Midnight Sun Reimagined

by Visser2315

Even in a fairy tale, not everyone gets a happy ending—especially not when you're the villain. [The first half of Life and Death, Edythe's perspective.]

13. Interrogations

A/N: Hey, back again! Hope you've all had a happy holiday, though can't believe it's almost another new year already.

Well, I'm pretty sure this is the longest chapter. Probably because it's yet another one centered on conversations. (Yes, kill me now.) I didn't see any good places to split it, so for better or for worse, you're getting it all in one chunk. (Might be some rough patches in there as a result, but as many times as I'd gone through it already, I decided to let it go and move on to the next one.)

Hope you survive making it to the other side, and still enjoy bits of it along the way. Thanks for keeping up with me all this time, and hope to see you at the end!

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Chapter 12: Interrogations

I was in a relatively good mood the next morning.

Carine and I had taken care of the thugs—not the way I would have wanted to, but they were off the street, and none of them were dead.

We had driven around the city until I sensed their minds—then I had left Carine there to handle the rest. I didn't trust my self-control if I saw any of their faces again, and Carine agreed it was better for me to keep away than to expose myself to the temptation. Carine had crept up on them and rendered them all unconscious—she regretted the necessary violence, but consented, knowing the greater violence it would prevent—making it appear as though they had been ambushed by a rival.

Afterward, she had phoned in an anonymous tip from a nearby payphone, claiming to have witnessed the attack. All three were wanted on multiple counts of drug-trafficking, and more than one case of mysterious deaths spanning more than one state, and once the police identified them, if all went well, they would not be getting out anytime soon.

I had then returned to Forks, and of course I went straight to his house.

As I slipped through the window into his room, I felt slightly more guilty than I had the previous night. Maybe because he knew so much of the truth now it felt like we were less strangers than we had ever been, and that made it feel all the more duplicitous. However, by now I so relied on it to get through the long, sleepless nights that I didn't even consider turning around and leaving him to himself.

I wondered if we would ever get to a point where I would admit to this part of the stalking. I had to suppress a shudder at the thought of the conversation, and I decided maybe it could wait.

Still, as I sat in the rocking chair I was almost beginning to think of as my own, watching his peaceful face as he slept—I noticed he had gone to sleep with the scarf I had given him around his neck, and I felt a deep glow in my chest at the sight—I thought about what Archie had said, about being a guardian angel rather than a stalker. I knew it was just a euphemistic way to put what I was doing—yet it lit a warm glow in my chest anyway.

I left his house just as the sun broke the horizon, and I headed back home for a change of clothes and to give him some privacy as he got up and went about getting ready for school. Bad enough to be a stalker without being some kind of voyeur, too.

I hadn't been home ten minutes before I was aching to see him again.

"Archie—" I began as I caught sight of him in the hallway, but he threw up a hand to stop me. "Don't worry, I already asked Royal to drive. He's acting like he wants to throw a fit, but you know he loves the excuse to show off that car." He laughed.

My pursed lips split into a wide smile. "You're the best. I'll see you at school."

"Sure," he said, grinning. "And you can tell him to feel free to borrow all the clothes he wants to."

My smile turned uncertain. I knew what Archie wanted. He wanted to meet Beau so the two of them could hurry up and become best friends. But I wasn't sure if I was ready for that yet. Not that, given what I had learned of Beau last night, he would probably mind. Next to having a vampire for a girlfriend—if he considered me that—having a vampire for a best friend was nothing.

"Oh, yeah," he said off-handedly, as his thoughts went automatically to flicking through Jessamine's future. "And do you think you could grab a couple of things for me today?"

As I drove to Beau's house in my car, I probably should have still been elated, exhilarated. However, while I had ridden the high of everything that had happened far into the night, it was inevitable the doubt would begin to creep in.

Beau had seemed sure of everything he had said. Said it didn't matter what I was, that he was afraid of me disappearing. He had obviously meant it in the moment, I didn't doubt that.

But that didn't mean someone who happened to be in a particularly romantic mood might not get carried away. Last night, he might have honestly felt like he'd rather die than stay away from me. But what if he woke up this morning having come to his senses? Away from my apparent powers of hypnotism, would the terror he ought to have felt suddenly crash down on him?

I waited in the car with growing anxiety as I listened to the sound of him clump and stumble around the house. He sounded as though he were in a hurry—I glanced at the clock on the dash, and I supposed given the obscenely limited velocity of his decrepit truck, he was running late if he meant to get to school on time.

When he emerged from the house, he almost didn't see me at first. He was in a hurry, and there was a thick fog in the air I knew weak human eyes couldn't easily see through.

When he caught sight of my car, he stopped in his tracks and stared, slack-jawed in astonishment.

