The muted light of another cloudy day woke him. Beau stretched, groggy, and tried to remember the dream he had. Something important was struggling to break through his consciousness. He moaned, rolled over, and hoped more sleep would come.
Then the previous day broke though. Everything came flooding back—the meadow, the glitter of diamonds, and of course, Edward.
"Oh!" Beau sat up so fast his head spun.
An unruffled voice came from the rocking chair in the corner. "Your hair looks like a haystack . . . but I like it."
"Edward! You stayed!" Beau threw himself across the room and into his lap. Then the rocking chair groaned under their combined weight. By the time thoughts caught up with actions, he froze, shocked by his own uncontrolled enthusiasm.
Edward laughed, startled, but also pleased by this reaction. "Of course."
"I was sure it was a dream."
"You're not that creative," Edward scoffed, his cold hand moving up and down Beau's back. "Your father left about an hour ago, by the way, after reattaching your battery cables. I have to admit I was disappointed. Is that really all it would take to stop you, if you were determined to go?"
Beau couldn't answer for a few seconds. It only occurred to him now that he might be dealing with rank morning breath.
"You're not usually this confused in the morning."
"I need another human minute," Beau admitted.
"I'll wait."
Beau saw a glimpse of his reflection in the bathroom mirror and found a stranger staring back. The eyes were too bright, cheeks too red, hair standing straight up in the air. He worked to make himself resemble the fetching human being that Edward was interested in and hurried back to his room. When he returned, Edward was still in the rocking chair, his arms open and waiting.
Beau, feeling a little ridiculous now, climbed back into his lap. He was sure he looked like an overgrown baby. But as Edward rocked the chair, it felt kind of nice to curl up and relax. Then he realized something.
"You left?"
"I could hardly leave in the clothes I came in—what would the neighbors think? Besides, you were very deeply asleep; I didn't miss anything. The talking came earlier."
Beau groaned. "What did you hear?"
His gold eyes grew very soft. "You said you loved me."
"You knew that already," Beau reminded him.
"It was nice to hear, just the same."
Beau studied the collar of the fresh shirt before dragging his eyes upward. "I love you."
"You are my life now," he answered simply.
There was nothing more to say for the moment. They rocked back and forth as the room grew lighter.
"Breakfast time," Edward said eventually. He seemed reluctant to let him go.
Beau sprang out of the chair and clutched his throat with both hands. Edward looked shocked.
"Kidding!" Beau snickered. "And you said I couldn't act!"
"That wasn't funny."
"It was very funny and you know it."
"Shall I rephrase?" Edward sighed. "Breakfast time for the human."
"Oh, okay."
Edward threw him over his shoulder in a fireman's lift. Beau yelped in protest until he was placed in one of the mismatched chairs in the kitchen.
"What's for breakfast?"
That threw Edward for a minute. "Er, I'm not sure. What would you like?"
"That's all right," Beau said, hopping up from the chair. "Watch me hunt."
He found a bowl and filled it with his usual breakfast cereal. "Can I get you anything?"
"Just eat, Beau."
Beau sat across from him as he ate. Edward was studying every movement so closely that he was beginning to feel like a zoo animal.
"What's on the agenda for today?"
"What would you say to meeting my family?"
Beau almost choked on his cornflakes.
"Are you afraid now?"
"Yes," he admitted. There was no use in denying it.
"Don't worry," Edward smirked. "I'll protect you."
"I'm not afraid of them," Beau explained. "I'm afraid they won't . . . like me. Won't they be, well, surprised that you'd bring a human home to meet them? Do they know that I know about them?"
"Oh, they already know everything. They'd taken bets yesterday, you know"—he smiled, but his voice was harsh—"on whether I'd bring you back, though why anyone would bet against Alice, I can't imagine. At any rate, we don't have secrets in the family. It's not really feasible with my mind reading and Alice seeing the future and all that."
Beau lowered his gaze to the bowl. The Cullens were mythical beings—they shouldn't exist at all—and yet, there were no secrets between them. Beau envied that openness and wondered if he and Charlie would ever get to that level. Though, he supposed, one couldn't help but be open with a telepath and a psychic in the house.
