It was too bright for me to drive into town when I got to Port Angeles. The sun was still high overhead, and though my windows were tinted dark enough to provide some protection, there was no reason to take unnecessary risks. More unnecessary risks, I should say.
How condescendingly I'd once judged Eleanor for her thoughtless ways and Jessamine for her lack of discipline—and now I was consciously flouting all the rules with a wild abandon that made their lapses look like nothing at all. I used to be the responsible one.
I sighed.
I was certain I would be able to find Jeremy's thoughts from a distance—his were louder than Allen's, but once I found the first, I'd be able to hear the second. Then, when the shadows lengthened, I could get closer. Just outside the town, I pulled off the road onto an overgrown driveway that appeared to be infrequently used.
I knew the general direction to search in—there were not many florists in Port Angeles. It wasn't long before I found Jeremy, debating ribbon colors with a saleswoman, and I could see Beau in his peripheral vision, sitting next to Allen on a bench by the plate glass windows.
Beau still looks pissed. Ha ha. Allen was right—Taylor was full of it. I can't believe he's so upset about it, though. At least he knows he has a backup date for the prom. What if McKayla doesn't have fun at the dance and doesn't ask me out again? What if she asks Beau to the prom? Does she think he's better looking than me? Does he think he's got more game than me?
"I think I like white ones better."
Jeremy eyed Beau suspiciously.
Does he really think that? Or does he just want to get out of here faster?
I was already tired of listening to Jeremy. I searched close by for Allen—ah, but Allen was in the restroom, and I skipped quickly out of his head to give him some privacy.
Well, there wasn't much trouble Beau could get into in a department store. I'd let them shop and then catch up with them when they were done. It wouldn't be long until dark—the clouds were beginning to return, drifting in from the west. I could only catch glimpses of them through the thick trees, but I could see how they would hurry the sunset. I welcomed them, craved them more than I had ever yearned for their shadows before. Tomorrow I could sit beside Beau in school again, monopolize his attention at lunch. I could ask him all the questions I'd been saving up.
So he was furious about Taylor's presumption. I'd seen that in her head—that she'd meant it literally when she'd spoken of the prom, that she was staking a claim. I pictured his expression from that other afternoon—the outraged disbelief—and laughed. I wondered what he would say to her about this. Or perhaps he was more likely to pretend ignorance, to bluff and hope it would put her off? It would be interesting to see.
The time went slowly while I waited for the shadows to lengthen. I checked in periodically with Jeremy; his mental voice was the easiest to find, but I didn't like to linger there long. I saw the place where they were planning to watch a movie. It would be dark by then... maybe I would coincidentally choose to see the same film. I touched the phone in my pocket, thinking of inviting Archie out to join me. He would love that, but he would also want to talk to Beau. I wasn't sure if I was ready to have Beau more involved with my world. Wasn't one vampire trouble enough?
I checked in routinely with Jeremy again. He was looking over titles in a video game store, asking Allen's opinion.
"Maybe I should take the extra flowers back. Who really needs that many anyway? And I spent more than I was supposed to." My mom is going to freak out. What was I thinking?
"I don't mind going back to the store. Do you think Beau will be looking for us, though?"
What was this? Beau wasn't with them? I stared through Jeremy's eyes first, then switched to Allen's. They were on the sidewalk in front of a line of shops, just turning back the other way. Beau was nowhere in sight.
Oh, who cares about Beau? Jeremy thought impatiently, before answering Allen's question. "He's fine. We'll get to the movies in plenty of time, even if we go back. Anyway, I think he wanted to be alone." I got a brief glimpse of the bookshop Jeremy thought Beau had gone to.
"Let's hurry, then," Allen said. I hope Beau doesn't think we ditched him. He was so nice to me in the car before. But he's seemed kind of blue all day. I wonder if it's because of Edythe Cullen? I'll bet that was why he was asking about her family.
I should have been paying better attention. What had I missed here? Beau was off wandering by himself, and he'd been asking about me? Allen was paying attention to Jeremy now—Jeremy was babbling about that imbecile McKayla—and I could get nothing more from him.
I judged the shadows. The sun would be behind the clouds soon enough. If I stayed on the west side of the road, where the buildings would shade the street from the fading light...
I started to feel anxious as I drove through the sparse traffic into the center of town. This wasn't something I had considered—Beau setting off on his own—and I had no idea how to find him. I should have considered it.
I knew Port Angeles well. I drove straight to the bookstore in Jeremy's head, hoping my search would be short, but doubting it would be so easy. When did Beau ever make it easy?
Sure enough, the little shop was empty except for the anachronistically dressed man behind the counter. This didn't look like the kind of place Beau would find interesting—too new age for a practical person. I wondered if he'd even bothered to go inside.
There was a patch of shade I could park in. It made a dark pathway right up to the awning of the shop. I really shouldn't. Wandering around in the sunlit hours was not safe. What if a passing car threw the sun's reflection on me at just the wrong moment?
But I didn't know how else to look for Beau!
I parked and got out, keeping to the side of deepest shadow. I strode quickly into the store, noting the faint trace of Beau's scent in the air. He had been here, on the sidewalk, but there was no hint of his fragrance inside the shop.
"Welcome! Can I help—?" the salesman began to say, but I was already out the door.
I followed Beau's scent as far as the shade would allow, stopping when I got to the edge of the sunlight.
How powerless it made me feel—fenced in by the line between dark and light that stretched across the sidewalk in front of me.
