I did not feel the usual guilt when I returned to Beau's room that night, though I knew I should. But it felt like the correct course of action—the only right thing to be doing. I was there to burn my throat as much as possible. I would train myself to ignore his scent. It could be accomplished. I would not allow this to be a difficulty between us.

Easier said than done. But I knew this helped. Practice. Embrace the pain, let that be the strongest reaction. Beat the element of desire entirely out of myself.

There was no peace in Beau's dreams. And no peace for me, watching him twitch restlessly and hearing him whisper my name over and over. The physical pull, that overwhelming chemistry from the darkened classroom, was even stronger here in his night-black bedroom. Though he was not aware of my presence, he seemed to feel it, too.

He woke himself more than once. The first time he did not open his eyes; he merely buried his head under his pillow and groaned. That was good luck for me—a second chance I didn't deserve, since I didn't put it to good use and leave as I should have. Instead, I sat on the floor in the farthest dark-shadowed corner of the room, and trusted that his human eyes would not spot me here.

He didn't catch me, even the time that he got up and stalked to the bathroom for a glass of water. He moved angrily, perhaps frustrated that sleep still evaded him.

I wished there was some action I could take, as before with the warm blanket from the cupboard. But I could only watch as I burned, useless to him. It was a relief when he finally sank into a dreamless unconsciousness.

I was in the trees when the sky lightened from black to gray. I held my breath—this time to keep the scent of his from escaping. I refused to let the pure morning air erase the ache in my throat.

I listened to breakfast with Charlie, struggling again to find the words in his thoughts. It was fascinating—I could guess at the reasons behind the words he said aloud, almost feel his intentions, but they never resolved into full sentences the way everyone else's thoughts did. I found myself wishing that his parents were still alive. It would be interesting to trace this genetic trait further back.

The combination of his inarticulate thoughts and his spoken words were enough for me to piece together his general mindset this morning. He was worried about Beau, physically and emotionally. He felt similarly concerned about the idea of Beau roaming Seattle alone as I would—only not quite so maniacally. Then again, his information was not as up-to-date as mine; he had no idea about the number of close calls he'd lived through recently.

He worded his reply to him very carefully, but it was only technically not a lie. He was obviously not planning to tell him about his change of plans. Or about me.

Charlie was also worried about the fact that he wasn't going to the dance on Saturday. Was he disappointed about this? Was he feeling rejected? Were the girls at school cruel to him? He felt helpless. He didn't look depressed, but he suspected that he would hide anything negative from him. He resolved to call his mother during the day and ask for advice.

At least, that was what I thought he was thinking. I might have misconstrued parts.

I retrieved my car while Charlie loaded his. As soon as he had driven around the corner, I pulled into the driveway to wait. I saw the curtain twitch in his window, then heard his stumbling footsteps race down the stairs.

I stayed in my seat. He never acted the way I expected, and I needed to be able to anticipate correctly; I needed to study him, to learn the ways he moved when left to his own devices, to try to anticipate his motivations. He hesitated a moment outside the car, then let himself in with a small smile—a little shy, I thought.

He wore a dark, coffee-colored turtleneck today. It was not tight, but still fitted closely to his shape, and I missed the ugly sweater. It was safer.

This was supposed to be about his reactions, but I was abruptly overwhelmed with my own. I didn't know how I could feel so peaceful with everything that was hanging over both our heads, but being with him was an antidote to pain and anxiety.

I took a deep breath through my nose—not every kind of pain—and smiled.

"Good morning. How are you today?"

The evidence of his restless night was obvious in his face. His translucent skin hid nothing. But I knew he wouldn't complain.

"Good, thank you," he said with another smile.

"You look tired."

"I couldn't sleep."

I laughed. "Neither could I."

"I guess that's right," he said. "I probably did get more sleep than you."

"I would wager you did."

He peered at me, eyes lit up in a way I recognized. Curious. "So what did you do last night?"

I laughed quietly, glad I had an excuse not to lie to him. "Not a chance. It's my day to ask questions."

The little frown mark appeared between his eyebrows. "Oh, that's right. What do you want to know?" His tone was slightly skeptical, as though he couldn't believe I had any real interest. He seemed to have no idea how curious I was.

There were so many things I didn't know. I decided to start slow.

"What's your favorite color?"

He shrugged—still doubting my interest level. "It changes."

"What is it today?"

He thought for just a second. "Um, probably... gold, I guess."

"Is there anything material behind your choice, or is it random?"

"It's the color of your eyes today. If you asked me in a week, I'd probably say black."

I turned into the school lot and parked in the spot next to my usual place; Royal had taken that.

"What music is in your CD player right now?" I asked as I twisted the keys from the ignition. I'd never trusted myself that close to him while he'd slept, and the unknown teased me.

His head cocked to the side, and it seemed as though he was trying to remember. "Oh, right," he said. "It's Linkin Park. Hybrid Theory."

Not what I was expecting.

As I pulled the identical CD from my car's music cache, I tried to imagine what this album meant to him. It didn't seem to match any of his moods that I'd seen, but then, there was so much I didn't know.

"Debussy to this?" I wondered.

He stared at the cover, and I could not understand his expression.

"Which is your favorite song?"

"Mmm," he murmured, still looking at the cover art. "'With You,' I think."

I thought through all the lyrics quickly. "Why that one?"

He smiled a little and shrugged. "I'm not sure."

Well, that didn't help much.

"Your favorite movie?"

