in Korea, and another in Vietnam. I enlisted as a nurse in each war. Battlefields were the ideal place to feed on human flesh without guilt. I put many a dying soldier out of his misery. It was in the 1980s, a decade I spent largely in London, England, that I came across the first vampire I'd seen since Carlisle and Edward, more than sixty years in the past.

I was stalking my next prey, a fat, sweaty man who had a tendency to beat and rob the hookers he frequented. I was perched, invisible, among the eaves and chimneys of the streets of London, prepared to attack, when I was hit by a scent I hadn't encountered in more than half a century. That odd familiar-yet-foreign smell, although it was no longer foreign. It was the smell of a vampire. Familiar, because of the faint trace of human forever imbedded in our flesh, and foreign because of the smell of living death that no one but a vampire could put off. I immediately thought of Carlisle, but knew it wasn't him. Carlisle's scent had always been medicinally clean, from his centuries of working as a doctor, mixed with a faint taste of wilderness, from just as many centuries hunting for his meals in the woods.

This scent was different. Immediately, I leapt to a higher position on the rooftops, my eyes peeled for what I knew was nearby. Carlisle had taught me never to trust a vampire. They were territorial creatures, and a civil greeting was more often than not followed by a violent and unexpected attack. I sniffed the air, searching for this one's location. To my surprise, I caught the faint whiff of trees and moss, a smell I had believed to be unique to Carlisle. It was mixed with the smell of roses. Finally, I spotted him. Few people dotted the streets at this time of night, but even if it had been the middle of the day, when vendors and pedestrians thronged the streets, I'd have recognized him as a vampire. That odd, unsettling grace we all moved with, combined with the utter silence in which he moved, easily gave him away. He didn't look at me, but I knew he knew I was there. My scent must certainly have been as strong as his.

Curiosity finally overcame me, and I dropped to the ground behind him. My entire body quivered in anticipation, fully prepared to fight or retreat, depending on what this creature did.

Although I made no sound, he froze as my feet touched the ground. I sensed the tension in his body, as strong as mine, and I forced myself into an easy stance as he turned to face me.

He was exquisite. If Carlisle had been a god, this man was an Adonis. He was very tall, taller than Carlisle, but possessed none of Carlisle's slender litheness. No, this man was a Hercules, thick through the chest and muscles literally straining against his shirt, as though it might explode if he were to flex them. I swallowed. I hadn't realized vampires maintained a libido until desire slammed into my chest like a sledgehammer. He had thick, wavy black hair that fell just below his neckline in an untidy mess, and his eyes were the same liquid gold color as Carlisle's.

That last fact struck me as odd but I didn't have time to analyze it before he spoke.

"Well, well, well. I can't say I've ever seen you here before." He smiled, revealing his even, white, and completely deadly teeth. I smiled back, my jaw clenched with nerves.

"Likewise."

We studied each other for a long moment. I knew he was taking me in, assessing my stance and attempting to sum up my threat level. I did my best to remain relaxed, to lull him into believing I was harmless. I had no intention of attacking this vampire, but I wasn't about to let my guard down, either.

Finally, he spoke again. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Hector Klaus. With whom am I having the pleasure of this encounter?"

I hesitated, debating whether or not I should simply turn tail and run. Another glance at his physique told me it would be futile. "I am Lily Joseph," I replied. "I have wandered these streets for the better part of the last ten years, so I must say I'm rather surprised at this encounter." I surprised myself with my own boldness, but swallowed determinedly. I liked London. I wasn't about to let this newcomer bully me out of my town.

A brief but tense silence followed, then to my great surprise, he threw his head back and laughed. "You have nothing to fear from me, Lily Joseph. I have spent many a decade here in London, but have been out travelling, if you will, on the European continent. I like to occasionally visit my homeland, you see."

I relaxed ever so slightly, then cautioned myself against doing so. He could be putting me at ease, softening me up to make the attack swifter and less expected. "Your homeland?" I asked. "And where might that be?"

"Croatia," he responded. "I lived there until 1526, when I was changed. Where are you from?"

I quickly did the math in my head. I was facing off with a vampire who had been alive for almost 500 years, longer even than Carlisle. "Chicago," I replied, then reluctantly added, "Until 1922."

"Ah, the Jazz Age. Were you a flapper?" There was a twinkle in his eye as he smiled at me. This time, I couldn't help but smile back.

"No. I did briefly date John Torrio, though." A fact that had probably gotten me attacked that day back in 1922.

Hector raised his eyebrows. "You dated Johnny the Fox?"

I nodded. "You seem to know a lot about 1920s Chicago, Mr. Klaus," I observed.

He smiled. "It's Hector, and when you've lived as long as I have, you learn the importance of history. I was also living in New York at the time you are describing, so many news events that wouldn't normally have reached my ears here in Europe I'm very familiar with." He hesitated for a moment. "Chicago in the 1920s. I don't suppose you are familiar with Carlisle Cullen?"

If I'd had a heart, it would have stopped at the mention of my mentor's name. "How do you know Carlisle?" I asked.

"Ah! So you do know him! Excellent! Carlisle is a very old friend of mine. I owe him a great deal, including my diet habits."

I remembered again how his gold eyes had struck me as strange. Suddenly it clicked. Contrary to popular myth, vampires could see their reflections in mirrors, and I'd glanced at myself more than once over the years, amazed at the fact I hadn't aged a day. I also knew that my eyes were a bright, fiery red, more so after I fed. Carlisle's had always been gold. And he never fed on human flesh. This vampire, Hector, had gold eyes, and claimed he owed his eating habits to Carlisle. "You're a vegetarian?" I ventured.

He laughed. "Yes! I spent a quarter of a century with Carlisle, perfecting his difficult eating habits. He's really an enigma among vampires, Carlisle is. Have you seen him lately?"

I lowered my eyes, knowing he must be aware that I had not adopted Carlisle's noble way of feeding. "Not for sixty years," I admitted.

"Then you'll be pleased to know that I'm on my way to the states to visit him and his family!" Hector enthused. "I'd welcome the company, of course."