Summary : The cycle continued to spin. Offering another stolen identity, forcing another face to be worn, another life to be toyed with. This was just one more cycle to the endless circle of inevitable endings. Another setting with millions of memories that must be written to be recorded.


"They witnessed her destruction,
Then were left to wonder why,
She saw nothing but darkness,
Though the stars shone in her eyes,
But maybe they'd forgotten,
When they failed to see the cracks,
That a star's light shines the brightest,
When it's starting to collapse."

- by e.h -


Chapter Seven


The cottage was a place of magic the following morning. As Atticus stumbled down the hallway leading to the main room and kitchen he could feel the pulsing of energy beneath his skin, causing the hairs on his arms to bristle. They really should have opened a window or two so the building residue of energy not being used could leave but with it constantly raining off and on throughout the night and early morning they hadn't been able to. So, instead they let it build up. A gathering like this wouldn't do any physical harm to them but it might affect the plants or cause anxiety in the demon-devil-cat.

Rubbing his stiff shoulder and flexing his fingers Atticus tottered into where Nichole and his father were. Nichole sat at the dining island with a notebook and pen, recording as she liked to do, and his father was sitting cross legged in Nichole's living room. The fireplace, that had been roaring when Atticus had last been up a few hours prior, had died out and was now nothing more than a pile of cinders and chard wood.

Had he slept through his next shift?

Knowing there was no clock to tell the time, Atticus turned his attention to one of the windows. The sun was up and the clouds were casting shadows outside, but at least it was no longer raining. Last he'd been awake it had still been dark and the only light outside was being casted from the lightning above.

Yep, he most definitely slept through his shift.

Not bothering to apologize or explain himself Atticus made his way to where his father still sat, silent and in concentration. What they were doing wasn't necessarily legal in their community but at the same time it wasn't illegal. Pendants of protection were common and universal, making them wasn't the issue. The problem stemmed from the casting itself.

Seeing as Nichole wasn't some average mage, gypsy, psychic, or a banished the protection seals on her pendent weren't the same. Nichole didn't have a drop of magic in her mortal body, she was simply a normal human. If the spell wasn't strong enough it wouldn't be effective and if it was too strong her curse would interfere and damage it in some way. For her making a pendant of protection and concealment was strenuous and a usually a long process, but time wasn't a luxury they currently had and neither was the option of simply repeating the casting from before.

Her curse was ever changing and adapting.

Making her pendent involved powerful magic, a constant flow of products with extra-abnormal chi energy, and the blood of the wearer and caster (or casters in this situation).

Taking his place opposite of his father Atticus waited for the exchange to begin. The process of channeling a casting from one mage to another. The pendent sat in the same bowl Atticus had used to make the healing goo the night prior. Unlike before there was nothing being grinded or anything that needed physical contact. Only a constant flow of spiritual energy, which was invisible to the naked eye, and the occasional dribble of blood.

"Nicky, your hand please." Atticus called out for the curly haired teen as he unshielded a blade sitting on the ground. The crystalized blade with the Triple Goddesses carved onto its hilt glinted up at him as the fluorescent lights reflected within its prisms.

Feet shuffled and within seconds Nichole was squatting at his side, her right hand held out for him. Taking it, Atticus pricked one of her digits before doing the same to a finger of his father. If they weren't attempting to speed the spell up and his father wasn't blessed with a natural talent in blood magic they wouldn't have needed fresh blood during each swap.

Closing his eyes Atticus focused on the beating of his heart and the rhythm of his breaths. He let his mental barriers down and allowed a link to click into place as he pricked his own finger and let a few drops slip into the bowl. It felt as if a sudden gust of wind rushed through the room, rustling his hair and tickling his skin with its coolness, as the exchange was completed with a few drops of blood from Nichole and his father.

Mossy green orbs stayed shut as he focused on keeping the circuit of energy constant. Letting it drift through his body and into the pendent before casting out what was not going to be used. He should have added more lemon grass to the altar holding the albino jaguar's heart and crystalized ribs of an oldfield mouse. Hopefully his father would do so without Atticus having to tell him.

It was one of those things he was a bit better at noticing than his old man. Something about being a necromancer allowed castors such as Atticus to have a finer grasp on the smaller details of spells, things that often slipped past others if they didn't pay close enough attention.

Then, suddenly Atticus' skin crawled as his father unannounced added more of what was needed.


Nearly an hour passed before Nichole was pulled from her journal once more. She had been in the mists of sketching what was haunting her conscious and unconscious mind. There wasn't much she could remember beside a head of blond hair, cool touch, and a feverish poison burning through her veins. She felt if she thought harder, pushed further, she could unveil the vampires eyes or see a more detailed picture of him. Anything that wasn't just a blur of dirty blonde locks.

