Chapter 10

They ran until the world grew dark.

High in the mountains, drifting like moonbeans through the gloom, Jasper felt the rushing pound of adrenaline in every muscle and nerve, spurring his determination and his frustration. He felt it like a pulse in his arteries and veins, so long dead and yet so terribly, gleefully alive. He could almost taste her on the air, so close and so near, but she was just far enough ahead that he could not see her, and so the chase went on.

"East!" he heard Emmett shout, his voice carrying on the wind through the trees. "East, Jasper! Cut her off!"

With a rumble of fury, he took off at a sprint, hearing quite clearly what his brother had made out from behind— the skittering of those frantic feet, and the gleeful giggle when she began to wind back north.

"Right!" Jasper cried, sliding beneath a thick canopy of pines on his back. "North!"

He heard Emmett's thunderous sprint hot on his heels.

"She's going to get away!"

"No she won't!" Jasper's teeth were clenched, his eyes bright with exultation. This is what he was good at, what he had been made for… he was a hunter, a seeker, and never before had his prey escaped him. When Jasper chased, his object was as good as caught, and this creature would not be the first to foil him…

"Holy shit!"

In an instant, the sound of Victoria's footsteps were gone. Jasper froze in mutinous outrage, his face a mask of pure and unadulterated fury, but when he turned towards the place where Emmett would emerge, there was nothing but the wind.

At once, he was on edge.

"Emmett!"

"Holy shit..."

The sound was distant— about a mile or so south— and Jasper hesitated, everything in him crying out to fuel the pursuit.

She's right there, he thought. So close. So near…

"Shit… Jasper! Come here!"

At once, his mutinous anger melted into concern.

Sprinting, just as he had in pursuit of the threat, Jasper wove his way through the brush and the trees without so much as a blink. It took only a minute for him to reach the spot where Emmett was, so deep in the undergrowth that even when he found him, he was shielded. The place where he stood was so permeated, so thick with smells, that Jasper stopped, mesmerized.

"What in the hell is that?"

"I have absolutely no idea."

At once, Jasper recognized the origin of the smell, though he could not pinpoint its source. He could make out the flavour of his own kind as if it were second nature to him— as if he were back again in his home state, surrounded by fighting, by death.

This clearing, so carefully carved into the trees, seemed to rise from the gloom of the deepest reaches of the forest, as unexpected as it was odd. Around the perimeter, he could see the cracked, splintered trunks, the bodies of those trees flung in a haphazard melee where they had crushed the plants and flowers underneath, reducing them to a mouldering, putrefying sludge. The air was ripe with rot— so thick and sickly that he brought a hand to his nose— but his keen eyes were drawn at once to a spot in the middle where he could see an odd-looking heap rising just beyond the reaches of the tallest grass.

The smell of so many others, of such a threat, put him on edge as he entered the clearing. He could smell them here, like so many who had come before, like so many he had destroyed before. They still smelled like blood— they always did, in their first year— and though that scent had once driven him mad with fury and lust, he felt nothing, now, but sickness.

When he neared the center of the clearing, where that odd, lumpy parcel lay, he felt every hair on his body stand on end, every nerve alight with a sizzling anticipation. He felt watched here, as if he were somehow falling into a trap, but when nothing came for him and there was no disturbance in the rancid, stagnant stink, he reached, carefully, towards the pile.

It was not, as he had expected, something dead or dying, though the smell left much to be desired. He kicked at the bundle, disturbing an angry swarm of flies that he batted away, before he reached, slowly, to grab the topmost piece which was stiff with dirt, its colour nearly indistinguishable beneath the grime.

"Is that…"

At once, Jasper turned.

"That looks like… hers."

Jasper only stared, his gaze lingering on the soiled, filthy clothing. He could tell what it was clearly enough, though he had no idea where it had come from or how it had come to be here. It was a shirt, small and thin with short, capped sleeves, and a tear along the back as if it had been ripped off with force.

"Yes." The shirt was filthy— caked and saturated with dirt and mud— but he brought it to his face without a second thought, taking in a deep, careful inhale that made his throat burn and his eyes stream.