I could only guess that he'd continued across the street, heading south. There wasn't really much in that direction. Was he lost? Well, that possibility didn't sound entirely out of character.
I got back in the car and drove slowly through the streets, looking for him. I stepped out into a few other patches of shadow, but only caught his scent once more, and the direction of it confused me. Where was he trying to go?
I drove back and forth between the bookstore and the theater a few times, hoping to see him on his way. Jeremy and Allen were already there, trying to decide whether to go inside or to wait for Beau. Jeremy was pushing for getting tickets immediately.
I began flitting through the minds of strangers, looking through their eyes. Surely, someone must have seen him somewhere.
I got more and more anxious the longer he remained missing. I'd not considered before how difficult he might prove to find once, like now, he was out of my sight and off his normal paths.
The clouds were massing on the horizon, and in a few more minutes, I would be free to track him on foot. It wouldn't take me long then. It was only the sun that made me so helpless now. Just a few more minutes, and then the advantage would be mine again and it would be the human world that was powerless.
Another mind, and another. So many trivial thoughts.
... think the baby has another ear infection...
Was it six-four-oh or six-oh-four...?
Late again. I ought to tell her...
Aha! Here he comes!
There, at last, was his face. Finally, someone had noticed him!
The relief lasted for only a fraction of a second, and then I read more fully the thoughts of the woman who was gloating over his face where he hesitated in the shadows.
Her mind was a stranger to me, and yet, not totally unfamiliar. I had once hunted exactly such minds.
"NO!" I roared, and a volley of snarls erupted from my throat. My foot shoved the gas pedal to the floor, but where was I going?
I knew the general direction her thoughts came from, but the location was not specific enough. Something, there had to be something—a street sign, a storefront, something in her sightline that would give her away. But Beau was deep in shadow, and her eyes were focused only on his frightened expression—enjoying the fear there.
His face was blurred in her mind by the memory of other faces. Beau was not her first victim.
The sound of my growls shook the frame of the car but did not distract me.
There were no windows in the wall behind him. Somewhere industrial, away from the more populated shopping district. My car squealed around a corner, swerving past another vehicle, heading in what I hoped was the right direction. By the time the other driver honked, the sound was far behind me.
Look at him shaking! The woman chuckled.
"My wallet's right here in my pocket." His voice was low and steady. "There's not much in it, but you're welcome to it..."
"We need to keep this quiet," another man said to the woman. "Put the gun away."
She watched him flinch at a rowdy laugh that came from another direction. She was irritated with the noise—Shut up, Jeff! she thought—but she enjoyed the way he cringed. It excited her. She began to imagine his pleas, the way he would beg...
I hadn't realized that there were others with them until I'd heard the loud laughter. I scanned out from her, desperate for something that I could use. She was taking the first step in his direction, flexing her hands.
The minds around her were not the cesspool that her was. They were all slightly intoxicated, not one of them realizing how far the woman they called Lonnie planned to go with this. They were blindly following Lonnie's lead.
One of them glanced down the street, nervous—she didn't want to get caught harassing the boy—and gave me what I needed. I recognized the cross street she stared toward.
I flew under a red light, sliding through a space just wide enough between two cars in the moving traffic. Horns blared behind me.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I ignored it.
The man moved slowly toward Beau wielding a broken piece of pipe, drawing out the suspense.
But Beau locked his jaw and braced himself. He was surprised—he'd expected him to try to run. Surprised and slightly disappointed. He liked to chase his victims down, feel the adrenaline of the hunt.
Brave, this one. Maybe better, I guess—more fight in him.
I was a block away. The fiends could hear the roar of my engine now, but they paid it no attention, too intent on their victim.
I would see how Lonnie enjoyed the hunt when she was the prey. I would see what she thought of my style of hunting.
In another compartment of my head, I was already sorting through the horrors I'd borne witness to in my vigilante days, searching for the most painful of them. I had never tortured my prey, no matter how much they had deserved it, but this woman was different. She would suffer for this. She would writhe in agony. The others would merely die for their part, but this creature named Lonnie would beg for death long before I would give her that gift.
She was in the road, crossing toward him.
I spun sharply around the corner, my headlights washing across the scene and freezing the rest of them in place. I could have run down the leader, who leaped out of the way, but that was too easy a death for her.
I let the car spin out, swinging all the way around so that I was facing back the way I'd come and the passenger door was closest to Beau. I threw that open, and he was already running toward the car.
"Get in," I snarled.
What the hell?
Knew this was a bad idea! He's not alone.
Should I run?
Think I'm going to throw up...
Beau jumped through the open door without hesitating, pulling it shut behind him.
"Drive, Edythe, get out of here. He's got a gun."
"Keep your head down," I ordered as I opened the driver's side door.
Suddenly, a soft, warm hand caught ahold of my arm. And then he looked at me with the most trusting expression I had ever seen on a human face, and all my violent plans crumbled.
"What are you doing?" His eyes were panicked. "Drive!"
"Just give me a minute here, Beau," I said through clenched teeth.
"If you go out there, I'm going with you," he said quietly. "I'm not letting you get shot."
I glared at the group of scum for another half-second, and then I slammed the door shut and threw the car into reverse.
"Fine."
It took much, much less than a second for me to see that I could not leave him in the car in order to deal with the four criminals in the street. What would I tell him, not to watch? Ha! When did he ever do what I asked?
