AN: mid-way through there is a perspective shift, of sorts. I hope that I can successfully convey whose thoughts are whose, with all the crazy thought-ception going on here (thoughts within thoughts) and not confuse too many people. There will be several "I"s and "me"s, which, if I think its ambiguous, or its switching around, I'll identify who the "I" is by saying "I, Bella," or something similar.
Chapter Seven: Ancient Sewer Raid
I wasn't precisely sure how long I had been practicing removing my mental barrier when Caius suddenly rose from his chair, for the third time since his initial settling upon it. His long cape pooled darkly around his ankles, and his indomitable figure hardened into a powerful upright stance.
"Aro! Enough of this!" he bellowed furiously. "Surely you can see that dinner cannot wait much longer!" he shrieked. His teeth snapped angrily as he pointed two paper-white fingers forcefully in the direction of his own rapidly darkening eyes. "If you continue this agonizing conversation any longer, I will be given no choice but to consume her myself!" he threatened finally. He started to saunter predatorily across the stone floor in my direction, black fabric rippling dangerously behind him, and his angelic countenance warped with demonic rage.
I gasped in terror, forgetting entirely about staving off my internal shield, and nearly tripped over myself in a vain attempt to distance myself from his impending approach. Caius' expression was positively demented as he stalked closer—seething with uncontrollable thirst. His tongue darted out to enthusiastically lick his teeth, which were glistening with large drops of venom, and his hands drew upwards, flexing spasmodically in anticipation of the kill. And as each of his impossibly long strides brought him nearer, I felt like I was going to faint from sheer horror.
There was a flicker of black across my vision. For a second I believed that it was the first signs of losing consciousness. Until I realized that it had been Aro flitting in front of my eyes at lightning-speed, throwing himself bodily between myself and Caius. Aro shoved a single palm unforgivingly against his brother's broad chest, the contact making a sound like heavy boulders crashing into one another. Then he pushed back with inhuman strength, forcing the ravenous, snowy-haired vampire to immediately halt in his tracks.
"You. Will. Do. No. Such. Thing," Aro bit out with clenched teeth. A deep, rumbling growl bubbled out of his throat, clearly asserting his dominance over the other vampire. His other hand, the one not pressed into Caius was raised threateningly, showing that it was Aro's right to dismember Caius if he persisted in his foolhardy attempt to satisfy his appetite.
"Patience my brother," Aro commanded, his tone acidic and his ruby eyes glittering with displeasure. "She is nearly ready for me to show her the truth, and once she knows, then we shall dine."
Caius made no indication that heard, or cared for Aro's statement. Instead his wide maroon eyes followed my every twitch and shiver with rapt intensity. While Caius had surveyed me as potential food earlier—before Aro's introduction of his daughters—he had then been rather easily persuaded to return to his throne. Judging by the fierce expression he now wore, I sincerely doubted he would be swayed so peacefully this time.
Aro also appeared to recognize that Caius was beyond reasoning with, and the black-haired vampire's muscles contracted in preparation for initiating battle. I was about to duck my head in my hands, fearing the worst, when Aro abruptly relaxed. A look a humored contentment crossed his features, as though he had suddenly thought of something terribly amusing—perhaps a hilarious alternative to fighting.
"Marcus, restrain him," Aro demanded without warning.
Marcus looked utterly surprised at being so unexpectedly addressed, let alone being asked to do something so entirely outside of his habitual skill set. He blinked in total incomprehension. His confused face seemed to say: You're not serious are you? You're asking what? Restrain Caius? Me? His pale mouth slid open partially, as though struggling to articulate a protest.
Before any sound could make it out of Marcus' bewildered lips, a short, black-haired woman clad in a silky off-the-shoulder gown stepped forward from the crowd lingering against the bright sienna walls. She opened her mouth to speak—perhaps to offer her assistance instead—but Caius cut them both off.
"That will not be necessary," he snorted derisively with his face scrunching in extreme distaste. Clearly he was offended by Aro's insinuation that someone as lackadaisical as Marcus would actually be capable of performing the task. "I will lure one of the stragglers into another room and consume them silently," he declared finally, taking a step back from Aro's hand. He then began strolling purposefully in the opposite direction, moving swiftly across the stones with the deadly grace of a tiger towards the door through which Edward, Alice and I had entered this room. "I cannot wait upon your whims any longer."
