A/N: Here it is: the long, long overdue new chapter of MLY. Thank you so much to the readers who've been so patient and understanding during the dry spell. I appreciate it more than I can say. I hope you enjoy this.
Chapter 11 – Rude Realms Far Above
In the third-class seat sat the journeying boy,
And the roof-lamp's oily flame
Played down on his listless form and face,
Bewrapt past knowing to what he was going,
Or whence he came.
Knows your soul a sphere, O journeying boy,
Our rude realms far above,
Whence with spacious vision you mark and mete
This region of sin that you find you in,
But are not of?
- from Midnight on the Great Western by Thomas Hardy
September 8, 1919
The corner of Carlisle's mouth twitched in amusement, and he glanced up at me from a recent issue of the Journal of the American Medical Association.
That's too fast.
"Mozart's dead," I replied dryly, "and even if he wasn't, I don't think he'd care." But I slowed my fingers to the prescribed meter anyway. The truth was, I'd barely been paying attention to the concerto. The rest of the instruments played in my head, accompanying me... I didn't even notice I'd sped it up. I was preoccupied. We both were.
"You're right," Carlisle replied. "He probably wouldn't mind at all. Mozart was very... irreverent."
My gaze whipped up. "Did you-"
"No, no. I never met him."
"How do you know what his character was, then?"
"By reputation," he chuckled. "Tales of his exploits were often repeated at society gatherings, especially where artists and musicians were present. But one had only to be familiar with his music outside the standard repertoire, really. For example, he wrote lyrics for a little party song called Leck mich im Arsch."
"No Deutsch," I reminded him. English, Latin, French, and 18th century Italian? Yes. German? Not yet.
"Literally, it translates to Lick Me in the Ass."
I snorted out a surprised chuckle.
"I know," he muttered, shaking his head. "The Austrians had a very bawdy sense of humor back then. Mozart's compositions are so grand, though... very busy..." His gaze flickered to me. And I can't help but notice that you play them when you're anxious about something.
"No, I don't."
If you say so. He smirked, looking back at the JAMA.
Did I? I suppose I didn't really need to ask myself that. "Busy" was the perfect adjective for so much of Mozart's stuff, and I guess I did tend to play it when I was tense. It wasn't the Mozart that bothered me to admit to, though. It was being anxious. I'd been making every effort to seem relaxed and ready. It hadn't worked, evidently.
I wasn't the only one who was tense, though- not this morning. Carlisle was trying just as hard as I was to distract himself, and, also like me, he was failing. He wasn't truly absorbed by his reading, or the music. On this cool, fall morning, which was still mostly dark, we were both focused primarily on the earliest birdsong pouring in through double doors that were opened to the cabin's wrap-around porch, waiting for other noises to mix in with it...
But he had a point. My hyperactive rendition of Mozart's K. 482, a Piano Concerto in E flat, wasn't helping anything. I let the background orchestration fade away from my mind and bridged into B flat, changing the tempo to 6/4 time, seeking something else... something soothing... and Chopin's familiar Nocturne opus 9, no. 1, started pouring out. A touch melancholy, but contemplative, warm...
Lovely choice. I've always liked that one.
I smirked. "I don't suppose you know if Chopin ever composed anything called Lick Me in the Ass, do you?"
It was his turn to laugh this time.
And that's the moment things changed, at least for me. Carlisle was still chuckling, and I kept playing, but my grin faded... it was both disturbing and exhilarating to recognize something so completely, without ever experiencing it before.
Looking through the mind's eye of a human was like stepping into a sort of time machine that could show me what my own mortal vision must have been like- the muted colors, blurred edges... the near-sightedness of it. And human thought patterns were usually disorganized, tinged with lack of clarity. Concentration took effort for so many of them to begin with, let alone concentrating on many things at once.
But what I could hear now was wholly different: sharp, fast, and multi-faceted... like Carlisle, but not him at all. Four distinctly different minds... still just faint murmurs at this distance, but it was unmistakeably us.
I couldn't understand what they were thinking, at least not verbally. Whatever language they were thinking in was unfamiliar to me. I hadn't heard Carlisle ever use it, either. It sounded Russian, maybe...? No, now it sounded more Germanic... wait... except one. There was one of them thinking in English, but his mental energy wasn't verbal so much as visual, and what struck me was how panicky it seemed.
After a few moments, the meaning of his jumpy thoughts dawned on me, and it wasn't anything like what I'd imagined I might see or hear as our visitors approached- and I'd done plenty of imagining.
"Edward, do you hear something?" Carlisle asked softly, noticing my vacant stare.
I nodded. My being resonated at their proximity, as if it knew its own kind.
"There are four," I murmured, answering his next unspoken question. I paused then, focusing my gaze on him. "Three are thinking in a foreign language, though. It sounds Slavonic."
I'm not surprised. They're prepared, of course.
"But one of them is thinking in English, and... it's strange, but it sounds like he's scared of coming here."
Carlisle's brow furrowed in confusion. Can you tell why?
"Not really... it's as if he's convinced that something terrible will happen to him when they get here, but he's not sure what."
That doesn't make sense. "No member of the Volturi would have reason to fear us."
"That's just it, though. He doesn't seem to be thinking of the others as companions," I said, concentrating on the English-speaking vampire's mind. I tried diving into his sight; they were still a little too far away for me to do it effectively, but I managed to get a few glimpses. He was in the backseat of a car, his gaze flitting nervously from the road to the woods, which were heavy with early morning mist. "It's almost as if he's not one of the coven."
