Something utterly disgusting seeped into my mouth and down my throat; I instantly began coughing and gagging. It was revolting.

My blurred vision eventually straightened itself out and I found myself looking into the kind golden eyes of Dr. Cullen. I realized he was pouring that cough serum down my throat. His hands held a half-empty cup.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Masen. I know it tastes bad, but it will make your cough better," he assured me in those musical tones.

I nodded and tried weakly to sit up straighter. I reached for the cup, and rasped, "Where is Edward?" Looking around, I didn't see him anywhere near my bed.

"Your son has gone home. I insisted that he get some rest."

I closed my eyes in relief. "Thank you, doctor." He handed me the cup and, wrinkling my nose, I gulped down the rest of the serum. "Now if I could only—" I paused to cough a little—"keep him there."

"He doesn't seem to be an easily deterred fellow," Dr. Cullen said with a slight smile. He took the cup from me and set it on a nearby tray. He then picked up a stethoscope and held up the drum. "May I?"

"You may." I marveled at how well I was handling myself, considering. I felt extremely comfortable around him despite my illness—more comfortable, perhaps, than I had felt in a long time.

Dr. Cullen gently undid the top button of my blouse and, very carefully, slid the drum underneath to the skin over my heart.

Feeling the closeness of that frigid skin, I couldn't help but tremble a little.

I then thought of Edward. I hoped he was still well and had not lingered long after my last fainting spell. Seeing his wide green eyes in my mind, I moaned with anxiety. Seeing my late husband's face as well, I moaned again.

Dr. Cullen looked at me with honest sympathy as he withdrew the stethoscope. "I am sorry for your recent loss, Mrs. Masen," he said gently, looping the instrument around his neck.

"Thank you," I whispered. I was scarcely cognizant of my surroundings, with my thoughts pulling in so many directions at once, some unexpected. The only thing that stood out amidst my present situation was not even the influenza: it was Carlisle Cullen. The vampire doctor who had his eyes.

I had thought he was unique in that regard.

"How progressed is the illness, Dr. Cullen?" I said hoarsely. Focusing again on my very real, very tangible body, I felt my growing weakness like a lead weight.

Dr. Cullen pressed his lips together. "Not very. You have a slight fever and the characteristic cough. The symptoms may worsen, or they may change."

I winced. "Thank you for being honest with me, doctor."

"I could never be anything else." He sounded so sincere.

I hesitated, staring at my hands twisted in my blanketed lap. "Edward," I murmured.

"Your son is young and healthy," Dr. Cullen said immediately. "His body likely has the strength to fight the disease."

I shook my head slowly, causing loosened tendrils of hair to brush across my shoulders. "Not a chance I'm willing to take," I said. "He has to stay away from here."

Dr. Cullen sighed, placing one hand on the bedrail. "I can do very little to keep him away, Mrs. Masen. And he'll likely not listen."

"He's very stubborn," I replied with my fading voice. "Threaten him if you have to."

"I cannot keep him from you during visiting hours, Mrs. Masen. It is against the law."

I was silent.

"He loves you very much." Dr. Cullen paused. "You are fortunate, I should think, to have such a devoted person in your life."

I nodded. I now wanted him to leave me alone.

He seemed to sense this. "I'll let you get some rest, now. Goodnight, Mrs. Masen."

And he walked away, taking his pale skin and gold-black eyes and elegance with him, leaving me submerged in that sickly amber light that bathed the ward. Outside, through the windows, the streets of Chicago were dark.

My memories from the countryside are all, strangely enough, pervaded by the bright sense of sunshine. It is as if I am seeing it all again through the lens of a warm, golden liquid; but that may just be the visions of his eyes. They are, as I have said, my strongest memories, the image that conjures up the most potent emotion in me.

I managed to escape from the cottage the next morning for a little bit of exploring. I remember it was a breezy day, the sky full of racing clouds through which the sun flitted. Knee deep in meadow grasses, I poked sheepishly around the edge of the forest, trying to work up the courage to venture in. Underneath the limbs of the trees, I could see, it was a pool of cool shadows.

But I didn't want to be enveloped today. I found I rather liked the openness of the rural areas spread out at my back; the unrestrained wind tugged at my hair, fresh and sweet.

I skimmed along the line between the woods and the grasses, gradually weaving my way away from the cottage, in the general direction of where I knew the barn was, to the east.

I was thinking about Noah and Tobias.

I couldn't help but shiver the tiniest bit at the vivid memory of their exquisiteness; their beauty bordered on alien. And yet I felt irresistibly drawn in, like a moth to a flame. I wanted to surround myself with that beauty all the time, to somehow convince myself that perfection existed. It felt almost…greedy, the drive I felt to find them again and remind myself that they were real.

