Disclaimer:
Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight.
Morgan Locklear owns an app that turns his iPad into the Flux Compositor from Back To The Future.
Chapter Three:
The Priest
New York City was a reflective playground for the sun. Numerous bodies of water scattered around countless windows and all of them were brightly lit on a hot June morning.
Bella and Edward shared a lover's embrace for the first time in New York well after the sun had already dazzled them through their bedroom windows. They lived in the east wing and when dawn caressed the naked couple, they took turns closing their eyes.
They had not been able to make love since they left Paris and even the stress of their evening could not abate the urgent need to press their bodies together. The two had eagerly kissed on the journey upstairs to their bed, pulling clothing off one another along the way. When Edward laid Bella down, he guided her to rest on her stomach.
He wanted to admire her body first.
Bella was in the middle of the black linen that stretched over their spacious bed. They were silk sheets and the delicious texture cradled her breasts and her feet disappeared in the thick red comforter now pooled near the edge of the mattress.
From up in the loft, Edward could look down into his new home. Irregular squares of light blanketed the floor below but a small row of single pane windows sat above the bed and were already spilling auburn flairs in every direction.
Several spears of light fell across Bella's round rear end and he could see that the copper flecks in the glass were casting galaxies on her smooth skin.
Edward carefully, deliberately kissed each twinkle. Some of the cool sparks on her lower back he kissed twice. She had her head cradled on her forearms and smiled sweetly at Edward whenever he worked his way back up to her neck, ear, cheek or whatever else he could get his lips on.
Bella shivered with delight when his whispers tickled her ear. "I need you." He spoke softly but Bella heard the longing behind his words.
Edward began kissing her again, working down her body with renewed vigor and response.
He traveled down her calves and rubbed his cheek on one while holding the other in a gentle grip. He kissed them both, moving back and forth with silent service. She felt his chest brush against her calves as he kissed further and further up the back of each leg in turn. Bella spread her thighs apart ever so slightly and found her rear rising up to meet his friction.
Edward cupped and kissed and nuzzled her round flesh until he ached but held his vigil over her bare back. He even ran his fingers through her thick hair for several minutes knowing how much she enjoyed the way it felt.
He straddled her and was brushing more than his chest against more than her calves. He could hear the city waking up but was determined to cope with the torrent of noise rather than ever be ambushed again.
He turned all his worry into passion, into lust. He may have begun gently but his increasing desire coupled with her succulent sun-splashed body drove him to a frenzy of desire. He sat up on the bed and turned her around, drawing her to him, to his very core, then placed her legs over his hips. Her chin dipped down into his lips and he kissed it softly.
He used his fingers to confirm her silky eagerness then guided his length into her. Bella's wet tongue languidly rolled across her lip and her bite punctuated his deep presence within her. Her hands anchored themselves as they grasped his hair with each thrust. She needed more, wanted more, and he enthusiastically obliged her.
Edward grabbed her hips, took a second to make sure his grip was extra tight, and began to thrust himself in and out of her while pulling her forcefully down to meet each hard push. Bella gasped in response as she threw herself forward, burying Edward's face between her eager breasts.
She had wanted Edward for days and had almost begged him to swim over to Sable Island for some alone time when the La Touraine passed Nova Scotia.
Bella wanted him so badly that, even with him inside her, she yearned for more closeness. She threw her head back and Edward happily placed his mouth around the cranberry truffle perched at the tip of each creamy rise of flesh. He swirled his tongue around his prize and even flicked it playfully as he continued to use his strength to pull Bella down onto his standing ovation.
"Bella, I can't believe how lucky I am."
Bella had a reply but was unable to address him. She was absorbed in a brilliant climax that made the room first brighten then dim. She fell forward into Edward's arms, weak with bliss.
Edward collapsed next to her on the bed. He was obviously ready for more but content with letting the pressure dip as he looked into her sideways eyes. They rested their heads on new pillows and smiled at each other while lacing their fingers together.
"I'm the lucky one," Bella whispered, just before kissing his nose. "You are so good to me." She laid her head on his chest and looked down his stomach at the stunning tool that had filled her with volcanic pleasure. He was still shiny with her moisture and she enjoyed seeing his body stretched out in more than just candlelight. She stroked him with her fingertips and he sighed.
Edward enjoyed it when she started petting him, watching him. He felt completely needed and comforted in those moments but could only allow her to fawn over him for a short time before he felt selfish and turned the tables. Bella knew what he was doing but did not stop him.