Aro lowered his hand and sighed. "Are there any others who cannot contain their thirst who wish to follow Caius?" he asked the room congenially. He spread his arms wide and twirled in a gradual circle to face every vampire in the vicinity, to clarify that everyone who shared Caius' feelings was perfectly free to follow in his suit without fear of punishment.
A few hooded figures exchanged glances surreptitiously, before they summarily broke from the crowd. They filed quickly out of the slim entry door in a short line trailing behind Caius. However the majority of the vampires in the room remained firmly in place, even as the wooden door was shut with a wrathful slam. Despite the prolonged delay of their scheduled meal, most of the vampires decided to forgo the option of obtaining their food immediately, probably in order to appear more loyal to Aro.
I felt slightly guilty for the commotion—as it was my presence here which had prevented all of these hungry vampires from eating earlier. But I cringed as I remembered that "dinner" wasn't fish and chips. Instead it was a crowd of innocent tourists circling around the fortress at this very moment, oblivious to the cruel fate which awaited them. Caius, and presumably the other vampires who had followed him, had left to lure away "stragglers" from the group and… "consume them silently". The way he had spoken about these unfortunate human beings was so jarringly different than Aro's humble insistence that he had the "utmost appreciation for their sacrifice." It shook me.
It finally dawned on me that human beings were going to be brutally murdered in this very building, while I was still in it. I felt dirty just by being here—how many had died in these very halls, having been led into these unreachable depths by false pretenses? How many were at last horrifically devoured, writhing in fiery agony from the venom burning in their blood? How many human screams had echoed off these walls, desperate for an escape they would never obtain? How many drops of warm crimson blood had splashed across these floors, from countless throats being savagely torn into with sharp, gleaming teeth? Although I wasn't the best at mental math, I knew that even if the Volturi only fed biannually (which was extremely unlikely) the number of humans slaughtered here over the several millennia of their existence would be in the hundreds of thousands, and if they ate as frequently as Edward did—roughly once every two weeks—the body count would be in the millions.
I fought hard to choke down the bile rising in my throat.
My face must have looked as sickeningly green as I felt, because Aro's next words were sorrowful and sympathetic. "I understand that you feel a kinship with those Caius seeks, as a fellow human," he empathized. He clasped his hands together near his heart with a deeply remorseful look shining in his dark red eyes.
"I cannot apologize for what is about to happen. It is simply a part of our nature," he amended quickly. He felt no remorse for the horrific deaths about to occur, though there was a deep understanding look in his eyes, as though he fully comprehended the magnitude of suffering he was causing and accepted it completely for what it was. "The only consolation I can offer is that I will never allow you to become like them—that is, as long as I still exist, I will not allow you to become food," he offered smoothly. His tone was laced with possessive protectiveness as he extended his hand in what I supposed was meant to be a reassuring gesture.
Instead, I was disgusted. The fact that I wasn't going to be eaten today, while certainly something I was extremely grateful for, was ultimately beside the point. The principle, that the Volturi believed they had the right to determine the intrinsic worth of some human beings to be greater than others, was what upset me. No one had that right.
"Their fate is already decided," Aro continued gravely. He gave a slight shrug, as though the tourists' ultimate demise was already out of his hands, despite the fact that, for the moment they were all still breathing. Well, unless Caius had already got to them. "It was decided from the moment they met Heidi, the bait who lured them here."
She must have been the woman with mahogany hair I saw leading the tour group, I observed.
"They will serve to sustain us." He spoke this sentence as a statement of incontestable fact, like one would say "the sun is a star" or "the human body is 70% water". He said it with such finality, like there was nothing which stood on earth or in heaven which could prevent the hapless tourists from becoming the evening meal—like it was already history.
I chewed on my lip, distressed by the knowledge that there really wasn't anything I could do about it either. Having seein Caius' reaction to being delayed access to much needed sustenance, I had no doubts that if I attempted to interfere any more than I already had, I would quickly become the replacement food. No matter what Aro might try to do to protect me. Although I was fairly certain that he was perfectly capable of slaughtering several of the vampires who were foolish enough to charge at me first, even his supernatural strength and ancient wisdom didn't stand a chance against a room full of thirty-plus enraged vampires converging on him.
I didn't like it—not in the slightest. But I would have to live with keeping quiet in this situation, as I didn't want to cause even more deaths by possibly starting a war between Aro and the rest of his ravenous guard. Nobody should have to die because of me—human or vampire.
