Stephenie Meyer owns these characters, but I like pretending that Edward is my own.
Thanks to my dear friend and beta Lezlee, and to Miokuancha and Malianani, my pre-readers. They never fail to point out what's right there in front of me.
Playlist Pick:
Under the Milky Way – The Church
My apologies, again, for the long gap between posts. Since it's been so long, you may want to re-read chapter 28 to refresh your memories. If not, here's a brief summary:
Faced with a sunny week in Forks, the Cullen family disperses around the Pacific Northwest for a holiday. Edward and Carlisle journey to British Columbia and take care of some estate matters. On the way home they stop in Garibaldi Provincial Park near Vancouver, for a few days of R & R. After dusk on their next to last day, they realize they're not alone in the forest:
I felt a prickling at the edge of my awareness. A presence . . . I could perceive thought now. Rational thought.
"Someone's coming," I said . . .
You're sure? Carlisle verified.
After all these years he knew better than to doubt me. It was out of habit that he inclined his head, straining to hear more than just the wind sighing through the pines.
We'd camped well off the marked trails but sound travels far in the mountains. We would have heard the growl of a snowmobile long ago. The squeak and sush of snow being compacted beneath skis is also distinct, and we'd have heard that too.
It took an experienced individual to venture into the back-country alone, after sundown. Or someone irretrievably stupid. It was no trapper coming on foot, I could tell that much. The approach was so swift, so silent. A stark contrast to the busy mind I was beginning to perceive. One full of questions.
I wasn't picking up an inner monologue yet—just images, really. Feelings. I sensed curiosity, anticipation, and . . . and something else I couldn't quite put my finger on. An instinct for self-preservation? But not fear. At this point, I sensed no fear at all. Suddenly, it occurred to me that there were neither footsteps to be heard, nor heartbeats. We were down wind, as well. Where was the scent?
Less than a mile away, and I began catching glimpses of the approach from the stranger's point of view. I saw pine boughs and weathered trunks flying past at great speed. No, no not on foot at all . . .
"Carlisle, I think it's-"
I think you're right, he agreed silently, instinctively looking about for possible escape routes. But there were none: the snow and broken branches we'd leave in our wake would only give us away.
I heard him curse under his breath, and he was right—we should not have been surprised like this. We'd heard the animals warning one another that there was something unnatural in the woods. But we'd been too wrapped up in conversation to pay them any attention. Besides, those alarm calls were usually about us.
We hadn't tried to cover our tracks when we returned to camp, either—why hadn't we done that? Why would we need to, my rational mind argued? We'd come here for years, never encountering a soul. Not that vampires have souls . . .
How many? Carlisle demanded.
"Just the one," I shut my eyes so I could concentrate on the stranger's thoughts. "He's been looking for us." I said, blinking them open in surprise.
Evidently, he's found us. Carlisle stroked his chin, pondering the correct course of action. That was when the scent came. A confirmation. Just a few faint notes on the wind at first, then it was cloying. Like jasmine.
"A friend of yours?" I muttered.
It's nobody I know.
The hairs stood up on the back of my neck—my fists clenched and released of their own accord. If he was newborn and became aggressive, then confrontation might be unavoidable. We couldn't rely on our superior force in any event. My ability to read minds would be an advantage, but it was in situations like this that Jasper's skill was invaluable. I wished that he was here right now.
What else have you learned?
"He's curious." And he was very close by.
That's only natural.
I was learning more with each passing second. He'd seen the avalanche in the park and gone to inspect the slide. He'd been surprised to find footprints leading away from it so he'd followed the trail, only to lose it somewhere in the woods. His distractions led him across some backcountry trails, which he followed without interest, until the scent of smoke diverted him. Unlike other predators, he wasn't afraid of fire. Fire in these parts indicated prey at rest somewhere.
The hunting was really too easy in these woods, he'd thought as he ran. A vampire could become complacent. It was poor form to play with one's food but he could seldom resist. This time he'd let his quarry live just long enough to see death coming.
And so, unwittingly, he found what he'd been looking for in the first place. He was within sight of our campfire when he realized he wasn't the only superior predator hunting in these woods.
How could he know the territory had already been claimed?
So now he ghosted between the pines on the far side of the clearing, his natural inquisitiveness waging war with the wisdom of experience. If this is their territory, then why don't they protect it? He did not wish to fight. He was peaceful by nature, even though his path through this life hadn't always been that way.