You are young, she thought, knowing she was playing for laughs. If you want to wear yourself out, I'll allow it.
Edward laughed and then positioned himself above Bella to show her how difficult it was to, as she put it, wear himself out. He slipped into her like a thief and began working his thick power in and out of her cozy wet nest while kissing her madly on the lips. His tongue was sometimes timid and sometimes aggressive as she ran her hands over the hard working muscles on his back.
She let her eyes follow the streaks of sun on the high peaked ceiling and wondered if she would ever get used to being in a room with windows during the day. She was tremendously happy with Edward and hearing her flattering thoughts filled him with confidence.
He, like most men, saw lovemaking first as a challenge and second, as a reward for having overcome said challenge. He would not be happy until his partner was delirious with plural release and only then would he allow himself to let go.
Bella always wanted him to let go earlier but Edward was a perfectionist. He relished in rendering her speechless while she was in the middle of telling him so.
As the streets below them filled with buggies, they made love over and over again. Edward practically devoured her and smiled as he worked her up into a simmer that lead to her bucking beneath him, pushing her hips up to meet his hungry pumping.
Bella clung to him as she arched her back. Each climax built on the last and she was positively steaming for him. Edward took short breaks to ensure Bella's utter satiation, and prolonged his endurance by using his mouth to tenderize his favorite areas.
They heard the elevated train one block over rumbling by several times before Edward finally did let go in a shuddering explosion. Bella had been sitting on top of him with her legs spread apart and her knees making small craters in the otherwise smooth sheets. She had her hands in her hair and was enjoying a strong jolt of satisfaction herself when his body trembled beneath her.
He was uncharacteristically vocal and serenaded her with sighs and whimpers that only fueled her engine. She writhed on him and drew out a delicious moan as they shared a luxurious release.
They both ended up on their backs, looking up at the peaked stone roof. Edward listened to the city scream at itself while Bella heard only the occasional fleck of street noise through the thick walls and windows.
Someone close by was playing Fur Elise.
Edward focused on the music and fell asleep first, his brain automatically muting the offending voices of the city, forcing the chorus to play some insignificant yet ever present part in his dreams. Bella was not used to sleeping in such a bright room but, after setting a pillow over her eyes, soon joined him in the autumn worlds of slumber.
Edward dreamt of being stranded at sea.
Bella dreamt of a volcano.
Michael was born in 1169 in Catania, Sicily. His mother had almost carried him to term when Mt. Etna's eruption threw her to the ground.
His father was a successful boat builder who worked from his shoreside home and he was with his wife when the earthquake sent her into labor. Catania was shaded by a cloud of ash and debris and for the next day and a half they all fought for their lives.
Michael was pulled into a trembling world by a trembling father.
Most of Catania was destroyed. The mighty St. Agatha Cathedral, as well as the bishop, disappeared in a boiling wind that claimed more lives than not. Most people who escaped the deadly gusts were instead buried alive and were counted among the dead even before the ground stopped its subsequent hiccups.
Huge boulders sat like castle turrets all around the neighborhood where Michael was born. Some were big enough to devastate two homes at once as they landed with catastrophic sound. Others rolled and bounced for miles, ruthlessly ripping people from their shoes and grinding farmland and animals into the same gooey mess.
Michael was named after one of the seven archangels in the Bible and was seen as a miracle to his parents from that day forward. He was taught to honor the name he was given and developed a spirituality in youth that made his parents proud of his virtue.
The state of Italy was founded when Michael was a child. He even remembered hearing adults talk about Barbarossa and Alexander III. It was a time of compromise between the Pope and the Emperors.
His youth was spent watching the city he lived in being unearthed. He himself must have carried a thousand wheelbarrow loads of broken stone to what the residents called montagna di macerie by the time he was ten.
That year he remembered finding a human skull while clearing a debris pile half way to Cibali. He took it home and kept it in his sleeping blanket for several days until he broke down and took it to his father.
The two left early the next morning, headed for the cathedral of St. Agatha. Michael's father carried the skull in a grass basket that his mother had made for the occasion. Their home was on the outskirts of town and it took them two hours to make the journey down to the site where the cathedral was being rebuilt. They were met by priests they did not know well but who would, after that day, become friends and mentors to the young boy.
The priests took Michael and his father deep underground to a crypt that had survived the earthquake and was recently rediscovered. In it, they were confronted with a gaping expanse of space that was as big as any chamber ever created above ground. They could not even see to the other side and it was completely filled with bones.
