Over the course of a couple of weeks, I did everything in my power not to go looking for her. A time or two, I began to sense her mind, and I immediately turned and all but fled. I went to shows, flirted with interesting men and women in bars, and even sat in for Philippe a time or two, and still I did not seek her out.
I started taking long walks at night. I hunted more frequently and larger game, though I knew not why. I had long conversations with Garrett about what other supernatural entities might exist and what first encounters might be like, but while he found the idea interesting, he was not nearly so interested in practical applications. As soon as I realized he was humoring me more than enjoying himself, I quit having the discussions.
Finally, one night, on the way to a club I knew to see if I could find some entertaining company for the night, something changed. I came across her scent.
I am sure I would have looked odd to any who might have passed by. I sniffed the air and about the ground, trying to deconstruct her smell. It was different than before, and it was different from the usual hormonal changes a young lady goes through during her normal cycle. It was earthier somehow, muskie. It spoke to me of tilled earth and snapped greenery and running water, of countrysides and windy nights and woods. But there was more. I smelled traces of deer in it, fur and mud and blood. And something else. There was the barest hint of it. Something old, something strong and predatory and dangerous, even to vampires.
I couldn't understand it. I wanted to know, to understand. At that moment, I knew I was in so-called trouble. I turned and walked into the scent, doubling back as soon as I realized I was going the way she had come, not the way she was going. I picked up my pace, though still maintaining human speeds.
She had headed into a small bar, one which I had seen, but never entered myself. I faltered as I tried to follow. It was busy and her scent was stirred quite a bit, but as far as I could tell, she had just gone straight through and out the back. I continued after.
I bent my entire will onto the scent, following as I realized the scent was getting fresher. I was gaining on her. I stepped up my pace again, turning down alleys and backstreets. It occurred to me minutes later that her course made no sense. It was doubling back on itself, twisting and winding, as though she were trying to throw off a pursuer. That made no sense. If she was being followed, she obviously knew about it. But it couldn't be me she was trying to lose, because the method she was using had no chance of me losing her trail. So, either she had no idea what my senses were capable of, or…
I stopped, just in time to hear the brush of shoes upon brick. These bricks were on the roof, some three stories above me. If I hadn't known what to listen for, I would have missed it. Her mind was entirely quiet to me, and it wasn't until I focused right where I knew her to be that I could make out anything at all. She was hyper focused, almost like a vampire with prey. I barely even heard it as she dove.
The pounce fell short, which is to say that I caught her wrists. She was quite strong, and though she was not quite so tall as me, she nearly bent me over in my attempts to hold her back from reaching for my throat.
"Why are you following me?" she snarled in French.
"Calm down," I said, "I'm not going to hurt you."
"You should worry about yourself!" she spat, again in French.
I quickly grew tired of her fussing. I inspected her stance and her posture and knew she was no fighter. I, however, had spent the better part of a hundred years sparring whenever I felt so inclined and had a willing partner, and for most of that I had Jasper and Emmett at my disposal, the fastest and strongest vampires I knew, respectively. She really stood no chance.
I pivoted under her, twisting my grasp of her wrists around, so as to spin her about, throwing her feet out from under her. While in the air, she had no definitive point of leverage, save my grasp, which I did not let her use. As soon as she tried to pull against me, I let her go, leaving her to flail as she tried to hit me or reach me. I, however, had the ground beneath my feet.
Before she hit the ground, I was behind her, effortlessly pinning her in place. She thrashed and snarled and nashed her teeth, trying to reach me. She could have kicked me or flipped me off of her, had she known how, but she obviously did not. She didn't know how to use her weight or push herself past her perceived limits. She had much to learn about what her body was capable of.
She huffed and persisted, and her anger never abated, not for a second, but she never freed herself.
"Are you quite finished?" I asked, sounding bored.
"Never!" she napped. "I will tear out your throat and eat your heart! I will break every bone in your body twice and the one between your legs three times!"
Her French was so guttural I almost couldn't understand her. I waited for her to run herself out. Nearly ten minutes later. I rolled my eyes.
"Enough," I said. "This is getting us nowhere. Would you mind terribly calming down?"
She called me several vicious and ungenerous things, then slowly relaxed.
"Was that so hard?" I asked, which, naturally, was a mistake.
