Beau and I walked silently to Biology. We passed Allen Weber, lingering on the sidewalk, discussing an assignment with a girl from his Trigonometry class. I scanned his thoughts perfunctorily, expecting more disappointment, only to be surprised by their wistful tenor.
Ah, so there was something Allen wanted. Unfortunately, it wasn't something that could be easily gift wrapped.
I felt strangely comforted for a moment, hearing Allen's hopeless yearning. A sense of kinship passed through me, and I was, in that second, at one with the kind human boy.
It was oddly consoling to know that I wasn't the only one living out a tragic love story. Heartbreak was everywhere.
In the next second, I was abruptly and thoroughly irritated. Because Allen's story didn't have to be tragic. He was human and she was human and the difference that seemed so insurmountable in his head was truly ridiculous compared to my own situation. There was no reason for his broken heart. What a wasteful sorrow. Why shouldn't this one story have a happy ending?
I wanted to give him a gift... Well, I would give him what he wanted. Knowing what I did of human nature, it probably wouldn't even be very difficult. I sifted through the consciousness of the girl beside him, the object of his affections, and she did not seem unwilling, she was just stymied by the same difficulty he was.
All I would have to do was plant the suggestion.
The plan formed easily; the script wrote itself without effort on my part. I would need Eleanor's help—getting her to go along with this was the only real difficulty. Human nature was so much easier to manipulate than immortal nature.
I was pleased with my solution, with my gift for Allen. It was a nice diversion from my own problems. Would that mine were as easily fixed.
My mood was slightly improved as Beau and I took our seats. Maybe I should be more positive. Maybe there was some solution out there for us that was escaping me, the way Allen's obvious solution was so invisible to him. Not likely... But why waste time with hopelessness? I didn't have time to waste when it came to Beau. Each second mattered.
Mrs. Banner entered pulling an ancient TV and VCR. She was skipping through a section she wasn't particularly interested in—genetic disorders—by showing a movie for the next three days. Lorenzo's Oil was not a cheerful piece, but that didn't stop the excitement in the room. No notes, no testable material. The humans exulted.
It didn't matter to me, either way. I hadn't been planning on paying attention to anything but Beau.
I did not pull my chair away from him today to give myself space to breathe. Instead, I sat close beside him like any normal human would. Closer than we sat inside my car, close enough that the left side of my body felt submerged in the heat from his skin.
It was a strange experience, both enjoyable and nerve-racking, but I preferred this to sitting across the table from him. It was more than I was used to, and yet I quickly realized that it was not enough. I was not satisfied. Being this close to him only made me want to be closer still.
I had accused him of being a magnet for danger. Right now, it felt as though that was the literal truth. I was danger, and with every inch I allowed myself nearer to him, his attraction grew in force.
And then Mrs. Banner turned the lights out.
It was odd how much of a difference this made, considering that the lack of light meant little to my eyes. I could still see just as perfectly as before. Every detail of the room was clear.
So why the sudden shock of electricity in the air? Was it because I knew that I was the only one who could see clearly? That both Beau and I were invisible to the others? As though we were alone, just the two of us, hidden in the dark room, sitting so close beside each other.
My hand moved toward his without my permission. Just to touch his hand, to hold it in the darkness. Would that be such a horrific mistake? If my skin bothered him, he only had to pull away.
I yanked my hand back, folded my arms tightly across my chest, and clenched my hands closed. No mistakes, I'd promised myself. If I held his hand, I would only want more—another insignificant touch, another move closer to him. I could feel that. A new kind of desire was growing in me, working to override my self-control.
No mistakes.
Beau folded his arms securely across his own chest, and his hands balled up into fists, identical to mine.
What are you thinking? I was dying to whisper the words to him, but the room was too quiet to get away with even a whispered conversation.
The movie began, lightening the darkness just a bit. Beau glanced up at me. He noted the rigid way I held my body—just like him—and smiled. His lips parted slightly, and his eyes seemed full of warm invitations.
Or perhaps I was seeing what I wanted to see.
I smiled back. His breathing caught with a low gasp and he looked quickly away.
That made it worse. I didn't know his thoughts, but I was suddenly positive that I had been right before, and that he wanted me to touch him. He felt this dangerous desire just as I did.
Between his body and mine, the electricity hummed.
He didn't move all through the hour, holding his stiff, controlled pose as I held mine. Occasionally he would peek at me again, and the humming current would jolt through me with a sudden shock.