"And Jasper," he said at last. "Making you feel all warm and fuzzy about spilling your guts, don't forget that."
"You paid attention," Edward smiled approvingly.
"I've been known to do that every now and then. So did Alice see me coming?"
Edward looked uncomfortable. "Something like that."
Beau was curious about this reaction, but decided to ask another, more pressing question. "So . . . they're okay with it? You know . . . the gay thing?"
"Of course," Edward shrugged. "They're my family. They just want me to be happy."
Something must have shown in his eyes, because Edward went on, "Look, when you live as long as we do . . . preference doesn't mean much. If the gay community and vampires have anything in common, it's being ostracized from society. I already knew it was something they thought about me. Why I never found a . . . mate. It was never a conversation we had . . . it just happened. I . . . I didn't know."
"Until me," Beau said quietly. This made Edward smile.
"Until you, yes. When . . . when did you know? That you preferred men?"
It was a question he didn't get to this week, Beau realized, or simply avoided altogether. A swell of sympathy rose in his chest. He already accepted who he was; Edward had to come to terms with years of denial in a short amount of time. Both boys were going through a tremendous upheaval.
"I think I always knew."
"I don't remember much from my human life," Edward mused. "If I ever desired someone . . . I would have repressed it. The treatment of Oscar Wilde was a powerful deterrent for many years after he died. It was a dangerous time."
It was dangerous today. How sad it must have been for Edward to hear about what happened in Phoenix, and know, despite years of social and cultural progress, some humans still had not changed.
"So you never met anyone you wanted?"
Edward quirked a smile. "Not in Chicago."
They grinned at each other. The silence became a comfortable, contented quiet. For a long time nothing broke the spell.
Then Edward made a face at the cereal. "Is that any good? Honestly, it doesn't look very appetizing."
"Well, it's no irritable grizzly."
Edward snorted and turned to gaze out the window until Beau finished his breakfast. Once the bowl was clean and put away, Edward spoke again.
"You should introduce me to your father."
"He already knows you."
"As your boyfriend, I mean."
Beau stared at him suspiciously. "Why?"
"Isn't that customary?"
"I don't know," Beau admitted. His dating history gave him few reference points to work with. No normal rules of dating applied here. "That's not necessary, you know. I don't expect you to . . . I mean, you don't have to pretend for me."
"I'm not pretending."
Beau looked for something to do until he remembered his chore was complete. No matter how much he fidgeted, the words still hung in the air, waiting.
Edward sat watching his struggle with growing impatience. "Are you going to tell Charlie I'm your boyfriend or not?"
"Is that what you are?"
"It's a loose interpretation of the word 'boy,' I'll admit."
Beau looked away. "I was under the impression that you were something more, actually."
"Well, I don't know if we need to give him all the gory details." Edward reached across the table to lift his chin. "But we will need some explanation for why I'm around here so much. I don't want Chief Swan getting a restraining order put on me."
"Will you be?" he asked. "Will you really be here?"
"As long as you want me."
"I'll always want you," Beau warned him, trapping the cool hand against his face. "Forever."
They sat like that for a long time. But Beau had to break the silence—he had to know.
"Does that make you sad?"
"Are you finished?" Edward said at long last.
He jumped up. "Yes."
"Get dressed—I'll wait here."
It was hard to decide what to wear. He doubted there were any etiquette books detailing how to dress to meet your vampire sweetheart's vampire family.
Beau found the nice shirt he wore to Phil and Renée's wedding. It was a navy blue that he realized, grinning, matched his Mariners cap exactly. He buttoned the shirt, stepped into a pair of chinos, pairing them both with a tan belt. Finally he smoothed his hair in the mirror.
He turned to water his plants, and, after a moment of thought, took the pot containing the rosette succulent. The cactus, his desert love, could stay put.
"Okay. I'm decent."
Edward was waiting at the foot of the stairs, closer than he thought, and Beau bounded right into him.
"Wrong again, you're utterly indecent. No one should look so tempting, it's not fair."
"Tempting how?" Beau asked. "I can change . . . should I iron my pants? Are they wrinkled?"
"You are so absurd. Shall I explain how you are tempting me?"
