Thanks so much for the reviews! I'm so glad everyone is enjoying the story so far! I like Eleanor a lot, too :)
Special thanks to sammigirl23 for answering my questions! That was a huge help! And I'm so glad you noticed the imprint thing. The more I thought about what you said about her not obsessing over it, the more I liked that part of what I had-inadvertently-done. I know what Eleanor will be feeling in the coming chapters and story, and I didn't realize all that I was incorporating so early on. Gold Star for noticing and giving me the best review I've gotten for this story! This chapter is for you!
Aftermath of the Adventure
"What did she mean, that 'those shifters will tear you apart'?" Paul asked. We had stopped in a city not too far from Port Angeles for a midnight bite to eat. Jacob had gone to the bathroom after stuffing his face, and Paul was sitting across from me, clean plate pushed to the side, watching me push the remains of my food around my plate.
I sighed heavily. Witch-prophecy was one of the things I was not going to enjoy talking about with anyone-especially Paul.
"Of course you caught that," I muttered darkly as I fixed my stare on my dinner roll and slowly tore it to pieces. When it had been sufficiently shredded over my mixed vegetables, I brushed the crumbs from my hands and looked directly into Paul's eyes.
"Was she…talking about us?" Paul asked. I knew immediately that he was using the pack plural. The plural was something I noticed in all of their speech patterns, and it seemed to pop up quite a bit in even casual conversation.
"Well," I hesitated. Jacob rejoined us, sliding into the large booth next to Paul. He fixed his eyes on me as well, and I blushed under the double scrutiny I was receiving. "You aren't the only shifters I've met. It…could be anyone."
"Don't you know what she meant?" Jacob asked, confused. I rolled my eyes.
"She was very cryptic. Most of witch-prophecy ends up that way, whether the witch tries to be secretive or not." I paused, contemplating what else I wanted to say. Telling them too much could freak them out, or worse, put them in danger. Witch-hunters hadn't died out in the 1700s. Despite my joke with Embry, any knowledge of witches could make one a target, and I wasn't sure how advanced hunters were…
I was worrying over nothing, I knew.
"My Maw-Maw isn't as cryptic as that witch was, but my Maw-Maw has always been exceptionally good at her craft." I thought back on the past few years. "She knew that Carlisle would be calling because of a newborn army."
"She didn't think to warn him?" Jacob asked. Paul was silent, his dark eyes focused on me. I could feel his heat-filled gaze roaming over my face before settling on my eyes. The contacts were beginning to burn.
"Well, she isn't a clock, Jacob," I told him with an eye roll. "She can predict the future, sure, but she isn't Father Time."
"Does he exist, too?" Jacob asked doubtfully, confusion marring the normally harsher look on his face. I laughed suddenly at his innocent question, driven to giggles over the silliness. Jacob, I could tell, hardly appreciated my amusement, but Paul was definitely pleased that Jacob had triggered a giggle. "Well I didn't know," he protested when I had managed to stifle my laughing a little. "We didn't think witches existed, and here you are…"
"Father Time is a myth," I confirmed to Jacob. My eyes began watering, reminding me once again that I was not comfortable with contacts-which was the reason I wore glasses when necessary-and I needed to get these things out of my eyes before I popped a capillary or something.
I rubbed my eyes, feeling the mascara, eyeliner, and eyeshadow smearing beneath my fingertips, and not caring because of the burn on my eyes. I touched my inflamed eye and yanked, dislodging the first contact. It popped out into my palm and I flicked it onto the table. I rubbed my free eye in relief and blinked rapidly to push back tears. My left hand sought out my left eye, going for the second and last torment. I reached in gingerly to pluck it out, but without a mirror, and the clumsiness that accompanied my rush, I poked my eye and practically set it on fire.
My fingers clawed desperately at my flaming eye while Jake let Paul out of their side of the booth. Paul, I knew, was yelling my name as he slid in beside me and pried my hands from my face. He blew carefully onto my face, cool hair mixing with his hot breath that just didn't quell the fire.