I nearly broke through the wall behind me as she threw me off. I had just enough time to recover before she had me by the collar and was hurling me back into the wall where I had had her pinned. I managed to get my feet between the wall and myself, taking the brunt of the force evenly and surely. Then, I launched myself at her, pushing off the wall with my feet, a leap that could have sent me more than ten meters, had there been nothing in my way. She just managed to catch me, and we were tossed about, rolling to a stop with her above me. She quickly straddled me and pinned my wrists as best she could, having her shuddering breaths atop me.
"Now," she gasped, switching to English. "Was that so hard?"
I let her pin me. If that is what I needed to get her talking, that was fine by me.
"What now?" I asked, making no moves against her.
She considered.
"Why are you following me?" she asked.
I shrugged as best I could while pinned.
"Curiosity, mostly," I said simply.
"Oh?" she asked. "And what is the rest?"
"Boredom," I confessed.
She snorted indelicately.
"Should I kill you now or later?" she asked flippantly.
"If those are my only options," I said roguishly, "then I'm going to have to go with later."
She gave me a hard look.
"And why should I give you a second's thought?" she demanded, adding in French, "You putrid walking corpse!"
"That couldn't have been complimentary," I said, unfazed.
"You are a monster," she said emphatically, her face practically twitching all its muscles with her vehemence as she condemned me.
I smiled, which seemed to catch her off her guard.
"There is nothing," I said, my words emotionless as I froze the carefree expression on my face, "that you could say of me that I haven't said about myself and worse. I know full well what I am."
She stared at me for a long moment.
"Oh," she finally said, "but I am sure you are a moral creature, only killing murderers and the like. Never have you harmed an innocent."
I laughed.
"Every single person I have killed was innocent," I said. "Murderers and rapists to be sure, but that was only a justification I used to excuse their deaths. Their actions were that of an ignorant child, doing the best they could to escape the pain the world had foisted upon them, and by rights shouldn't be condemned for their actions, horrific as they may be."
She glared at me.
"So," she seethed, "you believe that murders should not be held responsible for their actions."
Again, I shrugged.
"I have no idea," I said honestly. "Or, rather, I don't know of the best way to help a murder no longer be one. I know of no reparations, no recompense that could alleviate the damage that he has caused. But I do not believe that the best way to react to murder is murder."
She looked at me for a long time.
"You are a strange monster," she said quietly.
I shifted to get my arms under me to lean up slightly. She let me, straightening above me.
"I am merely conflicted," I said, "as all earnest monsters should be. If you want to see strange, you should meet my father."
My shifting seemed to disrupt her balance, and she was forced to steady herself by placing a hand upon my chest. She pinked and hid her face behind a fall of flaming curls as she turned and dismounted. I stayed where I was upon the alley floor.
"You mean your creator," she said, standing and leaning against the closest wall, her arms crossed and her shoulders hunched.
"That too," I said, "but he is my father in all but blood. Well, human blood, in any case."
She grunted in what could have been amusement, if her body wasn't radiating tension.
"I'm not going to hurt you," I said, practically lounging.
She met my eyes with a diffident glare.
"That remains to be seen," she said testily.
I only smiled at her.
"Get off the ground," she complained. "I do not want to think what might be upon the floor of such an alley."
I stood, brushing myself off. With a bare sniff, I could tell there was nothing odious upon me.
"Your concern is noted and appreciated," I said smoothly. She gave me a dark look.
"Enfonce-le dans ton cul," she bit back at me. I chuckled.
"I do not give a baise volante what you think, pretty boy," she said costicly.
I moved to lean against the wall, just far enough away that she wasn't quite so wary. It was closer than I would have thought.
"How do you know me?" I asked.
She snorted.
"I do not know you Englishman," she said.
"American," I corrected.
She made a sound of disgust, "Even worse!"
I laughed quietly.
"I meant my kind," I said. "How do you know of us?"
She gave me an even look, as though thinking it over.
"It isn't as though you are being subtle about it," she said. "Stories of vampires are everywhere. It is, how you say, dépassé."
I almost said that it was outdated, but refrained, shrugging.
"It is the oldest trick in the book," she said, her French accent giving her words a condescending edge that was no less companionable. "Even your Anne Rice knew this. The best way to convince the population that something is not real is to dress it up in theater. Make it mythology or satire or commonplace fiction."
I nod, my lip twitching with amusement.
"Perhaps," I said. "But you knew me for what I was, without me being overt and revealing my true nature. You were as sure as if you caught me draining maidens in my coffin."