"But do not despair, dearest Isabella," Aro placated, his silky voice rolling musically over the syllables with effortless grace. "For you will rise above them and join us," he finished, raising a single hand upwards to signify my impending ascent into immortality. His eyes followed the marble-white fingers as they rose and passed into a shaft of sunlight. There, his prismatic skin glittered in a dazzling display.
His burgundy eyes suddenly snapped back down on me, eagerly awaiting my response, though his hand was still held dramatically aloft.
"I'll never be like that," I insisted, balling my small hands tightly into impotent fists. I unconsciously placed my legs apart in a powerful stance. "I won't… I won't kill humans."
Aro smiled knowingly at my bold declaration, but said nothing. I hated that he seemed convinced that I would totally abandon everything I believed in and become a heartless murderer virtually overnight. But what distressed me even more, is that he acted as though the crucial information his daughters would share with me would be the source of this radical paradigm shift. I sincerely doubted that there was anything I could experience which could lead me to justify callous termination of innocent human life. But Aro's confidence in the persuasive power of the memories he wanted to share with me was unnerving to say the least.
After a strained moment, Aro dropped his hand back into the shade and rapidly turned to his darling little soprano. "Lucretia, are you willing to try again?" he sang in an adoring, gently pleading tone. He inclined his head down to look her sincerely in the eyes, and stooped slightly so as to appear somewhat less imposing. "Dearest Isabella truly did not intend for any harm to befall you, and she has learned to subdue her shield." Aro placing a single comforting hand on his "daughter's" tiny shoulder and even bent further to place a single knee on the ground.
It was startling to see the leader of the Volturi in such a humble pose—the vulnerability he was willing to display around his daughters was truly astounding. But it was likely that all the other vampires in the room were equally enamored with the little girls and would never hurt them to usurp power from Aro. I wouldn't be surprised—immortality, coupled with their adorable youth was a potent combination. I wholeheartedly believed that even the most ruthless of vampires would have difficulty harming them.
Lucretia swayed her chubby clasped hands nervously, and refused to look into Aro's eyes. Her little head was pointed towards her shuffling feet, which shifted her weight back and forth anxiously, causing the many layers of her dress to swish and billow like a miniature dust devil was rustling around her. She clearly had been shaken up by being rejected by my mental barrier, and was not thrilled with the prospect of possibly facing that again.
"I'm still not confident…" I protested. I was certain that if I were to mess up again—which was very likely, given the overload of ambient tension in the room—that the pain I would inadvertently cause his daughter would not be so easily forgiven this time.
Aro abruptly interrupted me. It wasn't immediately apparent why, because I could only see the back of his head. His eyes never left his hesitant little girl. "She will keep her barrier away as you show her what she needs to see," he promised firmly, giving her ruffled shoulder an affectionate squeeze. He then rose slowly to his feet, assuming his full, daunting height and sent an ice-cold glare in my direction, which seemed to indicate that I had no choice in this matter.
I swallowed—okay, no pressure…
Lucretia gradually lifted her head, and her round ruby eyes danced uncertainly between Aro and me for a few seconds. She took in my wildly uncertain expression, and Aro's serene gaze of paternal confidence, my nervous fingers running through my drying brown hair, and Aro's placidly clasped hands. She seemed to be deliberating her options.
At last, Lucretia completely ceased her anxious fidgeting. I watched, amazed, as she gave a single, firm nod in the direction of Aro. She spoke adamantly, with a slight outward puff of her chest. "I'll do it."
I was impressed with her bravery, and her devotion—it seemed she would do practically anything for Aro, no matter how potentially masochistic.
I swallowed thickly. I didn't want to mess up again, but I also didn't particularly trust my abilities. I'd only had a few minutes at best to practice them. I was dying to know the truth—preferably as soon as possible—and yet, simultaneously I wished that our imminent memory-sharing could be postponed until I was more confident in controlling my "gift." I had absolutely no desire to inflict any harm on either of the adorable twin vampires, not to mention face the terrifying wrath of their father.
Aro, sensing my distress, spoke soothingly. "Focus, my Isabella, and the truth will be yours.
Focus, and the truth will be mine, I repeated to myself. The truth will be mine. That's what I wanted right?