Would I drag them away, out of his sight, and leave him alone here? It was a long shot that another psychopath would be prowling the streets of Port Angeles tonight, but it was a long shot that there was even a first! Here was proof positive that I was not insane—like a magnet, he drew all things dangerous toward himself. If I were not close enough to provide it, some other evil would take my place.
It would feel like part of the same motion to him as I accelerated, taking him away from his pursuers so quickly that they gaped after my car with uncomprehending expressions. He would not recognize my instant of hesitation.
I couldn't even hit them with my car. That would frighten him.
I wanted their deaths so savagely that the need for it rang in my ears, clouded my sight, and was a bitter flavor on my tongue, stronger than the burn of my thirst. My muscles were coiled with the urgency, the craving, the necessity of it. I had to kill Lonnie, at the least. I would peel her slowly apart, piece by piece, skin from muscle, muscle from bone...
Except that the boy—the only boy in the world—was clinging to his seat with both hands, staring at me, his eyes strangely calm and unquestioning. Vengeance would have to wait.
"Put on your seat belt," I ordered. My voice was rough with the hate and bloodlust. Not the usual bloodlust. I had long been committed to abstaining from human blood, and I would not let this creature change that. This would be retribution only.
He locked the seat belt into place, jumping slightly at the sound it made. That little noise made him jump, yet he did not flinch as I tore through the town, ignoring all traffic guides. I could feel his eyes on me. He seemed oddly relaxed. It didn't make sense—not with what had just happened to him.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice rough with stress and fear.
He wanted to know if I was okay?
Was I okay?
"No," I realized, and my tone seethed with rage.
I took him to the same unused drive where I'd spent the afternoon engaged in the poorest surveillance ever kept. It was black now under the trees.
I was so furious that my body froze in place there, utterly motionless. My ice-locked hands ached to crush his attacker, to grind her into pieces so mangled that her body could never be identified.
But that would entail leaving him here alone, unprotected in the dark night.
My mind was replaying scenes from my hunting days, images I wished I could forget. Especially now, with the urge to kill so much stronger than any hunting compulsion I'd ever felt before.
This woman, this abomination, was not the worst of her kind, though it was difficult to sort the depths of evil into a merit-based order. Still, I remembered the very worst. There had never been any question that he deserved that title.
Most of the men I'd hunted back in my days of acting as judge, jury, and executioner had felt some level of remorse, or at least fear of being caught. Many of them turned to alcohol or drugs to silence their worries. Others compartmentalized, created fractures in their personalities and lived as two men, one for the light and one for the dark.
But for the worst, the vilest aberration I'd ever encountered, remorse was not an issue.
I'd never found anyone who embraced his own evil so thoroughly—who enjoyed it. He was utterly delighted by the world he'd created, a world of helpless victims and their tortured screams. Pain was the object of all his pursuits, and he'd gotten very good at creating it, at prolonging it.
I was committed to my rules, to my justification for all the blood I claimed. But in this instance, I wavered. To let this particular man die swiftly seemed far too easy an escape for him.
It was the closest I ever came to crossing that line. Still, I killed him as quickly and efficiently as I killed all the rest.
It might have gone differently if two of his victims had not been in that basement of horrors when I discovered him. Two young women, already badly injured. Though I carried them both to a hospital at the greatest speed I was capable of, only one survived.
I hadn't had time to drink his blood. That didn't matter. There were so many others who deserved to die.
Like this Lonnie. She was an atrocity, too, but surely not worse than the one I'd remembered. Why did it feel right then, imperative, that she suffer so much more?
But first—
"Are you hurt at all, Beau?" I asked through my teeth.
That was really the most important thing, the first priority. Retribution was secondary. I knew that, but my body was so filled with rage that it was hard to think.
"No," he responded huskily. He cleared his throat. "Are you?"
"Of course I'm not hurt."
"Good." His voice was still thick—with fear, no doubt. "Um, can I ask why you're so mad? Did I do something?"
I exhaled. "Don't be stupid, Beau."
"Sorry."
And now he was apologizing.
Yet I was in no condition to comfort him—even if I knew exactly how that was to be accomplished, which I did not.
"Do you think you would be all right if I left you here in the car for just a few—"
Before I could finish, he reached out to grab my hand on the gearshift. I froze at the warm contact.
"You're not going anywhere without me."
"Fine," I said. "Give me a moment."
Surely he could feel the brutality radiating out of me, surely that much was obvious. I would frighten him even more if I could not calm the lust for slaughter boiling inside me. I needed to think about something else.
I opened my eyes and looked down at where his hand rested on mine.
"Do you... want me to let go?" he asked.
No. "I think that might be for the best."
"You're not going anywerhe?"
"I suppose not, if you're that opposed."
Slowly, he pulled his hand back. The warmth that was not unpleasant lingered on my skin.
"Better?" he asked timidly.
I sighed, and opened my eyes. "Not really."
"What is it, Edythe? What's wrong?"
No, I was calmer, but not better. Because I'd just realized that I could not kill the fiend named Lonnie. The only thing in this moment that I wanted more than to commit a highly justifiable murder was this boy. And though I couldn't have him, just the dream of having him made it impossible for me to go on a killing spree tonight.
Beau deserved better than a killer.
I'd spent more than seven decades trying to be something—anything—other than a killer. Those years of effort could never make me worthy of the boy sitting beside me. And yet, I felt that if I returned to that life for even one night, I would surely put him out of my reach forever. Even if I didn't drink their blood—even if I didn't have that evidence blazing red in my eyes—wouldn't he sense the difference?
