"Can—can I just ask one more?" he entreated instead of answering my demand.
I was on edge, anxious for the worst. And yet, how tempting it was to prolong this moment. To have him with me, willingly, for just a few seconds longer. I shook my head. "We had a deal."
"It's not really a question. Just a clarification of something you said before."
I rolled my eyes. "Make it quick."
"Well..." He hesitated for a moment, as if deciding which question to voice. "You said you knew I hadn't gone into the bookstore, and that I had gone south. I was just wondering how you knew that."
I glared out the windshield. Here was another question that revealed nothing on his part, and too much on mine.
"I thought we were past all these evasions," he said, his tone critical and disappointed.
How ironic. He was relentlessly evasive, without even trying.
Well, he wanted me to be direct. And this conversation wasn't going anywhere good, regardless.
"Fine, then," I said. "I followed your scent."
I wanted to watch his face, but I was afraid of what I would see. Instead, I listened to his breath accelerate and then stabilize. He spoke again after a moment, and his voice was steadier than I would have expected.
"Your turn, Beau."
"But you didn't answer my other question," he said.
"Oh, come on."
I looked down at him, frowning. He was stalling, too.
"I'm serious. You didn't tell me how it works—the mind-reading thing," he said, reiterating his question from the restaurant. "Can you read anybody's mind, anywhere? How do you do it? Can the rest of your family do the same thing?"
And why not tell him? He'd already guessed most of this, and it was an easier subject than the one that loomed.
"No, it's just me. And I can't hear anyone, anywhere. I have to be fairly close. The more familiar someone's... 'voice' is, the farther away I can hear him. But still, no more than a few miles." I tried to think of a way to describe it so that he would understand. An analogy that he could relate to. "It's a little like being in a huge hall filled with people, everyone talking at once. It's just a hum—a buzzing of voices in the background. Until I focus on one voice, and then what they're thinking is clear. Most of the time I tune it all out—it can be very distracting. And then it's easier to seem normal"—I scowled—"when I'm not accidentally answering someone's thoughts rather than their words."
"Why do you think you can't hear me?" he wondered.
I gave him another truth and another analogy.
"I don't know," I admitted. "Maybe your mind doesn't work the same way the rest of theirs do. Like your thoughts are on the AM frequency and I'm only getting FM."
I realized as soon as the words were out that he would not like this analogy. The anticipation of his reaction had me smiling. He didn't disappoint.
"My mind doesn't work right?" he asked, his voice rising. "I'm a freak?"
Ah, the irony again.
"I hear voices in my mind and you're worried that you're the freak." I laughed. He understood all the small things, and yet the big ones he got backward. Always the wrong instincts.
Beau was gnawing on his lip, and the crease between his eyes was etched deep.
"Don't worry," I reassured him. "It's just a theory..." And there was a more important theory to be discussed. I was anxious to get it over with. Each passing second was beginning to feel more and more like borrowed time. "Which brings us back to you."
He sighed, still chewing his lip—I worried that he would hurt himself. He stared into my eyes, his face troubled.
"I thought we were past all these evasions." I said quietly.
He looked down, struggling with some internal dilemma. Suddenly, he stiffened and his eyes flew wide open. Fear flashed across his face for the first time.
"Holy crow!" he gasped.
I panicked. What had he seen? How had I frightened him?
"What's wrong?" I didn't understand where his terror was coming from.
"You're doing one-ten!" he yelled at me. He flashed a look out the window, and recoiled from the dark trees racing past us.
This little thing, just a bit of speed, had him shouting in fear?
I rolled my eyes. "Relax, Beau."
"Are you trying to kill us?" he demanded, his voice high and tight.
"We're not going to crash," I promised him.
He sucked in a sharp breath, and then spoke in a slightly more level tone. "Why are we in such a hurry, Edythe?"
"I always drive like this."
I met his gaze, amused by his shocked expression.
"Keep your eyes on the road!" he shouted.
"I've never been in an accident, Beau. I've never even gotten a ticket." I grinned at him and touched my forehead. It made it even more comical—the absurdity of being able to joke with him about something so secret and strange. "Built-in radar detector."
"Hands on the wheel, Edythe!"
With a sigh, I let the car drift to a crawl. "Happy?"
He eyed the speedometer. "Almost."
Was this still too fast for him? "I hate driving slow," I muttered, but let the needle slide down another notch.
"This is slow?" he asked.