I tenaciously held onto his reassurance, and took an elongated deep breath in an attempt to relax. Casually, I rolled away the tension in my shoulders and knees from standing ramrod still for so long and steeled myself for what was about to happen. While I struggled to relax, Aro's identical daughters moved to grasp hands. Titania gently lowered her tiny hand into her "father's" and gripped it fiercely—a white-knuckled supplication for defense against the effects of my untrained powers.
Inhaling again, I prepared to push my mental barrier away. As I focused, the red veil lifted up from its clinched hold on my mind with surprising ease. A terrifying, probing sensation washed over me and I worked to sustain level breathing, and to feel at peace, despite it. I shut my eyes in calm concentration and delicately pressed the red veil in my mind's eye out even further, so that it was drifting lazily several feet away from the twins, Aro and I. Just to be absolutely certain that there will be no unforeseen complications, I cautiously pressed against the swirling veil in its new location, testing its firmness in remaining at its temporary residence outside of my brain.
I was pleasantly surprised when I felt the barrier push back unyieldingly, rather stable despite its detachment from me. Without opening my eyes, I gave a slow nod—a silent signal that I was ready to attempt our mind-sharing chain once again.
Now I could finally discover everything that I was never intended to be told.
I felt a tiny hand slide across my sweaty palm, grasping it hesitantly. I kept tabs on my detached barrier, making sure that it remained totally stationary as she touched me. Then, suddenly a familiar electrical surge passed through the mental chain. It originated from Aro's daunting figure, then passed through young, trepidation-filled Titania, through the twin's firmly linked hands, into confident Lucretia, and finally through our interlocked hands into me.
There was a rushing feeling, like being thrust violently into a high-velocity wind tunnel. I watched in disbelieving fascination as the sienna walls and stone floors melted away from my vision and were replaced with the dark shapes and putrid smells of an ancient sewer system. For a horrifying moment I supposed I had been transported back into the sewers through which Edward, Alice and I had traversed to reach the heart of the Volturi fortress...
...until I looked down and realized that the pale, masculine hands which moved in response to my thoughts were not my own. They looked human, despite the fact that I couldn't be certain given their pallor and the complete lack of sunlight in this dingy catacomb, so I didn't recognize them at first.
It wasn't until I caught my cloudy reflection in the pools of disgusting polluted water that I realized what was going on. Reflected in the dingy water was a tall frame, old-fashioned trousers , a frilly white shirt, short blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.
I was in Carlisle's body—no… I was in his memories.
...
The sensation of being in a completely different body was certainly alien, but not as horribly uncomfortable as I would have assumed it would be. It was predictably disorienting to have thicker, more muscular legs and larger, rougher hands, but as I was experiencing his memories, and not simply spiritually displaced into his body, they moved unencumbered with natural ease.
My hair was shorter, and thus no longer whipped around me, caressing my collarbones and shoulder-blades as I moved. But as I came to understand where I was, and where I was headed in this horridly dank tunnel, I was extremely grateful that there was no long hair to obstruct my visibility. I was also taller, so my vantage point was higher than I was accustomed to. My eyesight was also surprisingly sharp despite the darkness which engulfed me. But otherwise, I felt no substantial difference.
No, although it was certainly a little bizarre to consider that I, a woman, was now effectively housed in a biologically male body, and that it was Carlisle's of all people, the strangest thing about experiencing Carlisle's memories was not the physical aspect. Far more uneasiness was generated by the fact that I wasn't reacting to my immediate surrounding me the way that I normally would. Instead, every thought, every motivation, every rationalization, and every decision which surfaced from my brain reflected a pattern of thinking that was distinctly Carlisle's.
I felt the harsh sting of his troubled conscience as he struggled with difficult ethical dilemmas. I felt his unwavering faith in his religious beliefs despite all opposition. And I felt his profound determination to abide by his morals, no matter the impracticality or personal inconvenience.
I experienced the deep analytical processes which occurred in his mind, too. He surveyed everything his sharp senses presented carefully and meticulously, in order to be absolutely certain that the next step forward was the right one. And I also felt his emotions—the deep, unconditional love for everyone around me, irrespective of the fact that many were spiteful, or lecherous, or crass, or hypocrites, or liars, or cheaters, or thieves…
…or even murderers.
I was woefully upset by their choices, so much so that it was very nearly physically painful, but it surprised me, Bella, that I, Carlisle, could summon no wrath to hate them. The most condescending I could manage was pity.