The massive room had a funny smell, a kind of earthy bitterness mixed with the sweet perfume of fruit. As the priests performed last rites to the skull, Michael imagined being on a boat in a sea of bones and wondered what lands would be on the other side.
They were told that the crypt held over ten thousand skeletons in various states of completion and Michael knew that he was seeing something that would impact the rest of his life.
He was right. From that day forward, Michael had a certain perspective that made him understand that much had happened before he came to be and much would happen after he was long departed. His solace in that realization was that he was perfectly free to do as much as could to change the world while he was in it.
Even at the age of ten, Michael felt a certain peace in knowing where his own bones would be laid some day.
By the time Richard the Lionheart was crowned King of England, the Roman Catholic Church was enjoying a significant boom in Europe. Michael was twenty years old, had completed his seminary training and was looking forward to being sent West to help the flock find salvation.
He did not have to wait long. The King himself called for Italian priests to teach in England and his call was loud. Michael went first to London to meet the Cardinal and was then sent to Weymouth and Easton on the island's south shore.
Michael was a quiet but powerful preacher. He became popular due to his simple but effective sermons. He looked into the eyes and hearts of the people in his congregation and gave them guidance mixed with hope.
By the time Constantinople was sacked in 1204, it had been the wealthiest city in Christendom and the news surprised his parishioners. It was the Fourth Crusade and no one foresaw Constantinople being looted. Jerusalem was the intended target. It was rumored that Venice, already the richest city in the West, received nearly half of the wealth taken, and that the emperor received another quarter of it. People were convinced that it was a conspiracy and that the sacred Crusades were merely a disguise to make the rich richer.
Michael was in his mid-thirties and had passed up countless political positions to stay close to the ears of the common man. He had been moved up to Swindon and then over to King's Lynn where he calmed the nerves of the people just hearing about the Latin's raid on the thousand year old stronghold. His leadership kept order in his small northeastern town while other villages erupted into mortal chaos.
Michael's parishioners were confused and angry but he restored order with his words. He proved so successful that he was soon after sent on a good will mission to Cambridge, Telford, Bristol and Crawley all within a year.
He discovered he liked the travel and spent the next seventeen years going everywhere from Ireland to his home of Catania where he went to learn the Ordo Fratrum Minorum, a set of guidelines put forward by the most esteemed St. Francis of Assisi.
Upon his return, Michael realized how much he missed his home. He was unprepared for the ache he felt when seeing his boyhood home and decided never to leave again. He lived in a small Franciscan community near the church and shared in their work as well as performing his fellowship duties.
He spent the next decade teaching and worshiping at St. Agatha and he looked for the giant chasm of bones he had seen as a child but could find no sign of it. The church's crypt was fairly large but was divided into several chambers. He could find no chamber the size of which he had witnessed over fifty years before.
He asked other priests and all the monks about it but no one knew what he was talking about. Finally, he asked where the bones of the volcano victims were buried and was directed to a cemetery west of town where there was indeed a well-appointed mausoleum but it was nothing more than a sentiment. What he saw on that day in his youth was an ocean of white sticks and stones.
He retired from service as a priest in 1232, thinking that a monk's existence would be vigorous enough for his remaining days. St. Francis had called his followers, Fraticelli, meaning Little Brother. Michael had always liked that.
He still heard confessions as a favor to the younger members of the governing priests and he was pleased to still be of use at the age of sixty-three, ancient at that time, even for a Sicilian.
Michael had been just settling into his newly liberated schedule of responsibilities and was wondering if there would ever offer a respite from the sweltering July evenings when he was given a book that would change his life.
Jasper and Alice woke to the sound of Jacob's laughter in the garden.
When they looked out their north windows they could see something they had missed the previous evening. In a clearing near their wing there was a chess board built right into the ground. Jacob and Rosalie were halfway through a game and when Alice knocked on the window she received waves from them both.
The game looked like fun but Alice knew that she was protected only by the couple's window design and that they would forever have the daytime garden all to themselves.
Rosalie had woken early, which was a godsend to Jacob, who never slept. They made love before dawn and were nestled together when Jacob first saw the streaks of pink filter into his round room. He rested easily for the three or so hours that Rosalie slept on his chest. He was at peace with her and knew that he would never again be separated from her by anything bigger than a puddle.
Even a medium sized fountain was too distant as far as he was concerned.