The hour passed—slowly, and yet not slowly enough. This was so new, I could have sat like this with him for days, just to experience the feeling fully.
I had a dozen different arguments with myself while the minutes passed, rationality struggling with desire.
Finally, Mrs. Banner turned the lights on again.
Under the bright fluorescents, the atmosphere of the room returned to normal. Beau sighed and stretched, flexing his fingers in front of him. It must have been uncomfortable for him to hold that position for so long. It was easier for me—stillness came naturally.
I chuckled at the relieved expression on his face. "Well, that was... interesting."
"Umm," he murmured, clearly understanding what I referred to, but making no comment. What I wouldn't give to hear what he was thinking right now.
I sighed. No amount of wishing was going to help with that.
"Shall we?" I asked, standing.
He made a face and got unsteadily to his feet, his hands splayed out as if he was afraid he was going to fall.
I could offer him my hand. Or I could place that hand underneath his elbow—just lightly—and steady him. Surely that wouldn't be such a horrible infraction.
No mistakes.
He was very quiet as we walked toward the gym. The crease was in evidence between his eyes, a sign that he was deep in thought. I, too, was thinking deeply.
One touch of my skin wouldn't hurt him, my selfish side contended.
I could easily moderate the pressure of my hand. It wasn't exactly difficult. My tactile sense was better developed than a human's: I could juggle a dozen crystal goblets without breaking any of them; I could stroke a soap bubble without popping it. As long as I was firmly in control of myself.
Beau was like a soap bubble—fragile and ephemeral. Temporary.
How long would I be able to justify my presence in his life? How much time did I have? Would I have another chance like this chance, like this moment, like this second? He would not always be within my arm's reach.
Beau turned to face me at the gym door, and his eyes widened at the expression on my face. He didn't speak. I looked at myself in the reflection of his eyes and saw the conflict raging in my own. I watched my face change as my better side lost the argument.
My hand lifted without a conscious command for it to do so. As gently as if he were made of the thinnest glass, as if he were fragile as the bubble I'd imagined, my fingers stroked the warm skin that covered his jawline. It heated under my touch, and I could feel the pulse of blood speed beneath his transparent skin.
Enough, I ordered, though my hand was aching to shape itself to the side of his face. Enough.
It was difficult to pull my hand back, to stop myself from moving closer to him than I already was. A thousand different possibilities ran through my mind in an instant—a thousand different ways to touch him. The tip of my finger tracing the shape of his lips. My palm cupping his chin. My fingers running through his hair. My arms winding around his waist, holding him against the length of my body.
Enough.
I forced myself to turn, to step away from him. My body moved stiffly—unwilling.
I let my mind linger behind to watch him as I walked swiftly away, almost running from the temptation. I caught McKayla Newton's thoughts—they were the loudest—while she watched Beau walk past her in oblivion, his eyes unfocused and his cheeks red. She glowered and suddenly my name was mingled with curses in her head. I couldn't help grinning slightly in response.
My hand was tingling. I flexed it and then curled it into a fist, but it continued to sting painlessly.
No, I hadn't hurt him—but touching him had still been a mistake.
It felt like simmering coals, as though a dull version of my thirsting burn had spread throughout my entire body.
The next time I was close to him, would I be able to stop myself from touching him again? And if I touched him a second time, would I be able to stop at that?
No more mistakes. That was it. Savor the memory, Edythe, I told myself grimly, and keep your hands to yourself. That, or I would have to force myself to leave... somehow. Because I couldn't allow myself near him if I insisted on making errors.
I took a deep breath and tried to steady my thoughts.
Eleanor caught up to me outside the English building.
"Hey, Edythe." She's looking better. Weird, but better. Happy.
"Hey, El." Did I look happy? I supposed, despite the chaos in my head, I felt something close to it.
Way to keep your mouth shut, kid. Royal's going to rip your tongue out.
I sighed. "Sorry I left you to deal with that. Are you angry with me?"
"Naw. Roy'll get over it. It was bound to happen anyway." With what Archie sees coming...
Archie's visions were not what I wanted to think about right now. I stared forward, my teeth locking together.
As I searched for a distraction, I caught sight of Becca Cheney entering the Spanish room ahead of us. Ah—here was my chance to give Allen Weber his gift.
I stopped walking and caught Eleanor's arm. "Hold on a second."
What's up?
"I know I don't deserve it, but would you do me a favor anyway?"
