I had to wait when I got back to school. The final hour wasn't out yet. That was good, because I had things to think about and I needed the alone time.

His scent lingered in the car. I kept the windows up, letting it assault me, trying to get used to the feel of intentionally torching my throat.

Attraction.

It was a problematic thing to contemplate. So many sides to it, so many different meanings and levels. Not the same thing as love, but tied up in it inextricably.

I had no idea if Beau was attracted to me. (Would his mental silence somehow continue to get more and more frustrating until I went mad? Or was there a limit that I would eventually reach?)

I tried to compare his physical responses to others', like the receptionist and Jeremy Stanley, but the comparison was inconclusive. The same markers—changes in heart rate and breathing patterns—could just as easily mean fear or shock or anxiety as they did interest. Certainly other men, and women, too, had reacted to my face with instinctive apprehension. Many more had that response than the alternative. It seemed unlikely that Beau could be entertaining the same kinds of thoughts that Jeremy Stanley used to have. After all, Beau knew very well that there was something wrong with me, even if he didn't know exactly what it was. He had touched my icy skin, and then yanked his hand away from the chill.

And yet... I remembered those fantasies that used to repulse me, but remembered them with Beau in Jeremy's place.

I was breathing more quickly, the fire clawing up and down my throat.

What if it had been Beau imagining me with my arms wrapped around his fragile body? Feeling me pull him tightly against my chest and then cupping my hand under his chin? Brushing his hair back from his forehead? Tracing the shape of his full lips with my fingertips? Leaning my face closer to him, where I could feel the heat of his breath on my mouth? Moving closer still...

But then I flinched away from the daydream, knowing, as I had known when Jeremy had imagined these things, what would happen if I got that close to him.

Attraction was an impossible dilemma, because I was already too attracted to Beau in the worst way.

Did I want Beau to be attracted to me, a man to a woman?

That was the wrong question. The right question was should I want Beau to be attracted to me that way, and the answer was no. Because I was not a human woman, and that wasn't fair to him.

With every fiber of my being, I ached to be a normal woman, so that I could hold him in my arms without risking his life. So that I could be free to spin my own fantasies, fantasies that didn't end with his blood on my hands, his blood glowing in my eyes.

My pursuit of him was indefensible. What kind of relationship could I offer him, when I couldn't risk touching him?

I hung my head in my hands.

It was all the more confusing because I had never felt so human in my whole life—not even when I was human, as far as I could recall. In those days, my thoughts had all been turned to war. The Great War had raged through most of my adolescence, and in the heat of it, the influenza had struck. I had just vague impressions of those human years, murky memories that became less real with every passing decade. I remembered my mother most clearly and felt an ancient ache when I thought of her face. I recalled dimly how much she had hated my father's absence while he served in the army, praying every night when she said grace at dinner that the "horrid war" would end. I had no memories of another kind of yearning. Besides my mother's love, there was no other love that had made mourn for my human life when it ended.

This was entirely new to me. I had no parallels to draw, no comparisons to make.

The love I felt for Beau had come purely, but now the waters were muddied. I wanted very much to be able to touch him. Did he feel the same way?

That didn't matter, I tried to convince myself.

I stared at my white hands, hating their hardness, their coldness, their inhuman strength...

I jumped when the passenger door opened.

Ha. Caught you by surprise. There's a first, Eleanor thought as she slid into the seat. "I'll bet Mr. Goff thinks you're on drugs, you've been so erratic lately. Where were you today?"

"I was... doing good deeds."

Huh?

I chuckled. "Caring for the sick, that kind of thing."

That confused her more, but then she inhaled and caught the scent in the car.

"Oh. The boy again?"

I scowled.

This is getting weird.

"Tell me about it," I mumbled.

She inhaled again. "Hmm, he does have a quite a flavor, doesn't he?"

The snarl broke through my lips before her words had even registered all the way, an automatic response.