I had the passenger window down so he could see me. Smiling a little at his expression despite my nerves, I leaned in his direction and called, "Would you like a ride to school?"

He stared at me a second. Had he re-evaluated? Had all those things he said he hadn't cared about suddenly seemed a lot more important?

He unfroze. "Yeah, thanks."

As he climbed in, he noticed the tan jacket I had left for him there.

"What's this?" he asked, picking it up.

I shrugged. "Royal's jacket. I didn't want you to catch cold or something." In fact, half the night in his room I'd spent worrying about it, knowing he wouldn't have a jacket today. As he'd slept he had seemed unusually cold, shivering, and I'd brought a blanket from the other room for him, returning it later before he woke. I knew I could protect him from normal enemies, but illnesses and diseases were something else. The only thing I could do there was to do everything I could to try to prevent them in the first place.

He stared at it for a second, looking slightly alarmed, then he set it on the backseat. He pulled the scarf from his bag and laid it on top of the jacket.

"I'm good," he told me, thumping his fist against his chest twice. "Immune system in top form."

I'd been about to insist that he put it on, but this overly macho gesture when Beau was generally the furthest thing from macho made me laugh instead.

We drove in silence for a minute, and I saw he was watching me with an expression that was hard to interpret. What was he thinking this time?

"What, no Twenty Questions today?" I asked finally.

He looked worried. "Was that annoying last night?"

I shook my head. "Not annoying, just... confusing."

His eyebrows knitted. "What does that mean?"

It was funny, how easy it was to be honest now—it felt natural, normal. Last night had really brought down quite a few if not all of the former barriers.

Which was going to make being careful harder than ever.

"Your reactions," I explained. "I don't understand them."

He looked puzzled. "My reactions?"

"Yes, Beau," I explained patiently, glancing his way. "When someone tells you they drink blood, you're supposed to get upset. Make a cross with your fingers, throw holy water, run away screaming, that sort of thing."

"Oh." He considered. "Um... I'll do better next time?"

He looked at me hopefully, as if he thought willing obedience might win him back some points.

"By all means," I muttered sarcastically, "please work on your expressions of horror."

He gazed at me for a moment. "Horror isn't exactly how I'd describe last night," he said softly.

I let out a short breath, staring out at the road. I wondered how I could be simultaneously so delighted and so frustrated with his completely warped way of seeing the world.

After a pause, he said, "So, um, where's the rest of your family?" Though he was obviously trying to sound nonchalant, the sudden tension in his voice was unmistakable. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, and I wondered if he might be more wary of the concept of vampires than he seemed. The thought actually made me feel a little better, even if my seeming immunity was still utterly absurd.

We were pulling into the school parking lot as I answered. "They took Royal's car." I gestured to the red convertible as I neatly took the slot beside it. "Ostentatious, isn't it?"

He stared at it, eyes wide. "If he's got that, why does he ride with you?"

I shrugged. "Like I said, it's ostentatious. We try to blend in."

He laughed aloud. "No offense, but you're totally failing there."

His door was already open, but he paused. "Why did Royal drive today if it's more conspicuous?" he asked.

I smiled a little. "My fault—as usual, Royal would say. Haven't you noticed, Beau? I'm breaking all the rules now."

There was a threatening edge to the words, but either he didn't notice or didn't care.

I reached into the back and snatched the scarf, putting it on, then we walked together onto campus, side by side, closer than any common acquaintances. I watched him out of the corner of my eye to see if he would pull away from the almost uncomfortably close proximity. However, he seemed to work to maintain it, and several times his hand twitched in my direction, as though he wanted to reach out and take my hand as he had last night.

It was probably for the best that he didn't, but all the same, my breath sped at the thought, and a part of me wished he would.

"Why do you even have cars like that?" he asked after a moment. "If you're looking for privacy, there are plenty of used Hondas available."

I smiled. He was right, naturally. "It's an indulgence," I admitted. "We all like to drive fast."

"Of course," he muttered. His tone was disapproving.

What the hell? Seriously?

The loud sound of Jeremy's thoughts intruded on my own. He was waiting for Beau under the edge of the cafeteria's roof, Beau's winter jacket over one arm, and as he caught sight of me, his eyes went as wide and round as saucers.

Beau saw him in the next moment, and I could see the embarrassment in his face when he took in Jeremy's expression, though he tried to keep it cool.

"Hey, Jer," he called when we neared. "Thanks for bringing that."

Jeremy was staring at me, and he continued to stare at me even as he handed over the jacket. Though he wasn't speaking, his mind was racing a mile a minute.

I was totally right last night. They did plan to meet up. Are they really secretly dating? How long? Seriously, why would he keep something like this under wraps? I mean Edythe freaking Cullen!

"Good morning, Jeremy," I said.