"Enough commentary on my driving," I said impatiently. How many times had he dodged my question now? Three times? Four? Were his speculations that horrific? I had to know—immediately. "I'm still waiting for you to answer my question."
He bit his lip again, and his expression became upset, almost pained.
I reined in my impatience and softened my voice. I didn't want him to be distressed.
"I promise I won't laugh this time," I told him, wishing that it were only embarrassment that made him unwilling to talk.
"I'm not worried about that."
"Then what?"
"That you'll be upset... Unhappy," he whispered.
I lifted up my hand and offered it to him. "Don't worry about me. I can handle it."
He took my hand in his, and I curled my fingers around his briefly before dropping it back to the gearshift. Slowly, he put his hand back over the top of mine. As if intent on torturing me with the silence, he gently traced from my wrist to my fingers.
I forced my voice to stay even. "The suspense is killing me, Beau."
"I'm sorry. I don't know how to start."
He looked down, refusing to meet my eyes. The seconds passed.
"Why don't you start at the beginning?" I remembered his words before dinner. "Is this something you thought up on your own, or did something make you think of it—a comic book, maybe, or a movie?"
I should have looked through his collections when he was out of the house. I had no idea if Bram Stoker or Anne Rice was there in his stack of worn paperbacks.
"Nothing like that," he said. "But I didn't think of it on my own."
I hadn't expected that. The local gossip about us had never strayed into anything too bizarre—or too precise. Was there a new rumor I'd missed? Beau peeked up from his hands and saw the surprise on my face.
"It was Saturday—down at the beach. I ran into an old family friend—Jules, Julie Black," he went on. "Her mom, Bonnie, and Charlie have been close since before I was born."
Julie Black—the name was not familiar, and yet it reminded me of something... some time, long ago... I stared out the windshield, flipping through memories to find the connection.
"Bonnie's one of the Quileute leaders," he said.
Julie Black. Ephrath Black. A descendant, no doubt.
It was as bad as it could get.
He knew the truth.
My mind was flying through the ramifications as the car flew around the dark curves in the road, my body rigid with anguish—motionless except for the small, automatic actions it took to steer.
He knew the truth.
But... if he'd learned the truth Saturday... then he'd known it all evening long, and yet...
"There was this Quileute woman on the beach—Sam something. Logan made a comment about you—trying to make fun of me. And this Sam said your family didn't come to the reservation, only it sounded like she meant something more than that. Jules seemed like she knew what the woman was talking about, so I got her alone and kept bugging her until she told me... told me the old Quileute legends."
He stopped short, but there was no need for his qualms now. I knew what he was going to say. The only mystery left was why he was here with me now.
"And what were those legends? What did Jules Black tell you I was?"
He opened his mouth to speak, but then he paused.
"What?"
"I don't want to say it."
"It's not my favorite word, either. Not saying it doesn't make it go away, though. Sometimes I think not saying it makes it more powerful."
"Vampire?" he breathed, the word less than a whisper.
Somehow, it was even worse than knowing that he knew, hearing him speak the word aloud. I flinched at the sound of it, and then controlled myself again.
How ironic that it would be Ephrath's own progeny that would violate the treaty she'd vowed to uphold. A granddaughter, or great-granddaughter perhaps. How many years had it been? Seventy?
I should have realized that it was not the old women who believed in the legends that would be the danger. Of course, the younger generation—those who had been warned but would think the ancient superstitions laughable—that was where the danger of exposure lay.
I supposed this meant I was now free to slaughter the small, defenseless tribe on the coastline, were I so inclined. Ephrath and her pack of protectors were long dead.
"What did you do then?" I prompted. Time to get back to the horror story.
"Oh—um, I did some research on the internet."
Ever practical. "And that convinced you?"
"No," he said. "Nothing fit. Lots of it was really stupid. But I just—"
He broke off again, and I heard his teeth lock together.
"You what?" I demanded. What had he found? What had made sense of the nightmare for him?
There was a short pause, and then he whispered, "Well, I mean, it doesn't matter, right? So I just let it go."
Shock froze my thoughts for a half second, and then it all fit together. Why he'd sent his friends away tonight rather than escape with them. Why he had gotten into my car with me again instead of running, screaming for the police.
His reactions were always wrong—always completely wrong. He pulled danger toward himself. He invited it.
"Um, Edythe—"
"It doesn't matter?" I said through my teeth, anger filling me. How was I supposed to protect someone so... so... so determined to be unprotected? "It doesn't matter?"