"What favor?" she asked, curious.
Under my breath—and at a speed that would have made the words incomprehensible to a human—I explained to her what I wanted.
She stared at me when I was done, her thoughts as blank as her face.
"So?" I prompted. "Will you help me do it?"
It took her a minute to respond. "But, why?"
"C'mon, Eleanor. Why not?"
Who are you and what have you done with my sister?
"Aren't you the one who complains that school is always the same? This is something a little different, isn't it? Consider it an experiment—an experiment in human nature."
She stared at me for another moment before she caved. "Well, it is different, I'll give you that. Okay, fine." Eleanor snorted and then shrugged. "I'll help you."
I grinned at her, feeling more enthusiastic about my plan now that she was on board. Royal was a pain, but I would always owe him one for choosing Eleanor; no one had a better sister than mine.
Eleanor didn't need to practice. I whispered her lines to her once under my breath as we walked into the classroom.
Becca was already in her seat behind mine, assembling her homework to hand in. Eleanor and I both sat and did the same thing. The classroom was not quiet yet; the murmur of subdued conversation would continue until Mr. Goff called for attention. He was in no hurry, appraising the quizzes from the last class.
"So," Eleanor said, her voice louder than necessary. "Did you ask Allen Weber out yet?"
The sound of papers rustling behind me came to an abrupt stop as Becca froze, her attention suddenly riveted on our conversation.
Allen? They're talking about Allen?
Good. I had her interest.
"No," I said, shaking my head slowly to appear regretful.
"Why not?" Eleanor improvised. "Are we lacking in courage?"
I frowned at her. "No. I heard that he was interested in someone else."
Edythe Cullen was going to ask Allen out? But... no. I don't like that. I don't want her near him. She's... not right for him.
This was exactly the jealousy I aimed for.
"You're going to let that stop you?" Eleanor asked scornfully, improvising again. "Not up for the competition?"
I glared at her, but made use of what she gave me. "Look, I guess he really likes this Becca person. I'm not going to try to convince him otherwise. There are other guys."
The reaction in the chair behind me was electric.
"Who?" Eleanor asked, back to the script.
"My lab partner said it was some girl named Becca. I'm not sure I know who she is."
I bit back my smile. Only the haughty Cullens could get away with pretending not to know every student at this tiny school.
Becca's head was whirling with shock. Me? Over Edythe Cullen? But why would he like me?
"Edythe," Eleanor muttered in a lower tone, rolling her eyes toward the girl. "She's right behind you," she mouthed, so obviously that the human could easily read the words.
"Oh," I muttered back.
I turned in my seat and glanced once at the girl behind me. For a second, the black eyes behind the glasses were frightened, but then she stiffened and squared her shoulders, affronted by my clearly disparaging evaluation. Her chin shot out and an angry flush darkened her golden-brown skin.
"Huh," I said arrogantly as I turned back to Eleanor.
She thinks she's better than me. But Allen doesn't. I'll show her...
Perfect.
"Didn't you say he was taking Yorkie to the dance, though?" Eleanor asked, snorting as she said the name of the girl whom many scorned for her awkwardness.
"That was a group decision, apparently." I wanted to be sure that Becca was clear on this. "Allen's shy. If B—well, if a girl doesn't have the nerve to ask him out, he'd never ask her."
"You like shy boys," Eleanor said, back to improvisation. Quiet boys. Girls like... hmm, I don't know. Maybe Beau Swan?
I grinned at her. "Exactly." Then I returned to the performance. "Maybe Allen will get tired of waiting. Maybe I'll ask him to the prom."
No, you won't, Becca thought, straightening up in her chair. So what if he's shorter than me? If he doesn't care, then neither do I. He's the nicest, smartest, handsomest boy in this school... and he wants me.
I liked this Becca. She seemed bright and well-meaning. Maybe even worthy of a boy like Allen.
I gave Eleanor a thumbs up under the desk as Mr. Goff stood and greeted the class.
Okay, I'll admit it—that was sort of fun, Eleanor thought.
I smiled to myself, pleased that I'd been able to shape one love story's forward progress. I was positive that Becca would follow through, and Allen would receive my anonymous gift. My debt was repaid.
How silly humans were, to let a six-inch height difference confound their happiness.
My success put me in a good mood. I smiled again as I settled into my chair and prepared to be entertained. After all, as Beau had pointed out at lunch, I'd never seen his in action in Gym class before.