Why won't he come forward? Carlisle wondered. He must know we're aware of him.
"Of course he does," I whispered, scanning the stranger's mind. He was observing us carefully, trying to make sense of our interactions. He wondered which one was the leader? "He won't make the first move, though."
He's afraid?
I looked down and away.
He's waiting for an invitation? His eyes widened sceptically and then he pressed his lips together. He disliked this type of maneuvering. Well, then. Let's give him one.
I followed him to his feet, mimicking his open-armed stance and allowing my mind to fully open as I did. I would become the vessel of everything that went unsaid during this exchange.
"Show yourself, my friend," Carlisle called. "We mean you no harm."
The civil greeting surprised the stranger. He'd already assumed, correctly, that Carlisle was in charge, but his quiet authority was not what he'd expected. He hadn't come across a coven leader so civilized since . . . since he'd been in Italy. That was an experience he recalled with some bitterness, I quickly realized. There was the memory: the papery scrape of Aro's skin as he withdrew his hand—his voice a soft lament—'My friend, if only you'd come to us sooner. As it stands, our ranks are full . . .' I tucked it into a corner of my mind.
Carlisle was nothing like Aro. He never spoke ill of his former mentor, but I knew what he'd seen in Volterra. And I knew why he'd never brought me to meet him. Carlisle did not command his coven in that way—he didn't command, period—but his authority was real and very powerful. It was obvious to anyone who'd ever met him.
And perhaps that's where this man's gift lay. I could feel him gravitate to that aura of power. He wondered how he might benefit from an association with Carlisle.
The other one – me—he reckoned he could do away with if he had to, and that casual dismissal made me angry. He wasn't the first to assume that my youthful appearance meant I was weak. But he had no idea what I was capable of.
What is it? Carlisle heard me stifle a snarl.
And of course I couldn't respond—not at the risk of revealing my gift. I shouldn't have distracted him like that.
But the man was waiting for his invitation and he wouldn't show himself until he got one. His reserve was natural: nomads exist, perpetually poised either for flight or fight, and I could tell he'd lived that way for a very long time.
Carlisle tried again. "Would you come sit by the fire a while?"
And there he was, on the far side of the clearing. To human eyes, he would have seemed to appear out of nowhere.
I guessed that he must have been about forty when he was changed, and he wasn't particularly tall—Rosalie's height, if that. There was an olive tint to the pallor of his skin, and he wore his long black hair tied back in a ponytail. He dressed like a backpacker, in a button-down shirt and frayed jeans. And despite the snow, he was barefoot.
His eyes never left us as he stepped into the firelight. Red irises of course, like the coals burning deep in the flames. His movements were vulpine. And though he was wary, I could tell his curiosity was rapidly overwhelming his caution.
He stepped forward and squatted by the fire, putting both hands out to the flames. This was a most pleasant and unexpected welcome he thought, luxuriating in warmth he'd not felt in a long time. And he was fascinated by the fire: Why do they have need of it? He glanced around him, wondering what use we'd have for camping equipment for that matter. These were two of the strangest vampires he'd ever encountered. Where had they come from? How long had they been here? He had so many questions . . . it would be impolite to remain silent any longer.
"Greetings, brothers." He addressed us with a grin. "I appreciate your hospitality. The comforts of the old life are always welcome, even on such a mild night." He spoke with a Gallic inflection. "My name is Laurent."
My father inclined his head politely. "I'm Carlisle. And this"—he touched my shoulder—"is Edward."
As Laurent's gaze flicked back and forth between the two of us, his easy grin began to fade. He realized that what he was seeing was not just a trick of the light.
Their eyes! What creatures are these? They walk and talk like men, but . . . Even more unsure about what he'd got himself into, he followed protocol and dropped his gaze respectfully. "I apologize for intruding. I did not realize the territory was claimed."
"We don't get to this region as often as we'd like." Carlisle folded his arms over his chest, subtly asserting ownership. "But yes, we claim it."
"And you were well within your rights to defend it." So why didn't they?
Carlisle smiled patiently, answering the unspoken question. "It's not our way."
Relieved his life seemed in no immediate danger, he became submissive. "For that, I'm grateful. I left Vancouver just recently. I'm . . . in transit, so to speak."
"You'll have safe passage through here," Carlisle assured him.
He bowed his head again, and at the same time all tension left his body.
