A/N: Twilight belongs to Stephanie Meyer, but her characters are fun to play with so I'm making them do my bidding for the foreseeable future. Jasper as the God of War and Peter 'just knowing shit' are ideas that belong to IDreamofEddy. I do own the plot and original characters of Longing though.
Thank you to my wonderful beta and friend, Laurie Whitlock, my sister, beta/pre-reader, Shelljayz, and my pre-reader, Shadman. I truly do not know what I would do without the three of you! :)
Thank you so much to everyone who has followed, favorited, reviewed or just plain stopped by to read or visit. I love you all! :) I'm sorry if I didn't respond to your review. I usually do but I wasn't feeling that well the past couple weeks. Hope you'll forgive me. *inserts pouty lip*
I'm sorry for making you wait. :(
Chapter 24
oOo
October 2080—The day after Bella agreed to move in ...
Carlisle was standing on the treaty line with the rest of the family, waiting for the Quileute wolves to arrive. He wasn't sure how many were coming or if they would show up in wolf form. He didn't suppose it really mattered because Billy and Talise, at least, would have to be in their human forms to discuss the matter at hand. Despite Edward and his gift, it was a formal courtesy.
Billy Black was the Alpha male of the Quileute wolf pack. For the most part, from what Carlisle understood, there had to be vampires present to activate the gene that triggered the transition, but there was one exception to that rule. There was always an Alpha male and female whether there was a pack or not. The Alpha male was usually the chief of the tribe while the Alpha female was generally a woman with the strongest genetic ties to it. The two also tended to be an imprinted pair though that wasn't always true. In this case, the Alpha female was Billy's second wife, Talise, the sister of Quil Ateara, the father of the teenaged Quil. Carlisle suspected the reason for the exception was rooted in the Quileute myths of how the shapeshifters had come into existence; only since then, for whatever reason, after the sacrifice of the third wife, the pack had taken on some of the more traditional attributes of a genuine wolf pack, which explained the addition of the Alpha female. Carlisle and the rest of his family only knew all this because Edward did.
There really was no telling if or when a vampire might cross into Quileute territory and become a threat to their people; therefore, there was always a line of defense against that possibility to ensure the safety and preservation of them. Since Billy was a direct descendant of a long line of Quileute tribal chieftains and Talise shared very strong genetic tribal ties in addition to being Billy's imprint, they were that line of defense.
Carlisle could hear them coming now. He could smell them as well and it took a lot of self-control to keep from grimacing at their scent. Though it was a perfectly natural reaction for him, it was not an appropriate one in light of what was to be discussed.
"Please refrain from any insulting or inappropriate behaviors during this meeting," Carlisle requested through Edward's gift. "It will only make things more difficult."
The family's responses were all varying forms of nonverbal agreement, even if there were certain members who found his request distasteful.
There were eight wolves in all and his ears told Carlisle they were less than a mile from their meeting place. Now that they were getting close, his two oldest sons flanked him - Peter on his left and Jasper to his right, both standing just a step behind him. Normally it would have been Edward to his right and Esme to his left since Edward was his first creation and oldest companion, fairly earning his place there; Esme was his mate. Her place was at his side. This was a different situation though. It had the potential to become violent and if it did, he needed the most experienced fighters at his side although the wolves had no idea of Jasper's, Peter's, or Charlotte's background. Emmett moved to Jasper's right while Charlotte moved to Peter's left, both following Jasper's and Peter's lead and standing just a step behind. Next Edward took a place to the left and just behind Peter, Rosalie took her place to the right and just behind Emmett, Alice took her place to the left and just behind Edward, and lastly Esme took a place to the right and just behind Rosalie. If a fight broke out, it left the mated couples to fight together and Jasper to fight on his own. Carlisle didn't like it but knew Jasper was more than capable of handling himself solo.
When the wolves finally arrived, they took up a similar formation to the one he and his family had. Billy and Talise, in their human forms, were in the front, hands clasped, Billy's son Jacob and Leah Clearwater flanking them in the Beta positions, Jared Cameron and Paul Lahote taking up the spots next to them, and Embry Call and Sam Uley in the outermost positions. The only reason Carlisle and his family knew which wolf was which was because of Edward. His son had helped them all to tell each of the wolves apart at Carlisle's request. He didn't require that his family like them but it was a way of acknowledging that they considered the wolves people and not inferior dogs despite their natural aversion. Everyone deserved that courtesy even if the wolves didn't reciprocate.
All but the leaders and the seasoned vampire warriors of the groups of mortal enemies stood there watching each other warily for several moments, the tension between them palpable.
"Jasper," Carlisle said through Edward's gift, eyeing Jasper out of the corner of his eye, "would you mind easing the tension?"
"That's not a strategically sound move, Carlisle," Jasper responded, tone utterly serious. He was alert in a way that Carlisle had never seen before and Jasper was always acutely alert. Carlisle wondered if he was getting a glimpse of the famed Major, but that was beside the point. He projected his confusion over his refusal at him and Jasper obliged him with an explanation. "Our species' have a natural aversion to each other. We're supposed to be tense in each others' presence. I can manipulate most people without them knowin' it, but if their discomfort around us just vanishes they will notice. They know some of us are gifted. They only know what Edward's is specifically, but they aren't stupid. They'll put two and two together and figure out we tried to manipulate them. They won't care that it was with the best of intentions and this will not go well."
Carlisle gave a nearly imperceptible nod and let his understanding flow from him. He'd lived more than four centuries and was a rather good fighter but he didn't have the head for strategy that his son did. He didn't know what he would do without Jasper.
"Billy, Talise," he said amiably, first acknowledging them and then the others with a nod and a smile, "thank you for coming."
Billy nodded in acknowledgement, as did Talise, and moved his piercing gaze to Peter and Charlotte. "It's good to see that your newest additions appear to be adjusting well."
Carlisle smiled. "They are," he agreed, his voice displaying his pride, "but that isn't the reason I asked you here."
Billy and Talise regarded him carefully, their eyes taking on a calculating sheen.
It was Talise who spoke next, "Then why did you ask us here?"
"We're here to inform you that we're taking in a human girl," Carlisle told them calmly.