I had assumed, with such an intense personal intolerance for what I regarded as sin that I would be overflowing with contempt for any individual who possessed the slightest of character flaws. But, while I had certainly seen others (both in my own memories and in Carlisle's) who appeared to feel this way, I was surprised by the unfathomable sorrow which blossomed in my heart instead.
I sorrowed deeply for their misconceptions that they could obtain happiness through devilish means—which was, at best a sadomasochistic fantasy, and at worst, a ploy to corrupt the pure and innocent. And inwardly, I wept over the horrid consequences they would suffer, both in this life, and in the next. Furthermore, I was stricken with grief for the torment of their souls, that is, for the miserable agony their consciences must endure on a daily basis in response to their terrible deeds. I mourned over the fact that they had to live with themselves as monsters, somehow and felt empathetically sick.
Because it was simply unfathomable to me, Carlisle, that someone could want to exist like that.
As Bella, I understood that not everyone's conscience was as hyperactive as Carlisle's. While mine was hardly weak, it was nothing compared to his, and a weaker conscience was one of the ways that others coped with committing hideous crimes.
But as Carlisle, I wholeheartedly believed that when others committed crimes, they felt the same heart-stinging that I did—the same guilt and unbearable pain of the spirit, though enlarged an hundred-fold because of the greater magnitude of their crimes. I believed that they must simply relentlessly drown it out with a distracting and intoxicating concoction of sadism and hedonism. But the guilt would always be there, lurking under the façade of animalistic pleasure. I was unable to imagine that the same unwavering sense of right and wrong was not a trait shared by all humanity—for I had possessed it for as long as I could remember.
And while these were hardly unexpected feelings, having known that a strong conscience was an integral part of Carlisle's personality since I first got to know him, it was much more shocking to be fully immersed in these things for myself. Now every deed of Carlisle's of which I had knowledge of made absolute perfect sense. It stunned me, Bella, that I could now say, after all of about two seconds in his body, that I understood Carlisle's motivations perfectly. It even more baffling that I was receiving this effect somewhat secondhand, as my experiences as Carlisle had been obtained through Aro's gift and were being transferred to me through his daughters.
But what else should I have expected from Aro's abilities? Thoughts weren't simply words which echo in someone's mind which mind-readers can "hear" as though they were spoken words. Or distant, third party perspective images which mind-readers can "see" as though it was a movie playing before their eyes. Every sensory input could be counted as a thought—and that meant that what I was now experiencing wasn't just outside observation of events, but full-submersion into another being.
Which meant that, for the moment, I was no longer me.
Although deep in the recesses of my mind, which was left behind in the Volturi fortress, I retained my memories, and my motor-capabilities, I had virtually no access to either because right now, I wasn't Isabella Swan.
I was Carlisle Cullen.
I was trudging through the gloomy chambers of an ancient sewer in the heart of 17th century London.
And I was about to do something extremely reckless.
I stood in the middle of the cramped, nearly lightless tunnel, dank with centuries of pungent rot and decay. Several men flanked me on either side, the torchlight from the wooden rods in our hands flickering off the cobbled stone walls. Flashes of silver knives gleaming in the thick, smoky darkness, raised in our hands to ward off any approaching foes.
The shadowy forms of men surrounding me and I moved slowly, as silently as possible across the uneven stonework. We moved through the confusing labyrinth of interconnected passageways slowly, and tried to avoid the murky puddles of polluted water—not wanting to make even the slightest of unnecessary sounds, lest our enemy, with their bestially keen hearing, be alerted to our approach too soon.
As we marched forward, I regarded the faces of the ten men I had chosen to accompany me on this dangerous mission. Half of them were stricken with paralyzing fear, and the other half utterly stoic, betraying nothing of their true, less-than-courageous feelings, and this fact caused me to suffuse with unease.
Some of the men I had known since childhood and they were righteous and just individuals who I easily trusted with my life. Others had simply been persuaded to come along by the prospect of attaining monetary gain from my father—the man who was supposed to be leading this raid, but was indisposed because of his increasing age. But only those motivated by earthly rewards, and those with whom I had no friendly relationship, showed the stalwart courage that I was desperately looking for. My dear friends and the other good men who had accompanied me without respect towards attaining some small measure of my father's ecclesiastical wealth, were terrified out of their wits. They looked agitated, anxious and clutched their daggers and torches in aggressive positions with white-knuckled grips as we progressed further through the sewer's disgusting channels.