I was trying to be good enough for him. It was an impossible goal. But I couldn't bear the thought of giving up.
His scent filled my nose, and I was reminded why I could not deserve him. After all this, even as much as I loved him... he still made my mouth water.
I would give him as much honesty as I could. I owed him that.
"This may come as a surprise to you, Beau, but I have a little bit of a temper. Sometimes it's hard for me to forgive easily when someone... offends me." I stared out into the black night, wishing both that he would hear the horror inherent in my words and that he would not. Mostly that he would not. Run, Beau, run. Stay, Beau, stay.
"Did I—"
"Stop, Beau," I said before he could finish. "I'm not talking about you." I looked up at him with my eyes wide. "Do you realize that they were serious? That they were actually going to kill you?"
"Yeah, I kinda figured they were going to try."
"It's completely ridiculous! Who gets murdered in Port Angeles? What is it with you, Beau? Why does everything deadly come looking for you?"
He blinked. "I... I have no answer for that."
"So I'm not allowed to go teach those thugs a lesson in manners?"
"Um, no. Please?"
I sighed a long, slow sigh, and closed my again. "How disagreeable."
He said nothing else. How much had he understood? I glanced at him furtively, but his face was unreadable. Blank with shock, perhaps. Well, he wasn't screaming in horror. Not yet.
"Your friends must be worried about you," I said quietly.
I started the car and took him back. The nearer I got to the town, the harder it was to hold on to my purpose. I was just so close to her...
If it was impossible—if I could never belong to nor deserve this boy—then where was the sense in letting the woman go unpunished? Surely I could allow myself that much.
No. I wasn't giving up. Not yet. I wanted him too much to surrender.
We were at the theater where he was supposed to meet his friends before I'd even begun to make sense of my thoughts. Jeremy and Allen were just leaving, and both now truly worried about Beau. They were on their way to search for him, heading off along the dark street.
It was not a good night for them to be wandering.
"How did you know where...?" Beau's unfinished question interrupted me, and I realized that I had made yet another gaffe. I'd been too distracted to remember to ask him where he was supposed to meet his friends.
But instead of finishing the inquiry and pressing the point, Beau just shook his head and half smiled.
What did that mean?
"Stop them before I have to track them down, too. I won't be able to restrain myself if I run into your other friends again."
Beau jumped out of the car, keeping his hand on the frame. "Jer! Allen!" he called in a loud voice. They turned, and he waved his arm over his head to catch their attention.
Beau! Oh, he's safe! Allen thought with relief.
Late much? Jeremy grumbled to himself, but he, too, was thankful that Beau wasn't lost or hurt. This made me like him a little more than I had.
They hurried back, and then stopped, shocked, when they saw me beside him.
Uh-uh! Jeremy thought, stunned. No freaking way!
Edythe Cullen? Did he go away by himself to find her? But why would he ask about them being out of town if he knew she was here...? I got a brief flash of Beau's mortified expression when he'd asked Allen if my family was often absent from school. No, he couldn't have known, Allen decided.
Jeremy's thoughts were moving past the surprise and on to suspicion. Beau's been holding out on me.
"What happened to you?" he demanded, staring at Beau, but peeking at me from the corner of his eye. "We thought you took off."
"No, I just got lost. And then I ran into Edythe," Beau said, waving one hand toward me. His tone was remarkably normal. As though that were truly all that had happened.
He must be in shock. That was the only explanation for his calm.
I leaned forward and smiled at them through the windshield. Jeremy's eyes bugged out.
"Oh, hi... Edythe," Allen said.
I waved with two fingers, and Allen swallowed loudly.
Yeah, right... That sounds likely. "Uh, hey," Jeremy said before turning to Beau. "So the movie's already started, I think."
"Sorry about that."
He checked his watch. "It's probably still just running previews. Did you..." He eyed Beau's hand on the car. "... still want to come?"
Beau hesitated, looking to me for an answer.
"Would you want to come... Edythe?" Allen asked politely.
I opened the door and stepped out and smiled at them.
Jeremy's mouth fell open. Holy hell...
"I've already seen this one, but thank you, Allen," I said.
Allen blinked and his thought were jumbled up. How did...? She's so nice... Wow... Just wow...
Now why couldn't I do that to Beau?
I glanced over at him. "On a scale of one to ten, how much do you want to see this movie now?"
"Er, not that much."
I smiled directly at Jeremy now. "Will it ruin your night if I make Beau take me to dinner?"
Jeremy just shook his head. Holy crap, she's hot!
"Thanks. I'll give Beau a ride home. Get in the car, Beau."
He ducked back into the passenger seat.
"The hell?" Jeremy muttered as Beau closed the door. He totally planned this all along. He knew she would be in town tonight.
"Did you really want dinner," Beau asked.
Why had he waited for them to be gone before speaking? Did he truly want to be alone with me—even now, after witnessing my literal homicidal rage?
Whether or not that was the case, he was going to eat something.
"I thought you might."
"I'm good."
"If you'd rather go home..."
"No, no," he said quickly. "I can do dinner. I just mean it doesn't have to be that. Whatever you'd like."
I smiled and parked the car in front of an Italian restaurant.
Beau jumped out of the car ahead of me, hurrying to hold the restaurant door open for me and waited.
I smiled as I walked through.