Both Billy's and Talise's gazes hardened and those in wolf form began to growl.
"We can't allow that," Billy said, grimly.
Carlisle kept his expression and voice friendly when he gave his response, reminding the two Alphas of a key point, "Taking in a human isn't a violation of the treaty."
"It could lead to the death of that human and that is a violation of the treaty," Talise countered.
Carlisle wanted to scowl but refused to let himself. "I would invite you to remember that violating the treaty is something we've never done."
Unlike him, Billy and Talise made no effort to hide their scowls.
"You can't claim that no member of your coven hasn't taken a human life," Billy argued.
"Family," Carlisle corrected firmly and with annoyance, "not coven and no, I can't," he agreed. "That isn't the issue at hand and you know it. What is the issue is that we aren't a threat to you or this human girl. That was determined a long time ago by one of your most trusted and beloved leaders. Your ancestor no less, Billy, and the very one your grandfather was named after. That hasn't changed and just as you've pointed out and I have not refuted, some of us have killed. However, you have no proof that any of us bound to the treaty since it came into being have broken the terms of it nor that those who have since joined our family have done so either."
Billy's and Talise's scowls deepened. They couldn't argue with this. They knew it, and it frustrated them.
Carlisle cast a glance at Edward, allowing his son to read his mind for the first time in weeks and to use his gift to fill the rest of his family in on his plan. He had been using his time at the hospital since Storm's return to practice compartmentalizing their time in Louisville so he could return to some sort of normalcy with Edward while still keeping her confidentiality. He still needed to work on perfecting it but he could keep it up long enough for this.
Slow, satisfied smiles spread across all of their faces now that they were privy to what he intended.
"Do I need to remind you both why your ancestor laid aside his prejudices and agreed to form a treaty with us six generations ago?" Carlisle asked mildly, trying his best not to sound smug. He knew he had them now. "I know the reasons for it are passed down to each generation of tribal elders."
Billy and Talise remained silent but regarded Carlisle and the rest of his family with distrust. He also saw doubt there, and he hoped that meant they were questioning their convictions. The rest of the present pack members released what he presumed were confused whines. Another glance at Edward told him his hope had been realized and he let his lips curl up the slightest bit.
"The rest of the pack would like to know what you're talking about, Carlisle," Edward informed him, still smiling.
Carlisle let his lips morph into a full-blown smile as he made eye contact with the first child he'd sired. "Then, by all means, show them."
-Flashback-
1936
Carlisle, Edward, Esme, Rosalie, and Emmett had only just moved to Forks, Washington days before. It was the perfect place for them. Remote and sparsely populated, not yet even an official town, known mostly for its logging, its perpetual rain and little sunshine, and proximity to Olympic National Park, Ruby Beach, and the Hoh Rainforest, it truly was ideal; particularly since Emmett was just coming out of his newborn year.
Carlisle was hopeful that he and his family could be happy here. With the addition of Emmett and the change of scenery, Rosalie seemed to be improving. He knew she had a long way to go before she was truly healed from the horrors Royce King had put her through, but he now believed she could find a way to overcome it. That was all he wanted for her and he knew that was Esme's deepest desire as well.
The family was out hunting for the first time since they'd arrived in the place they now called home and were getting to know the land, learning both which areas were teeming with the most wildlife and which area each vampire's preferred meal frequented.
Their hunt had taken them very near to the cliffs a few miles from First Beach of La Push, the home of the Quileute tribe. They were three miles away when they first heard the screams and smelled the blood. Carlisle's concern shot up and he took off in the direction of the disturbance without a second thought, his doctor's instinct to help overriding his instinct to feed. His senses told him his family had followed.
As they closed the distance between them and whatever was happening, Carlisle picked up three distinct variations of the sweet scent of his own kind. They were not the only vampires hunting in the area it seemed, and this had to be handled delicately. Vampires were very territorial creatures and most respected the unspoken rule about not feeding on land that was claimed by a coven, though that could not be said in the Southern states. Unfortunately, Carlisle had yet to set boundaries claiming Forks as theirs to warn away others from feeding there, so they couldn't use that argument to stop the nomadic vampires mid-feed. It was unlikely they'd be able to stop them mid-feed with any argument, but it still had to be done if they hoped to give the humans any chance of surviving. Some vampires could be volatile on their best days, but while feeding? If a vampire thought their kill was being encroached upon, that volatility skyrocketed. Even Carlisle, who possessed almost supernatural control over his bloodlust, struggled with the innate instinct to protect his kills. This would not go over well, no matter how civilized these vampires might be.
Carlisle cast a glance at Edward, and used his gift to ask, "What can you hear?"
"It's a coven," he answered, extending the conversation to everyone. "The leader, his mate, and his oldest fledgling. They won't take kindly to our interruption."
"How unkindly do you think?" Rosalie asked, her tone hard.
"I can't see the future," Edward said, "but from their memories and the tenor of their minds, I don't need that power to know that this isn't something we can resolve peacefully," he continued, his words directed toward his maker. "Not at first, at least."
Carlisle nodded but didn't comment. There were situations in the vampire world in which pacifism had no place. He hated that this was true but it was reality. This was one of those situations and, as much as it saddened him, violence could not be avoided.
When they arrived on the scene, they saw the two males with their mouths clamped onto a young woman and the female drinking from a boy no older than eight. Esme and Rosalie didn't hesitate to take on the female.
"Which is the coven leader?" Carlisle demanded, eyeing the males as quick as lightning.
"On the left," Edward responded.
"You and Emmett take the fledgling," Carlisle directed calmly. As head of the family, it was his responsibility to take on the other coven's leader. If they managed to separate these vampires from their meals without casualties, that was what the other coven would have expected because that was the order of things in the vampire world. He wouldn't waste valuable time he could be spending saving the humans' lives explaining that they were a family, so they were going to do things according to a dynamic the other vampires understood and wouldn't question.
Carlisle heard growls and the sound of stone flesh colliding with stone flesh, very like thunder, but focused his attention on his combatant. The vampire glanced up, detecting the threat he posed, and snarled, pulling his teeth from his prey and crouching defensively over the young woman. Carlisle didn't pause before bowling him over, and they went tumbling over and over each other in a tangled mass of flailing limbs. Punches and kicks were exchanged, razor-sharp teeth sunk into flesh, but Carlisle was the better fighter. It wouldn't be long before he gained the upper hand and ended their struggle.