It was clearly a rhetorical question. The cold hand smoothed down his chest until it hit the belt buckle. His hand curled around the buckle and used it to tug Beau forward. Edward touched his lips to his for the second time, very carefully, parting them slightly.
Then Beau staggered. He clutched the succulent to his chest, prepared to let himself hit the floor before it did.
"Beau?" Edward's voice was alarmed as he held him up. Neither he nor the plant suffered any harm.
"You made me faint," Beau accused him dizzily.
"What am I going to do with you?" Edward groaned in exasperation. "Yesterday I kiss you, and you attack me! Today you pass out on me! So much for being good at everything."
"That's the problem. You're too good. Far too good."
"Do you feel sick?"
"No—that wasn't the same kind of fainting at all. I don't know what happened." Beau shook his head apologetically. "I think I forgot to breathe."
"I can't take you anywhere like this."
"I'm fine," he insisted. "Your family is going to think I'm insane anyway, what's the difference?"
Edward studied his expression for a moment. "I'm very partial to that color on your skin."
Beau flushed. "Look, I'm trying really hard not to think about what I'm about to do, so can we go already?"
"And you're worried, not because you're headed to meet a houseful of vampires, but because you think those vampires won't approve of you, correct?"
"That's right."
Edward shook his head. "You're incredible."
Beau realized, as they drove out of the main part of town, that he had no idea where Edward lived. They passed over the bridge at the Calawah River, the road winding northward, houses growing bigger and further apart. One turn led them through misty forest to an unpaved and unmarked road. The woods thinned and a white house rose out of them, three stories tall, and, Beau assumed, over a hundred years old.
"Wow."
"You like it?"
"It . . . has a certain charm."
Edward chuckled. "Ready?"
"Not even a little bit—let's go." Beau tried to laugh, but it seemed to get stuck in his throat. He smoothed his hair nervously.
"You look lovely." Edward took his hand easily, without thinking about it. His thumb rubbed soothing circles into the back of it, no doubt sensing the tension.
The inside of the house was very bright. His eyes took in the architectural details almost hungrily—the open floor plan, the south-facing wall made entirely of glass, and the massive, curving staircase.
Waiting to greet them, standing just left of the door by a spectacular grand piano, were Edward's parents.
Beau had seen Dr. Cullen before, but he couldn't help but be struck again by his youth, his outrageous perfection. At his side had to be Esme, the only Cullen he had yet to meet. She was slender, smaller than the others, pale, and lovely. The two smiled in welcome but stayed put until the pair approached.
"Carlisle, Esme, this is Beau."
"You're very welcome, Beau," Carlisle took a measured step forward. Beau took his waiting hand and shook it, firmly, like his own father taught him.
"It's nice to see you again, Dr. Cullen."
"Please, call me Carlisle." The doctor looked younger without his labcoat, more relaxed. They were a long way away from the human charade now.
"Carlisle, then," Beau grinned. He was surprised by his own sudden confidence. Beau shook hands with Esme next, who held fast, grasping his hand delicately in hers.
"It's very nice to know you."
"Thank you, I'm glad to meet you, too," Beau told her, then presented the rosette succulent, which thankfully survived the bumpy ride to the house. "Edward told me you like to garden, so I brought you this. It's from Phoenix."
Esme smiled so broadly that even the doctor looked dazzled. It was like seeing Snow White in the flesh.
"Thank you, dear," she beamed. "That's very kind. I have the perfect place for it."
Edward cleared his throat. "Where are Alice and Jasper?"
No one answered because suddenly they were there. "Hey, Edward!"
Alice ran down the stairs in a flash of black and white. She came to a graceful stop in front of Beau and ignored the warning glances from her parents. Her smile was broad and sincere.
"Hi again, Beau!" Alice stood on tiptoe; he bent obediently so she could kiss his cheek. He blushed at her obvious affection, but it pleased him, the approval. Edward stiffened at his side. Beau glanced at him and found his expression unreadable.
"You do smell nice, I never noticed before," she commented.
Beau was embarrassed. "So I hear."