He thought about his answer for a brief moment.

"I'm not sure I can pick just one."

"Favorite movies, then?"

He nodded as he climbed out of the car. "Hmm. Definitely Pride and Prejudice, the six-hour one with Colin Firth. Vertigo. And... Monty Python and the Holy Grail. There are more... but I'm blanking..."

"Tell me when you think of them," I suggested as we walked toward his English class. "While you consider that, tell me what your favorite scent is."

"Lavender. Or... maybe clean laundry." He'd been looking straight ahead, but suddenly his eyes cut over to me for a second, and a faint pink colored his cheek.

"Was there more?" I prompted, wondering what that look meant.

"No. Just those."

I wasn't sure why he would omit part of his answer to such a simple query, but I rather thought he had.

"What candy do you like best?"

On this he was very decided. "Black licorice and Sour Patch Kids."

I smiled at his enthusiasm.

We were at his classroom now, but he hesitated at the door. I, too, was in no hurry to separate from him.

"Where would you like to travel to most?" I asked—I assumed he was not going to tell me Comic Con.

He leaned his head to one side, his eyes narrowing in thought. Inside the classroom, Mrs. Mason was clearing her throat to get the class's attention. He was about to be late.

"Think about it and give me your answer at lunch," I suggested.

He grinned and reached for the door, then turned back to look at me. His smile faded, and the v appeared between his eyes.

I could have asked him what he was thinking, but that would have delayed him, possibly gotten him in trouble. And I thought I knew. At least, I knew how I felt, letting that door close between us.

I forced myself to smile encouragingly. He darted inside as Mrs. Mason started to lecture.

I walked quickly to my own class, knowing I would spend the day ignoring everything around me again. I was disappointed, though, because no one spoke to him in any of his morning classes, so there was nothing new to learn. Just glimpses of him staring into space, his expression abstracted. The time dragged while I waited to see him again with my own eyes.

When he left his Trigonometry class, I was already in place, waiting for him. The other students stared and speculated, but Beau just hurried toward me with a smile.

"Beauty and the Beast," he announced. "And The Empire Strikes Back. I know that's everyone's favorite, but..." he shrugged.

"For good reason," I assured him.

We fell into step. Already it felt natural to slow my pace, to lean in closer as he spoke.

"Did you think about my travel question?"

"Yes... I think Prince Edward Island. Anne of Green Gables, you know. But I'd also like to see New York. I've never been to a big city that was mostly vertical. Just sprawl places like LA and Phoenix. I'd like to try hailing a cab." He laughed. "And then, if I can go anywhere, I'd want to go to England. See all the stuff I've been reading about."

This led toward my next avenue of inquiry, but I wanted to be thorough before I moved on.

"Tell me your favorite places that you've already been."

"Hmm. I liked the Santa Monica Pier. My mom said Monterey was better, but we never did get that far up the coast. We mostly stayed in Arizona; we didn't have a lot of time for travel and she didn't want to waste all of it in the car. She liked to visit places that were supposed to be haunted—Jerome, the Domes, pretty much any ghost town. We never saw any ghosts, but she said that was my fault. I was too skeptical, I scared them all away." He laughed again. "She loves the Ren Faire, we go to the one in Gold Canyon every year... Well, I missed it this year, I guess. Once we saw the wild horses at the Salt River. That was cool."

"Where's the farthest place from home you've ever been?" I asked, starting to become a little concerned.

"Here, I guess," he said. "Farthest north from Phoenix, anyway. Farthest east—Albuquerque, but I was so young then, I don't remember. Farthest west would probably be the beach in La Push."

He went suddenly quiet. I wondered if he was thinking of his last visit to La Push, and all that he had discovered there. We were in the cafeteria line at this point, and he quickly picked out what he wanted rather than waiting for me to buy one of everything. He was also swift to pay for himself.

"You've never left the country?" I persisted once we reached our empty table. Part of me wondered if my sitting here had made it off-limits forever.

"Not yet," he said cheerfully.

Though he'd only had seventeen years to explore, I still felt surprised. And... guilty. He'd seen so little, experienced such a meager amount of what life had to offer. It was impossible that he could truly know what he wanted now.

"Gattaca," he said, chewing a bite of apple with a thoughtful expression. He hadn't noticed my sudden mood shift. "That was a good one. Have you seen it?"

"Yes. I liked it, too."

"What's your favorite movie?"

I shook my head and smiled. "It's not your turn."

"Seriously, I'm so boring. You must be out of questions."

"It's my day," I reminded him. "And I'm not at all bored."

He pursed his lips, as though he wanted to argue some more about my interest level, but then he smiled. I guessed he didn't really believe me, but had decided he would be fair about it. This was my day to ask questions.

"Tell me about books."

"You can't make me choose a favorite," he insisted almost fiercely.

"I won't. Tell me everything you like."

"Where do I start? Um, Twentny Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. That was the first big book I read. I still read it pretty much every year."

This one I already knew, having seen his battered copy the day he read outside.

I grinned and he continued without prompting.

"Jane Eyre. I read that one pretty often, too. That's my idea of a heroine. Everything by any Brontë. To Kill a Mockingbird, obviously. Fahrenheit 451. All of the Chronicles of Narnia, but especially The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. Gone with the Wind. Douglas Adams and David Eddings and Orson Scott Card and Robin McKinley. Did I already say L. M. Montgomery?"

"I assumed as much from your travel hopes."

He nodded, then looked conflicted. "Did you want more? I'm going on too much."