The man on my right, sported a long, tangled and matted crop of hair and an equally scraggly beard. He was clad in filthy rags which smelt vaguely of urine, and was one of those inspired by greed. He'd also been promised absolution of his prior crimes, rather than justice, which unsettled me. Nonetheless, his confident posture in spite of the daunting enemy we were approaching, and his quick skill with a knife, born from a life of violence and treachery, would prove invaluable in the moments to come.
It pained me that I would be collaborating with wicked men like him—dishonest, thieving, woman-abusing, man-maiming and even occasionally murderous men—since it seemed to completely defy the whole purpose of this raid: to rid the world of monsters. Nevertheless I was no fool, and understood that if nothing else, the invaluable skills they had attained through their unsavory lifestyles gave us a much higher fighting chance against these diabolically strong beings of the night.
As my black-booted feet slipped quietly over the broken pavers, I wondered for a moment if the creatures we were hunting tonight retained any infinitesimal fraction of their past human selves. But almost as immediately as the thought surfaced in my mind, I dismissed it.
Those who killed as frequently and unrepentantly as these creatures did must be, as my father insisted, soulless monsters. Especially since they did so without the vindications of self-defense or defense of home and country to justify their cause, or even the fallen, mortal motivations of malice or revenge.
I decided, that no matter what loving memories or vital knowledge of their past lives they retained, the presence of a truly human heart within them was wholly impossible. Because if they were in possession of such a thing, they would be utterly unable to bear the gruesome violence their natures necessitated if they did.
No one, whose heart still trembled at the force of human emotion, could live with themselves like that.
At least, I couldn't.
I was absolutely certain that if some circumstances entirely outside of my control compelled me to commit sins that I believed to be as grievous as theirs, that I would destroy myself in utter despair—and I doubted I was alone in that line of thought.
In the end it was pointless to speculate. The deadly creatures living in these sewers were taking human life callously, and I had been sent by my father, with a party of able-bodied men of my own selection, to deliver justice. I was elated in this instance that I, with my keen observation skills, had discovered the clandestine location of an actual vampire coven. Now I could finally destroy the wretched evil plaguing our great city, rather than the pale, recluse innocents my father often brutally executed by mistake.
But I was also terrified—no, I was far beyond that…
It mortified me, that in the coming moments I would have to be ruthless—unforgiving and violent—which was utterly contrary to my gentle, merciful nature. Just thinking about the violent actions I would have to perform made my stomach churn uncomfortably with guilty nausea.
But I would have set aside my scruples for now. Certainly I could bring myself to kill these inhuman abominations—who were damned by their demonic nature to the lowest hell—couldn't I? Simply because they had human faces did not mean they had human hearts.
These beasts needed to be taken off the face of the earth to protect the innocent men, women and children that would otherwise fall prey to them in the future. They need to be exterminated to protect innocent people like Agatha, the kind elderly woman living in a small derelict cottage who had been found bloodless last month. Or like Cherise, the angelic little six year girl who had ran away from her abusive, drunkard of a father and met the same fate on her way to her aunt's house only yesterday. Or like the countless other innocents whose lives had been meaninglessly snuffed out in the wake of this demonic incursion.
I was doing this for them.
My fellow human beings who had lost their lives deserved nothing less.
Suddenly, one of the men on my left stumbled over a lose stone in the floor, obscured from his vision by the thick, cavernous darkness. He was flung forward, and landed with a loud, squirting splash in a filthy puddle and released an echoing yelp of pain as his outstretched arms and knees collided painfully with the pavement. The men beside him rushed, careful not to fall into the same folly, to silence him as quickly as possible—but it was already too late.
As the men hovered over him, their faces lit in eerie patterns by the hot flames they carried with them, I saw a short, curious figure suddenly appear at the very edge of our torches' range. Looking loser, I saw that it was a young brown-haired boy, appearing no older than three or four years of age, dressed in tattered, bloodstained rags. He eyed us suspiciously, with his head tilted unnervingly to the side, before he began slowly walking towards us with an impassive expression.
"Run!" I yelled, whirling rapidly to face the men who were helping up the man who had tripped. My voice was brimming with urgency and desperation, and my heart beat erratically in my chest as the opportunities to escape the impending danger swiftly slipped away from them. The man who had tripped was my childhood friend, William Veldon, and my heart constricted at the idea of him being harmed.