He smelled them, and with such clarity that he felt his whole body shudder with the force of it. Emmett did not understand— he could smell it too, Jasper knew, but he did not recognize it as readily as Jasper did. Emmett did not have the knowledge, the experience, to call it what it was, to recognize this scent among a dozen others that lingered, turning the very air to poison, choking and bitter.

Jasper held that pilfered scrap of fabric out to his brother, letting him bring his face in close, to breathe in the stink. Emmett recoiled at once— it was only natural, given what it was— but beneath the disgust there was a gleam of understanding, of recognition.

"It smells like death," he said, and Jasper turned away. "It smells like blood, Jasper. What in the hell is it?"

"It's a shirt."

"I know that." He took a step back, his face screwed up. "But…"

"Do you recognize it?" asked Jasper, and when he shook the garment out, letting some of the dirt fall to the ground, the fragrant undertones became a little stronger. "Do you smell her?"

At once, his brother hissed.

"What in the hell…"

They glanced back, both fixing their attention on the pile of old clothes in the center of the field. The top that Jasper held was only the tip of the iceberg, and underneath, they saw a mountain of other garments, all of different colours. There were blue jeans and hoodies, old socks and underwear. There were tops, like the one they'd taken, and shoes— some familiar, and others not. There was a skirt near the bottom, and a tall pair of boots, and beneath all of that, was a t-shirt, wrinkled and torn with wear. When Jasper turned it over, he gave a savage, burning hiss.

He dropped that shirt in the same moment that he touched it, the reek rising like steam. He could almost see it in the air, drifting and curling like smoke, and when Emmett caught it, not a second after Jasper had discarded it, he scowled, his mouth set in a firm, immovable line.

They did not need an explanation to know where that new smell had come from— the great, blooming stain on the front was more than telling. It was no longer red, having turned brown and black with age, but there was no mistaking the sharpness of it, the sweetness. They would know it anywhere, for it was what their instincts craved above all else, what their very nature demanded, needed.

Jasper recognized the daughter in the blood of the father, and he took another step away, his heart in his throat.

"It's all Bella's?" Emmett spoke in disbelief. "All of it?"

"I think so," Jasper said, and he breathed in the smell of the shirt again. He fought through his revulsion at the reek of rot and decay, and focused instead on another layer— the one that had attracted his attention in the first place.

"And do you smell that?" he asked, thrusting the shirt once more at his brother. Emmett wrinkled his nose in disgust, but Jasper was insistent, harsh.

"It smells like death," Emmett said again, and this time, Jasper grinned. "It smells wrong."

"You've never been around a newborn, have you?"

Emmett's scowl froze in place.

"They often smell like that, when they're not properly fed," he said. "It's the way they're built… they need to feed to keep up their strength, and if their bodies can't get it from the blood they crave, they'll eat away at themselves, instead."

"So…"

"It's not pretty when we self-destruct," Jasper finished, and again, he glanced out at the pile of clothes, the disturbances in the grass. "We need blood, Emmett, just like humans need water, or air. It won't kill us if we don't get it, but our bodies are more than capable of making us suffer for it."

"Are you saying that there were newborns here?"

"I'm saying that they're here still," Jasper replied, and at once, he felt his brother's fear. "They're not far off, now… though they haven't caught on to us yet. If they had, we'd be fighting, not talking."

Understanding dawned on his face and Jasper waited as the realization slowly sunk its teeth in. There was not much that could rattle Emmett— he was so steady, so calm— but this seemed to strike a hard and true blow, right to the gut.

At once, he stared around, fixing his gaze on the shadows at the farthest edge of the clearing.

"We should go," he said, and Jasper did not disagree. "We shouldn't even be here…"

"No," he agreed. "No, we shouldn't. But it makes no difference now… they'll catch our scents the minute they return."

"How many?"

"I'd say at least ten. Maybe more."

He saw Emmett's resolve harden.

"We must go, Jasper, before they come back. We're no match for this many… not with just the two of us."

"No," Jasper said, and he felt a shiver down his spine. "No, Emmett. We won't be nearly enough."


"Just go, Alice… leave me alone."