"Yes," I assured him. "I want more."

"These aren't in any kind of order," he cautioned me. "My mom had a bunch of Zane Grey paperbacks. Some of them were pretty good. Shakespeare, mostly the comedies." He grinned. "See, out of order. Um, everything by Stephen King. Anne McCaffrey's dragon books... and speaking of great dragons, Jo Walton's Tooth and Claw. The Princess Bride, much better than the movie..." He tapped his finger against his lips. "There are a million more, but I'm blanking again."

He looked a little stressed.

"That's enough for now." He'd done more exploring in fiction than in reality, and I was surprised he'd listed a book I'd not yet read—I would have to find a copy of Tooth and Claw.

It was like putting together a puzzle, one with hundreds of thousands of pieces, and no depiction of the complete image to serve as a guide. Time-consuming, with many false leads, but ultimately I would be able to see the whole picture.

He interrupted my thoughts. "Somewhere in Time. I love that movie. I can't believe I didn't think of it right away."

It wasn't one of my favorites. The idea that the two lovers could only be together in heaven after their deaths rubbed me the wrong way. I changed the subject.

"Tell me about the music you like."

He paused to swallow again. And then, unexpectedly, he blushed.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Well, I'm... not super musical, I guess. The Linkin Park CD was a gift from Phil. He's trying to update my tastes."

"What were you into, pre-Phil?"

He sighed, lifting his hands helplessly. "I just listened to what my mom had."

"Classical music?"

"Sometimes."

"And other times?"

"Simon and Garfunkel. Neil Diamond. Joni Mitchell. John Denver. That kind of thing. She's like me—she listens to what her mother listened to. She liked to do sing-alongs on our road trips." Suddenly the asymmetrical dimple appeared with his wide grin. "Remember those definitions of scary we talked about before?" He laughed. "Until you've heard my mom and me trying to hit the high notes in the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack, you've never known true fear."

I laughed with him, but wished I could see and hear that. I imagined him on a bright road, winding through the desert with the windows down, the sun bringing out the red shine in his hair. I wished I knew what his mother looked like, and even what kind of car it was, so my picture could be more precise. I wanted to be there with him, to listen to him sing badly, to watch him smile in the sun.

"Favorite TV show?"

"I don't watch a lot of TV."

I wondered if he was afraid to go into detail, worried again about me being bored. Maybe a few softball questions would relax him.

"Coke or Pepsi?"

"Dr Pepper."

"Favorite ice cream?"

"Cookie dough."

"Pizza?"

"Cheese. Boring but true."

"Football team?

"Um, pass?"

"Basketball?"

He shrugged. "I'm not really a sports person."

"Ballet or opera?"

"Opera, I guess, though I've never been."

I was not unaware that this list I was compiling had a use besides just learning to understand as much as I could of him. I was also learning things that might please him. Gifts I might give him. Places I could take him. Little things and bigger things. It was presumptuous in the extreme to imagine that I could ever have that kind of standing in his life. But how I wished...

Cursing my curiosity, I returned to my questions. Perhaps my obvious fascination with every detail of his personality would convince him of the obsessive level of my interest.

"What kinds of flowers do you prefer?"

"Um, dahlias. For looks. Lavender and lilac for fragrance."

"You don't like to watch sports, but did you ever play on a team?"

"Just in school, when they made me."

"Your mother never put you on a soccer team?"

He shrugged. "My mom liked to keep the weekends open for adventures. I did Boy Scouts for a while, and once she put me in a karate class, but that was a mistake." He raised his eyebrows as if daring me to doubt him. "She thought it would be convenient because it was close enough for me to walk there after school, but no convenience was worth the mayhem."

"Mayhem, really?" I asked skeptically.

"If I had Mr. Kamenev's number, he would corroborate my story."

When the first bell rang, he sighed. "There's one question you haven't asked me yet."

"More than one, actually, but which specific one are you looking for?"

"The most embarrassing thing I've ever done."

"Is it a spectacular story?"

"I'm not sure yet. I'll tell you in five minutes."

He moved over to his usual table where his friends were just starting to gather their things.

So Beau has time for his boring old friends after all. Jeremy thought as he approached.

"Taylor, can I have a minute?" He said nervously.

Logan glowered at him. Don't even think about it, Swan.

"Sure, Beau," Taylor said. What's this about?

"Look," he said. "I can't do this anymore."

Taylor's thoughts went blank.

What the hell has gotten into this kid? Jeremy wondered.

Oh, no... Allen thought.

McKayla looked at him critically. What's he doing?

It took Taylor a moment to gather herself. "What?"

The anger in Beau's voice surprised me. "I'm tired of being a pawn in your game, Taylor. Do you even realize that I have feelings of my own? And all I can do is watch while you use me to make someone else jealous." His eyes moved swiftly to Logan, whose mouth was hanging open, and back to Taylor. "You don't care if you break my heart in the process. Is it being beautiful that's made you so cruel?"

Taylor's mouth dropped open. Wait... Beau... Likes me? I thought he was with Edythe, though.

"I'm not going to play anymore. This whole prom charade? I'm out. Go with the person you really want to be with." He looked at Logan again.

Then he walked away, slamming through the cafeteria doors dramatically.

I followed after him, quickly catching up.

"That was truly spectacular."

He took a deep breath. "Maybe a little over the top. Did it work?"