When Rosalie's eyes fluttered open they stayed that way so she got up and led Jacob to the one room in the tower she knew he had not been to yet.
"We called it the platform," she told him as they climbed the stone spiral steps leading above the bedroom.
Jacob stepped into the room and smiled. It had small wrap around windows built high enough on the walls that one had to be standing to see outside. The room was empty except for what looked like a coffin on legs and a padded elegant bench seat.
"What the hell is that?" Jacob's question was wrapped in a laugh.
"That," Rosalie informed him while lifting a hinged cover and revealing an offset row of piano keys, "is called a Square Grand."
Jacob had no words. He looked at the oddity with a confused curiosity.
"It's a Steinway. They have a factory on East 55th Street," Rosalie elaborated after a short pause.
"How did you get it up here?" Jacob began looking from the sizable instrument to the stone staircase and back again.
"Yes, well, they had to build it up here." Rosalie chuckled at the memory. She had religiously brought lemonade for the men during the nine days they spent working up in the tower. She quickly realized that she had not been in the room since Michael had taken her and her parents and scoffed at the naive girl who served the Steinway workers their afternoon drinks.
Jacob was very curious about the instrument and he appreciated the gift, but it seemed more like something Edward, or even Bella, would enjoy. He chose his next words carefully.
"What made you think of this?"
"You mean you don't know?" Rosalie was truly surprised. She looked like someone had just slapped her.
Jacob shook his head slowly.
Rosalie was no great musician but, when one lived with a piano prodigy, one picked up a few things. She sat down at the bench, placed her fingers purposefully over the keys and began playing Beethoven's Fur Elise.
Jacob was immediately invaded by goose bumps. The room took each note and draped it with warmth. The acoustics of the chamber made Jacob feel like he was inside the music. It was exhilarating and he found himself holding his breath.
Rosalie did not finish the song. She had only learned the first page of music but saw that her point was sufficiently made. "Didn't you design the room to do this?"
"No." He could only speak a single word. Jacob was absolutely astounded.
Rosalie was surprised but happy to see the extra amenity affect him so. "You wrote a beautiful song for me on a piano in Spain, and you sang that song while Edward played it on a piano in France. Well, this is a piano from America and I want to see what you come up with."
Jacob stood her up and embraced her. "I'll do my best but it will have to wait until after we return."
"I know." She took him by the hand and led him to a window. "I love it here, Jacob. And after mother and I settle our accounts in Paris, I fully intend to come back to stay whether this business with Michael is settled or not."
Jacob sighed but agreed, if only for the time being.
They were a little over seventy feet above street level and had only the churches for company at that height.
"I notice that you didn't put copper flakes in the glass up here." Jacob observed. The pitch and composition of the windows were what protected the vampires, the flakes were just an asthetic touch down below.
"I thought they might interfere with the observatory feel of the room."
Jacob nodded his head. It was a good point, she was a smart person and the room was, in a word, magnificent. They surveyed the city together like it was a sea and they were on the bridge of their own private city liner. It was a serene moment, until his stomach rumbled loudly.
Rosalie laughed and touched Jacob on his belly. He wasn't wearing a shirt. "Big Spoon is hungry." It was like she was making a mental note.
"I'm alright," he shrugged, "I can find something when I book us passage back to Paris."
He walked around the room looking first North over Bella's wing toward Central Park and then around to the East where he could see the Brooklyn Bridge rising like a giant harp out of the river. He walked over to the south windows and could easily make out several ships moored along the lower wharf including the La Touriane. Jacob was thinking about how he would be able to stay in a normal cabin with a normal bed, if not outrageously small, when Rosalie encouraged him to move around to the northwest windows and look down at the rooftop garden.
"Is that what I think it is?" He was positively flabbergasted. Below him was a clearing close to the south wing where a chess grid had been installed on the garden floor. It was made from squares of the same light grey marble from the lobby and, he was not surprised to see, redwood. The game pieces were carved from marble as well, royal blue with swirls of white and then the opposite, white marble with tiny royal blue hurricanes.
"I thought I'd give you another chance." Rosalie moved up next to him and pressed her forehead to the small window.
"Let's go see about passage back to Paris first," Jacob offered.
Rosalie eyed him suspiciously but concluded that he was not merely stalling and closed the piano lid.