The sharp, high-pitched metallic keening sound of the flesh of their kind being removed from their bodies filled the air, obscuring the sound of the waves that were so close. A pained shriek followed it and Carlisle knew it had come from Rosalie without having to look. He looked anyway and saw that his daughter was now missing her left arm. He let out an enraged snarl, but as angry as he was, his fury was nothing in comparison to Emmett's. At the sound of his mate's pain, he abandoned the fight with Edward and launched himself at the female, so amped up from his rage that he had her in pieces in seconds. Once that was done, he went to Rosalie, who was in a heap on the ground, trembling, and took her in his arms. She had gotten her revenge on Royce King, but her trauma still affected her, taking her by surprise when she least expected it. Losing an arm seemed to be a trigger for her and she needed Emmett more than the rest of them did in that moment.
As soon as Emmett left Edward's side, Esme had taken his place. They weren't making much progress though. Edward's gift was an asset in a fight but he was still a fairly new vampire. He had no combat training and the other male was a scrappy fighter. Even with Esme's help, besting him was a challenge, but Carlisle could see, in his very brief assessment, that, while it was slow going, they were wearing him down ... until Esme faltered in her movements. The other vampire took advantage of this, backhanding her across the face and twisting her wrist so sharply the beginnings of that wretched metallic keening sounded. Esme was younger than Edward with even less training and now that his mate was in danger, Carlisle noticed how scarred the other male was. There weren't enough of them for him to be from the Southern Wars. If that were the case he and his maker wouldn't be so far north, but they were still proof he had spent a good bit of his existence fighting. Some vampires just went looking for battle wherever they went, and though Edward and Esme were picking up his technique as they fought, the other male still had the refined grace of experience on his side. He used Esme's weakened position and the brief distraction it caused to aim a kick to Edward's chest that sent him flying several dozen feet backward into a tree, which shattered deafeningly.
Carlisle let out an enraged howl at the injury to his mate, minor though it was, but knew he couldn't let up on his own opponent. That would invite more opportunity for injuries to his beloved family and that he would not allow. He would trust his son to protect the woman who was his life and heart. Edward would do this for him even if it killed him. He sometimes resented Carlisle for turning him but he loved him all the same and would not fail him in this.
Edward made it back to the fight in record time and he and Esme began circling the other vampire in preparation to attack while Carlisle pinned the coven leader, flipping him over and pressing his front into the ground. He had his head in a vice-like grip, dirt kicking up as the other vampire struggled, redoubling his efforts and roaring in rage as he saw the pieces of his mate lying not far from his line of sight.
Edward and Esme were about to take their opponent down when a wolf the size of a horse burst through the trees, snapping its teeth and leaping toward the only enemy vampire left standing, and tearing into him. The experienced fighter didn't immediately react, as shocked as he was at the appearance of the beast, but when he regained his bearings it was too late. Edward and Esme had joined the wolf in ripping him apart.
The wolf turned on Edward and Esme the second the other male was in pieces, but Rosalie had recovered enough to return to the fight, her arm now reattached, so she and Emmett took up defensive positions alongside their brother and mother-figure.
The wolf backed down, knowing it was outnumbered, and moved to stand protectively over the young woman and boy. It snarled viciously if anyone so much as looked at them.
"Carlisle!" Edward called in disbelief. "He's a member of the Quileute tribe and a shapeshifter. The woman and boy are his wife and son."
"Emmett, Esme, Rose," Carlisle said, his tone commanding. He gestured to the vampire pinned beneath him, "Keep him under control."
Carlisle approached the snarling wolf slowly, hands held up in a placating position, Edward at his side and mirroring his gesture.
"I'm not going to hurt your wife and child-" he began, looking to Edward to fill in the blank.
"Ephraim," Edward supplied. "His name is Ephraim Black and he doesn't trust us. His job is to protect his people from vampires."
Edward flooded Carlisle's head with images of the past and how the Quileute wolves came to be, their origins at the forefront of Ephraim's mind.
"I understand why you don't trust us," Carlisle placated, knowing this situation was just as precarious as their previous one, "but we aren't the ones who hurt your wife and son, and we won't hurt you."
The wolf's growls intensified and Carlisle imagined they were growls of incredulity.
"Edward," Carlisle said carefully, "please show Ephraim what happened from the time we got here." As Edward began to do as he directed, the wolf's eyes widened, and Carlisle began to explain, "I'm Carlisle Cullen and this is my family. My son, Edward, is a telepath and he is using his gift to show you the events that transpired in your absence. If you'll let us, we can help your wife and son before it's too late."
"He says it is already too late," Edward translated. "He can smell us in their veins and he knows that if they don't die, they will turn. He doesn't want that."
Through his peripheral vision, Carlisle could see venom tears gathering in Esme's and Rose's eyes. As apathetic as Rose now was toward humans, she always lamented the death of a child and his Esme couldn't stand the death of love in any form.
"It may not be too late," Carlisle said, his voice gentle. "I might be able to help them, but the more time that passes the more we risk losing the opportunity."
"He wants to know how," Edward translated again.
"What you smell in their veins is our venom," Carlisle told him, looking directly into Ephraim's eyes. "My family and I feed from animals," he clearly, "not humans. It's why our eyes are gold and not red. I am a doctor with impeccable control and if I can remove the venom from their systems, it could prevent the transition."
The Ephraim wolf growled indignantly.
"You don't want to know what he just said," Edward told him bleakly.
Carlisle sighed. "Either you love your wife and son enough to give them a chance at surviving, or you let them die without exhausting every possible avenue that could save them. Which would you prefer to live with?"
The Ephraim wolf let out another fearsome snarl, saliva dripping from his teeth and lips.
"Do it," Edward translated, "but he says he'll kill you if you're just using this as an excuse to feed on them."
Carlisle met Ephraim's gaze again and nodded. He went to the boy, kneeling by his side, and carefully gathering him in his arms. Then he sunk his teeth into the wounds that already punctured his skin and sucked, pulling as much tainted blood into his mouth as it could hold and spitting it to the side. It took four mouthfuls before the boy's blood was clean. It took six to clear the young woman's.