Just then we both heard something physical, and I left the vampire's sight. Wheels were humming on asphalt, a well-oiled engine running smoothly... thirty seconds later came the crunch of gravel beneath tires as a large car turned onto the road leading to the cabin. They were only three quarters of a mile away now.
Very faintly, we both heard a female voice sigh with, "At last."
Even at this distance, through the music and noise of the car, it sounded like the most beautiful voice I'd ever heard, and my fingers instantly softened the notes of Chopin's Nocturne. Her voice was chiming and ethereal, and I wanted to hear more of it. I picked out her mind from the others... it wasn't quite the same as hearing her speaking voice, though, and it was too bad she was thinking in that Slavic tongue.
Carlisle noticed the difference in my playing and smiled. Enchanting, isn't it?
I nodded, my gaze wide with wonder.
The first time I heard the voice of a female of our kind, I was just as entranced.
"Do they all sound like that?"
Shhh. He put a finger up to his lips. Each in their own way, yes, but the novelty wears off quickly, believe me.
Her gossamer voice was heard again, this time with a soft, knowing giggle, and it wasn't alone. Another voice, male, chuckled with her. They must have heard me and known exactly what I'd been talking about.
Well, that's the last time I'll make that mistake, I thought, chagrined. Of course they'd be able to hear us now, too.
It's alright, Edward. Carlisle reassured me, rising. Just keep playing, he instructed, strolling out to the porch, readying to greet our guests. He settled into stillness with his arms draped in front, hands folded, and slipped into Paradise Lost.
Again?! Damn it. What was his fixation with that thing? I really needed to tell him to find something new to start reciting. I'd never even read it, but wouldn't need to at this rate. What volume was he on now? The eleventh?
I couldn't see him fully- just the edge of his form- but his posture reminded me of how a sentry might look, at the ready for any little thing. I saw the car approaching the cabin through Carlisle's eyes... a shiny new brick-red Packard. The headlights were off, despite the hour.
I came to the end of the nocturne and just started it again, listening to the car pull up and park outside. I latched onto the English-speaker's vision as he stepped out of the vehicle with the others. His gaze fastened right away on Carlisle, whose stance looked more relaxed from that angle. He was smiling pleasantly in welcome.
His eyes are so different, the scared one thought. I don't like it. Is he the one? What is this place?
Despite his anxiety, there was something about the way he thought that felt so kindred... more than the others. It was starting to bother me that he was afraid of us. He glanced nervously at his three fashionably dressed companions- two male, one female. They were just like me in so many ways: the absence of color in their luminescent skin, the perfected forms. And beyond that, I recognized them from Carlisle's memories of Volterra.
Demetri, of course. We knew he'd be one of them. Carlisle had never actually seen him work- only the results of it. Demetri was reputed to be the best tracker in existence, and the gift that granted him that skill wasn't unrelated to my own. He couldn't hear specific thoughts, but once he met someone, vampire or human, he could feel the unique signature of their mind. And once he felt it, he was able to discern that mind from all others within hundreds of miles, and find it. There was no such thing as getting away from him. Like the other male, Demetri was dressed in a luxurious flannel suit, but had soft-looking features, almost Gallic, but his thoughts were just a touch sharper than the others.
The large, dark-haired male I recognized as Santiago. Some of Carlisle's knowledge of newborn vampires had come from watching him "grow up." As a mortal, Santiago had the unfortunate, and very unique, experience of accidentally discovering part of the Volturi's lair. His status as a resident of Volterra gave him a chance, though, to be turned and join instead of being made a meal of. He had extraordinary strength, but no special talents beyond that. The only other thing I knew about Santiago was that he had a penchant for violent literature.
And the woman... Chelsea. So exquisite. More lovely than her voice, if that was possible. Her ebony hair was pinned up intricately with jeweled combs, and her lissome, ivory form was adorned by a dress layered with lavender silk and lace.
Her presence was as unexpected as it was mesmerizing. In Carlisle's memories of the Volturi she had never figured prominently, though he was aware of her status as one of the first members of the coven. She always seemed to hover silently, but beautifully, on the periphery of happenings within Volterra, along with her mate, Afton. I didn't even know what talent it was that made her so valuable to the Volturi.
But Carlisle evidently did. I clearly heard a dismayed thought as he took in the sight of her. He broke out of the Milton for one fleeting moment-
So that's how it's going to be, is it, Aro?
I abandoned the unfamiliar vampire's sight for Carlisle's... the other fellow's vision was currently latched onto the woods as he listened to the birds, some of the song unfamiliar to him, and I wanted a better look at Chelsea.
"Carlisle," she exclaimed, flashing a warm smile as she glided up the porch stairs. "It's been far too long. How we've missed you!" One of her gloved hands slid into his, and Carlisle bowed in gentlemanly fashion.
"Chelsea. I'm honored you've chosen to visit us. I hope it wasn't too out of the way," he said, alluding to the relieved words we'd overheard.
"Not at all," she replied. "Please forgive my comment; it had nothing to do with your location- just the mode of travel. These automobiles are such confining vehicles; I don't think I shall ever get used to them. But we must blend in, at least for this part of our journey."