"Like a charm. Taylor's feeling quite the femme fatale, and she's not even sure why. If Logan doesn't ask her to prom by Monday, I'll be surprised."

"Good," he muttered.

"And now back to you..."

I couldn't focus on my still-unanswered questions as we walked to Biology. I was remembering yesterday, wondering if that same tension, with the yearning and the electricity, would be present today. And sure enough, as soon as the lights went off, all the same overwhelming cravings returned. I had positioned my chair farther from him today, but it didn't help.

There was still that selfish part of me arguing that holding his hand would not be so wrong, even suggesting that this might be a good way to test his reactions, to prepare myself for being alone together. I tried to ignore the selfish voice and the temptation as best I could.

Beau was trying, too, I could tell. He leaned forward, chin propped against his arms, and I could see his fingers gripping under the edge of the desk so tightly that his knuckles were white. It made me wonder what precise temptation he was struggling against. Today he didn't look at me. Not once.

There was so much I didn't understand about him. So much I couldn't ask.

My body was ever so slightly leaning toward him now. I pulled myself back.

When the lights came back on, Beau sighed, and if I'd had to guess, I would have named his expression relief. But relief from what?

I walked beside him to his next class, fighting the same internal battle as the day before.

He stopped at the door and looked down at me with his clear, deep eyes. Was that expectation, or confusion? An invitation or a warning? What did he want?

This is just a question, I told myself as my hand reached out to him of its own volition. Another kind of question.

Braced, not breathing, I let just the back of my hand graze the side of his face, from his temple to his narrow jaw. Like yesterday, his skin warmed to my touch, his heart beat faster. His head tilted just a fraction of a centimeter as he leaned into my caress.

It was another kind of answer.

I walked away from him quickly again, knowing that this one aspect of my self-control was compromised, my hand smarting in the same painless way.

Eleanor was already seated when I arrived at the Spanish classroom. So was Becca Cheney. They were not the only two to note my entrance. I could hear the other students' curiosity, Beau's name thought alongside mine, the speculation...

Becca was the only human not thinking of Beau. My presence made her bristle a little, but she wasn't antagonistic. She'd already spoken to Allen and made a date for this weekend. His reception of her invitation had been warm, and she was still riding the high. Though she was wary of my intentions, she was cognizant that I had acted as catalyst for her current happiness. As long as I stayed away from Allen, she had no problem with me. There was even a hint of gratitude, though she had no idea this was exactly the outcome I'd desired, too. She seemed a clever girl—she rose in my estimation.

Beau was in Gym, but as in the second half of yesterday's class, he did not participate. His eyes were far away whenever McKayla Newton turned to look at him. He was obviously elsewhere in his head. McKayla guessed that anything she had to say to him would be unwelcome.

Guess I never really had a chance, she thought, half-resigned, half-sullen. How did it even happen? It was, like, overnight. Guess when Cullen wants something, it doesn't take her long to get it. The images that followed, her ideas of what I'd gotten, were offensive. I stopped listening.

I didn't like her perspective. As though Beau had no will of his own. Surely, he'd been the one to choose, hadn't he? If he had ever asked me to leave him alone, I would have turned around and walked the other way. But he'd wanted me to stay, then and now.

My thoughts drifted back to check in on the Spanish classroom, and they naturally tuned in to the most familiar voice, but my mind was tangled around Beau as usual, so for a moment I didn't realize what I was hearing.

And then my teeth clamped together so hard that even the humans near me heard. One girl looked around for the source of the cracking sound.

Oops, Eleanor thought.

I curled my hands into fists and concentrated on staying in my seat.

Sorry, I was trying not to think about that.

I glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes before I could slap her in the face.

I didn't mean any harm. Hey, I took your side, right? Honestly, Jessamine and Roy are just being silly, betting against Archie. It's the easiest wager I'll ever win.

A wager about this weekend, whether Beau would live or die.

Fourteen and a half minutes.

Eleanor squirmed in her seat, well aware what my total motionlessness indicated.

C'mon, Edy. You know it wasn't serious. Anyway, it's not even about the boy. You know better than I do whatever's going on with Roy. Something between you two, I guess. He's still mad, and he wouldn't admit for all the world that he's actually rooting for you.

She always gave Royal the benefit of the doubt, and though I knew that I was just the opposite—I never gave him the benefit of the doubt—I didn't think she was right this time. Royal would be pleased to see me fail in this. He would be happy to see Beau's poor choices receive what he considered their just reward. And then he'd still be jealous as Beau's soul escaped to whatever waited beyond.

And Jess—well, you know. She's tired of being the weakest link. You're kind of too perfect with the self-control, and it gets annoying. Carine's different. Admit it, you're a little... smug.

Thirteen minutes.

For Eleanor and Jessamine, this was just some sticky pit of quicksand I'd created for myself. Fail or succeed—to them, in the end it was nothing more than another anecdote about me. Beau wasn't part of the equation. His life was only a marker in the bet they'd made.

Don't take it personally.

There was another way? Twelve and a half minutes.

You want me to back out of it? I will.

I sighed, and let the rigidity of my pose relax.

What was the point of stoking my anger? Should I blame them for their inability to understand? How could they?

How meaningless it all was. Infuriating, yes, but... would I have been any different if it hadn't been my life that had changed? If it hadn't been about Beau?

Regardless, I didn't have time to fight with Eleanor now. I would be waiting for Beau when he was done with Gym. So many more pieces to the puzzle I needed to discover.

