Carlisle's Mercedes was dark and purred quietly in the silence that settled between us. He drove slowly down their driveway and I guessed it was way of allowing me to settle myself further. I appreciated the effort – I was dreading having to explain to Dad what was wrong. How could I? He'd taken Jasper in at only 5 years old. Jasper was as much Dad's son as he had been my big brother.

"So, Emmelyn, are you here on holiday?" he spoke eventually, softer than I expected and I was glad for the distraction of conversation.

I nodded, latching quickly onto the subject, "me and my Dad have been hiking – we were going to hike back but I didn't seem like a good idea with the forecast. We live in London: are you from England? I thought I heard a familiar accent."

Carlisle chuckled, "you have good ears. I was born there."

"What made you move?" I asked curiously.

He was quiet for a while as though weighing his answer, "new opportunities, shall we say."

He smiled at me but something told me there was a lot more to the story than that. Silence settled around us again and Carlisle only spoke as we were crossing the bridge into Forks.

"Can I ask you something, Emmelyn?" he was voice was serious and yet something still held traces of excitement. "You can, of course, decline. I have been told I have insatiable curiosity."

I laughed softly, "how can I possibly be Jasper's sister?"

He smiled sheepishly at me and the expression was eerily familiar. I shook it off.

"You don't have to answer," he assured me.

Part of me wanted to tell him, he seemed so kind and genuine I never wanted to deny him anything, but I'd sworn to my parents many times every lifetime that I would never tell a soul about it.

"I want my Dad first," I smiled at him, hoping he didn't think I was just trying to get out of telling him. Speaking of my Dad had my glancing at the clock on the dashboard. "I've been gone hours, he must be worried sick."

As though in answer to my words, Carlisle put his foot down and we were pulling into the inn soon after. In the dark, the headlights swung over the inn illuminating the building and my Dad's tense frame sitting on stairs. I was out of the car and rushing towards him practically before Carlisle had pulled to a stop.

I saw the worry in Dad's face morphing into anger - jaw clenching, eyebrows pulling down - as I rushed towards him but I threw myself against him before he could say a word. Being late home in England was one thing but on holiday in a different country was another thing all together. He wrapped his arms around me tightly, sighing into my hair with relief; his warm acceptance pushing away some of the pain from Jasper's rejection.

"Go easy on her," I heard Carlisle approached us. "She's had a tough night."

Dad pulled away, even as desperately tried to cling to him, my fingers clutching and tangling in his jacket, to get a good look at my face. I didn't bother to try hide from him: he could spot the traitorous signs of tears hours later. His jaw tightened but to my surprise he said nothing.

"Thank you for bringing her back, Mr…" Dad spoke kindly and his voice soothed my frayed heart.

"Dr," Carlisle corrected him, "Cullen."

My head snapped round in surprise and felt the shock run through Dad, "what a small word, that's our surname too."

I stared closer at Carlisle. I could have sworn that Dad has said my grandfather was Carlisle Cullen with my blonde hair and our blue eyes. Carlisle's eyes were golden now but then so were Jasper's. Neither Dad nor Carlisle showed any sign of recognition. Maybe I was wrong, Dad would know his own father. I'd know him anywhere, no matter how many years had passed.

"Thank you for everything, Carlisle," I smiled at him.

Now Dad tensed and I glanced up at him. He was studying Carlisle closer as he repeated the name as though trying to see if he had misheard. I wondered what he could see in the darkness that I couldn't. "Dad?"

I glanced between the two men warily. The only thing I had known about my grandfather was that Dad loved him very much and he had died in his late 20's hunting vampires. Horror swept over me – could he and Jasper be vampires?

Dad jolted me out of my ridiculous thoughts.

"Emma, angel," he gazed down at me and I tried miserably to understand his emotions. "Would you go upstairs please? I'll meet you up there in a bit."

I stared up at him incredulously. He wanted me to leave? Now? I opened my mouth to argue but he shot me a look that I knew all too well. I knew better than to argue with him when he looked at me like that and quickly shut my mouth.

"Thank you again, Carlisle," I smiled over at him. He had yet to say a word but stared at Dad as though he had seen a ghost. I suppose he always pictured Dad as an eight-year-old not the fully-grown man he had become.

"You're welcome, Emmelyn," Carlisle's voice followed me up the stairs but I sensed he wasn't really aware of his words. I glanced back at them as I closed the front door to the inn, they weren't moving.

Shutting the door, I rushed upstairs, looking forward to changing out of my still damp clothes and into warm pyjamas. I went through my nightly routine quickly, brushing my teeth and hair before throwing it up. Moving to the window, I grabbed a blanket. The rain that had drenched had passed long ago and I loved the smell of the world after a good soaking. I threw the window opened and settled on the windowsill. Dad and Carlisle had moved further away from the Inn and were involved in a lively conversation. I could out by Dad's posture that it was going nearly as well as Jasper and I. Except this time it was Dad who was angry – I couldn't make out Carlisle's body language. I tried to imagine what it would be like for them, tried imagining what it would be like to find Dad alive after 300 years. I couldn't name the emotion that rocked through me.

I sighed heavily, looking away from them. Closing my eyes, I could see Jasper clear as day. I had been slowly forgetting the small details of his features but now I could see him standing in his uniform as though he was standing right in front of me. I was around 14 when the war broke out and I remember punching him when he told me off his plan to join. I still don't understand how he convinced me to lie to our father so he could sign up. Even more clearly than anything, I could remember the day they came to tell us that he was missing. I was 16 by then and the one that answered to door to the soldiers. Terror had filled me as soon as I'd seen them – I didn't need them to tell me. I had known instantly. I called for Dad and Maman and the words, the god-awful words, tumbled from the soldier's mouth. It's the words I don't remember.

"Emmelyn," a chime-like voice sounded from the darkness of the room and, for the second time that day, I span around to see who had spoken.

It happened before I was even aware that I was unbalanced. In my haste to see the room, I disturbed myself from the window and tumbled out of it, feeling my feet clip the windowsill as I fell. Screaming the air rushed past me, I clawed desperately for something to grab, the logical part of my brain still aware enough to tell me that I was falling headfirst and was going to die if I didn't do something. My heart beat faster than it had when seeing Jasper and I could hear nothing but the wind rushing past my ears, pulling my hair from the ponytail I had put it in minutes before. It fluttered around me, such a pale blonde it looked white in the moonlight, like a flag of surrender.

The pain shot through my before I was really aware that I had stopped falling. I cried out.

"Emma!" I heard my Dad shout, more panic in his voice than I had ever heard before, and his footsteps rushing towards me. I groaned, looking up to where I'd fallen to see the small, pixie girl staring down at me in horror. Her golden eyes were glassy as though she was almost crying. I was sure I was – could feel the warm liquid sliding down to the ground. Dad's footsteps drew closer but I was submerged in darkness by the time in reached me.