"Easy, Edy, I'm just sayin'."

The others arrived then. Royal noticed the scent at once and glowered at me, still not over his irritation. I wondered what his real problem was, but all I could hear from him were insults.

I didn't like Jessamine's reaction, either. Like Eleanor, she noticed Beau's appeal. Not that the scent had, for either of them, a thousandth portion of the draw it had for me, but it still upset me that his blood was sweet to them. Jessamine had poor control.

Archie skipped to my side of the car and held his hand out for Beau's truck key.

"I only saw that I was," he said—as was his habit—obscurely. "You'll have to tell me the whys."

"This doesn't mean—"

"I know, I know. I'll wait. It won't be long."

I sighed and gave him the key.

I followed him to Beau's house. The rain was pounding down like a million tiny hammers, so loud that Beau's human ears might not hear the thunder of the truck's engine. I watched his window, but he didn't come to look out. Maybe he wasn't there. There were no thoughts to hear.

It made me sad that I couldn't hear enough of his thoughts even to check on him—to make sure he was happy, or safe, at the very least.

Archie climbed into the back and we sped home. The roads were empty, and so it only took a few minutes. We trooped into the house, and then went to our various pastimes.

Eleanor and Jessamine were in the middle of an elaborate game of chess, utilizing eight joined boards spread out along the glass back wall, and their own complicated set of rules. They wouldn't let me play; only Archie would play games with me anymore.

Archie went to his computer just around the corner from them and I could hear his monitors sing to life. He was working on a fashion design project for Royal's wardrobe, but Royal did not join him today, to stand behind him and direct cut and color as Archie's hand traced over the touch-sensitive screens. Instead, today Royal sprawled sullenly on the sofa and started flipping through twenty channels a second on the flat screen, never pausing. I could hear him trying to decide whether or not to go out to the garage and tune his BMW again.

Earnest was upstairs, humming over a set of blueprints. He was always designing something new. Perhaps he would build this one for our next home, or the one after that.

Archie leaned his head around the wall after a moment and started mouthing Eleanor's next moves—Eleanor sat on the floor with her back to him—to Jessamine, who kept her expression very smooth as she cut off Eleanor's favorite knight.

And, for the first time in so long that I felt ashamed, I went to sit at the exquisite grand piano stationed just off the entryway.

I ran my hand gently up the scales, testing the pitch. The tuning was still perfect.

Upstairs, Earnest's pencil paused and he cocked his head to the side.

I began the first line of the tune that had suggested itself to me in the car today, pleased that it sounded even better than I'd imagined.

Edythe is playing again, Earnest thought joyously, a smile breaking across his face. He got up from his drafting desk and flitted silently to the head of the stairs.

I added a harmonizing line, letting the central melody weave through it.

Earnest sighed with contentment, sat down on the top step, and leaned his head against a baluster. A new song. It's been so long. What a lovely tune.

I let the melody lead in a new direction, following it with the bass line.

Edythe is composing again? Royal thought, and his teeth clenched together in fierce resentment.

In that moment, he slipped, and I could read all his underlying outrage. I saw why he was in such a poor temper with me. Why killing Beaufort Swan had not bothered his conscience at all.

With Royal, it was always about vanity.

The music came to an abrupt halt, and I laughed before I could help myself, a sharp bark of amusement that broke off quickly as I threw my hand over my mouth.

Royal turned to glare at me, his eyes sparking with mortified fury.

Eleanor and Jessamine turned to stare, too, and I heard Earnest's confusion. He was downstairs in a flash, pausing to glance between Royal and me.

"Don't stop, Edythe," Earnest encouraged after a strained moment.

I started playing again, turning my back on Royal while trying very hard to control the grin stretching across my face. He got to his feet and stalked out of the room, more angry than embarrassed. But certainly quite embarrassed.

If you say one word, I will put you down like a dog.

I smothered another laugh.