He blinked. "Er... hi." Look at her, she's a thousand times out of his league. How did he pull it off? I'm gonna find out if it's the last thing I do.

His eyes shifted to Beau. "Guess I'll see you in Trig."

"Yeah," Beau answered, "see you then."

Jeremy walked away, but he paused to glance back at us more than once. His thoughts were still going, now dropping straight to the gutter.

As absurdly graphic scenarios of exactly what he thought Beau and I might have been doing last night played through his head, I decided it would be better to steer clear of Jeremy's thoughts as much as possible this morning, at least until Trigonometry. The last thing I needed was to add further fuel to my own imagination, which was already teetering on the edge of spiraling dangerously out of control.

My mind flickered back to that moment in the car, when he had leaned close to me...

No, I couldn't think of any kind of physical contact like that. I might have killed him last night. And yet... yet the moment that hadn't happened kept trying to complete itself in my imagination. His soft warm lips against mine, my arms around his neck...

I had to stop that.

"What are you going to tell him?" I asked, glancing Beau's way.

"Huh?" He blinked, nonplussed, then looked back at Jeremy. "Oh. What's he thinking?"

I considered. "I don't know if it's entirely ethical for me to tell you that..."

He frowned down at me. "What's not ethical is for you to hoard unfair advantages to yourself."

I grinned. I couldn't argue with that. "He wants to know if we're secretly dating," I summarized. "And exactly which base you've gotten to with me."

I'd sort of half been wondering for a little while now if Beau entertained some fantasies about me the way Jeremy had when he'd liked me—inconsistent as always, I didn't mind the thought of such fantasies so much with Beau in Jeremy's place. However, it hadn't been a second before his face had turned a flaming scarlet, more red than I'd ever seen it, and I guessed either he had a more pure mind—like Allen's—or at least he had some shame.

The sudden concentrated rush of blood to his face took me off guard, and I was standing too close—close enough I could feel the heat coming off his face, and taste his blood on the air.

I looked away sharply and gritted my teeth as I felt the venom fill my mouth. My muscles tensed automatically, and I had to take a step back.

There was a long pause.

"Um," he said at last, and his voice sounded normal. "What should I say?"

I started us walking again and he came with me. After a moment I chanced looking up at him again, and breathed a slight sigh of relief when I saw his skin was back to its usual pale hue.

"That's a good question," I said, grinning. "I can't wait to hear what you come up with." After all, even leaving out the vampires and druggies with guns, he had to realize by now I was completely obsessed with him. There had to be a good story he could weave out of that which would impress Jeremy. Or, I wouldn't be totally opposed to hearing him make something up about the bases. That would be entertaining.

He looked at me, aghast. "Edythe..."

We were in front of his English class now. I came to a stop, and he followed suit a moment later, swinging around to face me with wide, chagrined eyes.

As I stared into his face, I found that wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights look strangely endearing. Again, euphoria rose up in my throat, so overpowering I thought I might choke.

A stray hair had fallen down into his forehead, stuck there by the mist. I hesitated a second, then reached up and quickly brushed it back.

"See you at lunch," I breathed, then turned and quickly sped back toward my own class. I vaguely heard the shocked and speculative thoughts of witnesses swirl around me, but I barely heard them. Elation was rising inside me like a physical force. It was hard to breathe, hard to think—hard to keep walking at a normal, human pace, when all I wanted was to break into a run, and race from one side of the world and back.

I wrapped the scarf more securely around my neck when I got to class. I pulled the material up over my nose and closed my eyes, breathing deeply, letting the scent burn my nose and throat. I would let myself get desensitized to it now, and it would be easier to ignore later, when we were together again at lunch.

It was a good thing teachers no longer bothered to call on me—once again today I was in my classes merely in body, and my mind couldn't have been further away.

In English, McKayla was waiting in her usual seat for him to get there. She was radiating gloom and frustration. In spite of her decision to go with Jeremy, hearing the story about me and Beau had incited in her a jealous resentment she couldn't quite curb.

She was a little cooler to Beau than usual, her tone carefully polite, distant. However, it didn't take her long to work up to the question she wanted to ask, regarding the gossip she'd already heard from Jeremy.

"Did you have, like, plans before you went? I mean, Jeremy thought you might have, and I wondered—why even go through the charade, you know?"

Her thoughts were caustic. I bet it was all her idea. Playing at keeping it a secret. What, does she think it's funny? Or Beau's just not good enough for her, and she doesn't want anyone to know? The stuck up, sociopathic little—

"No, no," Beau said quickly. "I was totally planning on the movie. I didn't expect that... I would get lost and... stuff."

He wasn't a particularly good liar, and even though it wasn't technically a lie, this version of the story was severely truncated, and his tone was off.

Of course, McKayla picked up on it.