The men paused in their task, their thick arms still securely wrapped around my friend, and looked at me in stupefied confusion. They then glanced nervously at the young child gradually approaching them, who wore an innocently inquisitive expression, and burst into hearty guffaws of laughter.
Their humorous reaction caused me to petrify on the spot as I realized, in horror, that they hadn't seen what I had, in the barest glint of light, and foolishly supposed that this was only a hopelessly lost, but otherwise ordinary child. In mere fractions of a second, as my shaky torchlight had cautiously passed over the young boy's flawless features, I had perceived not only the child's exceptional pallor, but also his unnatural crimson eyes—the only foolproof indicators of vampirism.
I quickly parted my lips to warn everyone in the tunnel of the reality of life-threatening danger a second time. But I was stunned speechless when William steadily lighted to his feet, and bent to lay his silver knife uselessly against the clammy ground, in a gesture of extremely naïve peace-offering. He had no idea what danger he was in, and directed a small, friendly wave toward the small, though still very lethal creature.
There was no time to intervene, not even by those standing amidst the horrifying scene, and not even time to scream. The small child immediately shot up into the air, wrapped his tiny little arms fiercely around William's neck, and savagely twisted his little head to tear at my friend's throat.
William howled in excruciating agony as the demonic child viciously sunk his teeth in further, and I bellowed out a severely traumatized "No!" as I watched. I was paralyzed with fear, as my best friend of nearly twenty years was drained dry before my very eyes, unable, in my lethargic mortal state, to do anything whatsoever to prevent his grisly demise. Before the others had fully comprehended what was transpiring, the child suddenly released William, and allowed his limp body to sag to the to the floor. As my friend's head rolled eerily to face us, I noticed in horror that his skin was white as a sheet and eyes were frozen wide-open in incomprehensible fright.
Impassively, the child floated back to the ground, a few droplets of blood sliding viscously over his alabaster lips, and he released a heavy, satisfied sigh, like his gruesome dinner had been particularly delicious. Then he turned his head gradually towards the other humans in the room. Once again he inclined his head to that awkward angle, as though surveying them as a possible second course.
Finally shocked into understanding the gravity of our situation, the men who had been surrounding William froze. Their spines went ramrod straight, and their hands clenched tightly around their assorted weapons, for a few moments...
...before they abruptly scattered in chaotic terror.
Shrieking crude curses and blasphemous phrases, all but one spun swiftly on their heels. They then desperately tore down the gloomy sewer passageways back the way we had come in an attempt to abandon me with the tiny vampire and William's bloodless body. However, they didn't get very far before more figures, all adults, judging by their imposing height, swept unexpectedly into the putrid corridor from all directions. They stood menacingly in a haphazard circle around us, per ting our escape.
The figures who surrounded us were all vampires—a fact made obvious by their unnaturally quick movements. They were all dressed in filthy, tattered rags, and looked at us with disturbingly wide smiles, glistening with venom. Their strong, wiry arms appeared poised to fight and their wild eyes, glowing orange in the torchlight, raked over us hungrily.
It was agonizingly clear that they weren't going to let us leave.
Before we could process what had transpired enough to begin an attack, two more figures floated into the corridor, who were much better dressed than the rest of the coven. One was male, judging by the broad shoulders which were clearly evident in his pristine button-up shirt, and his unmistakably masculine square jaw. And the other was obviously female, as she wore an extremely low-cut dress of deep red satin, which presented a generous view of her large bosom. They both had long dark brown hair, the same shade as the child's and were both painfully beautiful, and I, Bella, was suddenly extremely grateful that Carlisle was a total saint, because I wasn't sure I could handle him/me mentally appraising a female figure right now—my sexuality while in his body was in enough question as it was.
Instead of being distracted by the sizable mounds of marble-flesh threatening to burst from the female's intentionally tantalizing ensemble, I focused on much more practical matters—like keeping myself alive. Though the possibility looked slim, since my companions and I were out-numbered by creatures who possessed strength which far surpassed our own.
The man beside me tensed, gritting his yellowing teeth, and wrapped his hands tightly around the long torch and short knife in his hands as creatures approached. The vampires glided with effortless grace over the pitted and lumpy cobblestone beneath them, and wore condescending, though not yet malevolent expressions on their faces.