"What's wrong, Roy?" Eleanor called after him. Royal didn't turn. Back ramrod straight, he continued to the garage and then squirmed under his car as if he could bury himself there.

"What's that about?" Eleanor asked me.

"I don't have the faintest idea," I lied.

Eleanor grumbled, frustrated.

"Keep playing," Earnest urged. My fingers had paused again.

I did as he asked, and he came to stand behind me, putting his hands on my shoulders.

The song was compelling, but incomplete. I toyed with a bridge, but it didn't seem right somehow.

"It's charming. Does it have a name?" Earnest asked.

"Not yet."

"Is there a story to it?" he asked, a smile in his voice. This gave him very great pleasure, and I felt guilty for having neglected my music for so long. It had been selfish.

"It's... a lullaby, I suppose." I got the bridge right then. It led easily to the next movement, taking on a life of its own.

"A lullaby," he repeated to himself.

There was a story to this melody, and once I saw that, the pieces fell into place effortlessly. The story was a sleeping boy in a narrow bed, dark hair disheveled and twisted as he tossed and turned on the pillow.

Archie left Jessamine to her own skill and came to sit next to me on the bench. In his wind-chime voice, he sketched out a wordless descant in a harmony above the melody.

"I like it," I murmured. "But how about this?"

I added his line to the harmony—my hands flying across the keys to work all the pieces together—modifying it a bit, taking it in a new direction.

He caught the mood and sang along.

"Yes. Perfect," I said.

Earnest squeezed my shoulder.

But I could see the conclusion now, with Archie's voice rising above the tune and taking it to another place. I could see how the song must end, because the sleeping boy was perfect just the way he was, and any change at all would be wrong, a sadness. The song drifted toward that realization, slower and lower. Archie's voice lowered, too, and became solemn, a tone that belonged under the echoing arches of a candlelit cathedral.

I played the last note, and then bowed my head over the keys.

Earnest stroked my hair. It's going to be fine, Edythe. This is going to work out for the best. You deserve happiness, my daughter. Fate owes you that.

"Thank you," I whispered, wishing I could believe it. And that my happiness was the one that mattered.

Love doesn't always come in convenient packages.

I laughed once without humor.

You, out of everyone on this planet, are perhaps best equipped to deal with such a difficult quandary. You are the best and the brightest of us all.

I sighed. Every father thought the same of his daughter.

Earnest was still full of joy that my heart had finally been touched after all this time, no matter the potential for tragedy. He'd thought I would always be alone.

He'll have to love you back, he thought suddenly, catching me by surprise with the direction of his thoughts. If he's a bright boy. He smiled. But I can't imagine anyone being so slow they wouldn't see the catch you are.

"Stop it, Dad, you're making me blush," I teased. His words, though improbable, did cheer me.

Archie laughed and picked out the top hand of "Heart and Soul." I grinned and completed the simple harmony with him. Then I favored him with a performance of "Chopsticks."

He giggled, then sighed. "So I wish you'd tell me what you were laughing at Roy about," Archie said. "But I can see that you won't."

"No."

He flicked my ear with his finger.

"Be nice, Archie," Earnest chided. "Edythe is being a lady."

"But I want to know."

I laughed at the whining tone he put on. Then I said, "Here, Earnest," and began playing his favorite song, an unnamed tribute to the love I'd watched between him and Carine for so many years.

"Thank you, dear." He squeezed my shoulder again.

I didn't have to concentrate to play the familiar piece. Instead I thought of Royal, still figuratively writhing in humiliation in the garage, and grinned to myself.

Having just discovered the potency of jealousy for myself, I had a small amount of pity for him. It was a wretched way to feel. Of course, his jealously was a thousand times more petty than mine. Quite the dog in the manger scenario.