"No," he said in a low voice that was inexplicably tender. "Not to me, anyway."
He was impossible.
"You don't care if I'm a monster? If I'm not human?"
"No."
I started to wonder if he was entirely stable.
I supposed that I could arrange for him to receive the best care available... Carine would have the connections to find his the most skilled doctors, the most talented therapists. Perhaps something could be done to fix whatever it was that was wrong with him, whatever it was that made him content to sit beside a vampire with his heart beating calmly and steadily. I would watch over the facility, naturally, and visit as often as he allowed.
"You're upset," he sighed. "See, I shouldn't have said anything."
As if his hiding these disturbing tendencies would help either of us.
"No. I'd rather know what you're thinking—even if what you're thinking is insane."
"Sorry."
"What are you thinking about?" I asked him. There were no secrets left, only minor details.
"Um... nothing, really."
"It drives me crazy, not knowing."
"I don't want to... I don't know, offend you."
"Spit it out, Beau."
"I have lots of questions. But you don't have to answer them. I'm just curious."
"About what?"
"How old you are."
My answer was automatic and ingrained. "Seventeen."
"How long have you been seventeen?"
I tried not to smile at his patronizing tone. "A while," I admitted.
"Okay," he said, abruptly enthusiastic. He smiled at me. When I stared back, anxious again about his mental health, he smiled wider. I frowned.
"Don't laugh," he warned. "But how do you come outside during the daytime?"
I laughed despite his request. His research had not netted him anything unusual, it seemed. "Myth," I told him.
"Burned by the sun?"
"Myth."
"Sleeping in coffins?"
"Myth."
Sleep had not been a part of my life for so long—not until these last few nights, as I'd watched Beau dreaming.
"I can't sleep," I murmured, answering his question more fully.
he was silent for a moment.
"At all?" he asked.
"Never," I breathed.
As I met his penetrating gaze, read the surprise and the sympathy there, I abruptly yearned for sleep. Not for oblivion, as I had before, not to escape boredom, but because I wanted to dream. Maybe if I could be unconscious, if I could dream, I could live for a few hours in a world where he and I could be together. He dreamed of me. I wanted to dream of him.
He stared back at me, his expression full of wonder. I had to look away.
I could not dream of him. He should not dream of me.
"You haven't asked me the most important question yet," I said. The stone heart in my silent chest felt colder and harder than before. He had to be forced to understand. At some point, he must be made to see that this all did matter—more than any other consideration. Considerations like the fact that I loved him.
"The most important question?" he asked, surprised and unaware.
This only made my voice harder. "Aren't you curious about my diet?"
"Oh. That one." He spoke in a quiet tone that I couldn't interpret.
"Yes, that one. Don't you want to know if I drink blood?"
He cringed away from my question. Finally.
"Well, Jules said something about that," he said.
"Did she now?"
"She said you didn't... hunt people. She said your family wasn't supposed to be dangerous because you only hunted animals."
"She said we weren't dangerous?" I repeated cynically.
"Not exactly," he clarified. "Jules said you weren't supposed to be dangerous. But the Quileutes still didn't want you on their land, just in case."
I stared at the road, my thoughts in a hopeless snarl, my throat aching with the familiar fire.
"So, was she right?" he asked, as calmly as if he were confirming a weather report. "About not hunting people?"
"The Quileutes have a long memory."
He nodded to himself, thinking hard.
"Don't let that make you complacent, though," I said quickly. "They're right to keep their distance from us. We are still dangerous."
"I don't understand."
No he didn't. How to make him see?
"We... try," I told him. "We're usually very good at what we do. Sometimes we make mistakes. Me, for example, allowing myself to be alone with you."
His scent was still a force in the car. I was growing used to it, I could almost ignore it, but there was no denying that my body still yearned toward him for the worst possible reason. My mouth was swimming with venom. I swallowed.
"This is a mistake?" he asked, and there was heartbreak in his voice. The sound of it disarmed me. He wanted to be with me—despite everything, he wanted to be with me.
Hope swelled again, and I beat it back.
"A very dangerous one," I told him truthfully, wishing the truth could really somehow cease to matter.
He didn't respond for a moment. I heard his breathing change—it hitched in strange ways that did not sound like fear.
"Tell me more," he said suddenly, his voice distorted by anguish.
I examined him carefully.