Had I simply imagined it? Had I simply been tired from the long journey?

I got a bit angry with myself. I was supposed to be on vacation, and here I was wasting my time dreaming about hired hands. I would probably see very little of them, and it was ridiculous to elevate them to some sort of higher state simply because they were beautiful. They were probably just as coarse as any other men their age.

Though they certainly hadn't seemed it. They had been so…elegant. Almost old-fashioned in their mannerisms.

I shook my head. I ran a hand up to my scalp and ruffled my hair a little. I decided my cot must have leaked some straw the night before; I could feel some rough pieces.

I grimaced. No matter how I tried to distract myself, those two lovely creatures penetrated my thoughts.

This is ridiculous, I thought. I will not behave like this.

Naturally, a few minutes later I found myself at the door of the barn. It was a weathered old structure, had seen several seasons of elements and was still standing proudly, although it looked a little lopsided. The enormous wooden doors were covered in the same peeling red paint that the cottage sported.

Gripping the cross-bar with both hands, I slid it sideways, wedged my fingers into the crack between the two doors, and pulled them open. A plume of dust wafted into my face, smelling of manure and animals and leather. I was greeted with a few good-natured clucks by a handful of hens strutting about.

I padded inside softly, looking around as my eyes adjusted to the dark. There were some stalls, and a hay loft high above stacked with golden bundles. The floor was hard-packed dirt.

A soft whickering from one side distracted me, and I stepped tentatively toward the noise. Peering into a stall, I met a horse's dark, gentle gaze. The animal's hide was a pure dove gray; it gleamed. Obviously well cared for.

As we looked at each other, I took a careful, measured breath, not wanting to startle the creature—I did, however, startle myself. There was something else now mingling with the scents of manure and leather: a sweet, enticing aroma, so completely mouthwatering that my eyes flew wide open when it met my nose. What was that?

"That one's a mare," came a soft, musical voice.

I must have jumped a mile; my knee banged into the stall door against which I was pressed, causing the horse to stamp in alarm. I had not seen nor heard anyone else in the barn. I tried to calm my thundering heart as I turned around and met Noah's eyes.

And then promptly directed my own to the ground. I couldn't keep eye contact with him without feeling a slight dizziness in my head, he was that stunning. And so graceful and composed, I felt absurdly awkward by comparison.

"Hello," I said quietly, proud of myself for not messing up that simple word too badly.

"Hello," he replied, and his voice was kind, confident—utterly alluring. I couldn't help it; I raised my eyes to see if the smile I heard in his voice was really there. It was. It was dazzling.

"I was just…that is, I was looking around. I'm afraid I'm not very good with animals, but I thought I'd…" I trailed off lamely.

"Mischa is actually very calm. You're not likely to do anything wrong by her standards," Noah said. He somehow managed to glow even in the shade of the barn.

I chuckled, nervously. But I knew at the same time—this was what I had wanted all along. To meet one of them again. Particularly, I wanted to see Noah again.

Memory certainly had not done him justice.

"Elizabeth, am I correct?" he asked politely. Though it was mild enough, the sound of his voice speaking my name was thrilling.

"Yes," I said, trying to compose myself. I wasn't normally so shy.

"I'm Noah," he said, mistakenly thinking I needed a reminder.

"Yes, I remember," I said, trying to smile at him.

"Noah Alexander."

I blinked. "That's an unusual surname. I'm curious. Are…are you and Tobias related?" Full sentences; what ambitions I had today.

His lovely face contracted in an expression of slight confusion. "What makes you think that?"

I bit my lip. "You two seem to share certain…qualities."

For a brief moment he seemed to be fighting a smile; then, he smoothed his features. "We aren't related. But we have been in each other's company for quite some time now." He walked slowly over to stand next to me against the stall door, and held a perfectly white hand out to the horse, Mischa. The mare blinked and lifted one hoof, making as if to step forward, but suddenly her nostrils flared and she whinnied, turning completely around and retreating to the back of the stall. Her eyes rolled slightly in their sockets.

I watched this, baffled. Noah seemed completely at ease around animals. However, I wanted to continue my meager attempts at conversation, and so I let the odd behaviors of animals fall from my mind.

"Do the two of you travel a lot?" I asked Noah, who had let his hand drop, his features still smooth as glass.

"Generally, yes. We've spent the past three summers working for Frederick Pinke, maintaining his land and animals for him while he does business in the city. But for the rest of the year, Tobias and I tend to…roam." He withdrew his hand from the stall and ran it through his hair. "Picking up odd jobs here and there."