I wondered how Royal's life and personality would have been different if he had not always been the most handsome. Would he have been a happier person—less egocentric? More compassionate?—if a model-like face hadn't at all times been his strongest selling point? Well, I supposed it was useless to wonder, because the past was done, and he always had been the most beautiful. Even when human, he had ever lived in the spotlight of his own physical attractiveness. Not that he'd minded. The opposite—he'd loved admiration above all else. That hadn't changed with the loss of his mortality.

It was no surprise, then, taking this need as a given, that he'd been offended when I had not, from the beginning, worshiped his beauty the way he expected all females to worship. Not that he'd wanted me in any way—far from it. But it had aggravated him that I did not want him, despite that.

It was different with Jessamine and Carine—they were already both in love. I was completely unattached, and yet still remained obstinately unmoved.

I'd thought that old resentment buried, that he was long past it. And he had been... until the day I finally found someone whose beauty touched me the way he had not. Of course. I should have realized how that would annoy him. I probably would have, had I not been so preoccupied.

Royal had relied on the belief that if I did not find his beauty worth worshiping, then certainly there was no beauty on earth that would reach me. He'd been furious since the moment I'd saved Beau's life, guessing, with his shrewd, competitive intuition, the interest that I was all but unconscious of myself.

Royal was mortally offended that I found some insignificant human boy more appealing than him.

I suppressed the urge to laugh again.

It bothered me some, though, the way he saw Beau. Royal actually thought the boy plain. How could he believe that? It seemed incomprehensible to me. A product of the jealousy, no doubt.

"Oh!" Archie said abruptly. "Jessamine, guess what?"

I saw what he'd just seen, and my hands froze on the keys.

"What, Archie?" Jessamine asked.

"Petrina and Charles are coming to visit next week! They're going to be in the neighborhood. Isn't that nice?"

"What's wrong, Edythe?" Earnest asked, feeling the tension in my shoulders.

"Petrina and Charles are coming to Forks?" I hissed at Archie.

He rolled his eyes at me. "Calm down, Edythe. It's not their first visit."

My teeth clenched. It was their first visit since Beau had arrived, and his sweet blood didn't appeal just to me.

Archie frowned at my expression. "They never hunt here. You know that."

But Jessamine's sister of sorts and the vampire she loved were not like us; they hunted the usual way. They could not be trusted around Beau.

"When?" I demanded.

He pursed his lips unhappily but told me what I needed to know. Monday morning. No one is going to hurt Beau.

"No," I agreed, and then turned away from him. "You ready, Eleanor?"

"I thought we were leaving in the morning?"

"We're coming back by midnight Sunday. I guess it's up to you when you want to leave."

"Okay, fine. Let me say goodbye to Roy first."

"Sure." With the mood Royal was in, it would be a short goodbye.

You really have lost it, Edythe, she thought as she headed toward the back door.

"I suppose I have."

"Play the new song for me, one more time," Earnest asked.

"If you'd like that," I agreed, though I was a little hesitant to follow the tune to its unavoidable end—the end that had set me aching in unfamiliar ways. I thought for a moment, and then pulled the bottle cap from my pocket and set it on the empty music rack. That helped a bit—my little memento of his yes.

I nodded to myself, and started playing.

Earnest and Archie exchanged a glance, but neither one asked.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you not to play with your food?" I called to Eleanor.

"Oh, hey, Edythe!" she shouted back, grinning and waving at me. The bear took advantage of her distraction to rake its heavy paw across Eleanor's torso. The sharp claws shredded through her shirt and squealed across her skin like knives across steel.

The bear bellowed at the high-pitched noise.

Aw hell, Roy gave me this shirt!

Eleanor roared back at the enraged animal.

I sighed and sat down on a convenient boulder. This might take a while.

But Eleanor was almost done. She let the bear try to take her head off with another swipe of the paw, laughing as the blow bounced off and sent the beast staggering back. The bear roared and Eleanor roared again through her laughter. Then she launched herself at the animal, which stood a head taller than her on its hind legs, and their bodies fell to the ground tangled up together, taking a mature spruce tree down with them. The bear's growls cut off with a gurgle.