She made a crass sound.
"You were so obvious, you did not need to," she scoffed.
"You are not a very accomplished liar," I said.
She gave me a sharp look.
"And you are a… a…," she stammered.
"A what?" I asked daringly.
"Connard enragé!" she cried, turning towards me and stamping her foot in pique. It was pretty endearing. I couldn't help but grin.
"And you are quite charming when you are angry," I said.
She stopped, and looked at me with wary distrust and dislike.
"What do you want?" she asked.
That was actually a good question.
"I'm not entirely sure," I said.
"I am not sleeping with you," she said abruptly.
I laughed, hard and as suddenly as her comment. She went pink, which just made me laugh all the hard.
"It is not that funny," she complained in French. I didn't bother pretending I didn't understand. I couldn't have replied anyway.
"Enough," she said in English once again. She started to walk away at a pace that made it obvious she was not against me following her, which I did.
"Some men would jump at the chance you just scoffed at," she said.
I rolled my eyes, "Your statement didn't leave much room for argument."
She snorted, "You are a man, no?"
I smiled, "Last I checked."
She nodded, "Do you like men?"
"I like men just fine," I said smoothly. She gave me an unimpressed look.
"Do you sleep with them?" she asked scornfully.
"No," I said, "but I do not sleep with women either. I suppose you do not know everything of our kind."
And that was when an important detail fell into place. She knew me. She knew what I was. The fear I had felt, wondering, waiting for someone to discover my secret, the hidden shame of I was, was absent. She knew, but what was more, I was not afraid of her knowing.
"Vampire do not have sex?" she asked.
I shrug, "We are capable, but I suppose it would be much like having sex with someone who isn't in your sexual orientation."
She snorted, "I do not know what that is like."
I looked at her.
"Pansexual," she said. I couldn't tell if she said it in French or not. It is the same, and she said it with her accent really thick.
"I see," I said. "Well, it is a bad analogy. We do not take any more pleasure in the act than the average person does a handshake. I am sure our partner would enjoy it, but there isn't a lot of vampires who go out of their way to have sex with humans."
"Why?" she asked. It was hard to tell if she was genuinely interested or just making angry conversation.
"Because blood is better," I replied. "It is better than sex. It is like the best food and the best sex and the best drug all rolled into one."
She looked more than a little discomfited and more than extremely disgusted.
I waved my words away.
"It's true," I said. "I won't lie. If you don't want to know something, tell me and I won't."
She thinks about it.
"Okay," she said seriously.
I nodded, "Okay."
I looked about us.
"Now," I said, "as much as I like talking in an alley as the next creature of the night, where would you like to go?"
She smiled. I made her smile.
"Come with me, pretty boy," she entoned, walking with a bit more sway than usual. I followed.
We ended up in a little venue that was more of a lounge bar that served food. It was lit with purple lights and the music was a single live piano. The player was good, playing largely improvised atmospherical pieces that were less songs and more like strong together phrases that he could bridge with a simple repeated measure. I was considering talking to him even before we found our booth.
She ordered a beer and a sandwich. I had nothing. The waiter thought we were on an improvised first date, having ducked out of a party as soon as we decided that we were the most interested people there. He was convinced that she was slacking my boredom, which was entirely true, and she was in it for my looks.
"He thinks you're only here because of my pretty face," I commented.
She glanced at the waiter.
"Even if I was," she said. "I would be, as they say, barking up the wrong tree, no?"
I grinned.
"You never said one way or the other," I pointed out.
"What about you?" she asked. "Are you just here for my face?"
I chuckled.
"What would I do with your face?" I chortled. "Do not mistake me. It is a fine face, and certainly worth looking at, but I am not looking for romance if that is what you are asking."
She snorted, "Of course not. But when men are not looking for romance is usually the best time for them to find it."
"Not me," I said.
"Why?" she asked.
I swallowed.
"There was…" I said slowly, "a girl."
"Oh ho," she singsonged. "This explains so much. What was her name?"
"Bella," I answered.
She makes a sound of dismissal, "Italian. Puh!"
"American," I corrected.
"Even worse!" she replied. "What happened?"
"I fell for her," I said. "Hard."
"Why?" she asked, a sort of gleam in her eye.
I blinked at her.
"I like romance!" she complained. "Je suis française, non?"