He appeared to be in some kind of pain. How had I allowed this?
"What more do you want to know?" I asked, trying to think of a way to keep him from hurting. He should not hurt. I couldn't let him be hurt.
"Tell me why you hunt animals instead of people," he said, still anguished.
Wasn't it obvious? Or maybe this didn't matter to him, either.
"I don't want to be a monster," I muttered.
"But animals aren't enough?"
I searched for another comparison, a way that he could understand. "I can't be sure, but I'd compare it to living on tofu and soy milk; we call ourselves vegetarians, our little inside joke. It doesn't completely satiate the hunger—or rather thirst. But it keeps us strong enough to resist. Most of the time." My voice got lower. I was ashamed of the danger I had allowed him to be in. Danger I continued to allow. "Sometimes it's more difficult than others."
"Is it very difficult for you now?"
I sighed. Of course he would ask the question I didn't want to answer. "Yes," I admitted.
I expected his physical response correctly this time: his breathing held steady, his heart kept its even pattern. I expected it, but I did not understand it. How could he not be afraid?
"But you're not hungry now," he declared, perfectly sure of himself.
"Why do you think that?"
"Your eyes," he said, his tone offhand. "I have a theory about that. Seems like the color is linked to your mood—and people are generally crabbier when they're hungry, right?"
I chuckled at his description: crabby. There was an understatement. But he was dead right, as usual. "You are more observant than I gave you credit for." I laughed again.
He smiled a little, the crease returning between his eyes as if he were concentrating on something.
"So everything I thought I saw—that day with the van. That all happened for real. You caught the van."
I shrugged. "Yes."
"How strong are you?"
"Strong enough."
"Like, could you lift five thousand pounds?"
"If I needed to. But I'm not much into feats of strength. They just make Eleanor competitive, and I'll never be that strong."
"How strong?"
"Honestly, if she wanted to, I think she could lift a mountain over her head. But I would never say that around her, because then she would have to try."
"Were you hunting this weekend, with, uh, Eleanor?" he asked after my laugh had faded. The casual way he spoke was as fascinating as it was frustrating. Could he really accept so much in stride? I was closer to shock than he seemed to be.
"Yes," I told him, and then, as I was about to leave it at that, I felt the same urge I'd had in the restaurant: I wanted him to know me. "I didn't want to leave," I went on slowly, "but it was necessary. It's a bit easier to be around you when I'm not thirsty."
"Why didn't you want to leave?"
I took a deep breath, and then turned to meet his gaze. This kind of honesty was difficult in a very different way.
"It makes me... anxious"—I supposed that word would suffice, though it wasn't strong enough—"to be away from you. I wasn't joking when I asked you to try not to fall in the ocean or get run over last Thursday. I was distracted all weekend, worrying about you. And after what happened tonight, I'm surprised that you did make it through a whole weekend unscathed."
Then I remembered the scrapes on his palms. "Well, not totally unscathed," I amended.
"What?"
"Your hands," I reminded him.
He sighed and his lips turned down. "I fell."
"That's what I thought," I said, unable to contain my smile. "I suppose, being you, it could have been much worse—and that possibility tormented me the entire time I was away. It was a very long three days. I really got on Eleanor's nerves." Honestly, that didn't belong in the past tense. I was probably still irritating Eleanor, and all the rest of my family, too. Except Archie.
"Three days?" he asked, his voice suddenly sharp. "Didn't you just get back today?"
I didn't understand the edge in his voice. "No, we got back Sunday."
"Then why weren't you at school?" he demanded. His irritation confused me. He didn't seem to realize that this question was one that related to mythology again.
"Well, you asked if the sun hurt me, and it doesn't," I said. "But I can't go out in the sunlight—at least, not where anyone can see."
That distracted him from his mysterious annoyance. "Why?" he asked, leaning his head to one side.
I doubted I could come up with the appropriate analogy to explain this one. So I just told him, "I'll show you sometime," and then immediately wondered if this was a promise I would end up breaking—I'd said the words so casually, but I could not imagine actually following through.
It wasn't something to worry about now. I didn't know if I could be allowed see him again, after tonight. Did I love him enough yet to be able to bear leaving him?
"You could have told me," he said.
What an odd conclusion. "But I knew you were safe."
"Yeah, but I didn't know where you were. I—" He came to an abrupt stop, and looked at his hands.
"What?"