I walked beside him to the podium where the host waited. Beau still seemed entirely self-possessed. I wanted to touch his hand, his forehead, to check his temperature. But my cold hand would repulse him, as it had before.
Oh my. The host's rather loud mental voice intruded into my consciousness. My, oh my.
It seemed to be my night to turn heads. Or was I only noticing it more because I wished so much that Beau would see me this way? We were always attractive to our prey, but I'd never thought so much about it before. Usually—unless, as with people like Steve Cope and Jeremy Stanley, there was constant repetition to dull the horror—the fear kicked in fairly quickly after the initial attraction.
The host smiled and bowed in a dramatic way. "What can I do for you?"
"A table for two, please," I prompted.
Mmm! What a voice! "Of course, er, madamoiselle." His thoughts were preoccupied—calculating.
Maybe he's her cousin. He couldn't be her brother, they don't look anything alike. But family, definitely. She can't be with him.
Human eyes were clouded; they saw nothing clearly. How could this small-minded man find my physical lures—snares for prey—so attractive and yet be unable to see the perfection of the boy beside me?
Well, no need to help him out, just in case, the host thought as he led us to a family-sized table in the middle of the most crowded part of the restaurant. Can I give her my number while he's there? he mused.
I pulled a bill from my back pocket. People were invariably cooperative when money was involved.
Beau was already taking the seat the host indicated without objection. I shook my head at him, and he hesitated, cocking his head to one side with curiosity. Yes, he would be very curious tonight. A crowd was not the ideal place for this conversation.
"Perhaps something more private?" I requested of the host, handing his the money. He started, surprised, and then his hand curled around the tip.
"Of course."
He peeked at the bill while he led us around a dividing wall.
Fifty dollars for a better table? Rich, too. That makes sense—I bet her jacket cost more than my last paycheck. Damn. Why does she want privacy with him?
He offered us a booth in a quiet corner of the restaurant where no one would be able to see us—to see Beau's reactions to whatever I would tell him. I had no clue as to what he would want from me tonight. Or what I would give him.
How much had he guessed? What explanation of tonight's events had he invented to make sense of it all?
"How's this?" the host asked.
"Perfect," I told him and, feeling slightly annoyed by his resentful attitude toward Beau, smiled widely at him, baring my teeth. Let him see me clearly.
Whoa. She can't be real. Maybe he'll disappear... maybe I'll write my number on her plate with marinara. He wandered away, tripping over his own feet on the other side of the partition.
Odd. He still wasn't frightened. I suddenly remembered Eleanor teasing me in the cafeteria, so many weeks ago. I'll bet I could have frightened him better than that.
Was I losing my edge?
"That wasn't very nice." Beau interrupted my thoughts in a disapproving tone.
I stared at his critical expression. What did he mean? I hadn't frightened the hostess at all, despite my intentions. "What do you mean?"
"Whatever that thing you do is—with the dimples and the hypnotizing or whatever. That guy could hurt himself trying to get back to the door."
Hmm. Beau was very nearly right. The host was only semi-coherent at the moment, describing his incorrect assessment of me to his friend on the waitstaff.
"I do a thing?"
"Like you don't know the effect you have on people."
"I suppose I can think of a few effects..." That was an interesting way of phrasing it. Accurate enough for tonight. I wondered why the difference... "But no one's every accused me of hypnotism by dimples before."
"Do you think other people get their way so easily?" he asked, still critical.
"Does it work on you—this thing you think I do?" I voiced my curiosity impulsively, and then the words were out, and it was too late to recall them.
But before I had time to regret too deeply speaking the words aloud, he answered, "Every time." And his cheeks took on a faint pink glow.
I had an effect on him.
My silent heart swelled with a hope more intense than I could ever remember having felt before.
"Hello," someone said—the waiter, introducing himself. His thoughts were loud, and more explicit than the host's, but I tuned him out. I stared at Beau instead, watching the blood spreading across his cheekbones, noticing not how that made my throat flame, but rather how it brightened his fair face, how it set off the cream of his skin.
The waiter was waiting for something from me. Ah, he'd asked for our drink order. I continued to gaze at Beau, and the waiter grudgingly turned to look at him, too.
"Beau?" I prompted.
"Um, a Coke?" Beau said, as if asking for approval.
"Two Cokes," I amended. Thirst—normal, human thirst—was a sign of shock. I would make sure he had the extra sugar from the soda in his system. "And a menu?"
"Yes, of course. I'll be right back with that."
Beau looked healthy, though. More than healthy. He looked radiant.
"You've seriously never noticed before?"
"It's been a while since I cared what anyone thought about me. And I usually don't smile so much."
"Probably safer that way—for everyone."
"Everyone but you. Shall we talk about what happened tonight?"
"Huh?"
"Your near-death experience? Or did you already forget?"
"Oh..."
"How do you feel?" I asked.
He blinked, surprised by the question. "What do you mean?"
"You don't feel cold, dizzy, sick?"
He was even more confused now. "Should I?"
"I'm wondering if you're going to go into shock." I half smiled, expecting his denial. He would not want to be taken care of. "I've seen it happen with less provocation."
It took his a moment to answer me. His eyes were slightly unfocused. He looked that way sometimes when I smiled at him. Was he... hypnotized?
I would have loved to believe that.
"Oh. No, I think I'm fine, thanks," he answered, a little breathless.
Did he have a lot of practice with unpleasant things, then? Was his life always this hazardous?
"Just the same," I told him, "I'll feel better when you have some food in you."