"You must like this one, if you keep coming back," I answered, genuinely curious now.

"It's very peaceful," he said, nodding. "Hardly anyone lives nearby, and those who do tend to retreat to the coast during the hottest months."

"Have you ever been to Charleston?" I asked, thinking of my beloved port city, the crash of the waves, how beautiful he would look standing windswept on a wharf…

Noah smiled at me, and once again his smoldering golden eyes caught me completely off guard. I sucked in what I hoped was a silent breath. "Yes. Many times," he said. "You came from there, didn't you?"

I nodded.

"How long will you be here?"

"One and a half months, I think. My father thinks that I need to breathe in as much country air as possible."

Noah laughed, a melodious sound. "Growing up too fast for him, are you?"

I flushed a little. "I suppose so."

His eyes took on a curious gleam. "How old are you, Miss Sussex?"

My brow furrowed. "I'm seventeen." I was annoyed that he had called me "Miss Sussex"—I would have far preferred my first name. "And you, Mr. Alexander?"

Noah grinned in answer. "Eighteen."

"Will I really see very little of you during the entire summer?" The words were

out of my mouth before my brain had approved of them. I immediately snapped my jaw shut and reprimanded myself while my face began to burn. Ugh. It sounded so very…desperate. How could I sound—how could I feel—that way?

I tried to explain, to myself and to him. "Wh—what I meant was, it didn't seem so difficult to find you just now. I just walked in here." I gestured to the barn. Actually, I was almost surprised to find it was still there. My conversation with Noah had seemed so electrified that we could have been standing in a tempest and I wouldn't have noticed.

The flash of his teeth and eyes made my heart literally skip a beat. "I suppose you'll see as much of me as you want to," he said rather softly. "Except when we're hunting." He lifted his impossibly long lashes to gaze at me.

I nodded; I could live with that. And if I wanted to see him every day, I just had to work up the spine to wander away from the cottage as much as possible.

He must have some idea of how utterly charming he was. Charming—alluring, more like.

At that moment, two things happened. First, the sunlight that had been streaming outside open doors vanished as the sun was smothered in clouds. Then, a figure appeared in the now shadowy doorway and advanced into the dark barn. It was Tobias, his pale skin seeming to glow against his dark hair. He was speaking rapidly.

"Noah, there is a herd of deer not far off in the woods and we should get there immediately." He paused and looked at me, and allowed a smile onto his face. "For Miss Sussex's dinner this evening," he added, in a tone that seemed less urgent than his previous one.

I gave a faltering smile. "I hope my mother is up to the task of skinning and gutting a whole deer. I certainly would be of no help."

"It's no matter, Miss Sussex, we will do that for your family," Noah said, his voice much more formal and restrained than it had been moments before.

"Oh." I found myself looking at the ground again. "Thank you."

"It was a pleasure to talk with you again," he said evenly. "Good afternoon, Tobias. Shall we?"

And, with polite nods to me, the two of them paced swiftly, gracefully from the barn and headed toward the woods. I padded after and stuck my head out of the doorframe, watching. Above, I noticed, the sky had become quite cloudy indeed.

Ducking back inside, I rested against Mischa's stall door once more. The mare had advanced again and sniffed amiably at my hair, perfectly at ease.

I was still watching the empty barn door, wishing my encounter with Noah hadn't ended quite so abruptly.

That night I dreamed of Charleston, but the fleeting images and sensations were not as pleasant as I would have liked them to be. As I wandered the broad, cobbled streets, I had the vague notion that I was searching for something I couldn't find. And I never properly traveled from one place to place; I just seemed to end up on father's wharf, or within the old slave market, or high in the bell tower of the cathedral, frantically looking. The weather was the only thing that remained consistent—the sky was an ominous, roiling swath of charcoal-colored clouds, oppressive throughout my un-sequenced dreams.

My beautiful city was empty; it did not have what I was looking for.

When I woke, it was not the clichéd, sudden gasping, but a gradual, sickly awareness of the pressure of the pillow against my cheek and of my hair, plastered across my sweaty face. I groaned aloud when I was finally fully released from my dreams, and opened aching eyes to the window next to my bed. In the world of reality, the clouds had moved on; it was a clear night, the sky sprinkled with thousands and thousands of stars. I took a couple deep breaths, peeling the strands of hair from my face, as I continued to gaze at the nighttime sky.

Noah was right. I could sense a peace in this place.

During the daytime, the hospital was not quite so macabre. Sunshine helped. The bustling of the nurses helped. Edward's presence, much as I loathed to admit it, helped.