Alone. That was where she wanted to be, and no matter how much it hurt her, Alice forced herself to listen, to comply.

Bella had not said another word all night, though the darkness had grown long and she had not slept a wink. They had heard her up there, swinging wildly between absolute silence and terrible, aching cries, but not even Esme, in all her kindness, had managed to break through the angry, railing gloom. She would not be consoled— not by any one of them— and it only served to irritate Alice further, to make her seethe with absolute, unadulterated fury.

When she got her hands on her brother, she would kill him. She would ruin him just as badly as he'd ruined her, and then she'd break him again, just to get her point across.

"Time, Alice…" Carlisle's soothing words, his platitudes, did nothing to dull the edge of her anger. "She needs time."

The irrepressible antagonism in her stare was enough to stop even Carlisle's gentle voice, and he looked at once disappointed and put out. Alice forced herself to back down, forced herself to keep her derision and her sarcasm in check, but it was not enough for Carlisle that she tried.

"She is grieving, Alice," he said, after the silence had grown long and sorry. "She's confused. Give her time to come back to herself, before you go rushing in. She's in no danger up there, and I know she needs time to figure things out."

But Alice knew no such patience— she had never been one to wait, to sit idle while the world demanded action. She did not know how to be still— not really— and it was an oddity, a rarity, for her to be denied the things she wanted. Alice was never turned away— not by her family, at least— and this rejection rankled and stung. Bella had made her wishes quite clear— she had demanded, ordered Alice to leave her, and Alice had obeyed, though rather reluctantly. Alice had wished for this— had wished for Bella's rage, rather than that terrible, sad confusion— but now that her wish had been granted, she wondered if they hadn't been better off before.

"Clarity will only help her," said Carlisle, as if he could hear the ruminations in Alice's head. "I know it hurts now…"

"It will hurt for a while, yet," Alice snapped, glancing once again at the silent ceiling above their heads. Sometimes, Alice heard her walking up there— a fact that Carlisle did not like, but that he tolerated well enough without complaint. Sometimes, they heard her foot tapping. But now, Alice had to wonder if she'd fallen asleep again, for the room was so quiet, so still, that she could hardly make out the thrumming of her heart or the soft intake of breath.

"It might," Carlisle agreed and Alice saw his growing sorrow, his regret. "We've done her a great hardship, Alice, whether we meant to or not. She's well within her rights to turn us away, if she wants to."

"She can't leave."

"She's a grown woman," Carlisle replied, though Alice knew that even he didn't quite believe it. "There's not much we can do to stop her, if that's what she wants."

"She belongs here."

"Maybe…"

"She still needs medical care."

"Yes," he sighed. "She does. But after that, I won't make any more choices for her."

Alice could only stare, her defiance mixing with her disbelief.

"We will help her, Alice, in whatever way she needs," Carlisle said with a note of finality, of authority. "We will accept her in whatever form she takes, and if she chooses to leave us, we will take that blow with grace."

"You might…"

"We all will." There was a hardness now, a sobriety. "We will not force her, Alice. Never again. You've seen where that path ends... you've seen what comes of our meddling. We didn't trust her last time but we will trust her now— if Bella wants to leave us, we will let her go."

Alice bit her tongue, mutinous.

"I don't know if I can do that, Carlisle," she said, tamping down the words she wanted to say in favour of some that were a little more civilized. "You know how we are… how we all are."

"Yes."

"She's my sister," Alice said, and Carlisle did not refute her. "There is nothing in the world I want more than her happiness."

"That's all anyone wants…"

"She won't find it out there," Alice continued and she peeked, for the first time in hours, into that thick, soupy fog of Bella's future. "I still can't see it, Carlisle… but I know that this is where she should be. With us. With him."

"He's made his wishes clear, too…"

Alice hissed, spiteful and irate, and Carlisle was controlled enough not to snap back at her.

"To hell with him, and to hell with his wishes," she seethed, and Carlisle looked away with a frown. "I'll be damned if I listen to him ever again in my life!"

"She's his mate..."

"And I don't care." She sounded like a child, and she knew it, but it did not stop her. "We are none of us our own, Carlisle. You know that."