Setting down her pen Nichole ran a hand over her right arm, letting her fingers skim over the raised lines of her scar. Memories of an attack from a life before briefly flashed in her mind. There had been a scream muffled by blood pooling in her mouth and draining into her throat, a masculine chuckle, and plain walls that had been painted either a creamy white or something with a purplish tint.

She had spent a few hours going through the journals she had on hand for such a life but hadn't found any mention of it. Was it even one she had recorded? Or, was it one of those she hadn't remembered enough to bother recording?

It bugged her because Nichole liked to know. She liked to have a sense of control over such aspects. Everything else in her never-ending life was chaotic and uncontrollable. She only wished to have each of them recorded and kept safe.

But, that wasn't how things worked. She wasn't supposed to remember every single detail. Was it because of her curse or her own soul trying to protect itself? She didn't like it whatever it was that was for sure.

Glancing at her phone to see the time Nichole closed her journal and tucked the pencil away in the worn binding. In minutes she would be leaving to visit Sir Cullen and Madam Cullen once more, but this time with trusty and virtuous Kane. He hadn't needed to brief her over his conversation with the good doctor, only notifying her that they would be leaving and meeting with the vampires at nine o'clock in the morning today.

Pale grey hues drifted to the mage with a neon blue beanie on his head, his eyes closed and his brows smooth of any frustrations. Unlike them she couldn't feel the current of magic residue that was gathering in her little home. She had just noticed how some of the fruit in a bowl were shriveling and how Earl was being more skittish than usual.

The pad of her thumb rubbed small circles on her pointer finger that had been pricked throughout the late afternoon yesterday and well into this new day. It was healed, no scar or evidence left with the help of what was left of the healing goo.

Footsteps had her seeking out Kane. He was returning from the guest room him and Atticus were sharing, dressed to the T in a silver-grey suit and black trench coat. His cane clicked just as softly as his dress shoes as he walked, and when he drew closer she slipped off her seat.

"Ready to leave?"

Instead of responding verbally Nichole nodded. She was as ready as she could be to leave her little home and be dragged to a meeting with the leaders of a coven of vampires.

"We'll return shortly, Atticus."

No response from the mage on the floor, but Nichole swore she could hear him angrily mutter on about how unfair the situation was. How he had to stay behind with a fat tabby cat while the two of them got to go on another adventure. If it wasn't for how serious Atticus took magic she would have expected him to be throwing a tantrum, or at least arguing his way into joining them (as he had tried to do the afternoon prior). That was how he had been back when they first met. She was pleasantly surprised to see he had outgrown such behavior, to a degree, over the years they had been separated. Growing up in a coven and being a human ouija board had definitely helped in his mentality maturing faster.

It was safer this way for him Nichole had learned. She wasn't sure what their supreme had needed of Atticus but whatever it had been had resulted in weakening the wall between the world of the dead and the living for Atticus, making him more vulnerable to possessions. That and Kane didn't want to risk over stimulating a sensitive Atticus. In their heated argument the father had mentioned Atticus not being in peak condition and them not knowing what kind of dead the coven members had collected over the centuries they had been alive.

Just before Nichole followed Kane out of the threshold of her home she grabbed the umbrella Mrs. Cullen had kindly given her. Nichole had full intentions of returning it to the beauty


The last time Nichole had been here it had been raining - hard. Even with the sky clouded over and a light drizzle there was no denying the statues of the inhabitants. From its foundation to its wide open windows that decorated the vast walls it all left Nichole with a sense of unease and impatience that she couldn't shake. It was far too welcoming and was far too open for her to feel comfortable, or allow herself to ignorantly divulge in the warm welcoming vibes.

Nichole's body trembled, as if she had just been dunked in a tub of cold water, when slips of images flashed in her mind. How many times had she been ignorant and fallen into darker clutches just because something was pretty on the outside? You'd think she would have learned at some point but yet here she was about to walk right back into the womb of a monsters nest.

Clutching the umbrella tightly, till her knuckles turned white, Nichole took a deep breath before stepping out of the warmth of the car. Pale hues flickered from the windows to the two individuals standing in an open doorway.

The Cullen's stared back, and it seemed to take a few seconds for them to respond like humans would. Kane was at her side before either of them waved.

"If I'd know you were going to just stop and stare I'd have waited in the car."

Nichole didn't respond, or spare a glance to Kane, she grasped the umbrella a bit tighter and held her chin a bit higher before moving her way towards the entrance of the house.

"Welcome, I'm Carlisle Cullen and this is my wife Esme. You must be Kane Klahie. It's a pleasure to be able to meet you in person, and I hope you had no issues finding our home." The good doctor shook hands with Kane, both men's faces plastered in fake smiles as greetings were made, but when he turned and offered the cold appendage to Nichole she only stared at it. When it became clear she would not be shaking his hand the good doctor let it slip back down to his side.