I heard Eleanor's relief as I darted out the door at the first sound of the bell, ignoring her.

When Beau walked through the gymnasium door and saw me, a smile spread across his face. I felt the same relief I had in the car this morning. All my doubts and torments seemed to lift from my shoulders. I knew that they were still very real, but the weight was so much easier to carry when I could see him.

"Tell me about your home," I said as we walked to the car. "What do you miss?"

"Um... my house? Or Phoenix? Or do you mean here?"

"All of those."

He looked at me questioningly—was I serious?

"Please?" I asked.

He raised one eyebrow as he climbed in the car, still doubting.

But when I was inside and we were alone again, he seemed to relax.

"Have you never been to Phoenix?"

I smiled. "No."

"Right," he said. "Of course. The sun." He speculated about that silently for a moment. "It creates some kind of a problem for you...?"

"Indeed." I wasn't about to try to explain that answer. It was really something that had to be seen to be understood. Also, Phoenix was a little too close for comfort to the lands the aggressive Southern clans claimed, but that wasn't a story I wanted to get into, either.

He waited, wondering if I would elaborate.

"So tell me about this place I've never seen," I prompted.

He considered for a moment. "The city is mostly very flat, not much taller than one or two stories. There are a few baby skyscrapers downtown, but that was pretty far away from where I lived. Phoenix is huge. You can drive through suburbs all day. Lots of stucco and tile and gravel. It's not all soft and squishy like it is here—everything is hard and most things have thorns."

"But you like it."

He nodded with a grin. "It's so... open. Just all sky. The things we call mountains are really just hills—hard, thorny hills. But most of the valley is a big, shallow bowl and it feels like it's filled with sunlight all the time." He illustrated the shape with his hands. "The plants are like modern art compared to the stuff here—lots of angles and edges. Mostly spiky." Another grin. "But they're all open, too. Even if there are leaves, they're just feathery, sparse things. Nothing can really hide there. Nothing keeps the sun out."

I stopped the car in front of his house. My usual spot.

"Well, it does rain occasionally," he amended. "But it's different there. More exciting. Lots of thunder and lightning and flash floods—not just the nonstop drizzle thing. And it smells better there. That's the creosote."

I knew the evergreen desert shrubs he referred to. I'd seen them through a car window in Southern California—only at night. They weren't much to look at.

"I've never smelled the scent of creosote," I admitted.

"They only smell in the rain."

"What is it like?"

He thought about that for a moment. "Sweet and bitter at the same time. A little like resin, a little like medicine. But that sounds bad. It smells fresh. Like clean desert." He chuckled. "That's not helpful, is it?"

"On the contrary. What else have I missed, not visiting Arizona?"

"Saguaros, but I'm sure you've seen pictures."

I nodded.

"They're bigger than you'd expect, when you see them in person. It takes all the newbies by surprise. Have you ever lived anywhere with cicadas?"

"Yes," I laughed. "We were in New Orleans for a while."

"Then you know," he said. "I had a job last summer at a plant nursery. The screaming—it's like nails on a chalkboard. It drove me crazy."

"What else?"

"Hmm. The colors are different. The mountains—hills or whatever—are mostly volcanic. Lots of purple rock. It's dark enough that it holds a lot of heat from the sun. So does the blacktop. In the summer, it never cools off—frying an egg on the sidewalk is not an urban myth. But there's lots of green from the golf courses. Some people keep lawns, too, though I think that's crazy. Anyway, the contrast in the colors is cool."

"What's your favorite place to spend time?"

"The library." He grinned. "If I hadn't already outed myself as a huge nerd, I guess that makes it obvious. I feel like I've read every fiction book in the little branch near me. The first place I went when I got my license was the central library downtown. I could live there."

"Where else?"

"In the summer, we'd go to the pool at Cactus Park. My mom had me in swimming lessons there before I could walk. There was always some story in the news about a toddler drowning, and it freaked her out. In the winter, we'd go to Roadrunner Park. It's not huge, but it had a little lake. We'd sail paper boats when I was a kid. Nothing very exciting, like I've been trying to tell you..."

"I think it sounds lovely. I don't remember much about my childhood."

His teasing smile faded, and his eyebrows pulled together. "That must be difficult. And strange."

It was my turn to shrug. "It's all I know. Certainly nothing to worry about."

He was quiet for a long time, turning this over in his head.

I waited out his silence for as long I as could stand it before I finally asked, "What are you thinking?"

His smile was more subdued now. "I have a lot of questions. But I know—"

We spoke the words simultaneously.

"Today is my day."

"Today is your day."

Our laughs were synchronized now, too, and I thought how strangely easy it was to be with him this way. Just close enough. The danger felt far away. I was so entertained I was nearly oblivious to the pain in my throat, though it was not dull. It just wasn't as interesting to think about as he was.

"Have I sold you on Phoenix yet?" he asked after another quiet moment.

"Perhaps I need a bit more persuasion."

He considered. "There's this one kind of acacia tree—I don't know what it's called. It looks like all the others, thorny, half-dead." His expression was suddenly full of longing. "But in the springtime, it has these yellow fuzzy blossoms that look like pom-poms." He demonstrated the size, pretending to hold a blossom between his thumb and index finger. "They smell... amazing. Like nothing else. Really faint, delicate—you'll get a sudden hint of them in the breeze and then it's gone. I should have included them with my favorite scents. I wish someone would make a candle or something."