"It's going to sound stupid... but, well, it kind of freaked me out. I thought you might not come back. That somehow you knew that I knew and... I was afraid you would disappear. I didn't know what I was going to do. I had to see you again."
Are you happy now? I demanded of myself. Well, here was my reward for hoping.
I was bewildered, elated, horrified—mostly horrified—to realize that all my wildest fantasies were not so far off the mark. This was why it didn't matter to him that I was a monster. It was exactly the same reason that the rules no longer mattered to me. Why right and wrong were no longer compelling influences. Why all my priorities had shifted one rung down to make room for this boy at the very top.
Beau cared for me, too.
I knew it could be nothing in comparison to how I loved him—he was mortal, changeable. He wasn't locked in with no hope of recovery. But still, he cared enough to risk his life to sit here with me. To do so gladly.
Enough that it would cause him pain if I did the right thing and left him.
Was there anything I could do now that would not hurt him? Anything at all?
Every word we spoke here—each one of them was another pomegranate seed. That strange vision in the restaurant had been more on point than I'd realized.
I should have stayed away. I should never have come back to Forks. I would cause him nothing but pain.
Would that stop me from staying now? From making it worse?
The way I felt at this moment, feeling his warmth against my skin...
No. Nothing would stop me.
"Edythe, are you okay?"
"Ah," I groaned to myself. "This is wrong."
"What did I say?" he asked, quick to take the blame on himself.
"Don't you see, Beau? It's one thing for me to make myself miserable, but a wholly other thing for you to be so involved. I don't want to hear that you feel that way." It was the truth, it was a lie. The most selfish part of me was flying with the knowledge that he wanted me as I wanted him. "It's wrong. It's not safe. I'll hurt you, Beau. You'll be lucky to get out alive."
"I don't care." His lips pouted out stubbornly.
"That's a really stupid thing to say." I was battling with myself so strongly—half-desperate for him to accept my warnings, half-desperate to keep the warnings from escaping—that the words came through my teeth as a growl.
"Maybe, but it's true. I told you, it doesn't matter to me what you are. It's too late."
Too late? The world was bleakly black and white for one endless second as I watched the shadows crawl across the sunny lawn toward Beau's sleeping form in my memory. Inevitable, unstoppable. They stole the color from his skin, and plunged him into darkness, into the underworld.
Too late? Archie's vision swirled in my head, Beau's bloodred eyes staring back at me impassively, expressionless. But there was no way that he could not hate me for that future. Hate me for stealing everything from him.
It could not be too late.
"Never say that," I hissed. "It's not too late. I can put things back the way they were. I will."
He stared out his window, and his teeth bit into his lip again. His hands were balled into tight fists in his lap.
"I don't want things back the way they were." His voice was adamant.
"I'm sorry I've done this to you," I said, my jaw locked. How could I ever tell him how sorry I was? Sorry for all the stupid mistakes I'd made. Sorry for my never-ending selfishness. Sorry that he was so unfortunate as to have inspired this first, and last, tragic love of mine. Sorry also for the things beyond my control—that I'd been the executioner chosen by fate to end his life in the first place.
I took a deep breath—ignoring my wretched reaction to the flavor in the car—and tried to collect myself.
He sighed, and glanced out the window. Then he looked back at me.
"Will I see you tomorrow?" he demanded abruptly.
As long as were on our way down to hell—why not enjoy the journey?
"Do you want to?" I smiled at him, and it felt good to do this. Clearly, his were not the only instincts that were backwards.
"More than anything else I've ever wanted."
His heart fluttered; my dead heart felt warmer.
"Then I'll be there. I do have a paper to turn in."
I stopped the car in front of his father's house. He made no move to leave me.
"Save me a seat at lunch?"
I smiled. "That's easy enough."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
How could doing the wrong thing give me so much happiness? Surely there was something amiss in that.
He turned, and then froze, surprised to find our faces so close together.
I, too, was overwhelmed by the proximity. The heat rolled off his in waves, caressing my face. I could all but feel the silk of his skin.
His heartbeat stuttered, and his lips fell open.
Venom welled in my mouth. I threw a hand up to stop him from coming any closer.
He jerked away. "Sorry!"
"You have to be more careful than that, Beau."
I cautiously removed his hand from mine, and he folded his arms over his chest.
"Maybe—" I started.
"I can do better than that," he interrupted quickly. "Just tell me the rules, and I'll follow them. Whatever you want from me."