Not with those eyes, I thought. They were pure crimson. I wondered if they could let themselves be seen in daylight by humans at all, under cloud cover or not. I couldn't, before my eyes had finally started looking more like Carlisle's.
"I daresay Cullen could give us all a lesson in blending in," Demetri said, taking his turn to greet Carlisle. "He does it so well."
"Welcome, Demetri," Carlisle said with a smile, shaking his hand. "Automobiles have actually made my lifestyle a good deal easier, so I don't mind them. Unlike horses, they don't panic and run away when I approach."
Santiago chuckled and came up to Carlisle with a genuinely glad smile, and despite the foreign language of his thoughts, I detected true admiration as he greeted his host.
"And those horses are wise to flee your presence, since you're one of the few of our kind who has a tendency to feed on four-legged animals." He clamped one massive hand firmly on Carlisle's shoulder. "It is so very good to see you."
"And you, Santiago. It looks like time in the coven has treated you well."
"Very much so," the vampire replied.
"And I see you've brought someone new," Carlisle said, turning his gaze to the one who was still hovering next to the Packard, at last giving me a good look at him. The others hadn't been paying visual attention to him at all. He was dressed in a suit cut similarly to that of the other two males', but it was tweed instead of flannel, and hung too loosely on him. He was young- probably younger than I was when I'd died- and had ginger-colored hair and darkish, thirsty eyes, which were wide and tense. He was ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.
"Yes. A refugee from the conflicts we've just put an end to," Demetri spoke up. "We're certain that the triad would like to meet him, so it was necessary, I'm afraid, to bring him along. He'll be no trouble."
"I see," Carlisle said, and then broke out of the Milton, this time intentionally. This one must be gifted. It happens every once in a while. If they come across a lawbreaker who has a special talent, they will offer a choice: join the coven, or suffer the same fate as any other lawbreaker. But only the triad can make that offer, so they need to get him to Italy. He's not a refugee, Edward. He's a prisoner.
"I still think we should have sent him along with the others," Chelsea said, and then addressed Carlisle in explanation. "Our ship to Cherbourg doesn't sail until Saturday morning, but with our work done, Jane was impatient to put as little distance between herself and Volterra as possible. Afton has escorted her to New York ahead of us to do some sightseeing and dine before the voyage."
"Jane?"
"I thought Aro might have told you about his newest prizes," she replied, amused. "He loves to show them off. Twins; Jane and Alec, they're known as now. He had his eye on them since well before turning the pair- which he had to do, by the way, sooner than he would have preferred. But they've proven to be indisposable. Only Jane was sent with us on this expedition, though, and I'm afraid she hasn't taken well to being away from her brother."
At the mention of this Jane, the young one by the car nearly jumped out his skin, at least in his mind. His gaze locked onto the inhabitants of the porch swiftly, flickering with waves of visceral memories that shocked out of his mind into mine. I saw them as clearly as I saw him through Carlisle's sight right then, as clearly as the living room I stared at over the piano... three places layered in my sight at once, one of them the image of a small vampire standing on the edge of a cornfield at night...
She couldn't have been older than fourteen when changed: a porcelain doll with blood-red eyes, clad in a black ritual cloak... I recognized it as the garb worn by the upper echelon of the Volturi guard when on assignment... Demetri was by her side in a matching robe, and the young vampire knew the other three were behind him.
"Please demonstrate what's going to happen to him if he tries running away again," Demetri said to her.
The captive had seen the effect her gaze had on the other members of his coven... the strange fits of paralysis that had seized them, the look of sheer agony on their faces. He was the only one left. The others had all been destroyed- torn apart and burned to ash by the ones called Santiago and Afton- while Jane's gaze held them down in torment.
When his coven had been slaughtered, he'd run. He knew the destroyers would follow, but still he'd run. He ran for days and nights that turned into a week, and then another week, hoping his speed would leave them behind... and every time he thought he had lost them, he would get a whiff of Demetri in unrelenting pursuit. He never even got the chance to slow down enough to hunt. Finally, in a fit of despair and near-madness wrought by thirst, loss and confusion, he stopped, prepared to meet his end.
But his end wasn't to be at Demetri's hands. Demetri simply took him prisoner and then rendezvouzed with the others after two days' journey. And now, as Jane's serene, blood-red gaze settled on him, he prepared for death...
These memories took mere moments to unfold in his mind, and the pain itself he only let himself remember for a split second, but the blinding torment wrought by Jane's "gift" was enough to make me flinch, even though I only experienced it vicariously. It was fortunate that the nocturne I was playing called for a full rest at that precise moment. If my hands hadn't been off the keys, I might have made an actual mistake and hit a wrong note. They all would have heard it and wondered what brought it on. That pain... my God...
It rivaled the burn of transformation. He lost all sense of time and anything outside the physical agony of it... the burning... acid and flames consuming every inch of him, inside and out...
And then it was over just as quickly as it started. The pain was gone, his senses were fully restored, and he realized he was utterly unharmed. It had all been an illusion, a trick of the little she-devil's mind... but a trick there was no outwitting. He opened his eyes to the pair, wondering why they hadn't killed him.
"Our master would like to meet you," Jane said with a small smile. "You'll be coming with us."
"Don't make me come after you again," Demetri said dispassionately. "If you do, the fire will be very real next time."
The memory faded, leaving me in Carlisle's sight, trained on the browbeaten vampire hovering by the car.
"It's a pity we didn't get to meet her," he said to Chelsea.