"And then the sunsets are incredible," he continued, switching subjects abruptly. "Seriously, you'll never see anything close here." He thought for another moment. "Even in the middle of the day, though, the sky—that's the main thing. It's not blue like the sky here—when you can even see it here. It's brighter, paler. Sometimes it's almost white. And it's everywhere." He emphasized his words with his hand, tracing an arc over his head. "There's so much more sky there. If you get away from the lights of the city a little bit, you can see a million stars." He smiled a wistful smile. "You really ought to check it out some night."

"It's beautiful to you."

He nodded. "It's not for everybody, I guess." He paused, thoughtful, but I could see that there was more, so I let him think.

"I like the... minimalism," he decided. "It's an honest sort of place. It doesn't hide anything."

I thought of everything that was hidden from him here, and I wondered if his words meant that he was aware of this, of the invisible darkness gathered around him. But he stared at me with no judgment in his eyes.

He didn't add anything more, and I thought by the way he was tucking his chin just slightly he might again be feeling like he was talking too much.

"You must miss it a great deal," I prompted.

His expression didn't cloud over the way I half expected. "I did at first."

"But now?"

"I guess I'm used to it here." He smiled as though he was more than simply resigned to the forest and the rain.

"Tell me about your home there."

He shrugged. "It's nothing unusual. Stucco and tile, like I said. One story, three bedrooms, two baths. I miss my little bathroom most. Sharing with Charlie is stressful. Gravel and cactus outside. Everything inside is vintage seventies—wood paneling, linoleum, shag carpet, mustard Formica counters, the works. My mom's not big on renovations. She claims the dated stuff has character."

"What is your bedroom like?"

His expression made me wonder if there was a joke I wasn't getting. "Now or when I lived there?"

"Now?"

"I think it's a yoga studio or something. My stuff is in the garage."

I stared, surprised. "What will you do when you go back?"

He didn't seem concerned. "We'll shove the bed back in somehow."

"Wasn't there a third bedroom?"

"That's her craft room. It would take an act of God to make space for a bed in there." He laughed blithely. I would have thought he'd be planning to spend more time with his mother, but he spoke as though his time in Phoenix was past rather than future. I recognized the feeling of relief this engendered but tried to keep it off my face.

"What was your room like when you lived there?"

A minor blush. "Um, messy. I'm not the most organized."

"Tell me about it."

Again he gave me the you must be kidding look, but when I didn't retract, he complied, miming the shapes with his hands.

"It's a narrow room. Twin bed on the south wall and dresser on the north under the window, with a pretty tight aisle in between. I did have a little walk-in closet, which would have been cool, if I could have kept it tidy enough to be able to actually walk into it. My room here is bigger and less of a disaster, but that's because I haven't been here long enough make a serious mess."

I made my face smooth, hiding the fact that I knew very well what his room was like here, and also my surprise that his room in Phoenix had been more cluttered.

"Um..." He looked to see if I wanted more, and I nodded to encourage him. "The ceiling fan is broken, just the light works, so I had a big noisy fan on top of the dresser. It sounds like a wind tunnel in the summer. But it's a lot better for sleep than the rain here. The sound of the rain isn't consistent enough."

The thought of rain had me glancing at the sky, and then being shocked by the dimness of the light. I couldn't understand the way time bent and compressed when I was with him. How was our allotment up already?

He misunderstood my preoccupation.

"Are you finished?" he asked, sounding relieved.

"Not even close," I told him. "But your father will be home soon."

"How late is it?" He looked at the dashboard clock as he asked.

I stared at the clouds—though they were thick, it was obvious where the sun must be behind them.

"It's twilight," I said. The time when vampires came out to play—when we never had to fear that a shifting cloud might cause us trouble—when we could enjoy the last remnants of light in the sky without worrying that we would be exposed.

I looked down to find him staring curiously at me, hearing more in my tone than just the words I'd spoken.

"It's the safest time of day for us," I explained. "The easiest time. But also the saddest, in a way... the end of another day, the return of the night." So many years of night. I tried to shake off the heaviness in my voice. "Darkness is so predictable, don't you think?"

"I like the night," he said, contrary as usual. "Without the dark, we'd never see the stars." A frown rearranged his features. "Not that you see them here much."

I laughed at his expression. So, still not entirely reconciled to Forks. I thought of the stars he'd described in Phoenix and wondered if they were like the stars in Alaska—so bright and clear and close. I wished that I could take him there tonight so we could make the comparison. But he had a normal life to lead.

"Charlie will be here in a few minutes," I told him. I could just hear a hint of his mind, perhaps a mile out, driving slowly this way. His mind was on him. "So, unless you want to tell him that you'll be with me Saturday..."

I understood that there were many reasons Beau wouldn't want to his father to know about our involvement. But I wished... not just because I needed that extra encouragement to keep him safe, not just because I thought the threat to my family would help control my monster. I wished he would... want his father to know me. Want me to be part of the normal life he led.

"Thanks, but no thanks," he said quickly.

Of course it was an impossible wish. Like so many others.

He started to organize his things as he prepared to leave. "So is it my turn tomorrow, then?" he asked. He glanced up at me with bright, curious eyes.

"Certainly not! I told you I wasn't done, didn't I?"

He frowned, confused. "What more is there?"

Everything. "You'll find out tomorrow."

Charlie was getting closer. I reached across him to open his door, and heard his heart start thumping loudly and unevenly. Our eyes met, and it seemed like an invitation again. Could I be allowed to touch his face, just one more time?