A few minutes later, Eleanor jogged over to where I was waiting for her. Her shirt was destroyed, torn and bloodied, sticky with sap and covered in fur. Her dark curly hair wasn't in much better shape. She had a huge grin on her face.

"That was a strong one. I could almost feel it when she clawed me."

"You're such a child, Eleanor."

She eyed my smooth, clean white shirt. "Weren't you able to track down that mountain lion, then?"

"Of course I was. I just don't eat like a savage."

Eleanor laughed her booming laugh. "I wish they were stronger. It would be more fun."

"No one said you had to fight your food."

"Yeah, but who else am I going to fight with? You and Archie cheat, Roy never wants to come at me too hard, and Earnest gets mad if Jessamine and I really go at it."

"Life is hard all around, isn't it?"

Eleanor grinned at me, shifting her weight a bit so that she was suddenly poised to take a charge.

"C'mon Edythe. Just turn it off for one minute and fight fair."

"It doesn't turn off," I reminded her.

"Wonder what that human boy does to keep you out," Eleanor mused. "Maybe he could give me some pointers."

My good humor vanished. "Stay away from him," I growled through my teeth.

"Touchy, touchy."

I sighed. Eleanor came to sit beside me on the rock.

"Sorry. I know you're going through a tough spot. I really am trying to not be too much of an insensitive jerk, but since that's sort of my natural state..."

She waited for me to laugh at her joke, and then made a face.

So serious all the time. What's bugging you now?

"Thinking about him. Well, worrying, really."

"What's there to worry about? You are here." She laughed loudly.

I ignored her joke again, but answered her question. "Have you ever thought about how fragile they all are? How many bad things can happen to a mortal?"

"Not really. I guess I see what you mean, though. I wasn't much match for a bear that first time around, was I?"

"Bears," I muttered, adding a new fear to the already large pile. "That would be just his luck, wouldn't it? Stray bear in town. Of course it would head straight for Beau."

Eleanor chuckled. "You sound like a crazy person. You can hear that, right?"

"Just imagine for one minute that Royal was human, Eleanor. And he could run into a bear... or get hit by a car... or lightning... or fall down stairs... or get sick—get a disease!" The words burst from me stormily. It was a relief to let them out—they'd been festering inside me all weekend. "Fires and earthquakes and tornadoes! Ugh! When's the last time you watched the news? Have you seen the kinds of things that happen to them? Burglaries and homicides..." My teeth clenched together, and I was abruptly so infuriated by the idea of another human hurting him that I couldn't breathe.

"Whoa, whoa! Hold up, there, sis. He lives in Forks, remember? So he gets rained on." She shrugged.

"I think he has some serious bad luck, Eleanor, I really do. Look at the evidence. Of all the places in the world he could go, he ends up in a town where vampires make up a significant portion of the population."

"Yeah, but we're vegetarians. So isn't that good luck, not bad?"

"With the way he smells? Definitely bad. And then, more bad luck, the way he smells to me." I glowered at my hands, hating them again.

"Except that you have more self-control than just about anyone but Carine. Good luck again."

"The van?"

"That was just an accident."

"You should have seen it coming for him, El, again and again. I swear, it was like he had some kind of magnetic pull."

"But you were there. That was good luck."

"Was it? Isn't this the worst luck any human could ever possibly have—to have a vampire fall in love with them?"

Eleanor considered that quietly for a moment. She pictured the boy in her head, and found the image uninteresting. Honestly, I can't really see the draw.

"Well, I can't really see Royal's allure, either," I said rudely. "Honestly, he seems like more work than any pretty face is worth."

Eleanor chuckled. "I don't suppose you'd tell me..."

"I don't know what his problem is, Eleanor," I lied with a sudden, wide grin.

I saw her intent in time to brace myself. She tried to shove me off the rock, and there was a loud cracking sound as a fissure opened in the stone between us.