They met a heavy eyed Captain Caussin on the dock as he was meeting and addressing new deck hands. "...times a day and see the doctor for your voyage injections..." He paused when he noticed Jacob and Rosalie. "And if any of you are working with Hugo in the boiler you will find no better model for shoveling coal than this man."
Jacob stepped forward with a befuddled Rosalie on his arm. "Why were you shoveling coal?" she asked.
"So nice to see you again, Miss Cullen!" Diamond Beard exclaimed. "See there my boy! She was safe all along."
Jacob smiled. "We were not intending to bother you, sir. We were just looking for the porter."
"No bother at all my lad." The Captain's words were accompanied with a slap on the shoulder that he almost had to jump to reach. "But you're not intending to leave so soon are you?"
"Well," Jacob began, "the Cullens were due back in Paris weeks ago as you are aware, and they intend not to be delayed any further. Except that I will be taking the place of Mr. Cullen as he has some unfinished business here. We were just going to discuss the matter with your port officer."
"Nonsense," the Captain bellowed. "I'll arrange everything." He leaned in close to Jacob. "Will you require the use of my compartment then?"
"No, sir. Two normal rooms will be splendid."
"You shall have two suites, one on either side of mine." His exclamation was given with the fervor of a Roman senator. "We depart tomorrow morning at eight."
Back when Michael was taking confessions there was no divider between priest and penitent. There was always an effort made to make the exchange private enough to eliminate the chance of being overheard, but the rooms were often spacious enough to be quite comfortable. Michael practically made an office for himself in one such room that was otherwise used to store wine in a seldom trafficked area of the church.
His counterparts liked to be near the sanctuary in one of several cloisters when they heard confession. Since Michael had agreed to take over the duties, however, they used the enclosed areas mostly for gossip.
Confessions were heard only on Fridays. This meant that Michael spent most of his time instructing people to get to the point in order to accommodate the waiting penitents. He would walk down the corridor and pass several dozen people, touching them and even greeting some by name.
On one Friday in August, Michael shuffled with his head down and got almost all the way to his door before he noticed that there were fewer than usual people waiting for absolution.
Only one man as it turned out and, he too, had his head down.
He had olive skin and long tangles of black hair slumped over his broad shoulders. He kept his eyes down but that was not uncommon. Michael moved past him, thinking that the absence of would-be sinners made for his lucky day.
The man followed Michael into the room and knelt customarily in front of the priest.
"Grant me the Lord's blessing, Father, for I have many sins."
"I shall hear you my child." Michael was looking at his dirty hair, he would offer the man a chance to bathe and eat once he was absolved.
"I stole a book."
Michael was surprised by the quaint confession. Books were quite valuable and the crime was serious but most confessions involved malicious betrayals or carnal vulgarities. A poor man tempted by treasure was tame by comparison. "Is that your only sin?"
"No, Father, but it is the one that plagues me." He almost looked up at Michael as he spoke the truthful words but his eyes never got higher than the priest's folded hands.
"Would you like to atone for your other sins?"
"There will be time for that, Father, but I am desperate to rid myself of the weight of the book."
"Can you not return the book to its owner?"
The man laughed bitterly. "No."
It was the first time Michael felt unnerved. He realized that he did not want to ask any more questions about the book's owner.
"You must give it away," he instructed after a thoughtful pause. "And then you must go to the Statue of Mary and repent."
The man reached into his pocket and produced a small red book that looked like it had tar running down its soft leathery binding. He held it out to Michael who took it and turned it over in his hands. It was quite old.
"How long has it been since your last confession?" the priest asked.
The penitent looked up at Michael for the first time.
His eyes were blazing red and thick with lunacy.
"A thousand years."
Those eyes leapt up toward Michael's and he cried out in terror.
His outburst was cut off abruptly.
When he awoke, he thought no time had passed and Michael immediately began looking for the devil.
But he was alone in the room.
He felt tremendous pain in his stomach and head but even those maladies could not keep him from noticing that for the first time in six years, he did not have pain in his back or his knees.
Or his feet.
Or his neck.
And his headache was actually subsiding quickly.
Michael actually leapt for joy and that was when things became other worldly. He sprang up high enough to jump over an altar and saw the dusty tops of wine barrels stacked four high. His reflexes were grand as he watched his hands shoot up and catch the ceiling. He landed with a kitten's grace, however, and stumbled comically into the wall.
Which cracked with the impact.
In that moment Michael felt like he wanted to back away from himself and when he looked down at his hands he saw a small droplet of blood on the sleeve of his robe. Before he knew what he was doing he was suckling the stain and savoring the earthly flavor.