And then I froze, my hand on his door handle.

He reached for my face, leaning in.

I pulled back. "Sorr—" he started to say as his hand dropped.

"Oh no."

Another car was headed to the corner. It was not Charlie's; he was still two streets up, so I'd paid little attention to these unfamiliar thoughts heading, I assumed, to one of the other houses on the street.

But one word caught my attention now.

Vampires.

Ought to be safe enough. No reason to run into any vampires here, the mind thought, even if this is neutral territory. I hope I was right to bring her into town.

What were the odds?

"What's wrong?" he asked, anxious as he processed the change in my face.

There was nothing I could do now. What rotten luck.

"Another complication," I admitted.

The car turned onto the short street, heading directly for Charlie's house. As the headlights lit up my car, I heard a young, enthusiastic reaction from the other mind inside the old Ford Tempo.

Wow. Is that an S60 R? I've never seen one in real life before. Cool. Wonder who drives one of those around here? Custom-painted aftermarket front splitter... semi-slicks... That thing must tear the road up. I need to get a look at the exhaust...

I didn't concentrate on the girl, though I'm sure I would have enjoyed the knowledgeable interest another day. I opened his door, throwing it wider than necessary, then I jerked away, leaning forward toward the oncoming lights, waiting.

"Hurry" I warned him.

He jumped quickly out into the rain, but there wasn't any time for him to get inside before they saw us together. He slammed the door, but then hesitated there, staring at the oncoming vehicle.

The car parked facing mine, its headlights shining directly into my car.

And suddenly the older woman's thoughts were screaming with shock and fear.

Cold one! Vampire! Cullen!

I stared out the windshield, meeting her gaze.

There was no way I would find any resemblance to her grandmother; I'd never seen Ephrath in her human form. But this would be Bonnie Black, no doubt, with her daughter Julie.

As if to confirm my assumption, the girl leaned forward with a smile.

Oh, it's Beau!

A small part of me noted that, yes, he had definitely done some damage during his snooping in La Push.

But I was mostly focused on the mother, the one who knew.

She was correct before—this was neutral territory. I had as much right to be here as she did, and she knew that. I could see it in the tightening of her frightened, angry face, the clenching of her jaw.

What is it doing here? What should I do?

We'd been in Forks for two years; no one had been harmed. But her horror couldn't have been stronger if we'd been slaughtering a new victim every day.

I glared at her, my lips pulling back just slightly from my teeth in an automatic response to her hostility.

It would not be helpful to antagonize her, though. Carine would be displeased if I did something to worry the old woman. I could only hope that she adhered to our treaty better than her daughter had.

I peeled out, the girl appreciating the sound of my tires—only street legal by the smallest degree—as they squealed against the wet pavement. She turned to analyze the car's exhaust as I drove away.

I passed Charlie as I went around the next corner, slowing automatically as he noted my speed with a businesslike frown. He continued home, and I could hear the muffled surprise in his thoughts, wordless but clear, as he took in the car waiting in front of his house. He forgot all about the silver Volvo that had been speeding.

I stopped two streets up and left my car parked unobtrusively beside the forest between two wide-spaced lots. In seconds I was soaking wet, hidden in the thick branches of the spruce that overlooked his backyard, the same place I'd hidden on that first sunny day.

It was hard to follow Charlie. I didn't hear anything worrisome in his vague thoughts. Just enthusiasm—he must have been happy to see his visitors. Nothing had been said to upset him... yet.

Bonnie's head was a seething mass of questions as Charlie greeted her and ushered her inside. As far as I could tell, Bonnie hadn't made any decisions. I was glad to hear thoughts of the treaty mixed in with her agitation. Hopefully that would tie her tongue.

The girl followed Beau as he escaped to the kitchen—ah, her infatuation was clear in her every thought. But it was not hard to listen to her mind, the way it was with McKayla Newton or his other admirers. There was something very... engaging about Julie Black's mind. Pure and open. It reminded me a bit of Allen's, only not so demure. I felt suddenly sorry that this particular girl was born my enemy. Hers was the rare kind of mind that was easy to be inside. Restful, almost.

In the front room, Charlie had noticed Bonnie's abstraction, but did not ask. There was some strain between them—an old disagreement from long ago.

Julie was asking Beau about me. Once she heard my name, she laughed.

"Guess that explains it, then," she said. "I wondered why my mom was acting so strange."

"That's right," Beau responded with overdone innocence. "She doesn't like the Cullens."

"Superstitious old bat," the girl muttered.

Yes, we should have foreseen that it would be this way. Of course the young members of the tribe would see their history as myth—embarrassing, humorous, even more so because the elder members took it so seriously.

They rejoined their parents in the front room. Beau's eyes were always on Bonnie while she and Charlie watched television. It looked as if, like me, he was waiting for a breach.

None came. The Blacks left before it was very late. It was a school night, after all. I followed them on foot back to the boundary line between our territories, just to be sure that Bonnie didn't ask her daughter to turn around. But her thoughts were still confused. There were names I didn't know, people she would consult with tonight. Even as she continued to panic, she knew what the other elders would say. Seeing a vampire face-to-face had unsettled her, but it changed nothing.

As they drove past the point where I could hear them, I felt fairly sure that there was no new danger. Bonnie would follow the rules. What choice did she have? If we broke the treaty, there was nothing the old men could actually do about it. They'd lost their teeth. If they broke the treaty... well, we were even stronger than before. Seven instead of five. Surely that would make them careful.