"Good morning, mother." He was there when I woke again from my fevered haze. Of course. Edward tenderly stroked my palm and met my eyes with his, which, to my dismay, were decorated with the smudges of sleeplessness.

A stab of physical pain, unrelated to the damned influenza, wrenched me. Edward, alone at home, fatherless, with an invalid mother…it was too much for a single young man. And yet he came to me faithfully.

Did I really deserve such a son?

"Good morning," I replied, and, happily, my voice was not quite so weak as it had seemed the previous night. "Making your morning rounds, Dr. Masen?"

He managed to smile at that. "My patients' welfare is top priority. How are you feeling, Mrs. Masen?" He let his voice drop to one of concern as he knitted his brows over his eyes.

I weighed my options and decided to be gently honest. "Like I have the Spanish influenza. But not horrible. Functional, as you see."

"Yes," he murmured. And then, even more softly, "I can't believe this happened."

"It's perfectly believable, Edward." I watched his morose expression carefully. "Now, I recognize that look. Don't you start to blame yourself for this."

"I was supposed to be keeping you safe by keeping you from the hospital. Instead I brought the damned thing home," he mumbled. "I should be in your place."

"Edward!" I said harshly, not caring who heard me. "Don't be ridiculous. I could have contracted the virus anywhere, from anyone. And I certainly pray to God that He let the virus take me a hundred times before it even touches you." I tried to sit up a little, to emphasize my words, but my muscles felt like gelatin. I settled for glaring.

Immediately Edward looked distressed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be making you comfort me. That isn't why I came here." And he looked so upset that I couldn't help but reach out a hand to cup his jaw, as I always did. He closed his eyes briefly, and then opened them to reveal a fierce gleam.

"I'll get some more medicine for you."

"Edward, I'm sure the staff is very busy—"

"They know me here."

And he was off. Ten minutes later he returned with a squat, red-haired man who was most certainly not Dr. Cullen, who insisted I drink another cup of that abominable cough serum, and then presented Edward with a jug of water so immense it could have contained a small person.

"She needs plenty of fluids, so make sure this stays by her bed at all times. We've constructed this apparatus to help her drink regularly." The squat doctor held out what was essentially a very long glass straw. "The water has been boiled to purification, and we've mixed in herbal supplements and powders for calcium and protein." These last two terms were only vaguely familiar to me; I recalled a report about nutrition I had seen in the last few weeks that mentioned some breakthroughs about "elements of the body" or some such nonsense.

Edward saw my dubious look as soon as the doctor had walked away.

"The man knows what he's doing, I'm sure, mother," he said sternly as he heaved the enormous jug to the side of my bed and gingerly stuck in the long glass tube. "Better than we do, at any rate. Listen to him."

I scoffed. "All that babbling about 'sophisticated technological devices,'" I muttered as I fingered the end of the giant straw. "Where is Dr. Cullen?"

Edward replied quietly, "Dr. Cullen only works the night shift."

I blinked, and then I scolded myself for being so dense. Of course he wouldn't come to the hospital during the day. To Edward, I said, "I guess even he has to sleep occasionally."

Edward sat on my bed again, against my knees, and ran both hands through his tousled hair. "They say he's the best there is. Perhaps even in all of Chicago. Everybody knows of him."

I was rather disturbed at how intimate Edward seemed to be with the hospital rumor mill—clearly, he was becoming far too familiar with these settings.

"Edward," I said sternly. "I want you to stop coming here to see me." The words hurt to say, but I could think of nothing else to do to keep him safe.

My son smiled wanly at me. "You don't really mean that."

"But I do," I said, fixing him with what I hoped was a reproachful look. "I will not have you exposing yourself to this virus. What you're doing is completely reckless and I insist that, as a grown man now, you take your own health more seriously. You're not in—" I had meant to say "invincible," but a cough worked its slimy way into my chest. I began to hack and tremble, making the bed frame shudder.

Edward was by my head in an instant. Sliding one hand behind my back, he propped me up slightly and pressed a thick fold of linen to my mouth as I coughed.

"Ah, mother," he murmured, and it sounded so sad that my eyes began to scald and tears dripped and ran and mingled with the sweat on my face. It felt as if my very soul were ill, too.

When the coughs finally subsided, I flopped back against the bed, feeling drained and exhausted, physically and emotionally.

"Edward," I said throatily. "Please. Don't do this. It's not worth it." I wiped away my tears with clammy fingers.

He was staring at the wad of linen in his hands, his posture rigid, his profile hard like granite.

The cloth was stained bright red.

I couldn't help it: a quivering sigh of fear fell from my lips.