I held my breath as the male came to an abrupt halt near William's lifeless corpse, and cast an unreadable look towards the diminutive vampire who stood beside it. The child's chin was still dripping from his last terrifying meal. Wordlessly, the older male produced a ratty, extremely stained handkerchief and wiped away the disturbing mess in a jarringly considerate gesture. After swiftly re-pocketing the repulsive scrap of fabric, the male turned to us.
His scrutinizing, crimson eyes flickered briefly over my fear-frozen form, noticing that my right hand was tightly clutching a small silver knife at the level of my eyes. I was determined not to strike unless me or my companion were directly threatened, but I would defend myself if necessary. His gaze then turned to my left hand shakily grasping the shrinking stub of a torch which was my only light source in this rotten, hellish place. He looked much more afraid of the torch than the knife, but seemed to assess that none of us were immediate threats.
He suddenly spoke "Looks like the Cullens are at it again," he intoned contemptuously, jabbing a pale, accusing finger in my direction. He then strode forward, the cloister of vampires surrounding us parting easily around him to allow him passage into the center of the tunnel where I stood. I rapidly switched my eyes from vampire to vampire, in order to assess what was the most immediate threat. "Although this time they actually caught the real culprits. Fancy that."
The vampires all broke out in a chorus of bell-like laughter at his cruel, but unfortunately very true statement, and I immediately tensed, furrowing my brows in irritation. I wrapped my damp, salty fingers tighter around the short silver dagger I carried and tried to school my temper. My father's efforts, although ultimately tragic, had been carried out with good intentions, and I wouldn't stand for them to be so derisively mocked—especially not by the creatures my father had tried tirelessly to destroy.
"I think you'll find, that we are, somewhat more… difficult to subdue than the weak humans your father slaughters," the vampire spoke dryly. His voice was laced with dark humor, and a condescending smirk twisting his lips, as he drew even closer. "Though it will certainly be amusing to watch you try," he confessed, as he gently swept his hand underneath my chin. The ice-cold temperature of his fingers burned against my feverish skin as he gently tilted my head up to meet his.
"I see that you brought a little toy," the vampire remarked amusedly.
I was confused as to what he was referring to until he snatched the instrument of which he spoke out of my hands—my precious silver knife—and twirled it idly in the air for a few moments. The metal produced a soft whirring sound as it sliced through the damp air.
"Let me show you, what these are capable of," the vampire said unexpectedly. He then abruptly drew back the knife with reserved strength, presumably with the maximum amount of strength a human could obtain, before plunging it downwards into the ivory white skin of his exposed forearm.
I watched in horror as the small knife pressed a slight indentation into his inhumanly pale skin, before literally bouncing off. It sailed a few feet in the air, and clattered with a high, chime-like jingle on the damp, odorous floor.
The vampire cracked an enormous toothy grin at the sudden unrestrainable fear which arose in me, and the men surrounding me as we realized that our party had never stood a chance against these monstrous beings. Their skin was totally impenetrable, like the hardest of diamonds, but sturdier, lacking even diamond's weakness of being very brittle.
Once again, the entire coven of vampires erupted into shrill, merciless laughter. Laughter at our naivety in assuming that we possessed weapons sufficient to harm them. Their heads sailed backwards as their amusement continued, and some forms even shook, trembling violently from the insurmountable hilarity of it all.
All my companions took a nervous step towards the center of the circle, attempting to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the sneering monsters. Despite the fact that we now knew them to be virtually useless, the men around me continued to clutch their silver knives tenaciously, and swept their torches out in front of them to hopefully discourage any immortals from drawing too much closer. Large drops of sweat beaded on our hands and foreheads, slickening our grasp on our paltry defenses.
Knowing it was absurdly foolish to be the first to attack, we waited in stunned silence for their next move.
"No response?" the lead male vampire enquired incredulously, a single dark brown eyebrow quirking reactively to his disbelieving question. "I suppose it matters not," he suddenly conceded. He gave a rapid shake of his head, before his crimson eyes lifted towards the crumbling, rotting ceiling. He stretched his muscular arms forth at his sides, gesturing wildly to the crowd of impatient vampires encompassing us, before exclaiming jubilantly: "Dinner is served!"
And as if on cue, all the vampires descended upon us in a mad frenzy.