I shook my head.
"She was special," I said. "She wasn't the sort to light up a room when she stepped into it. She would have hated the attention. Instead, she saw everyone in the room and would find the person who needed it the most and sit with them and make them feel better about themselves, with her kindness and her attention. She was a fair and just person, kind and compassionate. She made me believe a monster was worthy of love."
She was resting her chin in one hand, a slightly dream expression on her face.
"So," she asked. "How did you screw it up?"
I smirked, "I tried to kill her."
The place was too noisy to become silent, but it was as though a hush fell over the room for a few moments.
"You tried to kill her?" she asked, extremely skeptical.
I nodded, "It was the worst decision I have made in my entire existence."
"But why?" she asked. "Sure it was not anything she did."
I froze. Up to that point, the topics had been safe. These were all things that I knew, tangentially from the large issues at hand. I could think of Bella's name and speak about her existence, but I had never put myself back into those memories, not deliberately, since I had begun traveling with Garrett. At that moment, I made the choice to remember. And it was as though a door opened itself in my mind.
The night had been everything that I had longer for it to be. I had confessed to Bella my feelings and had hung with her above our town and knew she felt no fear with me. I had done everything I had wanted to do, able to bear the ceaseless burning of my throat, even while as thirsty as I was. It was a herculean effort, but one I was proving capable of. And then, that stupid witless ignorant child had come in and ruined everything. At least, that is what I had come to believe, though I was starting to know better.
"Bella," I said, "had another suitor, even if neither of them would have thought so. He came upon me when I was injured and craving human blood."
I could see it clearly.
I was pacing outside the school, hurting and desperate. I needed blood, but there was no time for me to track down one that I wished, a murder or a friend, someone I could justify murder for. And Jacob Black found me. He had circled the school. I could remember it perfectly.
"It's true," he had said. "You are one of them."
He is really, truly a vampire! he thought.
I looked at him, and something of what I was showed in my face. He saw it clearly and knew for certain.
"Does she know?" he asked, demanded really.
Oh, of course, you idiot! he thought. You told her! Wait… if I told her…
That had meant that he had broken the treaty. He had broken the treaty and all of their protectors were dead. And we were no longer beholden to its guidelines. We could bite and kill, doubly justified and without fear of repercussions.
"No!" he had cried. "You can't!"
I had seen it clearly in his mind. His thoughts were crystalline, so very clear and real. I could see it, see myself as the monster we both feared that I was, taking Bella, terrified and hopelessly helpless against me as I took her, murdering her for my own pleasure. In my state, I could practically taste her. He saw my hunger and all our worst fears were realized. I was a monster and there was nothing neither of us could do.
"He confessed that he knew what I was," I continued, "and he forced me to see the truth. I thought that if I could be strong, if I could do everything and say everything right, if I were perfect, I believed I could be worthy."
I felt like cracking a skull in my bare hands, perhaps my own.
"But, that wasn't real," I admitted, "Once that illusion was gone, I was left with my own monstrosity. I felt like failure was utterly inevitable. And if I was damned either way, why not take the only thing that I could have while I had it?"
Either I killed Bella and damned her soul, making her the same monstrous thing I was, or I killed her with her soul intact, drinking blood that was so good, I would gladly give up on love for it.
I looked at Lissette. She was looking back at me, her eyes wide, but not so filled with horror as I expected.
"You hunted her," she said without needing to ask.
"Yes," I said simply. "My family did all they could to protect her, and it was not an insubstantial amount of help. But I…"
I shuttered, remembering.
"I caught up with her," I admitted.
"And you…" she insinuated.
I smirked, "She stabbed me. In the heart."
A look a bit like awe came over her face.
"She staked you?" she asked disbelievingly.
I nodded, "She let me get close, caught me off guard and stabbed me perfectly. Had she let me fall, she would have stopped me cold."
She gave me a quizzical look.
"We were at the edge of a building at the time," I explained.
"Aw," she said. "Go one."
"She tried to stop me falling," I continued. "It caused her to fall herself, with me."
"And she is human?" she asked.
"Yes," I affirmed.
"How did you survive?" she asked incredulously.
I smiled sadly, "She pulled the blade from my heart."
She looked confused.
"It allowed me to save us," I said, "but it meant that I was once again free to attack her."
She looked crestfallen.
"She risked her life to try to save you," she asked, her tone requiring clarification, "and freed you, once again risking her life to help you, and you attacked her again?"