McKayla's thoughts were the easiest to pinpoint in the babble of voices that swarmed through the gym. Her mind had gotten far too familiar over the last few weeks. With a sigh, I resigned myself to listening through her. At least I could be sure that she would be paying attention to Beau.
I was just in time to hear her offer to be his badminton partner; as she made the suggestion, other partnerings with Beau ran through her mind. My smile faded, my teeth clenched together, and I had to remind myself that murdering McKayla Newton was still not permitted.
"You don't have to do this, you know."
"Don't worry, I'll keep out of your way."
He grinned at her, and flashes of numerous accidents—always in some way connected to Beau—flashed through McKayla's head.
McKayla played alone at first, while Beau hesitated on the back half of the court, holding his racket gingerly, as though it might explode if moved too roughly. Then Coach Clapp ambled by and ordered McKayla to let Beau play.
Uh oh, McKayla thought as Beau moved forward with a sigh, holding his racket at an awkward angle.
Jason Ford served the birdie directly toward Beau with a smug twist to his thoughts. McKayla saw Beau lurch toward it, swinging the racket yards wide of his target, and she rushed in to try to save the volley.
I watched the path of Beau's racket with alarm. Sure enough, it hit the taut net and sprung back at his, clipping his forehead before it spun out to strike McKayla's arm with a resounding thwack.
Ow. Ow. Ungh. That's going to leave a bruise.
Beau was kneading his forehead. It was hard to stay in my seat where I belonged, knowing he was hurt. But what could I do, even if I were there? And it didn't seem to be serious. I hesitated, watching.
The coach laughed. "Sorry, Newton." That boy's the worst jinx I've ever seen. Shouldn't inflict him on the others.
She turned her back deliberately and moved to watch another game so that Beau could return to his former spectator's role.
Ow, McKayla thought again, massaging her arm. She turned to Beau. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, are you?" he asked sheepishly.
"I think I'll make it." Don't want to sound like a crybaby. But, man, that hurts!
McKayla swung her arm in a circle, wincing.
"I'll just stay back here," Beau said, embarrassment rather than pain on his face. Maybe McKayla had gotten the worst of it. I certainly hoped that was the case. At least he wasn't playing anymore. He held his racket so carefully behind his back, his expression full of remorse... I had to disguise my laugh as coughing.
What's funny? Eleanor wanted to know.
"Tell you later," I muttered.
Beau didn't venture into the game again. The coach ignored him and let McKayla play alone.
I breezed through the quiz at the end of the hour, and Mr. Goff let me go early. I was listening intently to McKayla as I walked across the campus. She'd decided to confront Beau about me.
Jeremy swears they're dating. Why? Why did she have to pick him?
She didn't recognize the real phenomenon—that he'd picked me.
"So."
"So?" he wondered.
"You and Edythe Cullen, huh?" You and the freak. I guess, if a rich girl is that important to you...
I gritted my teeth at her degrading assumption.
"Yeah, me and Edythe Cullen."
"I don't like it."
"Well, you don't actually have to," he snapped.
Why can't he see what a circus sideshow she is? Like they all are. The way she stares at him. It gives me chills to watch. "So she just snaps her fingers and you heel?"
I cringed, waiting for his response.
"Guess so."
McKayla turned, thoughts sullen, and wandered off to change.
I leaned against the gym wall and tried to compose myself.
How could he have laughed at McKayla's accusation—so entirely on target that I began to worry that Forks was becoming too aware.
And he was so content to admit it. What was wrong with him?
Did he have a morbid sense of humor? That didn't fit with my idea of his character, but how could I be sure? Or maybe my notion of the foolish angel was true in one respect: he had no sense of fear at all. Brave—that was one word for it. Others might say stupid, but I knew how bright he was. No matter what the reason, was it this strange lack of fear that put him in danger so constantly? Maybe he would always need me here.
Just like that, my mood was soaring.
If I could discipline myself, make myself safe, then perhaps it would be right for me to stay close to him.
When he walked through the gym doors, his shoulders were stiff and his lower lip was between his teeth again—a sure sign of anxiety. But as soon as his eyes met mine, his posture relaxed and a wide smile spread across his face. It was an oddly peaceful expression. He walked right to my side without hesitation, only stopping when he was so close that his body heat crashed over me like a breaking wave.
"Hi," he whispered.
The happiness I felt in this moment was, again, without precedent.