I sighed. If only...
"Seriously. Tell me to do something, and I'll do it."
Petrina and Charles were well on their way by now, long past Seattle, no doubt. But there were always others. "All right. I've got one."
"Yeah?"
"Don't go in the woods alone again," I warned him, wondering if this request would trigger the objection in his eyes.
He blinked, startled. "How did you know that?"
I glowered into the untrustworthy darkness. The lack of light was no problem for my eyes, but neither would it trouble another hunter. I touched the tip of my nose.
"Really? You must have an incredible sense—"
"Are you going to agree to what I ask or not?"
"Sure. That one's easy. Can I ask why?"
"I'm not always the most dangerous thing out there," I told him. "Let's leave it at that."
He shivered, but recovered quickly and was even smiling when he told me, "Whatever you say."
His breath touched my face, so sweet.
I could stay here all night like this, but he needed his sleep. The two desires seemed equally strong as they continually warred inside me: wanting him versus wanting him to be well.
I sighed at the impossibilities. "I'll see you tomorrow, Beau" I said, knowing that I would see him much sooner than that. He wouldn't see me until tomorrow, though.
"Tomorrow," he agreed as he opened his door.
Agony again, watching him leave.
I leaned after him, wanting to hold him here. "Beau?"
"Sleep well," I whispered, and leaned away before the urgency in my body—either the familiar thirst or the very new and strange hunger I suddenly felt—could make me do something that might hurt him.
He sat there motionless for a moment, his eyes wide and stunned. Hypnotized, I guessed.
As was I.
He recovered—though his face was still a bit bemused—and half fell out of the car, tripping over his feet and having to catch the frame of the car to right himself.
I chuckled—hopefully it was too quiet for him to hear.
I watched him stumble his way up to the pool of light that surrounded the front door. Safe for the moment. And I would be back soon to make sure.
I could feel his eyes follow me as I drove down the dark street. Such a different sensation than I was accustomed to. Usually, I could simply watch myself through someone's following eyes, were I of a mind to. This was strangely exciting—this intangible sensation of watching eyes. I knew it was just because they were his eyes.
A million thoughts chased each other through my head as I drove aimlessly into the night.
For a long time I circled through the streets, going nowhere, thinking of Beau and the incredible release of having the truth known. No longer did I have to dread that he would find out what I was. He knew. It didn't matter to him. Even though this was obviously a bad thing for him, it was amazingly liberating for me.
More than that, I thought of Beau and requited love. He couldn't love me the way I loved him—such an overpowering, all-consuming, crushing love would probably break his fragile body. But he felt strongly enough. Strongly enough to subdue the instinctive fear. Strongly enough to want to be with me. And being with him was the greatest happiness I had ever known.
For a while—as I was all alone and hurting no one else for a change—I allowed myself to feel that happiness without dwelling on the tragedy. Just to be thrilled that he cared for me. Just to exult in the triumph of winning his affection. Just to imagine sitting close to him tomorrow, hearing his voice and earning his smiles.
I replayed that smile in my head, seeing his full lips pull up at the corners, the hint of a dimple that touched his pointed chin, the way his eyes warmed and melted. His fingers had felt so warm and soft on my hand tonight. I imagined how it would feel to touch the delicate skin that stretched over his cheekbones—silky, warm... so fragile. Silk over glass... frighteningly breakable.
I didn't see where my thoughts were leading until it was too late. As I dwelt on that devastating vulnerability, other images of his face intruded on my fantasies.
Lost in the shadows, pale with fear—yet his jaw tight and determined, his eyes full of concentration, his slim body braced to strike at the hulking forms that gathered around him, nightmares in the gloom.
"Ah," I groaned as the simmering hate that I'd all but forgotten in the joy of loving him burst again into an inferno of rage.
I was alone. Beau was, I trusted, safe inside his home; for a moment I was fiercely glad that Charlie Swan—head of the local law enforcement, trained and armed—was his father. That ought to mean something, provide some shelter for him.
He was safe. It would not take me so very long to destroy the mortal who would have harmed him.
No. He deserved better. I could not allow him to care for a murderer.
But... what about the others?
Beau was safe, yes. Allen and Jeremy were also, surely, safe in their beds.