He glanced, ever so quickly, towards the door of the office where Esme was working. She, like Alice, was bothered by the sorrow, the loneliness upstairs, and had distracted herself with work to keep from intruding on Bella's desired solitude. It was not in Esme's nature to let that child suffer, and Alice knew it well, but her mother was steadier, calmer in the face of a crisis, and her feelings did not show so clearly on her sleeve.

Carlisle could not see his wife, for the barrier of the door was thick and impermeable. The French doors were glassed, but Esme had pulled the thin, muslin curtain to block the view into the rest of the house while she sketched and tinkered with floor plans and blueprints.

Alice knew that Carlisle agreed with her and she felt vindicated when he did not argue further— he knew just as well as she did that none of them existed in isolation. They were none of them whole without the others— there was no husband without the wife, no father without the son. There were no brothers without their sisters, no mother without her daughters…

They were a family, and that girl upstairs had become an integral, fundamental part of it.

"It is her choice to make, Alice," said Carlisle, after a long and pregnant pause. "I know it's not what you want to hear, but it's the truth."

"You will lose your son," said Alice, her words biting and cruel in her anger. "If we lose that girl upstairs, you'll lose Edward too. You know him better than you know yourself, Carlisle. If she leaves, he'll follow her, and when she dies…"

Carlisle hung his head, his eyes pressed shut.

"You know he'll go, too."


When Jasper returned Alice had but little warning, her endless search through the fog of the future coming to vivid, noisy fruition.

Running. She felt it in her own feet, in the strain of her muscles. In less than a second she had orientated herself, had righted herself in this new, green space and she watched, perplexed, as two blurred shapes tore through the trees like lightning.

They sprinted like wild things, faster and straighter than their usual hunts. They did not stop to track, did not slow to put their noses to the ground to examine a footprint or a scent. They did not call to each other, did not give pointers or direction, and though Jasper was ahead, always faster than their brother, he did not go fast enough to leave him, as had become their norm.

She saw Jasper's frown, his face bone-white and his jaw set with familiar, stubborn determination. Behind him, equally pale, was Emmett, and Alice had a tough time understanding the curious unease she saw in the both of them.

"Faster, Emmett…" Jasper's voice was only a hiss. "Faster. They'll have realized, by now… we've been found out."

When the vision ended, she came back with a huff.

Seated on the wood of the second floor landing, Alice ran over those details again in her head. It had been an odd vision, and one so close to the present that it was almost as useless to her as the grey mist. They would be here soon, she knew— in less than two full minutes— and she barely had time to rise from the floor, her ear lingering on the silent door of the spare bedroom, before she was down the stairs.

"They're coming," said Alice, and at once, her mother and father were there. Esme came first, peering curiously from her office to stare, perplexed, at her daughter. Carlisle was slower, more reluctant, and he did not ask her how she knew.

"They're running," she explained, and they heard the thundering footsteps in the trees. "Jasper's… worried."

Carlisle moved to the window at once.

In the treeline, where the grass met the forest, she saw first one blur, then another, emerging from the dripping canopy. They were soaked to the bone, though the rain was only drizzling, and both had been sprayed with mud and debris, but they did not even take the time to shake away the worst of it before they were in the house, Jasper's fingers on the lock.

When he flicked the deadbolt, the sound loud in the quiet of the house, it was Esme who stepped forward, stopping only when Jasper flung aside the panel by the door and pressed the buttons there, releasing the thick, metal grates over every window in the house.

It darkened by inches, leaving them in total blackness, before Alice could ask a thing. When her question did come, it was not the one she had been expecting.

"What in the world is that smell?"

Jasper sighed, his head downcast.

"We have a problem, Carlisle…" He held out his hand, in which Alice noticed a dripping, filthy scrap. Their father took it, curiosity blazing. "We have a huge problem."


"I need to know, Alice… I need to know."

"You already do."

"I must know for certain," he returned, and Alice could hear the determination, the stubbornness in every word. "I'm almost positive I'm right, but I need to know for sure."