Michael could smell more blood and pulled off his robe to discover that most of the garment's neck was dark with the evidence of his attack. Even as Michael buried his face in the stiffening material, he wondered how he could have survived such a bloodletting assault.
He threw the robe aside, dissatisfied with the stale results. He had another thin shirt on underneath but did not bother taking it off. It was clean, he could smell it.
Michael fell to his knees and wept. He had heard that Hell could sometimes appear like Earth but with twisted amendments. Michael mourned that his human sacrifices were all for not.
He knew that if he were indeed in Hell that even God might not hear him but old habits were hard to break, so Michael prayed. He prayed for forgiveness and he prayed for salvation, but mostly he prayed for answers.
When he opened his eyes, he saw the now abandoned book.
He scurried over to it and unwound the thin black leather strap that held the soft cover closed. He opened it up and flipped through a few pages, then a few more.
Michael was perplexed.
The book was empty.
Michael laughed so loud and for so long that two priests and a visiting Deacon came to investigate.
It was a fatal mistake.
After speaking with Captain Caussin, Rosalie and Jacob chose to walk the thirty-four blocks home. They found a place to eat on Seventh Street and Rosalie told him about the city. She explained that it had a unique power and Jacob had to admit that he felt something special, electric even, since he first arrived.
They came back to a silent theatre and took the elevator up to what Rosalie called the Corner Room. They walked into the garden and along the south wing until they saw the clearing that held the chess board.
Jacob went first and told Rosalie not to take it easy on him. She promised to give him a sound drubbing and that was all he needed to hear.
Ten minutes later, when Alice's knock on the window made them look up, Jacob was down to one rook, one knight, two pawns and his King. They waved at their friends and were resetting the board a few minutes after that.
When they went back inside, they noticed that Bella and Edward's door was open.
"Good afternoon," Jacob called.
"Hello!" Bella's voice came from somewhere inside. "Edward is downstairs with his parents and Emmett."
Jasper and Alice dressed quickly and came out of their room disheveled but cheery. Alice still would not ride in the elevator but carried on a pleasant conversation with the three of them while Bella hollered that she would be down in a few moments.
They found Edward and Carlisle in the orchestra pit. Carlisle was showing him how they had recessed the lights in the pit walls so that the musicians could read their music but not interfere with the audience experience. He was about to launch into a dissertation about how Jacob had perfected the art of acoustics when he walked in.
"Hello, my Rosa-Lilly. And a good day to you Alice, Jasper, Jacob." He nodded at each of them but held his hands up to halt their approach. "Why don't you all stay back there? I want to show you something." He asked Edward to jump onstage and instructed him to speak in a normal voice, quiet even.
Edward took the request literally and sprang up the nine feet with ease. He watched his father reach the group and waited while they spoke. He had been using his father's advice about listening to so many thoughts at once, that is to say trying not to listen to them and instead allowed them to become the tangled white noise of the sea. By not focusing on any one person, Edward was able to pretend that he was simply near the ocean, or a waterfall, or in a wind storm.
He could easily distinguish those thoughts inside the theatre from those without because there was a definite clarity to them. He wondered while he stood there onstage why it should make a difference how much material there was between him and any errant thought just as long as he was within range. He then began wondering if his range could accurately be measured when his father's actual words cut through the static like a church bell. "Say Edward, what do you think of the theatre?"
Edward smiled, he could not think of the word he wanted to use. "I think it's, astonishing." He spoke in a conversational tone, with effort. Everyone was standing a fair distance away.
Jacob was impressed but this was one acoustical effect that morning that did not surprise him. The rest of the group giggled at the magical amplification of Edward's voice and took turns talking to him like he was a celebrity. They all wanted him to speak to them and, when he did, his words were met with more playful laughs and questions.
Emmett leapt up to the first balcony and reported that Edward sounded just as loud from up there.
Jasper looked up at the second balcony with longing but did not attempt the jump. He knew he could get up to where Emmett was but did not dare attempt the level above that from the auditorium floor. He looked over at Jacob, who was also eying the distance.
"Can you make that?" Jasper asked, knowing that he would be impressed even if Jacob seriously considered it.
Jacob nodded. "Maybe even in this form."
Jasper realized what he meant right away, as did Alice. "How high can you jump as a wolf?" she asked.
