Carlisle had a feeling. If he'd been able to sleep, he'd probably have slept on it, but as it was he thought hard. Edward, out of respect, left him alone.
So, when Esme suggested that he go get the mail--which none of them ever did, because they never, ever got mail--he knew this was it. They never even got bills, because they'd paid off the cost of the house a long time ago. Something was up.
Even when Esme said it, she made a face that said, "Why did I say that?" But Carlisle wasn't about to let it by. Something was going to happen.
Quickly, but humanly, he made his way down the swerving dirt road, through the beautiful scenery, to the small, slanted, never-used mailbox.
And who would have guessed? Mail. It was so strange, that even Carlisle, who was an experienced vampire, was taken aback.
It was addressed to him, in perfect typed print. Strangely, it had no return address.
He began to fret then. What if it was the Volturi, wanting to visit? Or to have him visit them? Or, have all of them visit them? What if they wanted him back? Or Edward, or Alice? What if they wanted to warn them that if they did anything, they'd definitely be after them?
All of this took place in the space of five seconds, all those racing thoughts. With a sigh, he quickly opened the letter and stared at the handsome script, which he at once recognized.
Master Carlisle Cullen,
How are you? It's been decades. Maybe even centuries. My memory is fading, strangely. I suppose my age has something to do with it. Though I, of course, don't look old!
It took a lot for me to write this letter, Car. You know of my ill faith in any one country's government--especially of the U.S., but I suppose they wouldn't interrupt the sending of a measly letter to the little town of Forks, would they?
When I realized you were living there, I was taken aback. Do you know--well, you must, by now--that strange creatures run beside you? Furry beasts, of a sort? Do whatever you like, Carlisle, but take care until I arrive.
Which brings me to my main point. I've lost interest in the Volturi presently, and I've taken to the idea of getting to know your strange system of living better. I'll be there in a matter of days.
I hope you shall greet me with open arms as you always had in our days beneath the streets of Volterra.
My best regards,
Alexandrine Ockley.
Carlisle's earlier sense of dread evaporated. He smiled, quite genuinely.
"So she's coming," he said to himself, carefully returning the letter to its delicate envelope.