No one seemed to know quite what to say, and then Jasper was there, tall and leonine. Beau soon recognized a distinct feeling of ease. It spread through his chest, warm and comfortable, as if he was sitting in front of a fireplace. Edward was staring at Jasper with one eyebrow raised, and by then Beau remembered what Jasper could do.
"Hello, Beau."
"Hello, Jasper," he answered shyly. "It's nice to meet you all—you have a very beautiful home."
"Thank you," Esme said. "We're so glad that you came."
Beau could tell she meant it. Then he realized that Rosalie and Emmett were nowhere to be seen. His eyes landed on Carlisle, who was gazing meaningfully at Edward, an intense expression on his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Edward nod once. Beau looked away, trying to be polite, and found himself studying the piano.
When Beau was a kid, he decided that if he won the lottery, the first thing he would buy for his mother was a grand piano. Renée wasn't very good—she only played for the two of them—but Beau loved to watch her at the keys.
"Do you play?" Esme asked, noticing his preoccupation.
"Not at all. But it's so beautiful. Is it yours?"
"No," she laughed. "Edward didn't tell you he was musical?"
"No, but I should have known, I guess."
Esme looked confused, so he added, "Edward can do everything, right?"
Jasper snickered as Esme gave Edward a reproving look. "I hope you haven't been showing off—it's rude."
"Just a bit," Edward laughed. Her scolding face softened at the sound. They shared a look that Beau didn't understand.
"He's been too modest, actually," Beau said.
"Well, play for him."
"You just said showing off was rude," he reminded her.
"There are exceptions to every rule," Esme said, turning to Beau, who understood her intent at once.
"I'd like to hear you play."
"It's settled then." Esme pushed them both in the direction of the piano. Edward threw him an exasperated look before he began.
And then his fingers flowed swiftly across the ivory keys. The room filled with a composition so complex, so luxuriant, it was impossible to believe only one set of hands played. Beau felt his jaw drop in astonishment. The family chuckled at his reaction.
Edward looked sideways at him, the music still surging without a break, and winked. "Do you like it?"
"You wrote this?"
"It's Esme's favorite."
The music slowed, transforming into something softer, and to his surprise he recognized the melody of that lullaby from the night before.
"You inspired this one," Edward said softly. The music grew unbearably sweet. Beau couldn't speak. He only sat, hands pressed to his chinos, awed.
"They like you, you know. Esme especially."
Beau glanced over his shoulder, but the huge room was empty now. "Where did they go?"
"Very subtly giving us some privacy, I suppose."
"They like me," Beau sighed. "But Rosalie and Emmett . . . "
"Don't worry about Rosalie. She'll come around."
"Emmett?"
"Well, he thinks I'm a lunatic, it's true, but he doesn't have a problem with you. He's trying to reason with Rosalie."
"What is it that upsets her?" Beau wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.
Edward sighed deeply. "Rosalie struggles the most with . . . with what we are. It's hard for her to have someone on the outside know the truth. And she's a little jealous."
"Rosalie is jealous of me?" Beau asked, incredulous. He couldn't fathom why.
"You're human." Edward shrugged. "She wishes that she were, too."
"Oh. Even Jasper, though . . . "
"That's really my fault. I told you he was the most recent to try our way of life. I warned him to keep his distance."
"Esme and Carlisle?"
"Are happy to see me happy," Edward smiled. "Actually, Esme wouldn't care if you had a third eye and webbed feet. All this time she's been worried about me, afraid that there was something missing from my essential makeup, that I was too young when Carlisle changed me . . . She's ecstatic. Every time I touch you, she just about chokes with satisfaction."
The idea of her loving him that much touched Beau more than he could explain. Beau realized then that this morning's anxiety wasn't about the Cullens at all—it was about Charlie. He wanted his father to accept him the same way the Cullens accepted Edward. Beau cleared his throat at the sudden burst of emotions.
"Alice seems very . . . enthusiastic."
"Alice has her own way of looking at things."
"And you're not going to explain that, are you?"
A moment of wordless communication passed between them. Edward realized that Beau knew he was keeping something from him. Beau realized Edward wasn't going to give anything away. Not now.
"So what was Carlisle telling you before?"
His eyebrows pulled together. "You noticed that, did you?"
Beau shrugged. "Of course."