Jacob looked at the second balcony. "I have jumped sixty feet up as a wolf but, as a man, I don't think I could make half that."
"That balcony only looks about twenty five feet away," Jasper offered with a smile.
"Twenty-eight." Carlisle and Jacob spoke in unison, making Edward chuckle from his position onstage.
"Do it, Jacob!" Emmett cheered.
Rosalie walked up and touched his arm, "We installed an expensive elevator just so you wouldn't have to resort to jumping around like fleas." She leaned forward and whispered the last part in Jacob's ear. Her breath spilled down the back of his neck like hot water. "But I won't mind if you show off."
Jacob took a step back and looked up again. Emmett was grinning down at him. "Don't hit your head on any chandeliers."
With a wink to Rosalie he bent his knees and sprang upwards. He was prepared to grab the railing if he came up short but he ended up almost doing what Emmett had warned him against. He could have reached up and touched the ceiling and was thankfully between chandeliers but landed in the second row of the second balcony with a low thud. He steadied himself on the chairs in front of him and listened to the applause erupt from below.
Edward was laughing. He was the only one who saw that Jacob had split his pants when he jumped. Jacob had not even discovered it yet.
Edward was not laughing loudly but Jacob heard him easily. The mathematics of the room carried sound with an artistic efficiency. Jacob suddenly realized that Edward's synesthesia would provide him with a very kaleidoscopic view of music.
"Edward, have you played any notes on the piano down in the pit yet?"
Edward and Carlisle had leaned on the parlor sized grand piano when they were discussing the recessed lights. He had even noticed the name Steinway on it, but he did not play anything. Bella had a Steinway in Paris, everyone did. By then it was quite simply the only piano to be had. "No, I haven't even sat down at it."
"Good," Jacob declared, vaulting the rail and dropping silently to the floor. He bent his legs deeply as he landed and bounded down the aisle on his way to the orchestra pit. When he got to the elegant redwood ramps that crossed the gap diagonally, he took the steps between them down to the pit. "Just stay there and tell me what you see."
Since writing Rosalie's song, Conspicuous Smile, Jacob had been taking occasional piano lessons from Bella. He knew he was no Edward Cullen but he could now play several simple pieces. His favorite among them was from a French composer named Erik Satie.
He played Gymnopédie, a slow moving piece that allowed only a few notes at a time to slip out. Edward had taught it to several of his students and recognized the first chord when it erupted from the pit riding lavender waves of light.
Edward watched as the waves hit the auditorium walls and turned into a pinwheel of symmetry. It was far more precise than anything he had seen before. Other rooms had pushed sound around in great clumsy lumps but, in this new hall, Edward witnessed a fractal masterpiece.
Jacob played through the first movement and Esme, drawn by the music, appeared on the stage from the green room. She stood next to Edward as they listened to the emotive performance from Jacob. When he finished and stood up to face Edward, Jacob saw that his friend was awestruck. "What do you think?"
"You're getting good," Edward finally said.
Jacob frowned. "That's not what I meant, but thank you. I meant, what do you think of the acoustics? Did your synesthesia make it look like a kaleidoscope?"
Edward nodded his head excitedly, that was exactly the word to describe it. "It's indescribable really, but that is as close as its going to get. Jacob, the sound in here is magnificent."
"Hear! hear!" Emmett shouted from the balcony.
There was spirited agreement from the back of the auditorium and Jacob blushed. "I thought you'd like it and I actually felt the same way this morning when..." Jacob's eyes lit up like stars and he took in a sharp breath. "Do you want to see the platform?"
Rosalie snorted. "That might be too much for him?"
"What's the Platform?" Edward asked, intrigued.
Esme had taken his arm as they listened to Jacob play and answered with a grin. "It's where you will write your music from now on."
Emmett walked from the first balcony out into the lobby and waited for the group to appear below him. Bella was on the stairs that swept up the back wall like waves and Emmett called to her. "Bella, we're all going to the platform."
"What is that?" She was at his level and they walked towards each other.
Emmett shrugged his shoulders just before they exchanged a friendly hug. "I have no idea but Rosalie seems to know and...yup, here she comes."
The rest of the group entered the lobby and made for the door that led to the private lounge on that level. Bella and Emmett walked back to the stairs and went up. The next door to the tower was above them in the corner room that connected all three residences.
They arrived at Jacob's bedroom before the rest of the group and listened to their approach up the stone spiral staircase. Carlisle was first. "Oh, hello you two. We're headed up." He kept climbing.