No, it's not, I thought, wondering what he'd say about Jane's "gift" when I told him about it.
He stepped off the porch, approaching the young one with a steady, calm demeanor.
"Hello," he said, extending his hand. "I'm Carlisle Cullen. Welcome." The vampire glanced distrustfully at the offered hand, and his thirsty gaze shifted off to the woods again. Carlisle pocketed his hand, unperturbed. "It's alright," he said quietly. "You have nothing to fear in our home."
There was a pause as the newcomer examined the cabin, listening to the music. The place looked inviting to him.
"You live here?" he asked hesitantly.
"Only for a short while, but it's where Edward and I hang our hats for now. That's him playing the piano."
The trio of vampires on the porch were watching the two of them with almost as much interest as I was. There was an air of expectation to the way the patterns of their thoughts quieted, subdued... as if in waiting.
The prisoner's gaze settled back on Carlisle, and, like I once had, he was starting to sense a total lack of malevolence in the strange-eyed creature in front of him.
"I know something of the wars in the south," Carlisle told him solemnly. "Were you born into one of the fighting covens? Recruited?"
The red-haired boy nodded once, ever so slightly.
"That must have been trying. What's your name?"
"Fletcher," he murmured. This one's not like the others... but he's one of them, isn't he? He can't be the one the tracker was talking about, or he wouldn't have to ask my name. Still, though... maybe he'll tell me. "Why am I here?"
"They haven't told you?"
Fletcher glanced nervously at the vampires on the porch, wondering if he was at liberty to say... but decided to risk it. "Only that I'm... supposed to meet their master."
"Your escorts are old friends of mine," Carlisle explained quietly, and I recognized the soothing tone he often used when speaking to terminally ill patients. "They're only stopping here for a visit before you all continue to Italy. There you'll meet the head of their coven. You have nothing to fear from me, or from Edward, I promise."
Italy? Combined with his surprise at the location Carlisle had disclosed, I saw the exchange had triggered something from Fletcher's memory, and it couldn't have taken place longer than an hour ago- I recognized the starlit farmland outside the Packard's windows.
From his seat in the back, the captive vampire could see Demetri's face reflected in the glass of the windshield as he drove.
"If I were you, I'd be careful about anything you might be considering, even in silence," Demetri said. "We'll find out what it is. Where we're going, there's a mindreader who will see and hear everything you think."
Fletcher's gaze retreated to his own window again as he kept silent, wondering if it was true...
"They said he can hear my thoughts," he said to Carlisle.
"Yes. And he can hear theirs as well," Carlisle replied with a smirk. "And mine. Edward hears all the thoughts happening around him."
Fletcher's thoughts were suddenly scrambling to devise a way to silence themselves.
Anything but Paradise Lost! I wanted to shout.
It didn't matter. He wasn't going to be able to do it. Silencing his thoughts wasn't really an option, since it was impossible to simply cease to think, and experience with Carlisle had taught me that it took a calm mind and substantial concentration to effectively disguise one's thoughts in my presence. Fletcher was too agitated for that.
I wondered what his gift was. No one was specifying it in their mind at the moment- not even him. Not even visual hints came through from the three Volturi. Whatever it was, it hadn't obviously been enough to help Fletcher get away from Demetri, but it must have been powerful enough to be useful to them.
"Where are you from?" Carlisle asked him.
"I was in Louisiana when I was... recruited. But before that I lived in Vermont."
"When did it happen? Your change?"
Which change would that be? The bitter reply formed in Fletcher's mind as he answered aloud. "A little over two years ago."
While Carlisle and Fletcher spoke, a separate conversation started among the trio on the porch. They were using the same cadence and tone, too quiet for mortal ears, that Carlisle and I used when speaking privately in the presence of humans. Any nearby vampire who was paying attention would still understand what they were saying, of course, but their tone made the discussion seem like inconsequential background chatter.
"There, you see?" Santiago murmured to Chelsea. "This was clearly the better option. Stregone Benefici is just what the newling needed to be put at ease for the rest of the journey."
"We're not visiting this place to put him at ease," she responded. "He can only complicate matters."
"The complications would have been worse in New York if he'd decided to try getting away from Jane and Afton," Demetri said. "There's no telling what kind of trouble he might have caused in the city."
Chelsea grudgingly acknowledged his point with silence, but one of the streams of foreign words in her head sped up, as if stewing with an unspoken argument.
"Please, will you come in with us?" Carlisle asked Fletcher.
Feeling somewhat more secure, but still on guard, the young vampire nodded, and closely followed Carlisle up to the cabin, avoiding the gazes of his captors. I abandoned my mentor's sight then, needlessly staring at my hands trilling along the keyboard. It was still Chopin, but I'd moved on to Nocturne no. 14 in F# minor.
Even if I hadn't been able to hear them come in, I still would have felt their blood-red eyes on me as they all gathered in our living room, collectively deciding to stand back and listen to me play the rest of the nocturne. The three Volturi studiously kept their unspoken words shrouded in the other language, but the tenor of those words was palpably attentive. With a small surge of pride, I realized they were admiring the music.
"Such lovely playing," Chelsea murmured to Carlisle after a few moments. "Did he just recently learn?"
"Not at all. Edward was an accomplished musician before I knew him," was the reply.