The waiter returned with the Cokes and a basket of bread. He put them in front of me and asked for my order, trying to catch my eye in the process. I indicated that he should attend to Beau, and then went back to tuning him out. He had a vulgar mind.
"There are a few specials. Um... we have a mushroom ravioli and..."
"Sounds great," Beau interrupted. "I'll have that."
The waitress turned back to me eagerly. "And for you?"
"That's all we need. Thank you."
Beau made a slight face. Hmm. He must have noticed that I never ate food. He noticed everything. And I always forgot to be careful around him.
I waited till we were alone again.
"Drink," I insisted.
I was surprised when he complied immediately and without objection. He drank until the glass was entirely empty, so I pushed the second Coke toward him, frowning a little. Thirst, or shock?
"No, I'm fine."
"I'm not going to drink it."
"Right." He drank a little more, and then shuddered once. "Thanks."
"You're cold?"
"It's just the Coke," he said, but he shivered again, his lips trembling slightly as if his teeth were about to chatter.
The nice sweater he wore looked too thin to protect him adequately. It clung to him like a second skin, almost as fragile as the first. "Don't you have a jacket?"
"Yeah." He looked around himself, a little perplexed. "Oh—I left it in Jeremy's car."
I unwound the scarf from around my neck, wishing that the gesture was not marred by my body temperature. It would have been nice to offer him something warm. He stared at me, his cheeks flushing again. What was he thinking now?
"Here." I tossed him the scarf across the table.
He pushed it back. "Really, I'm fine."
"The hairs on the back of your neck are standing up, Beau. It's not a ladies' scarf, if that's what's bothering you. I stole it from Archie."
"I don't need it," he insisted.
"Fine. Royal has a jacket in the trunk, I'll be right..."
As I started to move, Beau reached out to stop me. I quickly folded my arms under the table to avoid his contact.
"Don't go. I'll wear the scarf. See?" He would it in a circle around his neck until he ran out of fabric. "Did I do it right?
"It suits you," I complimented him. Just being honest. Then I laughed.
"Do you steal lots of things from, um, Archie?"
I shrugged. "He has the best taste."
"You never told me about your family. We ran out of time the other day."
He looked well, but there was no point in taking chances. I pushed the basket of bread toward him.
He objected, guessing my motives. "I'm not going into shock."
"Humor me?" I stared at him, disapproving, wondering why he couldn't be normal and then wondering whether I really wanted him to be that way.
"Ugh," he complained as he took a breadstick.
"Good boy."
He gave me a dark look as he chewed.
"I don't know how you can be so blasé about this," I said. "You don't even look shaken. A normal person... But then you're not so normal, are you?"
He shook his head. "I'm the most normal person I know."
"Everyone thinks that about themselves."
"Do you think that about yourself?"
For that I had no answer.
"Right," he said. "Do you ever consider answering any of my questions, or is that not even on the table?"
"It depends on the question."
"So tell me one I'm allowed to ask."
As I hesitated, the waiter reappeared with Beau's food. I paid the server little attention as he set the plate in front of Beau and then asked if I wanted anything.
I declined, but asked for more Coke. The waitress hadn't noticed the empty glasses.
"I imagine you have a lot of questions for me."
"Just a couple thousand."
"I'm sure... Can I ask you one first? Is that unfair?"
He nodded. "What do you want to know?"
I looked down at the tabletop. I brought my voice down low, almost to a whisper. "We spoke before, about how you were... trying to figure out what I am. I was just wondering if you'd made any more progress with that."
I kept my eyes down, but Beau did not speak.
Did I want him to?
"It's that bad, then?"
"Can I—can we not talk about it here?" He glanced at the thin partition that separated us from the rest of the restaurant.
Ah, this would be bad. He wasn't willing to speak his guesses around others.
"Very bad."
"Well..." he went on. "Actually, if I answer your question first, I know you won't answer mine. You never do. So... you first."
"An exchange, then?"
"Yes."
The waiter returned with the Cokes then. I didn't take my eyes off the boy.
"I suppose we can try that... But no promises," I told him.
His questions would probably be enough to tell me where his thoughts were heading. But how would I answer them? With responsible lies? Or would I drive him away with truth? Or would I say nothing, unable to decide?
"Okay... So what brings you to Port Angeles tonight?"
That was too easy a question—for him. It gave away nothing, while my answer, if truthful, would give away much too much. Let him reveal something first.
"Next," I said.
"But that's the easiest one!'
"Next," I said again.
He was frustrated by my refusal. He looked away from me, down at his food. Slowly, thinking hard, he took a bite and chewed with deliberation.
Suddenly, as he ate, a strange comparison entered my head. For just a second, I saw Persephone, pomegranate in hand. Dooming herself to the underworld.
Is that who I was? Hades himself, coveting springtime, stealing it, condemning it to endless night. I tried unsuccessfully to shake the impression.
He washed his bite down with more Coke, and then finally looked up at me. His eyes were narrow with suspicion.
"Fine then," he said. "Let's say, hypothetically, that... someone... could know what people are thinking, read minds, you know—with just a few exceptions."
It could be worse.
This explained that little half smile in the car. He was quick—no one else had ever guessed this about me. Except for Carine, and it had been rather obvious then, in the beginning, when I'd answered all her thoughts as if she'd spoken them to me. She'd understood before I had.
This question wasn't so bad. While it was clear that he knew there was something wrong with me, it was not as serious as it could have been. Mind reading was, after all, not a facet of vampire canon. I went along with his hypothesis.