"Is she okay?" I heard our perky waitress ask. With my one good eye, I noted her worried expression. Paul was trying desperately to pinch the bothersome contact out, but his monstrously large hands caused him to fumble constantly, and he was unable to even get his large fingers close enough to the contact to pull it out. "Why don't I try?" she suggested, sounding slightly panicked. Paul nodded frantically and nearly hurled himself away from me to scramble out of the booth. He took the waitress's tray from her and all but pushed her in beside me.
Her cool hands on my face were soothing as she carefully lifted the contact-more like spike-out of my eye.
"Thanks," I breathed it relief, covering my eyes with both hands like a small child. I was comforted to know that they were still there, and hadn't turned into melted puddles of yuckiness in my eye sockets.
Jacob and Paul threw money on the table and herded me out to the car. Paul practically carried me, the way he guided me through the parking lot.
I curled up in the backseat on the ride back, using Jacob's various sets of extra shorts and sweats as a nest to hibernate in. I managed to slip on a pair of pajama pants and strip out of my jeans and uncomfortable top and into a warm sweatshirt. The wig came off with a similar sense of relief, and I uncoiled my hair just as hurriedly. There was no better feeling than stretching in my very own skin again. I wasn't sure if Jacob and Paul switched on the way back to Forks or not; I was that out of it. I woke up when we were pulling up to the Cullen mansion. The bright morning sun stabbed into my tender, sensitive eyes, and Jacob towed me carefully out of the backseat.
"Eleanor!" Alice sang from the porch. I squinted at the approaching vampire, and felt Paul and Jacob tense on either side of me. I almost rolled my eyes, but they were still aching just to be open. "What happened! Are you okay?" her high voice demanded anxiously. I barely saw her turn an accusing glare to the wolves, but I held up a hand to stop her from doing anything else.
"I'm allergic to contacts, and I wore them anyway. Can you grab my stuff? I just want to sleep," I admitted as I trudged forward. Alice was already moving to catch me as I swayed on my feet. I still felt like I was in a moving car.
"Sure," Alice told me…I think.
When I woke up, it was late afternoon. I was in the bedroom that I was staying in at the Cullen house, smack in the middle of the bed. I was splayed on my back, arms and legs thrown out in every direction, and had a throw blanket on top of me. I knew that I had not moved in my slumber for several reasons. First, I never slept on my back-ever, it was way too vulnerable; second, I always had at least a comforter over me; third, I normally curled into a ball.
I managed to sway downstairs without damaging myself, to where I saw breakfast waiting for me on the counter. I dug in immediately to the eggs that had been set out and paused to smile at Esme only when I noticed her walk into the kitchen from the living room.
"Paul has been calling for you all day," Esme informed me nonchalantly. "He's worried about your eyes."
I nodded as Esme slid the phone across the counter to me, along with a post-it note with neat black block letters spelling Paul's name, with an unfamiliar series of numbers below it. I examined the paper critically, analyzing the numbers. Once satisfied, I crumpled the note and dialed the number. Paul picked up on the second ring.
"Hello?" he asked. His voice was normal but with an edge of panic. He was obviously waiting for me to call back.
"Well, I'm alive," I pronounced into the phone. My voice was groggy, and I rubbed my eyes, attempting to rub the soreness away. At least they weren't on fire anymore.
"How are your eyes?"
I stepped across the room to where a piece of art was on the wall: a collection of circular mirrors, varying in sizes and connected by wrought iron. Inside one of the smallest mirrors, about the size of a makeup compact, I looked at my bright, wide gray eyes carefully. The irises were my normal gray, but the whites of my eyes were red, making me look like a drug addict. The makeup circles didn't help any; I resembled a deranged raccoon.
"I need to wash my face."
Paul's answering laugh let me know that he was calming down considerably. Which was a very good thing.
"Can you stop by Emily's today?" Paul asked me softly, hesitantly. I frowned.
"I have some things to do today; I'm sorry. Maybe another time."
"Oh."
His response sounded less energetic, but not downright depressed. I took that as a positive.
"Well, I have work to do; I'll talk with you later."
"Yeah, later…" Paul trailed off. I hung up the phone without another word and picked up my dishes.
I had a long day ahead of me.