"Yes," I said.
"Vous connard absolu!" she cried, drawing the attention of more than one other patron. I got the impression if the waiter had given us our drink before that moment, she would have thrown it in my face. As it was, he paused on his way to the table, as though weighing being polite versus having to clean up the mess. She waved a hand dismissively at me, looking pensively away, and thus didn't look in danger of making a mess just now. He set her drink before her and gave me a warning look, as though concerned for both our sakes. I nodded and he withdrew.
"Did you kill her?" she asked.
"No," I said.
"Did she stab you again?" she asked, and something about the way she said it made me think she really liked the idea.
"No," I said. "I…"
BELLA'S BLOOD!
There really is no way to convey what it was like. I could commit words to the page, carve their meaning into your imagination, but it wouldn't compare. It was a paradigm shift. I thought I knew what blood was, what pleasure it brought me, how it filled me, what it felt like. But it had been more. My pain was not less; pain was no longer a part of the universe. There was no such concept as pain. I felt… alive. I felt whole. I felt as though every single shortcoming I had ever thought I possessed or than anyone had ever even hinted at was gone. Everything that was wrong with me… disappeared.
"The moment I drank her blood," I said, "I didn't feel like a monster anymore."
There was a longer than average pause.
"And then?" she asked.
I grinned, but it instantly soured upon my face.
"She told me that she loved me," I said. "She was weak, barely able to lift her hand, but she touched me face, told me that she loved me, and told me that nothing would ever change that, not even if I killed her."
I was barely able to get the words out. My grief crushed me. I was sure that most mortals, should they have endured what I was enduring at that moment, would be screaming. Some would be dying.
Tears welled in her eyes.
"She what?" she asked, her words breathy and unsteady.
I nodded.
"She had never told me she loved me before," I said.
She covered her mouth.
"What?" I asked.
"She…" she said, swallowing. "It was her one regret. It was the one thing she didn't want to leave undone."
The world went away. My eyes closed, my mouth drew slightly open, and I stilled. I neither heard nor saw nor felt nor smelt nor sensed anything, but heartbreak. I felt buried alive, completely consumed, an inverse statue, but still as still.
Bella. My Bella. My Bella no longer.
How could she have done this? She had been in pain, her life flashing before her eyes, and yet, she thought of me, clearly. Not for the first time, I thought to doubt her sanity. It was crazy, was it not? She worried more for her love of me than she did of death. By God, she was a wonder. There was nothing I could ever do to be worthy of such a creature. Would that I could return in the grace of Heaven, haloed and sereny, forgiven and ascended to a divine station, blessed by all the grace that His will could lay upon me, I might be worthy to kneel before her in supplication. How could I…
Something touched my hand. It felt different. I couldn't have put my finger on it, but it felt risky. Something about it, the feel of it, felt almost like I was running my hand against the fur of a wild animal, as though I was reaching into the personal space of a predator, as though if I would not careful, I would be withdrawing a bleeding stump.
I opened my eyes. Lissette was brushing my hand with the tips of her fingers. She was looking at my face. There was something in her eyes, something more empathy than sympathy. She understood this. She had been where I stood. And, just as quickly, she broke into a smile.
"She was completely out of your league," she said, almost teasingly.
I found myself grinning humorlessly.
"True words," I said, "have yet to be spoken."
She withdrew her hand and looked away.
"You let her live," she commented, and I nodded.
"My father was at hand," I said. "He is a physician and was able to save her life."
I swallowed.
"I met her one last time," I said, "at the hospital. I told myself that I went because she deserved closure and because I deserved the shame of facing her. In truth, I was still tempted."
She gave me a sharp look.
"You didn't!" she said harshly.
I smirked, "No I didn't. In point of fact, I walked away feeling worse than before."
"Worse than nearly killing such a lovely woman?" she scoffed. "How?"
"She banished me," I said. "She told me there was no place in her life and I saw the hurt I had caused. Her love for me was tested and wavered, despite that which she said at the moment I nearly killed her."
I shook my head.
"Her faith in me had never wavered," I said. "Not even when I…"
I swallowed again, fighting the constriction of my throat, as well as the burning that I was doing all that I could to discount.
"But when she told me to leave," I said, "I could see how brittle that faith had become, how much I had weakened her. I had eroded her ability to love. I had taken from her, even if I had not taken her life, and there is no telling if she will ever be the same again."