"She won't answer," said Alice, and though he tapped again on the thick, silent wood, there was no reply. "She won't let us in."

"It's a door, Alice," he replied, crisp and sour. "It can hardly keep us out."

"That's not the point…"

Carlisle, watching in silence, offered nothing. Jasper tapped again, a little more urgently.

"I know you don't want to see me, doll, but please, open the door."

A sniffle, a rustle of fabric, and then hard, cold silence.

"I need to see her."

"So break the door." Emmett's suggestion was harsh, almost mocking. "If she won't open it for you, you open it for her."

Jasper looked at Esme for permission.

"If it matters that much…"

At once, the doorknob crumpled in his fist.

In the silence of the room, Alice took in the sight with gnawing, anxious care. She knew this room, and had grown to know it even more over these past days, when Bella had been unconscious and confused. She knew the bed, fresh and soft, and she knew the plush, white rug, and so it took her a moment to realize what had happened when she saw the bed empty and the rug pushed haphazardly to the side.

She was there, Alice saw, in a corner by the window, her body wrapped in a blanket and curled on the hard, wooden floor. She did not acknowledge their intrusion with anything more than a quick flinch at the noise before she shivered, burrowing down in the blankets as if she were trying to hide. Jasper took this all in stride, ignoring Esme's sudden pang of grief at the sight of the empty bed, and instead moved with a purpose towards the windows, where the girl waited, unmoving. He knelt, sitting back on his heels, before he spoke.

"Are you alright, doll?"

Above the edge of the blankets, peeking like a child, Alice saw the angry, frosted glare she shot him before she turned away and buried her face in the soft fabric of the blanket. Jasper's brow twitched in annoyance, though he mastered it quickly, before she spoke again.

"Darlin', please look at me," he said, and though Alice knew that she could hear him, she did not budge. She could feel Jasper's impatience, his frustration, but the girl remained oblivious and impervious.

"I need you to look, Bella. It's important."

Buried beneath her covers, face pressed stubbornly to floor, Bella neither moved nor spoke. Had Alice not seen the ragged rise and fall of her breathing, hitching slightly whenever Jasper touched her back, she might have thought she was asleep. She had wrapped herself tightly in her blanket, her body curled and stiff, and when Jasper tried to pry it from her, she would not give it up.

"Please?"

She ignored him.

When Jasper growled, the sound was so full of petulant irritation that Bella startled. Alice did not like the noise— it always upset her, to see her mate unhappy— and when she reached down herself and began to wheedle the blanket away it was met with a moment of panic followed by a nervous, angry scrabbling. When Alice emerged victorious, as she knew she would, Bella was left on the floor in her nightdress, stretched thin to cover her knees, and she trembled.

"It's alright," said Alice, handing the covers to Jasper once she'd managed to wiggle them loose. "It's alright, Bella. Look at me, please."

But she would not and, even more like a child, she clamped her eyes shut so tightly that it made wrinkles on her face. She was shivering now, with cold and with fright, and Alice felt a niggling sympathy, but this was more important than any minor human discomfort.

"I promise I'll leave you alone," Alice said, though the words hurt her. "I promise I will, Bella. But first, I need you to look."

"No."

Alice sighed.

"Please?"

"No."

She turned away, defeated.

"Can we not make our plans without it?" Esme demanded but Jasper, his face pinched, simply shook his head. "Are you that uncertain?"

"I am almost positive, Esme, which is why I need to know." The crumpled shirt, so pungent that even Bella would be able to smell it, hung limply in his fist. "I want to know if it's hers, because then I'll know for sure what that woman wants."

On the floor the girl shivered again, her legs curling in a little tighter.

"Look at me, Bella," said Jasper, and though his voice rang with authority, it did nothing but make her flinch. "Look at me!"

And then he touched her— one, thin, ghostly finger on the nape of her bare neck— and she jolted, her body seeming to melt into the floor in an instant. She could not resist his thrall even if she tried— not his calm, not his easy, helpful compliance. In one second she had relaxed, and in the next her eyes peeked open, and though Alice could see the resentment there, the anger, it did nothing to relieve Jasper's influence over her, so unnatural and unfair.