Yet a killer was loose on the streets of Port Angeles. A human monster—did that make her the humans' problem? We did not often involve ourselves with human problems, aside from Carine and her constant work to heal and save. For the rest of us, our weakness for human blood was a serious impediment to becoming closely entangled with them. And of course there were our distant wardens, the de facto vampire police force, the Volturi. We Cullens lived too differently. Drawing their attention with any poorly considered superhero-esque performances would be extremely dangerous to our family.
This was definitely a mortal concern, not of our world. To commit the murder I ached to commit was wrong. I knew that. But leaving her free to harm again could not be the right thing, either.
I turned the car north, accelerating now that I had a purpose. Whenever I had a dilemma that was beyond me—something tangible like this—I knew where to go for help.
Archie was sitting on the porch, waiting for me. I pulled to a stop in front of the house rather than going around to the garage.
"Carine's in her study," he told me before I could ask.
"Thank you," I said, tousling his hair as I passed.
Thank you for returning my call, he thought sarcastically.
"Oh." I paused by the door, pulling out my phone and flipping it open. "Sorry. I didn't even check to see who it was. I was... busy."
"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, too. By the time I saw what was going to happen, you were on your way."
"It was close," I murmured.
Sorry, he repeated, ashamed of himself.
It was easy to be generous, knowing that Beau was fine. "Don't be. I know you can't catch everything. No one expects you to be omniscient, Archie."
"Thanks."
"I almost asked you out to a movie tonight—did you catch that before I changed my mind?"
He grinned. "No, I missed that one, too. Wish I'd known. I would have come."
"What were you concentrating on that you missed so much?"
Jessamine's thinking about our anniversary. He laughed. She's trying not to make a decision on my gift, but I think I have a pretty good idea...
"You're shameless."
"Yep."
He pursed his lips and stared up at me, a hint of accusation in his expression. I paid better attention afterward. Are you going to tell them that he knows?
I sighed. "Yes. Later."
I won't say anything. Do me a favor and tell Royal when I'm not around, okay?
I flinched. "Sure."
Beau took it pretty well.
"Too well."
Archie grinned at me. Don't underestimate Beau.
I tried to block the image I didn't want to see—Beau and Archie, best of friends.
Impatient now, I sighed heavily. I wanted to be through with the next part of the evening; I wanted it over with. But I was a little worried to leave Forks.
"Archie...," I began. He saw what I was planning to ask.
He'll be fine tonight. I'm keeping a better watch now. He sort of needs twenty-four-hour supervision, doesn't he?
"At least."
"Anyway, you'll be with him soon enough."
I took a deep breath. The words were beautiful to me.
"Go on—get this done so you can be where you want to be," he told me.
I nodded and hurried up to Carine's room.
She was waiting for me, her eyes on the door rather than the thick book on her desk.
"I heard Archie tell you where to find me," she said, and smiled.
It was a relief to be with her, to see the empathy and deep intelligence in her eyes. Carine would know what to do.
"I need help."
"Anything, Edythe," she promised.
"Did Archie tell you what happened to Beau tonight?"
Almost happened, she amended.
"Yes, almost. I've a dilemma, Carine. You see, I want... very much... to kill her." The words started to flow, fast and passionate. "So much. But I know that would be wrong, because it would be vengeance, not justice. All anger, no impartiality. Still, it can't be right to leave a serial murderer wandering Port Angeles! I don't know the humans there, but I can't let someone else take Beau's place as her victim. Those other people—it's not right—"
Her wide, unexpected smile stopped the rush of my words cold.
He's very good for you, isn't he? So much compassion, so much control. I'm impressed.
"I'm not looking for compliments, Carine."
"Of course not. But I can't help my thoughts, can I?" She smiled again. I'll take care of it. You can rest easy. No one else will be harmed in Beau's place.
I saw the plan in her head. It wasn't exactly what I wanted—it did not satisfy my craving for brutality—but I could see that it was the right thing.
"I'll show you where to find her," I said.
"Let's go."
She grabbed her black bag on the way. I would have preferred a more aggressive form of sedation—like a cracked skull—but I would let Carine do this her way.
We took my car. Archie was still on the steps. He grinned and waved as we drove away. I saw that he had looked ahead for me. We would have no difficulties.
The trip was very short on the dark, empty road. I left off my headlights to keep from attracting attention. It made me smile to think how Beau would have reacted to this pace. I'd already been driving slower than usual—to prolong my time with him—when he'd objected.
Carine was thinking of Beau, too.
I didn't foresee that he would be so good for her. That's unexpected. Perhaps this was somehow meant to be. Perhaps it serves a higher purpose. Only...