"Just one exception," I corrected. "Hypothetically."
He fought a smile—my vague honesty pleased him. "Okay, just one exception, then. How would something like that work? What are the limitations? How would... that someone... find someone else at exactly the right time? How would she even know I was in trouble?"
"Hypothetically?"
"Right." His lips twitched, and his liquid blue eyes were eager.
"Well..." I hesitated. "If... that someone—"
"Call her 'Jane,'" he suggested.
I had to smile at his enthusiasm. Did he really think the truth would be a good thing? If my secrets were pleasant, why would I keep them from him?
"If your Jane had been paying better attention, the timing wouldn't have needed to be quite so exact." I shook my head and repressed a shudder at the thought of how close I had been to being too late today. "I'm still not over how this could happen at all. How does anyone get into so much trouble, so consistently, and in such unlikely places? You would have devastated Port Angeles's crime rate statistics for a decade, you know."
His lips turned down at the corners and pouted out. "I don't see how this is my fault."
His lips, his skin... they looked so soft. I wanted to see if they were as velvety as they appeared. Impossible. My touch would be repellent to him.
"I don't, either. But I don't know who to blame."
"How did you know?" he asked, his voice low and intense.
Should I tell him the truth? And if so, what portion?
I wanted to tell him. I wanted to deserve the trust I could still see on his face.
As if he could hear my thoughts, he whispered, "You can trust me, you know." He reached one hand forward as if to touch my hands where they rested on top of the empty table before me.
I pulled them back—hating the thought of his reaction to my frigid stone skin—and he dropped his hand.
I knew that I could trust him with protecting my secrets. He was entirely honorable, good to the core. But I couldn't trust him not to be horrified by them. He should be horrified. The truth was horror.
"It's what I want to do," I murmured. I remembered that I'd once teased him by calling him exceptionally unobservant. Offended him, if I'd been judging his expressions correctly. Well, I could right that one injustice, at least. "But that doesn't mean it's right."
"Please?" he asked.
I read his eyes; though his mind was silent, I could perceive both trust and wonder there. I realized in that moment that I wanted to answer his questions. Not because I owed it to him. Not because I wanted him to trust me.
I wanted him to know me.
"I followed you to Port Angeles," I told him, the words spilling out too quickly for me to edit them. I knew the danger of the truth, the risk I was taking. At any moment, his unnatural calm could shatter into hysterics. Contrarily, knowing this only had me talking faster. "I've never tried to keep a specific person alive before and it's much more troublesome than I would have believed. But that's probably just because it's you. Ordinary people seem to make it through the day without so many catastrophes. I was wrong before, when I said you were a magnet for accidents. That's not a broad enough classification. You are a magnet for trouble. If there is anything dangerous within a ten-mile radius, it will invariably find you."
"You put yourself into that category, don't you?"
"Unequivocally."
His eyes narrowed slightly—not suspicious now, but oddly concerned. His lips curved into that one specific smile that I had only seen on his face when he was confronted with someone else's pain. He reached his hand across the table again, slowly and deliberately. I pulled my hands an inch away from his, but he ignored that, determined to touch me. I held my breath—not because of his scent now, but because of the sudden, overwhelming tension. Fear. My skin would disgust him. He would run away.
He laid his hand on the back of mine. The heat of his gentle, willing touch was like nothing I'd ever felt before. It was almost pure pleasure. Would have been, except for my fear. I watched his face as he felt the cold stone of my skin, still unable to breathe.
His smile of concern shifted into something wider, something warmer.
"That's twice now," he said, meeting my stare with an intense gaze of his own. "Thank you."
His soft fingers lingered against my skin as if they found it pleasant to be there.
"I mean, did you ever think that maybe my number was up the first time, with the van, and you're messing with fate? Like those Final Destination movies?"
I looked down at the table again, not meeting his gaze.
"Edythe?"
"That wasn't the first time," I said, staring down at the dark maroon tablecloth, my shoulders bowed in shame. Barriers down, the truth still spilling free recklessly. "Your number was up the first time I met you. It's not twice you've almost died, it's three times. The first time I saved you... it was from myself."
It was true, and it angered me. I had been positioned over his life like the blade of a guillotine—as though it was ordained by fate, just as he said. As if he had been marked for death by that cruel, unjust fate, and—since I'd proved an unwilling tool—it continued to try to execute him. I imagined the fate personified, a grisly, jealous hag, a vengeful harpy.
I wanted something, someone, to be responsible for this, so that I would have something concrete to fight against. Something, anything to destroy, so that Beau could be safe.
Beau was very quiet. His breathing had accelerated.
I looked up at him, knowing I would finally see the fear I was waiting for. Had I not just admitted how close I'd been to killing him? Closer than the van that had come within slim inches of crushing the life from his body. And yet, his face was still calm, his eyes still tightened only with concern.
"You remember?" I asked. "You understand?"
"Yes," he said, his voice level and grave. His deep eyes were full of awareness.
He knew. He knew that I had wanted to murder him. Where were his screams?
"You can leave, you know," I said, pointing out the inherent contradiction. "Your friends are still at the movie."
"I don't want to leave."
"How can you say that?"
Hopelessly, I pushed one more time at the barrier that protected his thoughts, desperate to understand. It made no logical sense to me. How could he even care about the rest with that glaring truth on the table?