Though Carine would never allow us to enforce the treaty that way. Instead of heading directly back to Beau's house, I decided to make a detour to the hospital. My mother had a late shift tonight.

I could hear her thoughts in the emergency ward. She was examining a delivery truck driver from Olympia with a deep puncture wound in her hand. I walked into the lobby, recognizing Johnny Austin at the desk. He was preoccupied with a call from his teenage daughter and barely acknowledged my wave as I passed him.

I didn't want to interrupt, so I just walked past the curtain Carine was hidden behind and then continued on to her office. She would recognize the sound of my footsteps—unaccompanied by a heartbeat—and then my scent. She would know I wanted to see her, and that it wasn't an emergency.

She joined me in her office only moments later.

"Edythe? Is everything all right?"

"Yes. I just wanted you to know right away—Bonnie Black saw me at Beau's house tonight. She said nothing to Charlie, but..."

"Hmm," Carine said. We've been here so long, it would be unfortunate if tensions arose again.

"It's probably nothing. She just wasn't prepared to be two yards away from a cold one. The others will talk her down. After all, what can they do about it?"

Carine frowned. You shouldn't think of it that way. "Though they've lost their protectors, they are in no danger from us."

"No. Of course not."

She shook her head slowly, puzzling about the best course of action. There didn't seem to be one, other than ignoring this unlucky encounter. I'd already come to the same conclusion.

"Will you... be coming home soon?" Carine asked suddenly.

I felt ashamed as soon as she voiced her question. "Is Earnest very upset with me?"

"Not upset with you... about you, yes." He worries. He misses you.

I sighed and nodded. Beau would be safe enough inside his house for a few hours. Probably. "I'll go home now."

"Thank you, dear."

I spent the evening with my father, letting him fuss over me a bit. He made me change into dry clothes—more to protect the floors he'd spent so much time finishing than anything else. The others had cleared out, and I saw that this was his request; Carine had called ahead. I appreciated the quiet. We sat at the piano together and I played as we talked.

"How are you, Edythe?" was his first question. It wasn't a casual query. He was anxious about my answer.

"I'm... not entirely sure," I told him honestly. "It's up and down."

He listened to the notes for a moment, occasionally touching a key that would harmonize with the tune.

He causes you pain.

I shook my head. "I cause my own pain. It's not his fault."

It's not your fault, either.

"I am what I am."

And that's not your fault.

I smiled humorlessly. "You blame Carine?"

No. Do you?

"No."

Then why blame yourself?

I didn't have a ready answer. Truly, I did not resent Carine for what she had done, and yet... didn't someone have to be to blame? Wasn't that person me?

I hate to see you suffer.

"It's not all suffering." Not yet.

This boy... he makes you happy?

I sighed. "Yes... when I'm not getting in my own way. He does indeed."

"Then that's all right." He seemed relieved.

My mouth twisted. "Is it?"

He was silent, his thoughts analyzing my answers, picturing Archie's face, thinking of his visions. He was aware of the wager and also that I knew about it. He was upset with Jessamine and Roy.

What will it mean for her, if he dies?

I cringed, yanking my fingers off the keys.

"I'm sorry," he said swiftly. "I didn't mean to—"

I shook my head, and he fell silent. I stared at my hands, cold and sharp-angled, inhuman.

"I don't know how...," I whispered. "How I move past that. I can't see anything... nothing past that."

He put his arms around my shoulders, lacing his fingers together into a tight knot. "That's not going to happen. I know it won't."

"I wish I could be as sure."

I stared at his hands, so much like mine, but not. I couldn't hate them the same way. They were stone, too, but not... not a monster's hands. They were a father's hands, kind and gentle.

I am sure. You won't hurt him.

"So you've placed your money with Archie and Eleanor, I see."

He unlaced his fingers to smack me lightly on the shoulder. "This is not a joking matter."

"No, it isn't."

But when Jessamine and Royal lose, I won't be angry if Eleanor rubs it in a bit.

"I doubt she'll disappoint you there."

Nor will you disappoint me, Edythe. Oh, my daughter, how I do love you. When the hard part is over... I'm going to be very happy, you know. I think I will love this boy.

I looked at him with raised eyebrows.

You wouldn't be so cruel as to keep his from me, would you?

"Now you sound just like Archie."

"I don't know why you fight him on anything. Easier to embrace the inevitable."

I frowned but started playing again. "You're right," I said after a moment. "I won't hurt him."

Of course you won't.

He kept his arms around me, and after a few moments I laid my head against his shoulder. He sighed, and hugged me tighter. It made me feel vaguely childlike. As I had told Beau, I didn't have memories of being a child, nothing concrete. But there was a kind of sense memory in the feeling of his arms around me. My first father must have held me, too; it must have comforted me in the same way.

When the song was finished, I sighed and straightened up.

You'll go to him now?

"Yes."

He frowned, confused. What do you do all night?

I smiled. "Think... and burn. And listen."

He touched my throat. "I don't like that this causes you pain."

"That's the easiest part. It's nothing, really."

And the hardest part?

I thought about that for a minute. There were lots of answers that could be true, but one felt the most true.

"I think... that I can't be human with him. That the best version is the one that is impossible."

His eyebrows pulled together.

"Everything will be all right, Earnest." It was so easy for me to lie to him. I was the only one who could ever lie in this house.

Yes, it will be. He couldn't be in better hands.

I laughed, again without humor. But I would try to prove my father right.