They had other injuries that needed to be tended to, but Ephraim Black's wife and son lived. The three vampires who'd attacked them did not and it was by the Cullens' hand that this was so.
-End Flashback-
There was silence for half a minute after the memory Edward had been broadcasting finished. The younger wolves were contemplative, and Billy and Talise were now wearing neutral expressions.
"Who is this human girl you plan to take in?" Talise asked, not acknowledging what had just been shown.
"We met her recently and she needs a home. We're going to give her one," Carlisle told them vaguely but with conviction, his expression turning hard.
"And her parents?" Billy inquired next, still not quite willing to concede.
"They are not in the picture," Carlisle said firmly, even though he didn't know anything concrete about Storm's parents.
"The foster system isn't an option?" Talise continued.
"No," Carlisle answered, his voice still firm, unyielding.
Billy and Talise exchanged a sidelong look full of meaning and then sighed. "We will be keeping a close eye on this human girl. If one hair on her head is harmed ..." Billy trailed off in warning.
Carlisle smiled. "I expect nothing less."
oOo
Seven days later ...
BPOV
I was in New York City and had been for a week. Why was I in New York City? Because that was where the best forger in the country lived.
His name was Connor Jameson, a 29 year old, billionaire socialite playboy who came from old money, and had gone into the business both out of boredom and to piss off daddy. Daddy was Seamus Jameson of the Jameson Whiskey legacy. The family had since branched out into other business ventures, namely real estate, stocks, and cutting edge technology, though whiskey was still their main bread and butter. As profitable as those other things were, the world would never run out of alcoholics.
Connor was the youngest of four sons. Seamus ran the whiskey empire while one of his brothers each headed up another branch of the family business. Connor had been deemed the screw up, the black sheep, at an early age, always falling short of Daddy's expectations. Eventually he gave into his allotted role but he'd never stopped seeking his father's attention. Becoming a forger had been a way to simultaneously gain that attention while sticking it to Daddy Dearest. Doing it in the States of all places, to which he'd relocated from Ireland when he was twenty, was the most dangerous yet effective place to do this. Of course, that would have worked a hell of a lot better if Seamus actually knew about his son's extracurricular activities but Connor couldn't exactly tell him about it. He hadn't realized that when he'd begun his foray into the criminal underworld but he'd figured that out pretty damn quick.
A person had to be smart and resourceful both to survive and thrive in that environment, and to be worth their salt when it came to forging, so Connor's lack of common sense in the beginning had quickly fled once he had gotten a taste of the clientele he'd be working with, though he'd been smart enough even then to obscure his identity. By the time he figured out his plan to piss his father off wasn't quite as foolproof as he'd initially thought, he'd discovered he liked it enough to keep at it. That hadn't changed in the near decade he'd been working to make himself one of the best known forgers in the world and the best forger in the United States. He liked walking on the wild side, living on the edge, or whatever some rich kids liked to call taking risks they didn't have to take when they had a perfectly cushy life that didn't require committing felonies to keep. It was the thrill of it that kept him in it, like the high a person got when they took a hit of their drug of choice or the rush of adrenaline that accompanied those stupid, reckless acts people sometimes committed just to prove to themselves they were alive.
How did I know Connor Jameson was the best forger in the country? Because I kept my ears open. Everywhere I went I listened and collected information, storing it away just in case it might come in handy later on. Plus, it was always useful to know the major players in every place I ended up whether they were politicians, the heads of every major police department, mob bosses, or any others of that nature. Knowing who they were made it easier to avoid them. I had lived in New York City for a month just before my sixteenth birthday which was how I knew who he was and who he ran with in both the legitimate and illegitimate worlds of the city.
Did the government know that Connor Jameson was the best forger in the country? No, they didn't. Yes, they were far more vigilant than they had been before the terrorist attacks in 2012. Yes, they had succeeded in damn near eliminating everyone who had ever even considered taking up that particular occupation, but the government wasn't perfect. Things and people still slipped through the cracks.
Criminals always had a need for forged and counterfeited documents and other various things, and while most people were smart enough to be discouraged into going into that line of work, now that there were so few left who were willing to take up the art of it, they cashed in much bigger paychecks for their services. Because of the crackdowns, criminals had gotten smarter out of necessity, their underbelly burrowing ever deeper as the years passed. They required all kinds of counterfeited shit more than they ever had, and were willing to shell out the cash to pay the even more exorbitant price tags those few forgers put on them. Greed was a great motivator for far too many people even with capital punishment as a deterrent.
Obviously, Connor wasn't in it for the money. He didn't need it. He did it not only for the thrill but because he was an elitist bastard who wasn't satisfied with the fact that he had more worldly possessions than most millionaires combined. He wasn't happy unless he had proven he was better than everyone else. There were several ways in which he sought to do this and succeeded, but that was during his day "job." Though his reputation as a forger was by far his pride and joy, most people couldn't know about that particular talent of his. The people in his uppercrust social circle didn't matter when it came to that though. Not to him or not anymore, at least. All the right people, meaning the most vile criminals our country and the world had to offer, knew his alias, Da Vinci. He was well-respected by them, which was what he had been after. This made up for his father not having a clue.
I was probably the only person who knew he was Da Vinci because I was awesome like that.
In all honesty, I had no need of Connor Jameson. He may have been known as the best forger and counterfeiter in the United States and one of the best in the world, but I was better simply because of my origins. I had keener eyesight, a steadier hand, a better eye for detail. I was more thorough, thinking of things he never would have thought to and just had more talent all around. He had several things I didn't, however; like the equipment needed to make the birth certificate, driver's license, and various other things I needed to prove that whatever alias I chose next was a real, legitimate person; the ones that would allow me to live with the Cullens and discover Jane Doe's identity as well as that of her killer.
If I wanted to stay under the government's radar, it would take me weeks, if not months, to gather all the parts required to build equipment of my own as well as the materials needed for the documents themselves. Staying under the government's radar was a definite necessity for me and I didn't have that kind of time, so I was going to "borrow" Connor Jameson's. Sure, I could have used another forger's machinery but Connor had the best, and I needed the best. If I was going to violate the Safe Citizens Act I might as well go the whole nine yards. So there I was in New York, preparing to put yet another plan into motion.