He waited, only curious. His skin was pale, which was natural for him, but it still concerned me. His dinner sat nearly untouched in front of him. If I continued to tell him too much, he was going to need a buffer when the shock set in at last.
He patted my hands. "You didn't finish answering my question. How did you find me?"
"I was keeping tabs on Jeremy's thoughts," I went on, watching each word as it sank in. "Not carefully—like I said, it's not just anybody who could get themselves murdered in Port Angeles. At first I didn't notice when you set off on your own. Then, when I realized that you weren't with him anymore, I drove around looking for someone who had seen you. I found the bookstore you walked to, but I could tell that you hadn't gone inside. You'd gone south, and I knew you'd have to turn around soon. So I was just waiting for you, randomly searching through the thoughts of everyone I could hear—to see if anyone had noticed you so I would know where you were. I had no reason to be worried... but I started to feel anxious..." My breath came faster as I remembered that feeling of panic. His scent blazed in my throat and I was glad. It was a pain that meant he was alive.
As long as I burned, he was safe.
"I started to drive in circles, still... listening." I hoped the word made sense to him. This had to be confusing. "The sun was finally setting, and I was about to get out and follow you on foot. And then—"
As the memory took me—perfectly clear and as vivid as if I was in the moment again—I felt the same murderous fury wash through my body, locking it into ice.
I wanted her dead. She should be dead. My jaw clenched tight as I concentrated on holding myself here at the table. Beau still needed me. That was what mattered.
"Then what?" he whispered, his eyes huge.
"I heard what she was thinking," I said through my teeth, unable to keep the words from coming out in a growl. "I saw your face in her head, and I knew what she was planning to do."
I still knew precisely where to find her. Her black thoughts sucked at the night sky, pulling me toward them.
I covered my face, knowing my expression was that of a hunter, a killer. I fixed his image behind my closed eyes to control myself. The delicate framework of his bones, the thin sheath of his pale skin—like silk stretched over glass, incredibly soft and easy to shatter. He was too vulnerable for this world. He needed a protector. And through some twisted mismanagement of destiny, I was the closest thing available.
"But you got there in time."
I tried to explain my violent reaction so that he would understand.
"It was harder than you know for me to drive away, to just let them get away with that. It was the right thing, I know it was, but still... very difficult. That's one reason I made you go to dinner with me. I could have let you go to the movie with Jeremy and Allen, but I was afraid that if I wasn't with you, I would go looking for those people."
For the second time tonight, I confessed to an intended murder. At least this one was defensible.
He was quiet as I struggled to control myself. I listened to his heartbeat. The rhythm was irregular, but it slowed as the time passed until it was steady again. His breathing, too, was low and even.
I was too close to the edge. I needed to get him home before...
Would I kill her, then? Would I become a murderer again when he trusted me? Was there any way to stop myself?
He'd promised to tell me his latest theory when we were alone. Did I want to hear it? I was anxious for it, but would the reward for my curiosity be worse than not knowing?
At any rate, he must have had enough truth for one night.
I looked at him again, and his face was paler than before, but composed.
"Are going to eat anything else?" I asked.
"No, I'm good."
"Do you want to go home now?"
"I'm not in any hurry."
"Can I have my hands back now?" I asked.
He pulled back quickly. "Sure. Sorry."
I heard the waiter returning to our table. I pulled a hundred dollars from my pocket. "Is it possible to go fifteen minutes without an unnecessary apology?"
"Um, probably not."
The waiter returned. "How are you do—?" he started to ask.
"We're finished, thank you very much, that ought to cover it, no change, thanks," I told his, my eyes on Beau.
The waiter's breathing spiked and he was momentarily—to use Beau's phrasing—hypnotized by my voice.
In a sudden moment of perception, hearing the way my voice sounded in this inconsequential human's head, I realized why I seemed to be attracting so much admiration tonight—unmarred by the usual fear.
It was because of Beau. Trying so hard to be safe for him, to be less frightening, to be human, I truly had lost my edge. The other humans saw only beauty now, with my innate horror so carefully under control.
I looked up at the waiter, waiting for him to recover himself. It was sort of humorous, now that I understood the reason.
I stood, and Beau quickly followed suit. "Um, let me—you didn't even get anything—"
"My treat, Beau."
"But—"
"Try not to get caught up in antiquated gender roles."
I walked away. He hurried to get ahead of me to hold the door on our way out. He quickly moved ahead of me again once we were out of the restaurant. He then held my door open to the car.
I got in and turned the heater on—the warmer weather had come to an abrupt end; the cold car would be uncomfortable for him. He huddled in Archie's scarf, a small smile on his lips. I looked pointedly at his seatbelt until he clicked it secure around his waist. I didn't bother with my own.
I waited, postponing the conversation until the lights of the boardwalk faded. It made me feel more alone with him.
Was that the right thing? The car seemed very small. His scent swirled through it with the current of the heater, building and strengthening. It grew into its own force, like a third entity in the car. A presence that demanded recognition.
It had that; I burned. The burning was acceptable, though. It seemed strangely appropriate to me. I had been given so much tonight—more than I'd expected. And here he was, still willingly at my side. I owed something in return for that. A sacrifice. A burnt offering.
Now if I could just keep it to that—just burn, and nothing more. But the venom filled my mouth, and my muscles tensed in anticipation, as if I were hunting.
I had to keep such thoughts from my mind. And I knew what would distract me.
"Now," I said to him, fear of his response taking the edge off the burn. "It's your turn."