"Cheater," she muttered.

I waited for her to try another time, but her thoughts took a different direction. She was picturing Beau's face again, but imagining it whiter, imagining his eyes bright red.

"No," I said, my voice strangled.

"It solves your worries about mortality, doesn't it? And then you wouldn't want to kill him, either. Isn't that the best way?"

"For me? Or for him?"

"For you," she answered easily. Her tone added the of course.

I laughed humorlessly. "Wrong answer."

"I didn't mind so much," she reminded me.

"Royal did."

She sighed. We both knew that Royal would do anything, give up anything, if it meant he could be human again. Anything. Even Eleanor.

"Yeah, Roy did," she acquiesced quietly.

"I can't... I shouldn't... I'm not going to ruin Beau's life. Wouldn't you feel the same if it were Royal?"

Eleanor thought about that for a moment. You really... love him?

"I can't even describe it, El. All of a sudden, this boy's the whole world to me. I don't see the point of the rest of the world without him anymore."

But you won't change him? He won't last forever, Edythe.

"I know that," I groaned.

And, as you've pointed out, he's sort of breakable.

"Trust me—that I know, too."

Eleanor was not a tactful person, and delicate discussions were not her forte. She struggled now, wanting very much not to be offensive.

Can you even touch him? I mean, if you love him... wouldn't you want to, well, touch him?

Eleanor and Royal shared an intensely physical love. She had a hard time understanding how one could love without that aspect.

I sighed. "I can't even think of that, Eleanor."

Wow. So what are your options, then?

"I don't know," I whispered. "I'm trying to figure out a way to... to leave him. I just can't fathom how to make myself stay away."

With a deep sense of gratification, I suddenly realized that it was right for me to stay—at least for now, with Petrina and Charles on their way. He was safer with me here, temporarily, than he would be if I were gone. For the moment, I could be his unlikely protector.

The thought made me anxious. I itched to be back so that I could fill that role for as long as possible.

Eleanor noticed the change in my expression. What are you thinking about?

"Right now," I admitted a bit sheepishly, "I'm dying to run back to Forks and check on him. I don't know if I'll make it to Sunday night."

"Uh-uh! You are not going home early. Let Royal cool down a little bit. Please! For my sake."

"I'll try to stay," I said doubtfully.

Eleanor tapped the phone in my pocket. "Archie would call if there were any basis for your panic attack. He's as weird about this boy as you are."

I couldn't argue with that. "Fine. But I'm not staying past Sunday."

"There's no point in hurrying back—it's going to be sunny, anyway. Archie said we were free from school until Wednesday."

I shook my head rigidly.

"Petrina and Charles know how to behave themselves."

"I really don't care, Eleanor. With Beau's luck, he'll go wandering off into the woods at exactly the wrong moment and—" I flinched. "I'm going back Sunday."

Eleanor sighed. Exactly like a crazy person.

Beau was sleeping peacefully when I climbed up to his bedroom window early Monday morning. I'd brought oil to grease the mechanism—entirely surrendering to that particular devil—and the window now moved silently out of my way.

I could tell by the way his hair lay smooth across his forehead that he'd had a less restless night than the last time I was here. He had his hands folded under his cheek like a small child, and his mouth was slightly open. I could hear his breath moving slowly in and out between his lips.

It was an amazing relief to be here, to be able to see him again. I realized that I wasn't truly at ease unless that was the case. Nothing was right when I was away from him.

Not that all was right when I was with him, either. I sighed and then inhaled, letting the thirst-fire rake down my throat. I'd been away from it too long. The time spent without pain and temptation made it all the more forceful now. It was bad enough that I was afraid to go kneel beside his bed so that I could read the titles of his books. I wanted to know the stories in his head, but I was afraid of more than my thirst, afraid that if I let myself get that close to him, I would want to be closer still.

His lips looked very soft and warm. I could imagine touching them with the tip of my finger. Just lightly...