I had considered and discarded several options that would have gained me access to his equipment over the last six days, spending the first of the seven I had been here getting my bearings and strategizing. The first of the two most prevalent had been the traditional cat burglar route but after casing his mansion in the Hamptons, I had come to the conclusion that it just wasn't feasible.
The guy had no surveillance cameras. He was too paranoid for that because if the feds caught onto him, all those would do was provide evidence that would fuck him over. That did work in my favor, but despite their absence he did have a very high tech, top-of-the-line security system. I wasn't worried about disabling it, but there were other concerns with that option that I couldn't ignore.
Making quality forged documents wasn't something that took a few minutes or even a few hours. There was quite a bit of science involved, but when it came down to it, at its core, it was an art form. For the birth certificate, I had to choose the right ink, the right paper depending on the state I chose to be from, which in turn depended on the selection of paper Connor had available. I had to perfectly apply the correct state seal, use and apply the correct watermark in just the right way, make sure that watermark showed up when held to light exactly as it was supposed to, age the paper and degrade the ink to match exactly how many years it would have given my age, choose a hospital, a birthdate, parents' names, as well as other numerous details, and none of those details could be left out.
For the driver's license, I had to use just the right kind of plastic which burned to black ash if it was genuine and gray if it wasn't. I had to superimpose my picture and the right hologram onto said plastic, and depending on the state, add any number of specific and unique details that if left out could peg it as a fake. Also, in the wake of the terrorist attacks, computer chips had been embedded into the plastic to ensure traceability and authenticity. When scanned, they produced a 3-D hologram of a picture that could be no older than eight weeks and a security code that changed every two. The fines for any sort of traffic violation weren't any more severe than they were before but it was part of the Safe Citizens Act.
It was all very fucking complicated, and those weren't the only things I needed to create.
Like I said, it was an art and that shit took time. It all had to be perfection. Even though I doubted Forks was the most strict about those things, I couldn't risk being wrong about it. Besides, I wasn't willing to half-ass it. I took pride in my work and I hadn't been built to half-ass things anyway. I supposed that wasn't the most accurate way to phrase my conception, though it was true to a point, but there was no part of me that was machine. I was absolutely, 100% organic.
As I mentioned, Connor Jameson was paranoid. Because of his line of work he had to be and, except for the odd vacation and social events in the city proper, he almost always spent his nights at home in the Hamptons. That meant he would come home in the middle of the construction of my masterpieces and catch me red-handed. I didn't have a problem with that. A knockout punch, coming up behind him and choking him out, or using drugs of some kind, all topped off with restraints, were options I could use to subdue him without revealing my face until I was finished.
Wouldn't hurt to hit him once or twice, would it? I smirked to myself, pleased at the prospect.
What I did have a problem with was that in the six days I had been surveilling Connor, he had come home with a different woman every night. It was not okay to hold an innocent woman against her will, no matter that she may or may not be a gold-digging social climber, so that option was out.
The second option was more complicated and the idea of it made me more than a little nauseous. It also had me seriously questioning why the hell I was doing all of this.
Are the Cullens really worth all this hassle, Bella? I found myself asking every five minutes, Jasper fucking Whitlock's face involuntarily worming its way into my head. This, of course, infuriated me but I always managed to banish it and remind myself that I wasn't doing this for them or him. I was doing this for Jane.
In two days time, a charity masquerade ball was being held at The Plaza hotel, located on New York's 5th Avenue near Central Park. Connor Jameson would be attending and his penchant for dipping his dick into every pussy that presented itself to him would provide me with the perfect opportunity to implement this plan of mine. That penchant would be his undoing.
I had swiped an invitation from the ball coordinator, which had been easy. Even though he had a team of well-trained, experienced employees yes-sirring his flamboyantly gay ass like his shit smelled like roses, they were swamped. Forging something like that was far less difficult than all the other things I was soon going to be. It took much less time, so I had duplicated it to perfection in minutes and slipped it back to him with him being none the wiser for it. I had then hacked his hard drive and added my fictional name to the guest list to cover all my bases.
The idea was that I would go to the ball and get Connor to take me home with him. Then I wouldn't have to deal with breaking into his ridiculously extravagant mansion that made the Cullens' look minimalist in comparison or disabling his security system. He would be doing that for me. It also solved the problem of having to hold an innocent, if slutty, woman against her will. It wasn't the most favorite of plans I had ever come up with but I couldn't care about that. It's not like I was going to sleep with the guy. That was gross on so many levels I couldn't even count them, and I hadn't been kidding when I'd told Alice there were lines I wouldn't cross. Besides, when was I ever going to get the chance to go a masquerade ball again? I could have fun with this if I wanted to. Maybe.
At the very least, as long as I didn't let him touch me in excess, fucking with Connor would be hilarious.
oOo
Two days later - The Masquerade Ball ...
I had just arrived at The Plaza's grand ballroom, which had been decked out with a Phantom of the Opera-ish theme. The affair was black tie and I was dressed to the nines. My gown was designer and had come with such a disgustingly high price tag it made me gag. It was black with a sweetheart neckline and a fitted bodice that had fancy, swirling patterns of embroidery with little flower detail stitched into the silk it was made of. It hugged my torso in a very flattering way and pushed my breasts up alluringly. It flared out at the hips into a full skirt in that foofy way most ball gowns did. My shoes were painfully expensive but simple, black Christian Louboutin stilettos. They were a sky high five inches but my balance and gait were as impeccable as ever, and they certainly helped me swish my ass back and forth like a fucking pendulum, which would be beneficial later on in the evening as I tried to seduce Connor.
Both the dress and the shoes were gorgeous but still functional for me. Though the gown showed some nice cleavage, it was tight around the girls and down around my rib cage and waist but still allowed for fluid movement. In other words, I wouldn't have to worry about flashing the nips if there came the sudden need to throw a punch. The looseness of the skirt around my hips and the diaphanous fabric didn't hinder movement either, allowing for the delivery of flawless kicks or uncompromised hauling ass if the need for it arose. I would still need to rip it up the center and sides to deliver those kicks, and those nearly invisible modifications had already been made. Plus, the fabric was dark, so in the instance that blood was shed, it wouldn't really show.