"Hello," I said, and then—because with my mood suddenly so light, I couldn't resist teasing him—I added, "How was Gym?"
His smile wavered. "Fine."
He was a poor liar.
"Really? How's your head?"
"You didn't."
We started walking toward the parking lot, and McKayla's thoughts were suddenly very intrusive.
I hate her. I wish she would die. I hope she drives that shiny car right off a cliff. Why couldn't she just leave him alone? Stick to her own kind—to the freaks.
"You were the one who mentioned how I'd never seen you in Gym," I explained. "It made me curious."
"Great," he said. "Fantastic. Well, sorry about that. I don't mind walking home if you don't want to be seen with me."
I laughed. "It was very entertaining. Though I wouldn't have minded if you'd hit that girl just a little harder."
"What?"
I turned to look at McKayla as she stalked away from us.
"It's been a while since someone besides family thought those kinds of words about me. I don't think I like it."
Beau looked unsettled by my statement.
"Don't worry, I wouldn't hurt your friend. If I did, who else would agree to be your badminton partner?"
"What kinds of words has your family been thinking about you?"
I shook my head. "It's not fair to judge people on their thoughts. Those are supposed to be private. It's actions that count."
"I don't know..." he wondered. "If you know someone can hear, isn't that the same thing as saying it out loud?"
"Easy for you to say. Controlling your thoughts is very difficult. When Royal and I butt heads, I think much worse things about him, and I do say those words out loud." I laughed again.
He came to a sudden halt in the parking lot when he realized that the way to my car was blocked by a crowd of mostly male students.
I wonder how fast they've gone in this thing.
Look at the SMG shift paddles. I've never seen those outside of a magazine.
Nice side grilles!
Sure wish I had sixty thousand dollars lying around...
This was exactly why it was better for Royal to only use his car out of town.
I wound through the throng of lustful boys to my own car. After a second of hesitation, Beau followed suit.
"Ostentatious," I muttered as he climbed in.
"What kind of car is that?" he wondered.
"An M3."
He frowned. "I don't speak Car and Driver."
"It's a BMW." I rolled my eyes and then focused on backing out without running anyone down. I had to lock eyes with a few boys who didn't seem willing to move out of my way. A half second meeting my gaze seemed to be enough to convince them.
"Okay, I know that one."
We drove out of the lot, and it felt freeing to finally be away from the babble of thought and curious eyes.
"Is it later yet?" he asked, reminding me of our unfinished conversation in the cafeteria today.
I should have just answered his other question. This one was much more unappealing. "I suppose it is," I agreed unwillingly.
I parked in front of his house, tensing as I tried to think of how to explain... without making my monstrous nature too evident, without frightening him again. Or was it wrong to minimize my darkness?
He waited with the same politely interested mask he'd worn at lunch. If I'd been less anxious, his preposterous calm would have made me laugh.
"And you want to know why you can't see me hunt?" I asked.
"Yes. And why you seemed so... mad when I asked," he said.
"Did I frighten you?" I asked, positive that he would deny it.
"Did you want to?"
"Maybe I did."
"Okay then, sure, I was terrified."
I tried not to smile, and failed. "I apologize for reacting like that." And then my smile vanished with the momentary humor. "It was just the thought of you being near... while we hunted."
"That would be bad?"
The mental picture was too much—Beau, so vulnerable in the empty darkness; myself, out of control... I tried to banish it from my head. "Extremely."
"Because...?"
I took a deep breath, concentrating for one moment on the burning thirst. Feeling it, managing it, proving my dominion over it. It would never control me again—I willed that to be true. I would be safe for him. I stared toward the welcome clouds without really seeing them, wishing I could believe that my determination would make any difference if I were hunting when I crossed his scent.
"When we hunt... we give ourselves over to our senses," I told him, thinking through each word before I spoke it. "Govern less with our minds. Especially our sense of smell. If you were anywhere near me when I lost control that way..."
I shook my head in agony at the thought of what would—not what might, but what would—surely happen then.
I listened to the spike in his heartbeat, and then turned, restless, to read his eyes.
Beau's face was composed, his eyes grave. His mouth was pursed just slightly in what I guessed was concern. But concern for what? His own safety? Was there any hope that I'd finally made the realities clear? I continued to stare at him, trying to translate his ambiguous expression into sure fact.
He gazed back. His eyes grew round after a moment, and his pupils dilated, though the light had not changed.