That was exactly the kind of mistake I had to avoid.

My eyes ran over his face again and again, examining it for changes. Mortals changed all the time—I was anxious at the thought of missing anything.

I thought he looked... tired. As though he hadn't gotten enough sleep this weekend. Had he gone out?

I laughed silently and wryly at how much that upset me. So what if he had? I didn't own him. He wasn't mine.

No, he wasn't mine—and I was sad again.

"Mom," he murmured quietly. "No... let me. Please..."

The stress mark between his brows, shaped like a small v, was etched deep. Whatever Beau's mother was doing in his dream, it clearly worried him. He rolled suddenly to his other side, but his eyelids never flickered.

"Yes, yes," he muttered, and then sighed. "Ugh. It's too green."

One of his hands twitched, and I noticed that there were shallow, barely healed scrapes across the heel of his palm. He'd been hurt? Even though it was obviously not a serious injury, it still disturbed me. I considered the location and decided he must have tripped. That seemed a reasonable explanation, all things considered.

He pleaded with his mother a few more times, mumbled something about the sun, then slipped into a quieter sleep and did not move again.

It was comforting to think that I wouldn't have to puzzle over any of these small mysteries forever. We were friends now—or, at least, trying to be friends. I could ask him about his weekend—about the beach, and whatever late-night activity had made him look so weary. I could ask what had happened to his hands. And I could laugh a little when he confirmed my theory about them.

I smiled gently as I wondered whether he had fallen in the ocean. I wondered if he'd had a pleasant time on the outing. I wondered if he'd thought about me at all. If he'd missed me even the tiniest portion of the amount that I'd missed him.

I tried to picture him in the sun on the beach. The picture was incomplete, though, because I'd never been to First Beach myself. I only knew how it looked from pictures.

I felt a tiny qualm of unease as I thought about the reason I'd never once been to the pretty beach located just a short run from my home. Beau had spent the day at La Push—a place where I was forbidden, by treaty, to go. A place where a few old men still remembered the stories about the Cullens, remembered and believed them. A place where our secret was known.

I shook my head. I had nothing to worry about there. The Quileutes were bound by treaty, too. Even had Beau run into one of those aging sages, they could reveal nothing. And why would the subject ever be broached? No—the Quileutes were perhaps the one thing I did not have to worry about.

I was angry with the sun when it began to rise. It reminded me that I could not satisfy my curiosity for days to come. Why did it choose to shine now?

With a sigh, I ducked out his window before it was light enough for anyone to see me here. I meant to stay in the thick forest by his house and see him off to school, but when I got into the trees, I was surprised to find the trace of his scent lingering on the narrow pathway there.

I followed it quickly, curiously, becoming more and more worried as it led deeper into the darkness. What had Beau been doing out here?

The trail he'd left stopped abruptly, in the middle of nowhere in particular. He'd gone just a few steps off the path, into the ferns, where he'd touched the trunk of a fallen tree. Perhaps sat there...

I sat where he had and looked around. All he would have been able to see was ferns and forest. It had probably been raining—the scent was washed out, having never set deeply into the tree.

Why would Beau have come to sit here alone—and he had been alone, no doubt about that—in the middle of the wet, murky forest?

It made no sense, and unlike those other points of curiosity, I could hardly bring this up in casual conversation.

So, Beau, I was following your scent through the woods after I left your room—just some minor breaking and entering, no need for worry, I was... exterminating spiders... Yes, that would be quite the icebreaker.

I would never know what he'd been thinking and doing here, and that had my teeth grinding in frustration. Worse, this was far too much like the scenario I'd imagined for Eleanor—Beau wandering alone in the woods, where his scent would call to anyone who had the senses to track it.

I groaned. He didn't just have bad luck, he courted it.

Well, for this moment he had a protector. I would watch over him, keep him from harm, for as long as I could justify it.

I suddenly found myself wishing that Petrina and Charles would make an extended stay.