There wasn't such a thing as the perfect dress to fight in but this was decent enough.
I had chosen the shoes for similar reasons, though I suppose one might scoff at that idea. That didn't change the fact that I could fight just as well in stilettos as I could in any other type of shoe. It wasn't the altitude that was the issue with them, it was how well the shoe would hold up in a fight. They weren't the most sturdy of options in those types of situations but as long as they were chosen carefully, a girl could make them work. These particular Louboutins had a deceptively strong sole and heel, fused to each other in a way that was rare for that kind of shoe. The stiletto heel of the shoes themselves tapered sharply enough that they could be used to make a punishing kick all the more intense, so I had made a good choice. While I didn't foresee myself getting into a balls-to-the-wall brawl in this outfit, it was still good to be prepared.
If you're going to throw down at least you'll look nice doing it, I thought with a mental shrug.
To go with the dress and shoes, I had a small fortune in diamonds adorning my neck, ears and right ring finger, my titanium bracelet a serious eyesore around my wrist but that I could still absolutely, under no circumstances take off. I was wearing black, fingerless silk gauntlet gloves with embroidery that matched that of the dress and came up just passed my elbows as well. My mask was all beautiful black whorls, twists, curlicues and swirls with cat's ears, those whorls, twists, curlicues and swirls reminiscent of the dress's embroidery, and yet more diamonds inlaid in the brow. There were a number of choices besides the cat's ears that I could have gone with but, honestly, what quicker way to get a man to think of pussy than that?
When all was said and done, my getup for the evening came in at a grand total of $54,392.31, not counting the near $500,000 in diamonds on loan from Harry Winston (I was damn good at sweet talking people when I had a mind to and I would be returning it when all this was said and done) none of which came from my 'Jane' fund. No, this outfit was courtesy of all the rich as shit schmucks and criminals I'd beat the pants off of playing cards and whatnot at some of the high class casinos and underground gambling clubs here in the city - my go-to for quick cash. I hadn't limited myself to poker, though I had indulged in some seven card stud, this time choosing to mix it up with blackjack, craps, and roulette. I'd played cautiously at each place, only winning up to a certain amount, which was different for each establishment, and making sure to lose enough so as not to draw suspicion.
I had never worn an outfit worth so much in my life nor had I ever been so labeled up. Prada, Louboutin, Harry Winston, Chanel, blah, blah, bitty blah. It was the first time I had ever put so much thought or effort into this kind of thing. On a typical day, I didn't pay attention to which brand of t-shirt, jeans, shoes, or accessories I wore. It wasn't that I didn't have fashion sense, I just didn't give a fuck. A shirt was a shirt was a shirt as far as I was concerned, but shit like that mattered to the people here so, for the foreseeable future, it had to matter to me because I wasn't Bella at the moment. I was a high society debutante looking to titter and curtsy her way into the pants of one of New York's most eligible bachelors.
To complete the look, my hair was currently a rich, fiery red, falling into loose but voluminous curls down my back, spilling over my shoulders, and framing my face. Most of the women here had their hair fashioned into some sort of updo, and I figured this was a way that I could make myself stand out without resorting to overt sluttiness.
My eyes were no longer brown but the golden hue of the Cullens'. I had looked into several of their eyes for more than three seconds, which was all I needed to duplicate someone's retinas. That didn't always mean replicating the color but, in this case, when disguising my looks was vital, I thought it appropriate. They were smudged with smokey shadow behind my mask, my lips were a tantalizing dark red and a light dusting of blush stained my cheeks. I didn't need foundation and I didn't have to worry about making myself look older than I was. I had a more developed body than most girls my age and with the mask to obscure my features, no one would be able to tell I was only seventeen and not the twenty-four I was claiming.
I wondered briefly if Jasper would think I looked pretty. I scowled at the sudden, inappropriate, and very unwanted thought but amended it quickly. I had to be genial and elegant at all times in this place, no matter if I felt the opposite, because I was painting a picture of the character I was supposed to be. I couldn't drop the ball on that.
Goddamn it! I cursed. Apparently, with thousands of miles between us, it was easier for me to forget that Jasper was a back-stabbing douche. There were no words for how much I hated that the fucker could still get under my skin in spite of everything that had gone down in Louisville.
Even if things were different between us, whether or not Jasper fucking Whitlock thought I looked pretty didn't matter. It never had and it never would. Idly, though it had nothing to do with my current situation, the sound of his name niggled at the back of my mind and not because he annoyed the shit out of me but because it was familiar somehow. I just couldn't place it.
I shook my head not quite imperceptibly to clear it. His name is absolutely irrelevant right now, Bella. His name is the most irrelevant name in the history of mankind, in fact. Get your head in the game and get back to business!
As I moved forward into the ballroom, my eyes scanned the crowd for telltale signs of Connor Jameson. He was not quite 6'3" with sandy hair and startling green eyes. He had a cocky swagger that was slightly off due to a knee injury from a skiing accident five years ago, which was always more pronounced when the weather was cold. Seeing as it was October in New York City, the temperature fit that bill so he would be walking around leaning on a polished ebony cane with a silver snake's head as a result. He always did when he came to shit like this in this kind of weather. It was a trademark of sorts because even though this was a charity masquerade ball, it was still an event at which the richest of the rich came to show off just how filthy rich they were. They couldn't do that if their fellow socialites had no idea who was whom.
It took me all of thirty-seven seconds to spot him. Part of it had to do with all the aforementioned things. The rest of it had to do with my keen sense of smell. During my surveillance of him, I had noticed he always smelled like the rarest Jameson vintage reserve whiskey, Cuban cigars, Clive Christian No. 1 cologne - the most expensive cologne in the world - and benzine, a chemical used in the trade that he could never quite eliminate the scent of. It was so faint that no one else would have picked up on it, so I guess it was a good thing I wasn't just anyone.