I almost said something contradictory, but thought the better of it and kept playing. It's just that "accomplished" might not have been the most accurate description of my piano playing as a human. The truth was, I didn't remember exactly how proficient I'd been before. I didn't have memories of performing for anyone but small groups of family and friends at home, at a Christmas party for Masen & Associates one year, and there was a blur of two childhood performances that looked supiciously like student recitals at school. It didn't seem like anything particularly accomplished.
Earlier that summer, on the night which would have been my eighteenth birthday, some ragtime had come back to me easily enough, then a Debussy prelude called Des pas sur la Neige, and a Liszt sonata. The Liszt even sparked a new memory, making me remember that I'd had to practice that piece for a few months before I really had it down. It presented no difficulty whatsoever that night, though. My nimble fingers could have played it at ten times the prescribed meter, and still have felt unoccupied. I composed a more complex variation on the spot. On our last trip into Chicago, in August, I'd picked up stacks of sheet music that were stuffed into the piano bench at the Magnolia house, and spent the next day perusing them. There were works of varying dificulty from a plethora of composers and songwriters, contemporary and classical alike, but nothing notoriously difficult except Beethoven's Hammerklavier. It hadn't been handled much, either- there were no giveaway fingermarks at the corners of the pages, no creases or folds. I wondered if I'd even attempted it.
It certainly wasn't any challenge to me now, though. No piece of music was. All I had to do was take a perfunctory look at the sheet music, set it aside, and then play it. My human memories of learning how to play were sometimes arduous, so the ease with which I could do it now almost seemed like cheating.
But I did have to think just a little bit about the Chopin right then, at least enough to make sure I kept the tones as subdued as they should sound. There were about fifteen other things going through my mind- five of them being other minds. There was so much more to them than human minds, especially when the Slavic dropped away from one "voice."
Such a handsome specimen, Chelsea thought. And so talented. It's easy to see why Carlisle chose you, Edward. Even as a mortal, I daresay your qualities would have shone through.
I had to resist the impulse to look up and speak. But, keeping in mind that I had to be guarded in my interaction with these... people, I only let a small smile out, and nodded just a little to let her know I'd heard.
When it was over, the group applauded, and my gaze settled on them at last as I stood to issue a bow, wearing as relaxed of a smile as I could muster.
Santiago regarded me with a satisfied air when he saw my almost completely topaz eyes, while Fletcher simply looked confused. Everything about his surroundings felt foreign to him. He was utterly lost.
"That was excellent," Demetri said with his smooth, warm voice, approaching me with a friendly smile. As he took my hand to shake it, his Slavic disappeared for a moment, too. Tell me, is Monsieur Chopin one of your favorites? Both pieces were of his composition, were they not?
"Yes, and I do enjoy his work, especially the nocturnes."
"So it's true," he replied. "You really do hear our thoughts verbatim."
I frowned, now realizing he'd merely asked his questions mentally to gauge my ability, and he chuckled at my expression.
"I apologize," he said. "Please forgive my rudeness. We're just all so curious about what we've heard."
My gaze flickered to Carlisle for a moment.
It's alright. It's better to be forthcoming, he advised me calmly.
I confirmed Demetri's assessment with a slight nod before speaking. "And what, may I ask, is the language you've all been thinking in? It sounds Slavic in origin."
"Silesian," Chelsea responded cheerfully, shimmering up to me with a gloved hand extended for me to take. "Ciao, Eduardo. Please, if I may ask, is it a sufficient shield? It would be a shame if we'd concentrated on using such a little-spoken language only to find that you could hear through it all along."
"I admit, it's effective," I replied, looking down at her with a lopsided smile, and took the hand she offered. She really was stunning.
"You don't hold it against us for guarding our privacy, I hope?" she said.
I shook my head, releasing her hand. "I wouldn't care for it if a stranger could hear my every thought, either. If I could, I'd choose not to hear the thoughts of those around me. Unfortunately, there doesn't seem to be a way to shut it off."
"Such a powerful gift must be helpful, though," Demetri said, looking away to Carlisle with narrowed eyes. "Especially to someone who lives so constantly with humans, and would want to know if they had developed certain suspicions about him."
All gazes followed Demetri's to my mentor, except Santiago's, who looked put out with Demetri. It didn't take mindreading to realize that an accusation had been made... perhaps even more than one. Was Demetri implying only that Carilsle's way of life was too risky in terms of potential exposure to humans? Or also that Carlisle's real interest in me was merely to use my ability for his own benefit? Either way, Carlisle didn't seem ruffled.
"Yes, well, I've managed so far without the aid of a mindreader," he responded pleasantly.
"Which is more than can be said about those of us in Volterra," Santiago bristled. "Aro's gift has certainly helped us avoid detection more than once."
"Verissimo," Demetri conceded, inclining his head in a slight bow as Santiago made his way to meet me.
"Edward, is it?" he asked. I nodded, and he took my hand in both of his for a warm shake. "I'm very glad to meet you." I never understood why Cullen insisted on making such strange choices for himself, he confided, but admired his determination. It's amusing to see the others' expectations so confounded.
I looked at Santiago inquisitively, a silent question; which expectations were those exactly? He smiled.
It was considered all but impossible that he could have successfully initiated any newborn into his way of feeding. They didn't expect to see you with eyes so like his, let alone seeming so content. If I may ask, has he been completely successful? Did you make any... mistakes?
I shook my head... but I wasn't without victims, was I? There was Aaron Barnes, but, of course, that wasn't the kind of "mistake" he was referring to.