She pictured Beau with snow-cold skin and bloodred eyes, and then flinched away from the image.
Yes. Indeed. Only. Because how could there be any good in destroying something so pure and lovely?
I glowered into the night, all the joy of the evening destroyed.
Edythe deserves happiness. She's owed it. The fierceness of Carine's thoughts surprised me. There must be a way.
I wished I could believe either of her hopes. But there was no higher purpose to what was happening to Beau. Just a vicious harpy, an ugly, bitter fate who could not bear for him to have the life he deserved.
I did not linger in Port Angeles. I took Carine to the dive bar where the twisted thing named Lonnie was drowning her disappointment with her friends—two of whom had already passed out. Carine could see how hard it was for me to be so close—to hear the fiend's thoughts and see her memories, memories of Beau mixed in with those of less fortunate victims whom no one could save now.
My breathing sped. My hands clenched the steering wheel.
Go, Edythe, she told me gently. I'll make the rest of them safe. You go back to Beau.
It was exactly the right thing to say. His name was the only distraction that meant anything to me.
I left Carine in the car, and ran back to Forks in a straight line through the sleeping forest. It took less time than the first journey in the speeding car. It was just minutes later that I scaled the side of his house and slid his window out of my way.
I sighed silently with relief. Everything was just as it should be. Beau was safe in his bed, dreaming, his wet hair messy and tangled.
But unlike most nights, he was curled into a small ball with the covers stretched taut around his shoulders. Cold, I guessed. Before I could settle into my usual seat, he shivered in his sleep, and his lips trembled.
I thought for a brief moment, and then eased out into the hallway, exploring another part of his house for the first time.
Charlie's snores were loud and even. I could almost catch the edge of his dream. Something with the rush of water and patient expectation... fishing, maybe?
There, at the top of the stairs, was a promising-looking cupboard. I opened it hopefully and found what I was looking for. I selected the thickest blanket from the tiny linen closet and took it back into his room. I would return it before he woke, and no one would be the wiser.
Holding my breath, I cautiously spread the blanket over him. He didn't react to the added weight. I returned to the rocking chair.
While I waited anxiously for him to warm up, I thought of Carine, wondering where she was now. I knew her plan would go smoothly—Archie had seen that.
Thinking of my mother made me sigh—Carine gave me too much credit. I wished I were the person she thought me to be. That person, the one who deserved happiness, might hope to be worthy of this sleeping boy. How different things would be if I could be that Edythe.
Or, if I could not be what I should, at least there should be some balance in the universe to cancel out my darkness. Should there not be an equal and opposite good? I'd envisioned the hag-faced fate as some explanation for the terrifying and improbable nightmares that kept coming for Beau—first myself, then the van, and then the noxious beast tonight. But if that fate had so much power, shouldn't there be a force in place to thwart it?
Someone like Beau ought to have a protector, a guardian angel. He deserved that. And yet, clearly, he'd been left defenseless. I would love to believe an angel or anything else was watching over him, anything that would give him a measure of protection, but when I tried to imagine that champion, it was obvious such a thing was impossible. What guardian angel would have allowed Beau to come here? To cross my path, formed, as he was, in such a fashion that there was no way I could possibly overlook him? A ridiculously potent scent to demand my attention, a silent mind to enflame my curiosity, a quiet beauty to hold my eyes, a selfless soul to earn my awe. Factor in the total lack of self-preservation so he was not repelled by me, and then of course add the wide streak of appallingly bad luck that put him always in the wrong place at the wrong time.
There could be no stronger evidence that guardian angels were a fantasy. No one needed or deserved one more than Beau. Yet any angel that could have allowed us to meet must be so irresponsible, so reckless, so... harebrained, that it could not possibly be on the side of good. I'd rather the loathsome harpy were real than any celestial being so ineffectual. At least I could fight against the ugly fate.
And I would fight, I would keep fighting. Whatever force it was that wanted to hurt Beau would have to go through me. No, he had no guardian angel. But I would do my best to make up for the lack.
A guardian vampire—there was a stretch.
After about a half hour, Beau relaxed out of the tight ball. His breathing got deeper and he started to murmur. I smiled, satisfied. It was a small thing, but at least he was sleeping more comfortably tonight because I was here.
"Edythe," he sighed, and he smiled, too.
I shoved tragedy aside for the moment and let myself be happy again.