I waited an hour to approach him. I couldn't just go up to him like he was the only reason I had shown up and even then, I didn't go straight to him because I had to seem at least a little disinterested at first. I sashayed in his direction in an elegant yet sexy manner, which I now knew how to do thanks to my employment at a bar in conjunction with careful observation of the Cullen women, and working my Louboutins like a model on a runway. I then arranged myself near enough for him to see me and pique his interest. He was still speaking with some of his snootier acquaintances but, through my peripheral vision, I knew he had noticed me. As soon as he ditched Snooty #1 and Snooty #2, he was at my side.
"Hello," he greeted in his Irish brogue. It was strong but not so strong that his words were unintelligible.
The only thing I could think as he said that one word was that his accent was all wrong. Fuck, Bella! You seriously need to get your head checked, only for batshit craziness instead of medically jello gooeyness. You hate Jasper remember? You. Hate. Him.
"Hello," I returned coyly. I knew how to flirt now too but only in situations like this. Any other ones and I was still hopelessly … well, hopeless.
He took my hand and brought it to his lips. I shuddered. He mistook it for a shiver of pleasure, a sign of attraction, could never possibly guess his touch actually made my skin crawl. I managed to keep the smile on my face but just barely.
"Would you care to dance with me-" Connor inquired suavely, his brows raised.
"Rosalie," I answered coquettishly, a borderline seductive smile curling my lips, "and I would love to."
He took my hand again, leading me to the dance floor and placing one of his hands at my waist while the other held my arm in a formal position. When the music from the quartet transitioned from one song into another, he guided me into a waltz, whirling me about the polished floor like a seasoned pro. I supposed he was. I was a little awkward at first, never having waltzed before, but after the first set of steps, my form was as flawless as though I'd been doing it all my life. That was one of the perks of being what I was, learning things almost instantly, and since I was playing the part of rich, socialite princess it came in handy.
We danced for an hour and a half, our conversation full of flirtation, gag, and suggestive but contradictorily chaste little touches, dry heave, that gave him precisely the impression I had intended to give him, double dry heave. It made me feel kind of dirty but I'd already determined I was going to take one for the team, and I wasn't going to allow him to touch me much more. I knew the consequences of that and wasn't willing to go there again, but I still had a mission to complete and I was close to doing it.
"You wanna get out of here, lass?" Connor asked, leaning in close to whisper in my ear.
Cue another misconstrued, repulsed shudder.
Score! I cheered, doing an internal fist pump and thinking of Emmett despite my revulsion. I was relieved I wouldn't have to put on this ruse for much longer.
"Please."
oOo
The forty-five minute helicopter ride to Connor's mansion in the Hamptons had started out very uncomfortable. The guy was a handsy dick who thought with nothing but his dick, and it had taken some convincing to get him to keep those hands of his to himself. The strategic mention of blindfolds and restraints did the trick, and he spent the remainder of the trip talking about what he was going to do to me once he got me into them - double and triple gag. Of course, he may have made the assumption that I would end up in them, but I never did clarify who would be blindfolding and restraining whom. That was his bad, not mine.
It had been thirty-six hours since then, and Connor had spent eighteen of them unconscious.
Thank fucking God!
I had slipped a decent dose of rohypnol into his single malt when we'd first returned to his place, and it had acted quickly in conjunction with all the other alcohol he'd consumed at the charity ball. There were many things I was going to hell for but roofie-ing this asshole was not one of them. He catered to all kinds of scumbags, enabling them to do all kinds of scumbag things; thus making him a scumbag himself, and I hadn't harmed a hair on his head, not even to hit him as I had so been looking forward to doing. He was currently handcuffed to a chair though, with a black hood over his head and his own ball gag stuffed into his mouth. The guy was buckets full of kinky, apparently, but I didn't know anything about shit like that, so maybe he wasn't as freaky as I was assuming.
We were in the hidden, highly secure room he used to make his forgeries. All I had needed was his fingerprints, a replica of his retinas, both of which I had gotten earlier in the evening, a sample of his voice, and a passcode. The latter two hadn't been difficult to get my hands on. I had the subject in question with me after all, and Connor Jameson was smart, but he was no Einstein. He had somewhat cleverly hidden the access panels to the room in what appeared to be an antique music box sitting on a bookshelf just behind the desk in his office. He was with me now as I made my own forgeries only so I could monitor his vitals after giving him those drugs. My goal was to subdue him and keep him drugged up enough that he'd have very little memory of the last couple days, not kill him. Right now, he was semi-conscious and whimpering like a little bitch.
I rolled my eyes. "Oh, suck it up, Connor. There is no need to be such a pussy about this."
It probably wasn't the best idea to let him hear my voice but he already had anyway, and taking away his ability to hear was sensory deprivation more or less. That was torture and even though the douche may have been into bondage, I doubted he'd appreciate anything more hardcore. Besides, I would not go there. That didn't stop me from being annoyed as fuck when he started whining again, and I wasn't exaggerating or being callous. A certain amount of bitching, moaning, and shaking in your boots was to be expected when you were being held prisoner in your own home, but the guy was blubbering like a colicky newborn. It was not attractive.
"My God," I griped irritably, "I haven't even threatened you!" And I truly hadn't. I didn't have any guns on me and the only knife of my own I had on my person was the blade hidden in my bracelet, which I had no intention of using. I had barely even spoken to the guy and I had never taken off the black hood or my mask, which was generally a sign a captor wasn't planning on using deadly force. I had no reason to want Connor dead and killing may have been something I was created to do, but that didn't mean I was all knife and gun happy.
A disturbing thought popped into my head then. "I really hope that's not how you sound during sex because that would just be all kinds of sad and embarrassing."
An indignant noise came from underneath the hood and I rolled my eyes again, chuckling. Figures taking a dig at something sex-related would get him to stop sounding like he lost his balls in a poker game.
Maybe my chuckle had sounded sinister or something and that was why his anger retreated up into him in the way the balls he apparently didn't have would after he took a dip in a frigid lake because he went right back to sounding pitiful after that. The whimpering set my teeth on edge and I couldn't seem to shake the thought of him making those noises in bed. The reason for this could have been because of the tone I'd initially set for this mission and another disturbing thought struck me.
"God, I hope that's not how all guys sound during sex because if so I'm seriously reconsidering ever having it," I mused aloud, but then a growl echoed in my head, a fucking sexy growl that made me shiver in a way that had nothing to do with disgust.