"Do you love her?" she asked.
I came up short.
"No," I said.
She snorted, "I understand that you believe that you don't, and that you think your affections are unworthy of her, but do you love her?"
It was an important distinction.
"I…" I began, then huffed a sign. "I don't know."
She casually stuck out an arm, flicking a wrist as though to get the bangles there to resettle more comfortably, then pointedly slapped me across the face.
It wasn't even close to hard. If I had been expecting it, I easily could have dodged it. Far from hurting, it woke me to the here and now.
"You think too much," she said. "Stop worrying, and answer."
I stopped, stopped thinking, stopped fretting, stopped holding so tight to what I thought was so damnedably important. I let go, and my mouth opened.
"I do," I said, "and it doesn't matter anymore."
"Of course it matters," she said ardently. "Love always matters."
I revisited my words.
"I will never see her again," I said. "She will never again be a part of my life, save in memory. My feelings, cannot and should not have any bearing upon my life now, or in the future."
Her lips twitched.
"You are honest to a fault," she said, "except when it matters most."
"What do you mean?" I asked, my words firm.
"You lie to yourself," she said.
I hung my head, "As surely as the sun will rise tomorrow."
She bobbed her head.
"At least you know it," she said.
The waiter brought over our food.
At least she no longer looks as though she will castrate him, he thought, setting down the plate and asking if there was anything else we needed. We said nothing and he moved along.
"So," she continued, "you left. And now you what? Wonder around Europe?"
"And South America," I said. "I am still debating if Africa or Asia is next."
She smiles briefly.
"Joli garçon américain riche et mort," she said. "You are like all of the worst things rolled into one."
I laughed, "Couldn't have said it better myself."
I gave an eye to her clothing and apparel, and she gave me a challenging look, daring me to comment. After a beat of me saying nothing, she picked up the sandwich and began eating indelicately, with great horking mouthfuls. It was all I could do not to laugh at the incongruity of it.
"You seem much improved," she said around a bite that she had worked into one corner of her mouth in a decidedly practiced way, "for someone who nearly killed his lover."
I nodded, "I am trying."
She snorted, managing to do so with only air and not food.
"You are traveling alone then?" she asked.
"Not alone," I admitted, but said no more.
"Ah," she said. "Another vampire."
She seemed to consider something.
"Vampires do not…" she trailed off.
I laughed, "Not with humans or other vampires."
She huffed.
"No wonder you are all so dire and… what is the words? Pent up."
I shook my head.
"Is sex really so important?" I asked, and she gave me a horrified look, one so potent that I immediately began looking about for our impending deaths.
"You are a virgin?" she asked, sounding so heartbroken it was more than merely comical.
"Of course," I said. "It was not uncommon for a man of my age to be so when I was mortal."
She furrowed her brow slightly.
"When was that?" she asked.
"Nineteen eighteen," I said.
"So, you're nineteen or eighteen," she said, dismissively, "but when were you mortal?"
I just looked at her until her eyes popped wide.
"You are…" she gasped.
"More than one hundred years old?" I asked for her. "Yes."
A less charitable person might have compared her gaping lips to that of a fish.
"Mère de Dieu," she whispered.
"And for the record," I said, "I was seventeen when I died."
She stared.
"So young," she said.
I looked at her, inspecting. By her skin tone and fair features, she could have passed for a teenager, but with her expansive attitude and her fortified personality, she seemed closer to her late twenties.
She gave me an expected look, and I shook my head.
"I wouldn't be so impermanent," I said.
She smirked, "The joli garçon mort has good manners at least."
She lounged comfortably, completely unconcerned.
"I am, as they say," she said, "look good for my age."
I waited for her to elaborate but she said nothing more.
"What of your companion?" she asked, giving me a slightly devious look. "What is she like?"
I smirked, "Your attempt at subtlety leaves something to be desired."
She cocked a shoulder, charmingly indifferent.
"I will tell you nothing of my companion," I said. "Nor will I name any vampire I know, or estimate their quantity, or specify their haunts, or list any capabilities, or convey any information that may be to our detriment."
She nodded, "The Law."
She knew of the Volturi?
"Who are you?" I all but demanded.
She gave me a cross look.
"You will tell me nothing of all of this, but you compel me to answer your questions?" she shot back. "Vous hypocrite!"