Jasper was next. "Hello again."
He was followed by Alice, who was swatting playfully at Jasper's rear end. "Let's go out tonight, Bella."
Jacob came marching up with a knowing smirk on his face. He winked at Bella and Emmett. "You are really going to like this, Cannonball."
"Why did he call you Cannonball?" Emmett asked Bella as Rosalie passed with a wave.
They both waved back. "It's a long story." Bella spoke out of the corner of her mouth.
"No, it's not!" Jacob's voice reached them from above.
Edward and his mother were the last two in line. Esme stepped into the room and greeted Bella, whom she had not seen yet, with a warm hug. She then shooed Emmett up the stairs and jumped in behind him, leaving Bella and Edward to come up together.
The room was as large as the others but without furnishings it looked positively enormous. This was enforced by the tall cone shaped ceiling and the clear bright view of the New York Sky.
Jacob and Rosalie gave a little bit of the room's secret away but they could not help themselves; Bella said the same thing Jacob had when he first laid eyes on the only item in in the room. "What the hell is that?"
Still laughing, Jacob gestured for her to sit at a dainty stool sitting near Rosalie who, still laughing, revealed the piano keys. Bella sat and read the engraving. She looked over at Edward. "It's a Steinway."
"Then play something lively if you please." Edward suggested. He wanted to see musical fireworks.
He got more than he bargained for.
They all did.
Bella had logged more hours playing Beethoven than anyone else could humanly achieve and immediately began a piece that sent eight jaws back down to the bedroom.
Music positively gushed from the instrument as the Pathentique Piano Sonata took over the platform.
Notes climbed each other like monkeys and it was thrilling to watch how her hands flew over the keys. It looked to Alice like she never touched them.
Edward was, of course, overwhelmed. The sound waves were a bright electric purple that spiraled upward then bled down the walls. When they reached the floor they bounced up only to be sucked into the spiral again.
Edward also saw purple snowflakes spring from the piano in front of Bella and dance before her unseeing eyes. The soundflakes unraveled quickly and turned into rings that swam out into the wealth of color in the air above her.
The music was the perfect backdrop to the panoramic view and, eventually, they all spread out to take a look at the city below them. Jacob and Rosalie remained close to the piano, which was positioned on the northwest wall facing the garden. They were standing in the same place they had been that morning and looked down at the chess board.
Jacob informed her that he would one day defeat her on that very board.
She patted his head and wished him luck.
Jasper and Alice were looking West and could see that the ship traffic on the Hudson River was brisk.
Carlisle and Esme were looking East towards Paris and the Brooklyn Bridge, which dwarfed the city around it.
Edward was looking North towards the goliath Central Park. He felt certain that he would find peace there. He suspected that his hearing range was small enough that it would truly be an oasis from the storm of noise in his head.
Emmett was facing East and looked down onto Eighth Avenue where a man stood looking up at the theatre. When he tipped his hat, Emmett raised his hand in a wave and Edward saw it. He was across the room in a flash and was at once conflicted with fear and astonishment as he stood next to Emmett. He then turned back towards the piano and rushed to Bella's side.
Bella stopped playing the moment he caught her eyes and, as he had hoped, everyone turned to face them. Edward put his finger to his lips and pointed to the east windows.
Bella stayed behind with Edward as the others went to the windows to see. "What is it?" she whispered.
"It's Michael." Edward suddenly looked very worried.
"And he's standing in direct sunlight."
NOTES:
Please consider participating in the Fandom Fights The Flood campaign to aid those affected by the terrible flooding in Australia. I will be participating as an author and writing a one shot. If you are interested in donating to the cause, please visit the blog for this fundraiser.
fandomsfightthefloods(dot)blogspot(dot)com
Thank You to Ishouldntbehere for her assistance this week. I'm happy she has joined the team as a pre-reader.
Thank You to Adamanta Banks for her dedication as a pre-reader. I appreciate all the time you have spent with the story.
Thank you to Raum, who provided assistance with Italian translations.
Bella Voce has been nominated for a Cosplay Queen Award (for Best Period Piece) and a Coven Empress Award (for Best Vampire-Centered Fic) in the 'Walk of Fame' Awards. Thank you to the person who nominated the story. Voting begins January 15. In the meantime, you can look through all the categories and select your favorites:
twinklingswfa(dot)blogspot(dot)com
See you next Saturday for Chapter Four: The Punishment
MOG