Edward looked at him thoughtfully for a few more seconds before answering. "He wanted to tell me some news—he didn't know if it was something I would share with you."
"Will you?"
"I have to, because I'm going to be a little . . . overbearingly protective over the next few days . . . or weeks. I wouldn't want you to think I'm naturally a tyrant."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong, exactly. Alice just sees some visitors coming soon. They know we're here, and they're curious."
"Visitors?" Beau repeated.
"Yes . . . well, they aren't like us, of course—in their hunting habits, I mean. They probably won't come into town at all, but I'm certainly not going to let you out of my sight till they're gone."
Beau shivered.
"Finally, a rational response! I was beginning to think you had no sense of self-preservation at all."
Beau let that one pass. He looked away, eager to distract himself, eyes moving around the spacious room. Edward watched him take it all in.
"Not what you expected, is it?"
"No," Beau admitted.
"No coffins, no piled skulls in the corners; I don't even think we have cobwebs . . . what a disappointment this must be for you," Edward continued slyly.
Beau ignored the teasing. "It's so light . . . so open."
"It's the one place we never have to hide."
The song he was still playing, Beau's song, drifted to an end, the final chords shifting to a more melancholy key. The last note hovered poignantly in the silence.
"Thank you," Beau murmured. He realized there were tears in his eyes. Edward touched the corner of his eye, trapping one tear he missed, and examined the moisture broodingly. Then he put his finger in his mouth to taste it. Beau made a face.
"Did I mention the stalking?"
"Yes, quite right. Sorry. Do you want to see the rest of the house?"
"No coffins?"
Edward laughed, took his hand, and led him away from the piano. "No coffins."
They moved to the second floor, passing Rosalie and Emmett's room, Carlisle's office, and Alice's room. Edward would have continued, but Beau stopped dead at the end of the hall, staring incredulously at the ornament hanging above his head.
"You can laugh," Edward chuckled. "It is sort of ironic."
Beau didn't laugh. He raised one hand as if to touch the large wooden cross but held back. He was curious if the aged wood was as silky as it looked.
"It must be very old."
"Early sixteen-thirties, more or less."
"Why do you keep this here?"
Edward shrugged. "Nostalgia. It belonged to Charlie's father."
"Did he collect antiques?"
"No. He carved it himself. It hung on the wall above the pulpit in the vicarage where he preached."
Beau quickly did the mental math. The cross was nearly four hundred years old. The silence stretched on as he struggled to wrap his mind around the concept of so many years.
"Are you all right?"
"How old is Carlisle?" Beau asked quietly.
"He just celebrated his three hundred and sixty-second birthday," Edward answered. "Carlisle was born in London, in the sixteen-forties, he believes. Time wasn't marked as accurately back then."
Beau listened to the story unfold with rapt attention. Carlisle was the son of an Anglican pastor, an intolerant man, who led hunts for supernatural creatures. The son was cleverer than the father and discovered a coven of true vampires living in the city. He chased an old one, a weak one, who then became his sire.
"Carlisle knew what his father would do. The bodies would be burned—anything infected by the monster must be destroyed. Carlisle acted instinctively to save his own life and hid in a cellar for three days. It's a miracle he was able to keep silent and stay undiscovered. Then he realized what he had become."
Beau wasn't sure what his face was revealed, but Edward suddenly broke off. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine," Beau assured him.
He smiled. "I expect you have a few more questions for me."
"Only a million or two," Beau said, echoing his own words from the night before.
Edward's smile widened over his brilliant teeth. He started back down the hall, pulling Beau along by the hand.
"Come on, then," he encouraged. "I'll show you."
Edward led him back to the door he marked as Carlisle's office. They stood outside for a few seconds before Carlisle's voice invited them in.
The office had tall ceilings, west-facing windows, and bookshelves so high Beau had to crane his neck to see them all. There were more books in this room than he'd ever seen outside a library. His mother would have been thrilled to see it.
Carlisle sat behind a huge mahogany desk. He placed a bookmark in the pages of a thick volume, looking very much like a college dean, but far too young to fit the part.
"What can I do for you?"
"I wanted to show Beau some of our history," Edward said. "Well, your history, actually."