"Amazing," he said, turning to Carlisle. "Congratulations. A true coup de maitre."
"It can't really be that unprecedented," I scoffed. I'd always thought that Carlisle was probably exaggerating my accomplishment.
"Oh, yes it is, except for Cullen himself, of course. The other animal feeders started out like the rest of us."
I shot a surprised, half-accusing glare at my sire. All this time I'd thought that we were alone among our kind. Now here Santiago is, saying there's more of us?!
It's true- there are a very few others, Carlisle said silently, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Don't worry. I was planning on introducing you to the Alaskan coven when you were a little further along.
"You two really only feed on animals?" Fletcher blurted, his nose wrinkled in disgust. He'd been sticking to Carlisle's side as the introductions went on, coming to grips with the fact that not only were we not part of the Volturi, but the most peculiar vampires he'd ever met. "Is that why your eyes are so different?"
"Yes, isn't it strange?" Chelsea answered before I could, gazing at me. "It is a lovely effect, the color, but a bit redundant. Such a fortunate physical characteristic; the humans would be so much easier to lure. But then, why would you want to lure them when all you're going to do is turn around and run off to find some vile, furred animal to dine on instead?"
Fletcher blanched. "That's revolting."
"Even more astounding, Cullen here actually labors at doctoring the mortals. He masquerades as a physician in their hospitals," Santiago added.
"I beg to disagree," Carlisle said. "I am a physician. It's the incidental role of a human that's the masqerade."
Fletcher looked up at Carlisle with a mix of disbelief and awe.
"That's impossible," he muttered.
"It's not," I said quietly. "He was my doctor when I was dying of the flu."
But... no. That's can't be true. You can't live like that.
"Yes, we can. And we do."
It must be agony.
I couldn't lie. It was agony. So I nodded once, and Fletcher's eyes filled with horror and pity for me, and his precarious feeling of security around Carlisle vanished. My predicament suddenly seemed much worse to him than his own.
Why don't you run away? You could get away from him, couldn't you?
I almost couldn't resist chuckling, but managed to keep it back, and strolled up to him to shake his hand.
"I'm sure you've figured it out by now, but I'm Edward."
"Fletcher." He stared up at me earnestly. If you've really seen what I've been thinking about since we got here, then you know by now that I don't have anything to lose. If you want, I'll try to help you escape the animal drinker.
I couldn't laugh, and not just because he was so sincere, but I'd also been thinking about Demetri's warning to him in the car before they arrived:
"If I were you, I'd be careful about anything you might be considering, even in silence... we'll find out what it is... there's a mindreader who will see and hear everything you think."
Demetri must have realized Fletcher would recall the warning, and I'd see it in his mind. So was it a double warning to me? You're obliged to tell us, Edward. He's a lawbreaker, and if you help him by keeping any of his rebellious thoughts to yourself, you're complicit.
Was I? I wished there was some way I could ask Carlisle. Would I be in legitimate trouble if I kept Fletcher's thoughts about escape- any escape- quiet? Probably.
Well, I still wasn't going to mention anything about Fletcher's little idea, but I was all too aware of the sticky situation we were in. Oddly enough, although Fletcher was the one with real experience of the darker nature of the Volturi, he wasn't anything like aware of the problems that might be created by his confiding in me about such things. He knew it might endanger himself, but he wasn't thinking about the ramifications for others. I needed to come up with a way to tell him.
In the meantime, letting go of our handshake, I replied to his thought as best I could without giving away to the others what he'd suggested.
"It's good to meet you. I realize that Carlisle's diet isn't appealing, but he doesn't demand it of anyone but himself. I chose it freely."
His brow furrowed. "You like it?"
"I wouldn't say 'like' is the right word," I said with a shrug. "But it's adequate nourishment."
"How long have you been playing?" Demetri asked. He'd been examining the Bush & Lane, fingering the keys and looking at the sheet music on the rack.
"I couldn't say. My mother started teaching me when I was a child, but I don't remember exactly what age."
"Demetri plays beautifully, too," Chelsea said. "He plays the lute and violin, and he's very proficient with the cello and the flute, as well as-"
"A number of other instruments that one might learn to play in the course of nine hundred years," Demetri finished modestly. "But I do love music, and there's no better place to study it than in our halls in Volterra."
"I learn well enough here," I replied.
"Obviously, yes. You're quite skilled. But I don't mean the act of simply reading music and playing it. Forgive me, but the months I've spent here in America have made it amply clear that there's a distinct lack of, shall we say, refined entertainments. Where are your Puccinis and Mahlers? The Dubussys and Vaughn Williams? It's not so desloate in Europe. For us, you see, it's not a question of finding a good concert, but deciding which one to attend. And there are lectures and gatherings- it's fascinating to hear music theory explained by its greatest practitioners."
"I think you're underestimating what's available here. There are some outstanding composers," I argued. "Also, I've heard that our popular songs and modern forms of music are catching on in Europe. I read that Sousa toured there with great success. I wouldn't be surprised if you know a few rags yourself. Besides, and I hope you'll forgive me... from what I understand about your purpose here in the States, it isn't good music you've been busy hunting down."
I tried to ignore the spate of bitter memories my statement evinced in Fletcher's mind while Demetri smiled smugly.
"Of course. But it's easy enough to gauge the culture of the locales we find ourselves in, even while on assignment."