An awkward silence followed. Is he trustworthy, Carlisle wondered? What he really wanted to know was whether Laurent's submissive behavior truly reflected his nature. My hard expression confirmed what he'd already assumed. Proceed with caution.
He regarded vampires who fed on human blood with such compassion. It wasn't their fault . . . they just didn't know there was another way. Much as I wanted to, I could never hope to emulate him. For me, these encounters only served as a reminder of that dark time in my life I could never atone for.
Laurent sensed that some unspoken communication was taking place between Carlisle and me, and though he was no telepath, he was astute enough to moderate his manner. First impressions, after all . . . His gaze swept around the campsite again, this time taking in the snowboard and skis propped against a tree.
"You are on holiday?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. He wondered if emulating humans made for a more successful hunt.
Carlisle chuckled—even I had to laugh at that. "In a manner of speaking."
Evidently, he'd spent some time on the slopes; I was the one wearing the snowboarding gear and he knew it. He jerked his chin at me. "That was quite the avalanche you triggered before. I should have realized no human could have walked away from it."
I just shrugged—annoyed that it was my showing off that brought us this unwelcome visitor.
"I don't often come across others like us—at least, not outside the cities. You can imagine my surprise . . . " He trailed off with a little laugh. Then he thought about what Carlisle had said about our claim on this territory. "But I've never seen you in Vancouver, and I've been there for a while."
Carlisle wasn't about to divulge the location of our home. Not until he knew more about this stranger. "Like you, we're in transit. We're on our way south."
Laurent nodded, thinking he understood. "One cannot stay anywhere for too long anymore. Humans get more and more curious. And they all have cameras nowadays. They think they know what they see." He rolled his eyes and grabbed a loose branch by his feet to prod the fire, "Although, I do like this place. The humans who come here are quite reckless. And the snowpack is very unstable at this time of year."
That was why the avalanche had attracted him in the first place. He'd come to scavenge.
And in his mind I saw a young man on skis, cutting off an intermediate slope to head out of bounds. He turned to look back at the boundary flags and the huge smile on his face faded, becoming a look of confusion and then terror as he realized he was not alone. Laurent bore down on him, striding down through the deep powder like it was long grass. He let the boy gain some ground—toying with his prey, as he liked to do. Then he leaped. And I couldn't watch anymore.
That boy couldn't have been much older than Bella. He reminded me a little of Eric Yorkie . . . I struggled to control my rage at the past and pay attention to Laurent's thoughts in the here and now.
"I didn't want to leave Vancouver. I had a good life there." He'd prowled the Downtown Eastside for years, preying on vagrants, prostitutes—the occasional street kid. "But since they caught that pig farmer, hunting is difficult. Now, when someone disappears, the police pay attention." He gave a derisive snort. "He really should've been more careful when he disposed of the bodies."
He could tell that Carlisle and I were both becoming uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation but he couldn't figure out why. "What's your hunting range?" he probed.
Carlisle ignored the assumption behind the inquiry. "Up and down the Coast Ranges here, but mostly in Washington State."
"That's an expansive territory."He was impressed. So much space for only two?
"We keep a permanent residence south of the border."
"Permanent, you say?" He rocked back on his heels. "How do you manage that?"
"Er, it's rather a long story," Carlisle hedged, immediately regretting it because Laurent pounced.
"It is one I'd like to hear," he fawned. "You live as Americans, then?"
"We are Americans," I said through gritted teeth.
"Of course." And the patronizing smile he gave made me want to punch him. Carlisle didn't like his manner either. "Myself, I like to stay on the Canadian side. It's easy to blend in here. The French they speak in the east is very similar to my own."
"You left during the Revolution?" Carlisle asked, estimating his age by his accent.
"Oh, I got out before all that unpleasantness. I went to Russia with the one who changed me . . . Some of my family members"—and here his face betrayed a hint of bitterness—"were not so lucky. And I ask you: has France been so much better off as a republic? There is still poverty. The peasants still need bread."
Flashes of his past that I'd seen in his mind began to make sense now. He'd followed an older brother into the court of the Sun King, with ambitions to become a courtier himself until he'd met a certain foreign diplomat—one who radiated more power than even the king. He'd offered himself—his life—followed him back to Russia, then went to Rumania for a few years when that turned sour. No wonder the Volturi didn't trust him. He was still angry they'd turned him away . . . I wished I could tell all of this to Carlisle.