My breathing accelerated, and suddenly the quiet in the car seemed to be humming, just as in the darkened Biology room this afternoon. The electric current raced between us again, and my desire to touch him was, briefly, stronger even than the demands of my thirst.
The throbbing electricity made it feel as if I had a pulse again. My body sang with it. As though I were human. More than anything in the world, I wanted to feel the heat of his lips against mine. For one second, I struggled desperately to find the strength, the control, to be able to put my mouth so close to his skin.
He sucked in a ragged breath, and only then did I realize that when I had started breathing faster, he had stopped breathing altogether.
I closed my eyes, trying to break the connection between us.
No more mistakes.
Beau's existence was tied to a thousand delicately balanced chemical processes, all so easily disrupted: The rhythmic expansion of his lungs, that flow of oxygen was life or death to him. The fluttering cadence of his fragile heart could be stopped by so many stupid accidents or illnesses or... by me.
I did not believe that any member of my family—except possibly Eleanor—would hesitate if she or he were offered a chance back, if she or he could trade immortality for mortality again. Royal and I, Carine, too, would stand in fire for it. Burn for as many days or centuries as were necessary.
Most of our kind prized immortality above all else. There were even humans who craved this, who searched in dark places for those who could give them the blackest of gifts.
Not us. Not my family. We would trade anything to be human.
But none of us, not even Royal, had ever been as desperate for a way back as I was now.
I opened my eyes and stared at the microscopic pits and flaws in the windshield, as though there was some solution hidden in the imperfect glass. The electricity had not faded, and I had to concentrate to keep my hands on the wheel.
My right hand began to sting without pain again, from when I'd touched him before.
"Beau, I think you should go inside now."
He obeyed at once, without comment, getting out of the car and shutting the door behind himself. Did he feel the potential for disaster as clearly as I did?
Did it hurt him to leave, as it hurt me to see him go? The only solace was that I would see him soon. Sooner than he would see me. I smiled at that, then rolled the window down and leaned across to speak to him one more time. It was safer now, with the heat of his body outside the car.
He turned to see what I wanted, curious.
Always so curious, though I'd answered almost all of his many questions. My own curiosity was entirely unsatisfied. That wasn't fair.
"Oh, Beau?"
"Yeah?"
"Tomorrow it's my turn."
His forehead puckered. "Your turn to what?"
"Ask the questions." Tomorrow, when we were in a safer place, surrounded by witnesses, I would get my own answers. I grinned at the thought, and then turned away because he made no move to leave. Even with him outside the car, the echo of the electricity zinged in the air. I wanted to get out, too, to walk his to his door as an excuse to stay beside him.
No more mistakes. I hit the gas, and then sighed as he disappeared behind me. It seemed as though I was always running toward Beau or away from him, never staying in place. I would have to find some way to hold my ground if we were ever going to have any peace.
My house appeared calm and silent from the outside as I drove past, heading for the garage. But I could hear the turmoil—both spoken aloud and silently thought—inside. I threw one wistful glance in the direction of my favorite car—still pristine, for now—before I headed out to face the beautiful ogre under the bridge. I couldn't even make the short walk from the garage to the house before being accosted.
Royal shot out the front door as soon as my footsteps were audible. He planted himself at the base of the stairs, his lips pulled back over his teeth.
I stopped twenty yards away, and there was no aggression in my stance. I knew I deserved this.
"I'm so sorry, Roy," I told him before he had even gathered his thoughts to attack. I probably wouldn't get to say much more.
His shoulders squared, his chin jerked up.
How could you have been so stupid?
Eleanor came slowly down the stairs behind him. I knew that if Royal attacked me, Eleanor would come between us. Not to protect me. To keep him from provoking me enough that I would fight back.
"I'm sorry," I told him again.
I could see that he was surprised by the lack of sarcasm in my voice, my quick capitulation. But he was too angry to accept apologies yet.
Are you happy now?
"No," I said, the ache in my voice giving proof to the denial.
Why did you do it, then? Why would you tell him? Just because he asked? The words themselves weren't so harsh—it was his mental tone that was edged with needle-sharp points. Also in his mind was Beau's face—just a caricature of the face I loved. As much as Royal hated me in this moment, it was nothing to the hate he felt for Beau. He wanted to believe this hate was justified, founded solely on my bad behavior—that Beau was only a problem because he was now a danger to us. A broken rule. Beau knew too much.