"You seem to have healed since the last time we spoke, miss." It was an observation, a remark, and a question wrapped all within one sentence. Golden eyes that had been scanning her flesh hadn't gone unnoticed by Nichole, especially when they hesitated on the jagged mouth shaped scar. To her side Kane raised an eyebrow.

"The color in your cheeks has returned as well! You were so pale before. How are you feeling? Better?" The beauty's soft voice and kind smile left Nichole's shoulders tense and stomach in knots.

"I'm fine."

"It's magic." Kane explained. "Healing to be precise. I may not be a natural born earth mage but I know enough to heal wounds and stop infections. I merely sped up the process of her body's natural healing properties to close the open wounds, though unfortunately it doesn't erase scarring."

Shock didn't register on their hosts' faces. Instead something more along the lines of surprise and understanding. Carlisle and Esme had been able to smell what the middle aged man was miles before the warlock had arrived. It was an unappetizing kind of smell that had their noses wrinkling in disdain. Much like the smell of human food or the animals that wondered planet earth. What neither expected was that the contact the nameless girl had given Carlisle belonged to that of a mortal coven of witches and warlocks. She didn't have their scent, their natural defense against those of the supernatural kind.

Golden eyes shifted between the two mortals. He was looking for the similarities that often came with sharing similar DNA. Yet, Carlisle couldn't find anything. The two humans were as different as could be. He didn't mean for his thoughts to reflect racist but their difference was as obvious as black and white. Which left Carlisle to wonder if the teen Jasper had attacked was adopted.

Breaking the brief silence Carlisle smiled warmly again and invited everyone inside and out of the weather. Kane nodded his head in thanks and gave a pointed look towards the nameless girl, who had stayed mostly silent the entire time. Carlisle couldn't tell if he found it entertaining, worrisome, or disrespectful how easily she seemed to be indifferent to their attempts at interacting.

"I've brought back your umbrella." It was a simple sentence, a bit random but one he knew was coming because of the item the teen was clinging to. Esme, who had given the umbrella to her a few days prior, took it back slowly with a kind smile and a brief thank you. Carlisle didn't know if either of the mortals knew that they didn't need the umbrella, and until that day it had just been sitting in a closet for decoration. One of the many things they kept around to make them seem more mortal, like their camping gear that still had all its tags on it.

What neither of the vampires expected was for Kane to jab the teens foot with his cane. Neither had to have Jasper's gift to feel ghost pains pass through their left feet.

"Stop being a brat and introduce yourself," Kane didn't draw out what he was saying but he did keep an eye on the faces of the Cullens. He didn't have proof but he had a gut feeling that Nichole hadn't introduced herself. If she had Kane was certain that one of their hosts would have said it at some point. Instead she had just been referred to as miss. Even as he thought back on the conversations he had over the phone with the vampire Kane couldn't remember him ever addressing Nichole by her name. "Nichole."

Their expressions never changed and no eyes shifted quickly between the two of them.

Nichole stood stone still, or as still as she could. For a moment Kane thought she wouldn't do as he said and would ignore him. Something she was annoyingly good at. Lifting his cane he began to make the movement of jabbing the top of Nichole's foot again when suddenly she shifted a few inches away with a huff and a silent snarl.

It was impressive how quickly Nichole masked her irritation and attitude. She smiled, too widely, and tilted her head a bit to the side as her eyes narrowed — scratch what he had just said about masking anything.

"It seems I've been an insolent little brat, so now to make up for it I'll be making a meaningless apology and introducing myself." Nicole wondered if it would upset Kane more if she mockingly bowed. "So, lets begin! Hello, my name is Nichole Dante and I'm sixteen, as you already know. I ran away from my parents, who were living in Colorado at the time, because I'm cursed! Now without further delay I will inform you that as kind as it was for you to save me it was an utterly meaningless thing to do, but hey no worries-" Before Nichole could go on a wrinkled hand come up and smack her harshly on the back of her head. It didn't send her stumbling but the startle had temporarily shut her up.

It wasn't that neither of the Cullen's did know what to say next, both had questions of their own, but they were just too surprised - or shocked maybe?

"Cursed?" Esme seemed to find her voice before Carlisle could. Though from the expression on their faces both mortals knew they would be wanting an explanation to what Nichole had let slip, and it was a conversation Kane wasn't sure he wanted to have with strangers.

Nichole's curse was complicated, in both its working and the reasoning behind it. He was a bit surprised Nichole had willingly let it slip into the light but at the same time not. She was a fickle thing and her curse was something she handled oddly. Sometimes she wanted to keep it hidden and other times it seemed Nichole didn't care if the whole world knew about it.

"I do believe there is a bit we need to discuss."

"It certainly appears that way doesn't it." Carlisle retorted, golden hues not letting go of pale greys.


The Twilight Saga is Owned by Stephenie Meyer
Other Characters and Plot Developments belong to Jemstone6259
And lastly, a special thank-you to the readers!