"We didn't mean to disturb you," Beau apologized, his gaze darting between Carlisle and the volume he held. He always hated being interrupted while immersed in a good book.
"Not at all. Where are you going to start?"
"The Waggoner," Edward replied, guiding Beau to the wall beside the door they came through. Every time they touched, even in the most casual way, his heart had an audible reaction. It was even more embarrassing with Carlisle there.
A small oil painting hung in a wooden frame. It depicted a miniature city full of steeply slanted roofs, thin towers, and a wide river in the foreground.
"London in the sixteen-fifties."
"The London of my youth," Carlisle added.
"Will you tell the story?" Edward asked.
Carlisle met Beau's eyes and smiled. "I would, but I'm actually running a bit late. The hospital called this morning—Dr. Snow is taking a sick day. Besides, you know the stories as well as I do."
It was a strange conversation to absorb—the everyday concerns of the town doctor stuck in the middle of a discussion of his early days in seventeenth-century London. It was also unsettling to know that Carlisle spoke aloud only for Beau's benefit.
After another warm smile for Beau, Carlisle left the room.
"What happened then?" Beau asked. "When he realized what had happened to him?"
Edward glanced back at the paintings. "When Carlisle knew what he had become, he rebelled against it. He tried to destroy himself. But that's not easily done."
"How?"
"He jumped from great heights," Edward told him. "He tried to drown himself in the ocean . . . but he was young to the new life, and very strong. It is amazing that he was able to resist . . . feeding . . . while he was still so new. The instinct is more powerful then, it takes over everything. But he was so repelled by himself that he had the strength to try to kill himself with starvation."
Beau heard the tremor in his own voice. "Is that possible?"
"No, there are very few ways we can be killed. Carlisle became very hungry. He grew weaker. He strayed as far as he could from the human populace, recognizing that his willpower was weakening, too. For months he wandered by night, seeking the loneliest places, loathing himself. One night, a herd of deer passed his hiding place. He was so wild with thirst he attacked without a thought. His strength returned and he realized there was an alternative to being the vile monster he feared. Over the next few months his new philosophy was born. He could exist without being a demon. Carlisle found himself again. He began to make better use of his time. He'd always been intelligent, eager to learn. Now he had unlimited time before him. He studied by night, planned by day. He swam to France and—"
"He swam to France?"
"People swim the Channel all the time, Beau."
"That's true, I guess," he conceded. "It just sounded funny in the context. Go on."
"Swimming is easy for us—"
"Everything is easy for you," he corrected, watching the amusement flicker in Edward's eyes. "I won't interrupt again, I promise."
"—because, technically, we don't need to breathe."
"You—"
"No, no, you promised," Edward put a cold finger to his lips. "Do you want to hear the story or not?"
He moved his hand to Beau's neck, smiling slightly, when he detected the blood under the skin speeding up in response.
"You don't have to breathe?"
"No, it's not necessary. Just a habit."
"How long can you go . . . without breathing?"
"Indefinitely, I suppose," Edward mused. "I don't know. It gets a bit uncomfortable—being without a sense of smell."
"A bit uncomfortable," Beau echoed.
Edward grew somber at his words. The hand on his neck dropped. The silence continued indefinitely.
"What is it?" Beau whispered, touching the lovely, marble face.
Edward softened at the touch, sighing. "I keep waiting for it to happen."
"For what to happen?"
"I know that at some point, something I tell you or something you see is going to be too much. And then you'll run away from me, screaming as you go." He smiled half a smile, but his eyes were serious. "I won't stop you. I want this to happen, because I want you to be safe. And yet, I want to be with you. The two desires are impossible to reconcile . . . " He trailed off. Waiting.
"I'm not running anywhere," Beau promised.
"We'll see."
"So go on—Carlisle was swimming in France."
Edward paused, getting back into his story. Reflexively, his eyes flickered to another picture—the most colorful of them all, the most ornately framed, and the largest; it was twice as wide as the door it hung next to. The canvas overflowed with bright figures in swirling robes, writhing around long pillars and off marbled balconies. Beau couldn't tell if it represented Greek mythology, or if the characters floating in the clouds above were meant to be biblical.