But I could see how much his judgment was clouded by his jealousy of the boy. It was more now than the fact that I found Beau so much more compelling than I had Royal. His jealousy had twisted and shifted focus. Beau had everything Royal wanted. He was human. He had choices. Roy was outraged that Beau would put this in jeopardy, that he would flirt with the darkness when he had other options.
Roy thought he might even trade faces with the boy he thought of as homely, if he could have his humanity in the bargain.
Though Royal was trying not to think all these things while he waited for my answer, he couldn't keep them entirely out of his head.
"Why?" he demanded out loud when I still said nothing. He didn't want me to keep reading. "Why did you tell him?"
"I'm actually surprised you were able to," Eleanor said before I could respond. "You rarely say the word, even with us. It's not your favorite."
She was thinking how much Roy and I were alike in this, how we both avoided the title to the nonlife we hated. Eleanor had no such reservations.
What would it be like to feel the way Eleanor did? To be so practical, so free from regret? To be able to so easily accept and move forward?
Roy and I would both be happier people if we could follow her example.
Seeing this—our similarities—so clearly made it even easier to excuse the venom-tipped needles that Roy was still thinking my way.
"You're not wrong," I said to Eleanor. "I doubt I would ever have been able to say it myself."
Eleanor cocked her head to the side. Behind her, inside the house, I could feel the shock from the rest of our audience. Only Archie was unsurprised.
"Then how?" Royal hissed.
"Don't overreact," I said, without much hope. His eyebrows shot up. "It wasn't an intentional breach. It's probably something we should have foreseen."
"What are you talking about?" he demanded.
"Beau is friends with the great-granddaughter of Ephrath Black."
Royal froze with surprise. Eleanor, too, was taken off guard. They were no more prepared for this direction than I had been.
Carine appeared in the doorway. This was more than just a fight between Royal and me now.
"Edythe?" she asked.
"We should have known, Carine. Of course the elders would warn the next generation when we came back. And of course the next generation wouldn't credit any of it. It's just a silly story to them. The girl who answered Beau's questions didn't believe anything she was telling him."
I wasn't anxious about Carine's reaction. I knew how she would respond. But I was listening very intently to Archie's room now, to hear what Jessamine would think.
"You're right," Carine said. "Naturally, it would play out that way." She sighed. "It's bad luck Ephrath's progeny had such a knowledgeable audience."
Jessamine listened to Carine's response, and she was concerned. But her thoughts were more about leaving with Archie than silencing the Quileutes. Archie was already watching her ideas for the future, and preparing to refute them. He had no intention of going anywhere.
"Hardly bad luck," Royal said through his teeth. "It's Edythe's fault that the boy knows anything."
"True," I agreed quickly. "This is my fault. I am sorry."
Please, Royal thought directly at me. Enough with the roll-over routine. Stop playing so penitent.
"I'm not playing," I said to him. "I know I'm to blame for all of this. I've made an enormous mess of everything."
"Archie told you I was thinking of burning your car, didn't he?"
I smiled—sort of. "He did. But I deserve that. If it makes you feel better, have at it."
He looked at me for a long moment, thinking about going ahead with the destruction. Testing me, to see if I was bluffing.
I shrugged at him. "It's just a toy, Roy."
"You've changed," he said from between his teeth again.
I nodded. "I know."
He whirled and stalked off toward the garage. But he was the one bluffing. If it wouldn't hurt me, there was no point to the exercise. Of all my family, he was the only one who loved cars the way I did. Mine was too beautiful to vandalize for no reason.
Eleanor looked after him. "I don't suppose you'd give me the full story now."
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said innocently. She rolled her eyes, then followed Royal.
I looked at Carine and mouthed Jessamine's name.
She nodded. Yes, I can imagine. I'll speak with her.
Archie appeared in the doorway. "She's waiting for you," he said to Carine. Carine smiled at him—a little wryly. Though we were as used to Archie as it was possible to be, he was often uncanny. Carine patted his head as she passed him.
I sat at the top of the stairs and Archie sat beside me, both of us listening to the conversation upstairs. There was no tension in Archie—he knew how it would end. He showed me, and my tension vanished as well. The conflict was over before it started. Jessamine admired Carine as much as any of us did, and she was happy to follow her lead... until she thought Archie might be in danger. I found that I understood Jessamine's perspective more easily now. It was strange how much I hadn't understood before Beau. He had changed me more than I'd known it was possible for me to change and still remain myself.