"That's right, darlin'." He forced a smile, which she did not return. "That's just right. Now…"

Carefully, as if he did not want to do any further damage, Alice watched as Jasper slid his hands beneath her, gently lifting her from her slump. Bella only stared at him, her eyes darting and wary, but when she was sitting, rather awkwardly, on the hard wood of the floor, Alice saw her terrible anxiety, her fear.

Alice knew that Jasper was stressed— that the things he had seen in the forest were making him antsy and upset— but at the sight of Bella's fear, she saw that agitation melt into the sweet, sensitive kindness that he held in his heart for their girl. That kindness, that love, outweighed even his darkest moods and he sighed, reaching out his other hand to smooth away the worry on her face.

"You've got nothing to fear from me, honey," he said. "I'm not going to hurt you."

She looked away, embarrassed, but Jasper did not let that linger, either. Alice watched with mild amazement as it leeched away like melting ice, a steady calm filling the void it left behind.

"I need you now, honey. Can you do something for me?"

She frowned, and the silence continued.

"I just need you to look," he wheedled. "I only want you look, and to tell me what you see. Can you do that?"

She shrugged, her chin ducked as she began to fidget, to resist. He stared at her for a moment longer, his fingers still settled on the warm skin at the crook of her arm before he sighed, reaching down for the offending, filthy object he'd carried in with him.

At once, Bella recoiled.

"I just need to know, Bella… is this yours?"

She turned away from the stink, from the sickly rot of mildew and mold. She would not be able to smell the threat of it— not like they could— but her nose still wrinkled in disgust.

"I know," Jasper said, and he pulled it away, but only just. "I know it's unsavoury, but I need you to tell me… is this yours, Bella? Is this from your house?"

And then, as if she were taking a plunge into deep and icy water, Alice saw her hold her breath as she turned to peer at the filthy, rotting shirt. It took her a moment to make it out, to understand the dirt, and the colours that were there. The top had once been red— the kind of bright crimson that Rosalie always favoured— and there had been buttons down the front, but no longer. It was caked with mud and dirt— even now, Alice could see the particles settling on the floor— and when Bella squinted, Alice heard the tiniest intake of breath.

Bella reached out to touch it, to stroke it with her trembling, pale fingers, but she stopped herself short, her anger and sadness melting into terrible, gripping confusion.

"Where was it?" she asked, and Alice felt a sinking in the pit of her belly as Jasper's fears were confirmed. "That's been lost for months. Where did you find it?"

"Never mind that now," said Jasper and he released her, taking his influence with him in an instant. "That doesn't matter now. Thank you for your help."

And as he rose from the floor, turning to face his wife with a ferocity like fire, Alice saw, with an odd, quiet sympathy, how Bella's body changed when he released her from his gift. She saw the ease melt again into the boiling grief in which she'd been wallowing since the morning. Alice saw the relief and the cooperation fade like mist as it was replaced with that obstinate, petulant defiance once more, and she saw accusation in her eyes— the flash of absolute, unbridled hatred for the liberties he'd taken. Jasper saw this too and he turned, blinking in surprise when she began to cry, her tears furious and scalding. She wiped them with an angry fist, looking for all the world as if she'd like to hit him, and when he reached, not to influence, but to console, she jerked away so harshly that Alice swore she could hear the grinding of those broken, tender bones.

"Don't touch me," she snapped, and Jasper pulled his hand away. "Don't you ever touch me again."

His guilt increased tenfold.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice regretful. "I am sorry, honey, but I needed to know."

"Go away."

"I will." He rose, slow and sad, before he turned towards the door. Alice watched him go with furious helplessness, the sting of that dismissal hitting home. He paused at the door again, though it did nothing to ease her outrage.

"Thank you," he said. "Thank you, honey. You've been a big help."

But Bella said nothing, turning herself again towards the window, and when Alice returned her blanket to her she snatched it, burying herself so deeply that they couldn't see her face. The others filed out, leaving Alice alone with her for the briefest of moments, and she took advantage of their solitude to press a soft, quick kiss to the crown of her head.

"I'm sorry, Bella," she breathed. "I'm so sorry."