"Carlisle swam to France, and continued on through Europe, to the universities there. By night he studied music, science, medicine—and found his calling, his penance, in that, in saving human lives." Edward's expression became awed, almost reverent. "I can't adequately describe the struggle; it took Carlisle two centuries of torturous effort to perfect his self-control. Now he is all but immune to the scent of human blood, and he is able to do the work he loves without agony. He finds a great deal of peace there, at the hospital . . . "
Edward stared off for a long moment. Then he seemed to recall his purpose. He tapped his finger against the huge painting in front of us.
"He was studying in Italy when he discovered the others there. They were much more civilized and educated than the wraiths of the London sewers."
He touched a comparatively sedate quartet of figures painted on the highest balcony, looking down calmly on the mayhem below them. Beau examined the grouping carefully and realized, with a startled laugh, that he recognized the golden-haired man.
"Solimena was greatly inspired by Carlisle's friends. He often painted them as gods. Aro, Marcus, Caius," he chuckled, indicating the other three figures. Two were black-haired, and the last was snowy-white. "Nighttime patrons of the arts."
"What happened to them?"
"They're still there." Edward shrugged. "As they have been for who knows how many millennia. Carlisle stayed with them only for a short time, just a few decades. He greatly admired their civility, their refinement, but they persisted in trying to cure his aversion to 'his natural food source,' as they called it. They tried to persuade him, and he tried to persuade them, to no avail. At that point, Carlisle decided to try the New World. He dreamed of finding others like himself. He was very lonely, you see.
"He didn't find anyone for a long time. But, as monsters became the stuff of fairy tales, he found he could interact with unsuspecting humans as if he were one of them. He began practicing medicine. But the companionship he craved evaded him; he couldn't risk familiarity.
"When the influenza epidemic hit, he was working nights in a hospital in Chicago. He'd been turning over an idea in his mind for several years, and he had almost decided to act—since he couldn't find a companion, he would create one. He wasn't absolutely sure how his own transformation had occurred, so he was hesitant. And he was loath to steal anyone's life the way his had been stolen. It was in that frame of mind that he found me. There was no hope for me; I was left in a ward with the dying. He had nursed my parents, and knew I was alone. He decided to try . . . "
Edward's voice trailed off. He stared unseeingly though the west windows. Beau waited quietly.
"And so we've come full circle," Edward concluded.
"Have you always stayed with Carlisle, then?"
"Almost always." Edward put a hand on his waist and walked them both toward the hallway. Beau glanced back at the wall of pictures, wondering if one day he might get to hear the other stories.
"Almost?"
Edward seemed reluctant to answer. "Well, I had a typical bout of rebellious adolescence—about ten years after I was . . . born . . . created, whatever you want to call it. I wasn't sold on his life of abstinence, and I resented him for curbing my appetite. So I went off on my own for a time."
"Really?" Beau was intrigued, rather than frightened, as perhaps he should have been.
"That doesn't repulse you?"
"No?"
"Why not?"
"I guess . . . it sounds reasonable."
Edward barked a laugh. "From the time of my new birth, I had the advantage of knowing what everyone around me was thinking, both human and non-human alike. That's why it took me ten years to defy Carlisle—I could read his perfect sincerity, understand exactly why he lived the way he did. It took me only a few years to return to Carlisle and recommit to his vision. I thought I would be exempt from the . . . depression . . . that accompanies a conscience. Because I knew the thoughts of my prey, I could pass over the innocent and pursue only the evil. If I followed a murderer down a dark alley where he stalked a young girl—if I saved her, then surely I wasn't so terrible."
Beau shivered, imagining only too clearly what he described—the alley at night, the frightened victim, the dark man hunting. And Edward, Edward as he hunted, terrible and glorious as a young god, unstoppable. Would she have been grateful, that girl, or more frightened than before?
"But as time went on, I began to see the monster in my eyes. I couldn't escape the debt of so much human life taken, no matter how justified. So I went back to Carlisle and Esme. They welcomed me back like the prodigal. It was more than I deserved."
They came to a stop at the last door in the hall.
"This is my room."