"That's true," Santiago said. "Outside the cities there wasn't much advertised in the way of concerts and such. There was frequent chatter about something called vaudeville, though, but what that is, I don't know."
"Avanspettacolo," Carlisle explained. "Varieta."
"Ah, I see. Well, at least that is alive and well here."
"Hardly adequate entertainment for cultivated minds," Demetri said. "You should hear Caius on the subject of variety acts..."
As he went on, I was struck by a deluge of very fuzzy, dim memories from Fletcher- human memories he was losing himself in, sparked by the word "vaudeville." There were audiences, the smell of popcorn and caramel, tiny platforms on steamboats, small theaters and outdoor stages, make-up and costumes, laughter and dancing and applause. There were flashes of odd, cramped living quarters, singing bawdy songs, drinking games, and a pug-nosed brunette he shared the stage and a bed with... the soft panting and pleasurable things they did in that bed...
"You were in a vaudeville troupe when you were a human?" I asked. That didn't seem right. He looked a little too young for the kind of life I saw him leading... but, then again, it wasn't unheard of.
Fletcher was caught a little off-guard by the question, and it didn't help when everyone else's attention fell on him with expressions of interest. He shrugged uncomfortably and nodded.
Chelsea's voice rang in peals of delighted laughter. "Oh, that's wonderful! It certainly explains where your gift came from."
"He should demonstrate it for our hosts," Santiago said. "It really is something else," he praised, turning to Carlisle. "We've never seen anything like it."
Fletcher's expression crumpled in dread. But it hurts.
Intensely curious, I searched his thoughts; he was thinking of his gift, but I couldn't understand what it was I was seeing. There were memories of a clearing seen through squinted eyes, surrounded by vines and large-leafed greenery... he lay curled up with strange, bone-splitting pain... and then the pain ending... Fletcher getting up as if nothing was wrong.
That's all. It didn't seem like any kind of gift, let alone have anything to do with vaudeville.
"What do you say, Fletcher?" Demetri said with a devilish smirk, and though he was looking straight at Fletcher, he nodded in my direction, as if suggesting something about me. "Since you're a performer, why don't you perform your little trick for our hosts?"
Fletcher's gaze flew to me. Him? I don't know...
"I don't want any unpleasantness in my home," Carlisle said sternly. "If Fletcher's gift is harmful in any way-"
"Of course not, Carlisle," Chelsea insisted. "It's not at all unpleasant. In fact, no one is affected but Fletcher himself. That's the amazing part." She then turned to their captive. "Well?"
"Right now?"
"Yes, if you will."
Fletcher stared down, seemingly ashamed. "I have to do it privately."
"You don't have to be by yourself," she said.
"I don't like to do it front of others," came the terse reply.
A very low, warning growl emanated from Demetri. "Are you being uncooperative?"
"Please, enough, Demetri," Carlisle said. "He's agreed to do it, but wants to be by himself. That's not unreasonable."
"I won't have him left unguarded."
"Why don't I go with him?" Santiago said. "The two of us will step out. It won't be longer than a few minutes. Is that an agreeable compromise?"
Fletcher, realizing he had no choice, nodded, and then looked at me with sorrow. I'm sorry.
"Very well," Demetri conceded.
"Come along," Santiago said to the captive. It was a friendly tone, but one that brooked no argument.
I'm really so sorry, Fletcher said to me silently, then bowed his head and followed Santago out into the nearly full dawn light.
I looked at Carlisle, worried, as their footfalls quickened to get far enough away for "privacy." I was getting a very bad feeling about all of this. Why would he apologize to me? What's the point of being alone to perform whatever thing he did?
I'm sure it'll be fine, Carlisle said. They wouldn't let him do anything dangerous. But I must ask- has he been thinking about trying to get away from them while he's here?
Well, no. So far he's just been offering to help me escape you, I wanted to tell him. But, of course, I couldn't, so I just flashed a "no" with the movement of my eyes, and he looked relieved.
Good. I hope it stays that way. If he does, though, do your best to ignore it and do not tell them. Tell me first. Alert me by playing something- let's make it The Entertainer. If there's anything else that you need to tell me while they're here, make a pretense of going to your room to change clothes, and write it down in your copy of Tom Sawyer. Signal me when you come back- just run your left hand through your hair- and I'll make a pretense of wanting to borrow the book.
I flickered my eyes up and back to center; a nod only he would notice. I felt immesaurably better, having a plan.
Meanwhile, Demetri was focused on the piano again, and it struck me that it might have been a while since he'd been able to play.
"Would you like to try it out?" I asked.
He grinned happily. "Very much. Thank you, Edward." In a flash he'd sat down and then, with his hands hovering over the keys, paused as he decided on what to play.
"Ah," he said, "you mentioned ragtime. Let's see if you know this..."
The tune was in 2/4 time and started out like a lot of rags, and then, just as it started to catch the swing, the structure changed... so odd. Still staggered, but melodic, without traditional rhythm. Legato, then staccato... the effect was interesting.
"What is it?" I asked. "Is that really ragtime?"
"In a way," he asked. "It's called Golliwog's Cakewalk. There are many cakewalk tunes in ragtime, no?"
"Yes, but not like this. Who wrote it?"
"Monsieur Debussy. I heard him play it several years ago in France, and he mentioned to the audience that it was written with ragtime in mind. I assume you know of Debussy."