"If I answer those questions," I pointed out, "it could cost me my life. If you don't answer my questions, it could cost me my life. You can see why I might be concerned."
She nodded in concession.
"Non," she said plainly. "I am sorry, but no. You are un garçon honnête and a very civilized monster, but I do not know you. I will not answer your question."
I considered her position and mine, "Then I suppose we are at an impasse."
She scoffed at my English pronunciation of an obviously French word.
"I suppose that we are," she said flatly.
I found myself standing up. She averted her eyes, her motions to eat or drink slowing to nearly nothing. I found myself wanting to protest, to insist that she tell me, but I knew that was wrong. She had every right to deny me, and I would be thrice-damned before I would try to take that away from her. But the more telling reason I did not attempt to dissuade her was I couldn't tell whether I wanted the answer because I wanted to know the truth or because I wanted an excuse to stay.
I stood there just long enough to realize that I was giving her one last opportunity to change her mind, to call me back, to invite me to sit again, for her to try and alleviate my worry and tell me that I had nothing to fear. But she did not. She didn't look at me. Ironically, her method for pretending that I didn't exist was to do everything she could not to acknowledge said existence, thus highlighting it through opposition. Still, I turned and began walking slowly out of the bar.
Once away, I returned to our room. Garrett wasn't there, but it wasn't long before he returned. He stepped into the room, and I knew what he had been doing, by smell.
"Enjoy your hunt?" I asked.
He gave a slight self deprecating little grin.
"Yes," he said. "How are you feeling?"
By which, he was asking if he needed to wash himself or otherwise step out until the scent of human blood had dissipated somewhat.
"I'm fine," I said distractedly.
He straightened.
"You saw her again, didn't you?" he asked rhetorically.
I nodded.
"And?" he asked.
"And what?" I asked. "We talked."
"What about?" he asked.
I felt myself still.
Bella. I hadn't hardly broached the subject with him. When we spoke, he held me completely accountable for my mistakes. It was great for learning and admitting when I was wrong, but… I had been so wrong with Bella. My ignorance had caused her and I so much pain. I was ill prepared for him and his insight to point out deeper and more fundamental flaws in what had happened between us. I was not ready for that kind of pain.
"Lots of things," I said.
He pressed his mouth.
"You are aware that you are…" he said, "what is the word of the day? Deflecting. You are aware that you are deflecting, correct?"
I rolled my eyes.
"Bella," I said. "We talked about Bella."
"Good!" he said with more enthusiasm than I felt like the situation warranted. "How was it?"
"Fine," I said.
"Meaning?" he asked.
I elicited a gesture of indifference.
"It was hard," I said. "I touched on it more deeply than I had since it had happened. It was painful and overwhelming at times, but I got through it."
"Excellent," he said. "You are definitely headed in the right direction there. What about the girl?"
For a moment, I thought he was talking about Bella again.
"Ah," I said, once I understood. "What of her?"
He gave me a direct look.
"You are speaking to a girl who is something more than human," he pointed out, "while recovering from the last time you were close to a girl."
I gave him a skeptical look.
"You think I will become romantically involved with her?" I asked dubiously.
He raised an eyebrow.
"It is telling how quickly you drew that conclusion," he said. "I would have only pointed out that it might be complicated. In relationships of any kind, there is often… transference. Attempting to resolve issues with someone who is no longer present can sometimes cause new ones with someone who is."
I gathered myself.
"Firstly," I said, "there is no transference. She is not Bella, in most ways, especially the ones that matter, and secondly, I am not the least bit romantically interested in her. And, finally, this is all moot because she cannot or will not tell me what she is or how she knows so much about vampires, so I cannot be involved with her any longer."
Garret was quiet a moment, then took up one of his books and sat to read.
"What?" I asked. He paused but said nothing.
"What is it?" I insisted.
He closed the book on a finger.
"Some lessons," he said, "you can only learn by learning them. Nothing can prepare you for them and no amount of advice will make it any easier. Sometimes, it only makes it worse. So, there is nothing I can say to you at present. You just have to go through the lesson and hopefully learn something."
"As cryptic remarks go," I said, "that was one of the better and least helpful ones I've heard."
"Mark me," he said, "one day, you will ask me why I never told you. My answer will be simple; without having gone through it, you wouldn't have believed me otherwise. I hope you live through it, my friend."
And with that, he went back to his book.