Edward's room faced the south. A wall-sized window looked down on the winding Sol Duc River, across the untouched forest to the Olympic Mountain range.
The western wall was completely covered with shelf after shelf of CDs. In the corner was a sophisticated-looking sound system, the kind Beau was afraid to touch because he was sure he'd break something. There was no bed, only a wide and inviting black leather sofa. The floor was covered with a thick golden carpet, and the walls were hung with heavy fabric in a slightly darker shade.
"Good acoustics?"
Edward chuckled and picked up a remote to turn on the stereo. A soft jazz number started up as Beau went to study the music collection.
"How do you have these organized?"
"Um, by year, and then by personal preference within that frame," Edward said absently.
Beau turned and found him staring with a peculiar expression. "What?"
"I was prepared to feel . . . relieved. Having you know about everything, not needing to keep secrets from you. But I didn't expect to feel more than that. I like it. It makes me . . . happy."
"I'm glad," Beau told him. He was worried that Edward might regret telling him these things. It was good to know that wasn't true. "But . . . you're still waiting for the running and screaming, aren't you?"
Edward nodded, a faint smile touching his lips. Beau shook his head.
"I hate to burst your bubble, but you're really not as scary as you think you are. I don't find you scary at all, actually."
Edward raised his eyebrows in blatant disbelief. Then he flashed a wide, wicked smile.
"You really shouldn't have said that."
He growled, a low sound in the back of his throat; his lips curled back over his perfect teeth. His body shifted suddenly, half-crouched, tensed like a lion about to bounce. Beau backed away from him and glared.
"You wouldn't."
Beau didn't see him leap—it was much too fast. He found himself suddenly airborne. The two boys crashed into the sofa and knocked it into the wall. All the while, Beau was locked safely in an iron cage of Edward's arms, barely jostled by the motion. But he was still gasping as he tried to right himself.
Edward wasn't having that. He curled him against his chest, an exact mirror of the way they—well, he—slept the night before. Beau glared at the floor, knowing Edward was smirking, even though he couldn't see him.
The cool breath tickled his ear as Edward spoke. "You were saying?"
"That you are a very, very, terrifying monster," Beau said sarcastically.
"Much better."
"Um," Beau struggled. "Can I get up now?"
Edward just laughed.
"Can we come in?"
He continued to struggle, but Edward merely righted them, shifting until Beau was sitting more conventionally in his lap.
"Go ahead."
Alice and Jasper joined them. Alice seemed to find nothing unusual about their embrace—she walked to the center of the room and folded herself sinuously on the floor. Jasper, however, paused at the door, his expression full of shock. He stared at Edward, no doubt scanning the atmosphere with his unusual sensitivity.
"It sounded like you were having Beau for lunch, and we came to see if you would share."
Beau felt his eyes bulge at Alice's words until he noticed Edward was grinning—from her comment or Beau's response, he couldn't tell.
"Sorry," Edward answered, tightening his grip around Beau's waist. "I don't believe I have enough to spare."
"Actually," Jasper said, now smiling despite himself, "Alice says there's going to be a real storm tonight, and Emmett wants to play ball. Are you game?"
"Of course you should bring Beau," Alice chirped as Edward considered these words. "I hear you have a wicked curveball."
Beau brightened at the compliment. Edward turned to him in excitement. "Do you want to go?"
"Sure," Beau said, knowing he could never refuse that face. "Um, where are we going?"
"We have to wait for thunder to play ball—you'll see why."
"Will I need an umbrella?"
All three vampires laughed aloud. "Will he?"
"No." Alice was positive. "The storm will hit over town. It should be dry enough in the clearing."
"Good, then." The enthusiasm in Jasper's voice was catching.
"Let's go see if Carlisle will come."
"Like you don't know," Jasper teased, and then he and Alice were swiftly on their way. He managed to inconspicuously close the door behind them.
"What will we be playing?"
"Baseball, of course," Edward replied, studying him. "You will be watching most of it."
Beau raised his eyebrows. "Vampires like baseball? Is that normal? Besides you and your White Sox?"
"It's the American pastime, remember?" Edward said with mock solemnity.
A/N: Thank you all for your kind words last week. Stay safe everyone - we're all in this together.