"Of course."
"It was such a pleasure to hear him play in person."
I sat down on the bench next to Demetri, a touch envious. "I'd like to hear him sometime. I bet it is nice to have all that music so close by."
"Truly, it is. But I'm afraid you've missed your chance with Debussy. Didn't you know? He died last year, in the spring, I believe."
"The flu?" Carlisle asked.
Demetri shrugged. "I don't know. Some pathetic human malady. What a waste."
I don't know why it disturbed me so much to hear that Debussy had died. He'd been a favorite of my mother's, I knew; she'd encouraged me to learn many of his piano works. It bothered me. Somehow, knowing such a familiar part of my human world, seemingly inconsequential, was gone... was everything slipping away? It was, wasn't it? I would see the passing of it all, and remain the same...
"I wish Ravel would compose something new," Chelsea sighed. "Ever since that noisesome war started, new works are rare from anyone, unless it's about rallying to the cause, or dreary laments. Oh, well. Perhaps we'll start to hear decent music from the humans again now that it's over."
"I'm not very familiar with Ravel," I admitted.
"What a shame," Demetri said. "Have you heard nothing of his?"
"Yes, a few things. I've only played Miroirs, though."
"Ah, those are pretty pieces. But what about this? Chelsea, you like this one, I know."
With that, his fingers took off in E major, playing a tune that was delicate, strong... flowing, cascading... like water... reminiscent of a sonata in some of the technical aspects, but still so distinctly unique. It was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever heard.
"It's splendid. What's it called?" Carlisle asked, drifting over to join us at the piano.
"Jeux d'eau,"Chelsea said. "Isn't it lovely?"
I nodded, intently watching Demetri's flying hands as we all listened to the music. Jeux d'eau... that explained why it sounded like water. I intended to add it to my repertoire, and made a mental note to look into more of Ravel's works.
"Edward," Chelsea spoke to me... and the lilting, sing-song cadence of the word, with that voice of hers... my name had never sounded so melodic. She took my hand, and, somehow, despite the crimson, her gaze was so soft and inviting. "You really should come visit us in Volterra. With your talent and appreciation for music, it would be a shame for you to miss seeing our conservatory, and if you like art, you'd adore our collections. There is so much to see, and not just in Volterra, of course. It takes no time at all to get to Paris and London, Rome, Venice, Budapest, Vienna... we go all the time. You would simply love it."
"You'd be most welcome," Demetri said. "It's a very hospitable environment, you know. I'm sure Cullen has told you."
"Yes, he has," I said, glancing at Carlisle. He seemed not to notice, his gaze bent to the keyboard as Demetri continued playing. Still Paradise Lost... but he wasn't reciting it was quickly as he usually did.
A distinct feeling of wanderlust touched me right then. It wouldn't be so bad just to go visit and see the sights sometime, would it? I wouldn't have to stray from our diet, and it's not as if they would force me to stay. After all, Carlisle stayed there for decades himself, and they didn't force him to do anything he didn't want to do, or make him stay. Maybe I could even persuade him to come with me. Just for a little while...
My musings were interrupted as I picked up on the sound of running closeby... Santiago and Fletcher were on their way back, nearly to the cabin. My curiosity burned. What was it Fletcher had done while they'd been gone? What would he be sorry about, to me? I wondered how far away they'd had to go...
We all looked to the door when we heard them reach the porch- except Demetri, who was regarding me with a curious smile as he finished up the Ravel.
Fletcher was lagging behind, Santiago coming in ahead of him. According to his thoughts, the captive was dreading the moment I laid eyes on him.
"It went very well," Santiago reported. "He didn't try anything."
"Wise of him," Demetri replied, rising from the piano bench. "Come in, Fletcher. There's nothing to fear."
Fear? No. There was nothing to fear. But I immediately understood why his gift might wield so much power, and why some might react to it violently, because walking through the door, timid and wide-eyed, in ripped clothes now too small for him, was...
me.
...to be continued
A/N: Once again, thank you so much for reading. The good news is that the next chapters are going to come out much, much more quickly.
Some tidbits:
- Yes, Mozart really did write the lyrics to a party song called (literal translation) "Lick Me in the Ass." There are various theories as to its inspiration. And please don't come down on me for having Carlisle swear. He's just mentioning the title of a vulgar song; there were no ladies present, and he's just hanging out with Edward.
- Debussy did die in spring of 1918, but of cancer, not the flu. His funeral procession in Paris was, unfortunately, not attended, because German artillery was bombarding the city from land and sky.
- Maurice Ravel didn't compose during the war, as was the case with many composers. He joined the military and drove trucks on the front at Verdun. Fans of this story might want to check out his music-- it's going to figure prominently in ch.13, and again in chs. 19 and 24.
- As a point of interest, the war's eastern front came to head in Italy, just a few hundred miles from Volterra. Italy suffered massive losses in the war.
- The Silesian language, still vying for official recognition, is spoken by peoples in parts of Poland and the Czech Republic. It's closest relative is probably Polish.
- Santiago is named in canon as a member of the Volturi, and his strength/lack of gift alluded to, but the rest of him here is my creation. For those who know that Santiago is a Spanish name and have wondered why I'd make him a citizen of Volterra, Italy, my excuse is that he didn't necessarily have to have been born there. :D
- As always, if anyone spots any mistakes I've made in language or historical fact, please let me know. Thanks!