Fucking A! I groaned, stepping back from the artwork that was my counterfeit driver's license so that my suddenly trembling hands wouldn't fuck up its perfection. Really, Bella? Seriously?
I shook my head to clear it, the way I often seemed to have to do when thoughts of Jasper fucking Whitlock crept into my brain without permission, and took a few deep breaths. Why was that idiot always fucking with my carefully cultivated self-discipline? And was that even what it was he skewed within me? I never had been able to figure that out. No matter what it was, it was annoying as hell. A few more deep breaths and summoning forth the self-discipline I had lost my grip on, I got back to work, but not before putting Connor back under. It wasn't that I couldn't get what I needed to get done finished with his whining as background noise but it was grating on my nerves and if I didn't have to ...
oOo
Twenty-four Hours Later ...
I had left Connor Jameson in his bed, stripped down to his boxers, quadruple gag. I was so not willing to see him naked. Just ... no. The first time I saw a naked man in the flesh, because I inevitably would, it would not be him and it would not be like that. I rumpled the sheets and sprayed Chanel No. 5 on the pillow so it both looked and smelled like I'd slept next to him, and then pulled a brand new pair of black lace boyshorts out of the Prada clutch I'd bought to match my ball gown, tossing them in a random direction. Then I riffled through his drawers for one of his silk handkerchiefs, not worried about leaving fingerprints behind since I had spread super glue over my fingertips. It was an old Black Ops trick that I took advantage of when I went cat burgling. Once I found a handkerchief I deemed appropriate, I sprayed it with Chanel No. 5 as well, scrawled, Had a great time, Love, Rosalie, in red lipstick with the "love" as one of those big, loopy girly hearts. I left a kiss on it in the same lipstick for him, cringe, and left it on his bedside table.
Connor Jameson would remember nothing about what had really gone on in the two plus days between the masquerade ball and the time he woke up. I had made sure of that, and the evidence of our "rendezvous" that I'd left behind would instantly have him filling in the blanks in whatever way helped him sleep at night.
Now I was sitting on the roof just above the 102nd-story observation deck of the Empire State Building, my feet flat and knees bent with my elbows resting carelessly atop them as I gazed out at the city lit up at night. It was peaceful up here. That was one of the things I liked about high places. They made me feel like I was on top of the world, like no one could touch me. It was nice.
All my preparations were complete and perfect … flawless. I had everything I needed to legitimately be someone else. All that was left to do was return to Forks, and the Cullens, and be that person.
When I got there, I would be Bella Crawfield, a girl from Fairfield, California who had gotten her driver's license in Montana. California was the best place I could have chosen to be from since it was still a little shaky from the aftermath of the attacks, and people tended to treat those from there with kid gloves. I wouldn't get asked many in depth questions because of that choice. Would I get asked the typical gossipy questions? There was no avoiding that no matter where I had chosen to be from, but I was going to rely on the Cullens' air of privileged invulnerability to stem that as much as possible. That didn't mean I was going to proclaim myself Stepford Cullen spawn though.
This was the first time I had ever used my real name when I set up shop somewhere, and it had been a tough decision to make. In the end, despite the fact that he was a bastard, Jasper was right. Names were important and part of my doing this was so I could try to figure out who Bella was. Who I was. I couldn't do that if I was using a name that wasn't mine and, truth be told, I was looking forward to being called by my name. It had been so fucking long since I had been.
I got to my feet, surveying the cityscape around me, searching for the right building and smiling when I found it. I crouched down like a sprinter preparing to race, pressing my foot to the edge of the roof and using my strong legs to launch myself into the air. I went zipping through space, the wind stinging my skin, and laughed as I picked up speed. I loved doing stuff like this. It felt like I was flying and it gave me a sense of freedom I rarely ever felt. The exhilaration of it was intoxicating.
My aerial adventure lasted all of ten seconds before I collided with the side of the building I'd chosen. I struck it the way a feather would, light and without sound, gripping the sides of the building with my toes and fingertips, which were good not only for obscuring my identity but for helping me climb by producing a sticky substance that gave me better traction as I scaled things.
I had to admit, there were some things about being me that were pretty damn cool.
My smile widened.
oOo
A/N: So this is what I made you wait for.
As I'm sure you noticed, I decided to come up with a different take on why the treaty was formed. I just wanted to do something different, so I gave it a shot. When I think of Talise Black, Catherine Zeta-Jones is who pops into my head for some reason. I don't really know why.
As I'm sure you also noticed, this chapter was a bit off tack. Some of you might be wondering why I would write this so I will give you an answer. For starters, I wanted to demonstrate just how far Bella is willing to go for a taste of normal, to make things right with Jane Doe, and yes, to be with the Cullens even though she can't admit that. I also wanted to demonstrate more of what she is capable of and just how resourceful she is. I wanted to show a bit more of how the world has changed in the wake of the terrorist attacks since it really doesn't seem all that different from now, and it should since story is set so far in the future. Also, I have a great love for spy movies, television shows and books, and I could not resist the opportunity to take a stab at writing a spy-style mission of sorts. To be frank, it was fun as hell to write. :)
Next week Bella is back in Forks where she belongs. :)
I do NOT in any way condone drugging people by the way! Don't do it. It's not cool. Disclaimer over.
I would like to thank my brother-in-law, the Jay of my sister's penname Shelljayz, for coming up with the code name Da Vinci for the Connor Jameson character.
I got the Black Ops super glue trick info from Person of Interest, one of those awesome spy shows I mentioned having a great love for. I got the benzine thing from an episode of White Collar (Matt Bomer is delicious and the show is great too ;)). I don't know if benzine is actually used as forgery for that stuff, but according to the show it is used in the forgery of something else, and I already looked up enough illegal crap for this chapter so I didn't bother to check.
You can find photos of Bella's outfit on my photobucket page aside from her mask which would not upload for some reason, the link to which is on my profile page. Harry Winston jewelry is outrageously expensive and the stuff I picked for her didn't have prices listed so I estimated. All of the prices were randomly estimated actually because when it comes to designer stuff, I know very little.
Anyway, that's all for now my dears until the outtake which is posted next! ;)