"And you?" He was keen to know Carlisle's history.
"I came to the New World about a century before you did." He smiled at me fondly. "I lived alone for a long time before I found Edward."
"Mm . . . I thought I sensed a strong attachment between the two of you."
I was glad he hadn't gleaned more than that. If he figured out that Carlisle and I were telepathically linked, then he'd probably realize I could read his mind as well. As it was, Carlisle was puzzled by his statement. The implication was clear to me, however; and he wasn't the first to fall under this misconception.
"Actually, Carlisle is my sire."
"Your sire?" He snickered. That means nothing. "I had a relationship with my sire too. It didn't last." He'd left him when he found other, more powerful vampires to follow. "I have not seen him for many years. Ha! Nor would I care to."
And then, the question he'd been desperate to ask: "So, did you inherit your yellow eyes from your sire, Edward?"
Should I tell him? Carlisle kept his gaze fixed on Laurent.
What could it hurt? Maybe he'd be so disgusted by the truth that he'd leave. I was getting tired of this obsequious, duplicitous man.
"I thought you'd be curious about that. Everyone in our family shares the same eye colour, but it's a consequence of diet, not genetics."
Laurent wasn't listening to the explanation. He was trying to process the fact that Carlisle referred to our group as a family, not a coven.
"You are mated, then?"
"I have a wife." He was very careful to make the distinction.
Family. Wife. Those words were so human! Laurent turned to me, bemused. "And you live with them as their son?"
My silence was confirmation enough; I wasn't about to divulge anything more about my relationship with Carlisle, Esme, or anyone else to this stranger. He'd already made his assumptions about me, anyway.
"You have no desire to leave and find your own mate?" Pah! Mauviette.
Now, that's just rude. Carlisle was reacting to what he'd just heard, of course. His French was more fluent than mine, and if he'd known what had Laurent had just thought, he would've shown him exactly who among the three of us was the weakling.
Still, Laurent couldn't know the yearning his words stirred in me. To marry Bella and have a family together . . . What an impossible dream that was. But it was important not to react—my job was to note his thoughts and his reactions. And he really wasn't interested in what I had to say anyway.
"But, you've left your family all alone," he said to Carlisle. He enjoyed using that word: family. He'd never used it in such context—not in this life. "Don't you fear anarchy?"
"I have no qualms about that. Perhaps it's another consequence of our diet that our coven is democratic."
He still didn't seem to get the reference to our feeding habits.
"We don't prey on humans," Carlisle elaborated. "We choose to live peaceably among them."
Laurent's mouth opened and closed soundlessly a few times before he exuded a great gasp. "You-you're the animal lovers! I've heard of your coven. I thought it was a myth."
His expressions were ever-changing as astonishment and admiration sought to dominate his disgust. "Surely animal blood must be revolting?"
"It is unappealing at first," Carlisle acknowledged. "And adherence takes great discipline. Not everyone can accustom to it. "
"How does it nourish you?" The very thought of consuming animal blood made him want to gag. "I cannot fathom it. Do you hunt carnivores? Herbivores?" He envisioned Carlisle leaping across swamp water to take down a lumbering moose—and me, scrambling across a cliff face after a herd of mountain goats. He really had no idea. "What's your preference?"
"It's not as simple as that."
Carlisle's patience was beginning to wear thin. He couldn't read Laurent's mind, but he was an excellent judge of character. For his part, Laurent was pressing his gift of flattery, envisioning himself ensconced in the forests of Washington, enjoying human comforts of hearth and home.
"I would very much like to see you hunt one day. Where did you say that you lived?"
No! I didn't want him anywhere near Forks. What if he caught Bella's scent—and what if her blood sang to him, too? No: he couldn't be trusted. Carlisle could sense this as well. What he told the man next was truthful, but not entirely . . .
"Er, we didn't. And please don't take this the wrong way, but we generally discourage visitors. You understand that we need to be discreet."
"Understood. I would not hunt on your land."
Is he being deliberately obtuse? "Allow me to be blunt then: our family is complete and we are not interested in adding to our numbers."
The barest shadow passed over Laurent's face before it smoothed again to that bland smile. He no longer took rejection personally—just as he discarded those who were of no use to him with little thought or feeling.