The girl said nothing.

"I love you."

She hunkered down a little deeper and Alice heard her soft, quiet tears as they hit the floor.

Alice was at a loss as she backed herself away. She reached the hallway in a fluster, wishing there was something, anything she could do...

"Jasper?"

"Not here," he said, and at once, Alice felt his hand gripping hers. He pulled her softly, gently away from the darkened bedroom, leaving their sister to grieve and to rage in her own, private hell.

Once the door was shut, Alice felt her shoulders sag, her breath heavy and slow. Jasper gave her only a moment— a mere second to collect herself— before he was pulling her towards the staircase, urgent and swift. They gathered there together, all five of them somber and still, and when Jasper spoke, it was with a ringing sort of authority that even Alice rarely heard.

"They'll come," he said, and Alice saw Emmett's quick, quiet frown. "They'll have caught our scents, Carlisle. They know that we know."

"I'm still not sure, Jasper, what exactly we do know."

"Victoria," he said, and Alice could hear the contempt in every syllable. "Victoria has been… busy."

"Busy?"

"When Edward left, he told us he was heading south," Jasper said. "He told us he was going to try and find her, to end her, before she could exact her revenge, as we all knew she would."

"Obviously he failed…"

"Yes, but that's not the point. The point is that her trail did lead south." He paused, as if waiting for an epiphany. When none came he sighed, stepping closer to their father, their leader.

"South, Carlisle," he said, and this time, Alice saw the dawning realization. "You know what goes on in the south… what they create down there, to gain control of the cities."

"You mean she's…"

"She's building," he spat, and at once, Alice felt cold. "She's creating newborns, Carlisle. And she gave them Bella's scent."

And at once, as if a great wave had risen, Alice heard the intake of breath, the terrible, roiling hiss.

"She wouldn't dare…"

"She has dared, Esme. She's already done it. They're here, in the forest, and she's starving them."

"How can you starve a newborn?" she asked, incredulous. "They're mad with lust, Jasper. You know that."

"With great difficulty, and great restraint," he replied, and Alice did not need to ask how he knew. She knew every detail of his sordid, troubled past, and she knew how he had done this very thing to those he had raised, had trained. He had told her all of his tricks— how he would keep his young charges in check by rewarding only desirable behaviour, and how those who did not listen, did not conform, were kept under lock and key. She had told him what it was like when they did not feed— how they grew wild before they went mad, how their hard, marble skin turned to crumbling, ashen dust. How they could not die, could not fade away, but how they could fester, and sicken, and rot.

It was a terrible way to live, he had told her, and more than a few had met this fate under his control, his command. Newborns were more prone to this decay— madness came easier to them, for their new bodies required constant sustenance in order to thrive. Their strength made them unruly— made them so difficult to control that even Jasper had often failed— and yet somehow Victoria had done it, had created a hoard of half-starved, half-wild newborns to terrorize a human.

"She will come," Emmett said, and this time, all eyes flashed to him. "She will come for us, for Bella, and when she does, I don't know if we'll be enough to stop her."

Jasper scowled, his face dark.

"We'll need everyone," he said, and the look he gave his brother did not go unnoticed. At once Emmett nodded, his hand reaching for his phone.

"She'll come," he said, without so much as a hint of doubt, and Alice knew that he was right. Rosalie was angry with him— furious, in fact— but she would not abandon her family now, in their time of need. She would not let Emmett fight, would not let him die without her, and she knew that her sister would come to help.

But her brother… he was more uncertain.

"I don't know where Edward is," she said, and Jasper frowned, unhappy. "I can't see him clearly… not since he left the States."

"Call him, Alice, and try to see…"

"I will call him."

Alice turned to her father in amazement.

"He will listen to me, Alice, even if he won't heed you. He must be here… for himself, as much as for her. If she falls…"

"She won't."

"If she does," he repeated, "he would never forgive himself for failing in his duty. He will come, Alice. I'll make sure of it."

And then he left, too, flying on Emmett's heels to the kitchen, his fingers already dialling the familiar number for the burner in Brazil.

A/N: Thanks for reading! XO