"Ah, yes. I understand why you seek privacy. I can imagine the Volturi would frown on you interacting with humans so . . . openly. But I have no love for them. I won't reveal the whereabouts of your sect." He didn't know that the Volturi had tolerated an 'animal lover' in their midst for the better part of a century. They'd turned him away before he could find that out.
Carlisle, as always, tried to be conciliatory. "If you're serious about attempting our diet, there is another community like ours in Alaska. They are a small group, and quite isolated. Perhaps they'd accommodate you."
"That's very interesting." But he wasn't interested, not now that he knew he was unwelcome in what he perceived to be a place of power. "Well, this has been a most enlightening evening. I have to say that you two are the strangest vampires I've ever met. But I am pleased to have met you. Now, tell me: does your territory extend to the Yukon?"
"No, not so far as that."
"I think I'll head up that way, then. Who knows? I might even keep going on to Alaska and seek out the other animal lovers you mentioned. Adieu, my friends."
And he left as swiftly as he'd come.
As soon as I indicated he was out of range, Carlisle turned to me. Are you all right?
I sighed. "I will be." I needed a moment or two to clear my head. "I'm sorry, Carlisle. I just—when he wanted to insinuate himself like that—I saw into his mind and what he was like . . . the people he'd killed. It made me worry about Bella and her friends and-"
He gave me a look full of compassion, thinking about the extra day that we'd planned to stay up here. It didn't seem like such a welcome prospect anymore.
Do you want to go home?
My first response was to say 'yes' and rush back to Forks so I could make sure Bella was all right—to hold her close and never let her go. But it was pointless. By the time we returned it would be daylight, and I wouldn't be able to go to her while the weather was fine.
And my worries were equally pointless. There was no indication in Laurent's mind that he had any interest in going to Washington. Even if he did, he had no idea where we lived, nor how many of us there were. Carlisle had been wise not to divulge that information. Besides, the rest of my family would regroup in Forks over the next day. Bella would be well-protected, except possibly from herself.
"No," I said finally. "We'll go back on Friday. We should make the most of our last day."
You're sure? Certain that I was, he grinned, clapping me on the shoulder. Another day it is, then.
"I'm glad you turned him away. Thanks for doing that."
He was presumptuous. And he was rude to you. I wouldn't have anyone as a guest who'd treat my family members disrespectfully.
He threw another long on the fire. I gather he's led an interesting life?
I snorted. "That's an understatement."
Are you able to elaborate?
I listened to the sounds of the night for a moment. "Yes, I can. He's long gone."
As we drove home on Friday though, I heard Carlisle having second thoughts about dismissing Laurent so abruptly.
"Don't feel guilty. You did the right thing." I held up a hand because I knew what he was about to say. "You could see as well as me that he was completely self-serving. He has no loyalty to anyone."
He sighed. I suppose so.
"You're too compassionate for your own good sometimes. You know that, don't you?"
So I'm constantly reminded. Between you and Esme . . . He shook his head good-naturedly. Attempting to change the subject then, he asked if I'd heard from Alice.
"I haven't. Why?"
Hm . . . I don't know whether that's good or bad.
"When she calls it's usually to deliver bad news so I'm relieved she hasn't, actually."
True. He laughed. Esme told me the girls enjoyed the spa. He'd spoken briefly to her just before we'd broken camp.
"Alice predicted as much."
Cheeky, he thought then abruptly hissed at me. Take it easy, will you please?
I'd shifted gears rather more roughly than I should have. But I couldn't resist: these mountain roads were made to put the Mercedes through its paces.
"She can handle it."
Maybe, but my nerves cannot. Rosalie would be most unhappy if I brought the car in so soon after her good work.
I smirked. "Fine. I'll be nice." It would be me that Rosalie would be unhappy with, and I could handle any tantrum she'd care to throw.
We didn't speak much for the rest of the journey. The silence was natural—comfortable. Both of us anticipating coming home.
We were making good time: we'd be there before dawn. I'd be able to run to Bella's house and slip through her open window. I missed her so much. More than anything, I wanted to see that angelic face, asleep in a path of moonlight; to smell the very essence of her as it escaped the soft curve of her chest, rising, falling . . . rising, falling . . .
To hear her sweet voice as she whispered my name in the dark.
A/N:
i Laurent's comment refers to a real-life serial killer who stalked prostitutes in the Lower Mainland of British Columbia for over a decade before being arrested in 2002. Obviously, I'm playing with the dates.
Thank you, so much, for reading and reviewing. All the very best, ~W