He is totally covering for her. 'And stuff'? What did they really do last night? I bet Jeremy's right, I bet she seduced him, dragged him out to a seedy hotel. She's got him completely under her spell, the witch. I wish she would go play her twisted little games somewhere else, Beau's just too nice a guy to let himself get suckerpunched like this. Ugh, I can't stand her!

McKayla was getting herself worked up, and she looked impatiently at the clock.

"That was really cool that you went out with Jeremy on Monday," Beau said, not-so-subtly trying to turn the conversation elsewhere. "He said it was great."

This distracted McKayla from her internal rant. "He did?" she asked, ears pink, eyes on her nails.

"Yeah." He paused, then added in a low, conspiratorial voice, "Remember, I didn't tell you anything. Like, I totally didn't tell you that he thinks you're the coolest girl he's ever known."

McKayla couldn't suppress her pleasure. Wow, did he really say that? I thought it didn't go that well, honestly... seemed like he was talking more to that long-legged waitress than to me. But maybe he was just shy...

Beau's strategy worked, and McKayla was distracted for the moment, long enough that the teacher started class, ending the conversation.

However, it wasn't long before McKayla's thoughts turned back to me, and she was quietly seething again, now upset and furious at the thought of Beau and I at the dance together.

McKayla was worried about Beau getting hurt—like Jeremy, it didn't enter her mind I could honestly be serious. However, I noticed that she also seemed to be vaguely aware that when I did inevitably dump him, he would probably be depressed and in need of support—an opportunity. She pictured me as I said, with an exaggerated look of superiority and disdain, 'Yeah, I think it's time we broke up. Sorry, this is getting boring.'

That made me laugh aloud, causing Roe Sawyer next to me to jump and scoot her chair a little further away, eying me warily.

McKayla followed this with an image of herself, ever the loyal friend, consoling a heartbroken Beau, who suddenly realized how much a better a nice, understanding, down-to-earth girl was compared to a high-maintenance, flighty prima donna.

By the end of class, McKayla had completely made up her mind to be a good friend no matter what, even go out of her way to make things seem all cool. She wouldn't let his association with me make him an outcast.

As they were leaving, McKayla began, "So."

"Yeah?" he answered.

"I was just curious if, you know, we were going to see you at the dance after all? Like, you could totally hang with our group, if you wanted to."

Friends, no matter what, she thought. And I want to see how she talks to him. Does she pretend to be nice? Or does she just talk down to him all the time and he puts up with it? Whenever I see them, it always looks like she's laughing at him...

"The dance?" he answered, looking startled. "No. No, I'm still going to Seattle."

McKayla blinked. She'd already resigned herself to seeing Beau at the dance with me, but now she felt a flare of hope. She didn't ask him? Or did he really have plans in Seattle and have to turn her down, too? Or maybe she doesn't intend for it to last that long. Maybe she's already getting tired of the game.

"Okay," she said. "Oh well." She added slyly, "Maybe we can get a group thing together for prom. Share a limo."

She watched Beau's face carefully, waiting for his reaction.

Beau stopped in mid-step. "Uh, I wasn't really planning on prom..."

Oh, gosh, I knew it, she thought, unable to suppress a laugh. "Really? Shocking! You might want to mention it to Taylor, though. She says you're taking her."

At the same time, memories of the prom conversation replayed in McKayla's mind, along with later details of the bargain dress deal Taylor had bragged about getting for it. McKayla had been skeptical at the time—she was fully aware that Beau avoided Taylor and her constant apologies about the van incident like the plague, and after Beau's vehemence that he 'didn't do dances,' she doubted he would break that for Taylor. All the same, she was happy to see it confirmed, and she burst out laughing at Beau's horrified expression.

"That's what I thought," she said.

Beau recovered enough to assert hopefully that Taylor was probably joking, and McKayla went into more detail, about how Jeremy and Logan had been trying to make plans, but Taylor had opted out, claiming to already have plans with Beau.

"That's why Logan's being so... you know... about you," she said. "He has a thing for Taylor. I figured you deserved a heads-up. After all, you broke the man code for me."

She recalled a few flickers of memory regarding Logan, particularly his fondness for referring to Beau as Beaufort when Beau wasn't around, and doing reenactments of the near-fainting incident in Biology. McKayla had done her best to shut this down, but she'd never had a lot of influence over Logan.

Logan Mallory. Although he was technically a member of Beau's usual friend group, because he seemed to have so little to do with Beau himself I'd never paid much attention to him. But I would certainly be paying more attention in future. Beau would probably consider killing him a tad extreme, insufferable bully though he was, but if he continued in his behind-the-scenes harassment, he would certainly suffer for it.

Beau was staring back at McKayla in something like panic. "What am I supposed to do?"

McKayla snorted. "Tell her you're not taking her." Obviously.

Beau did not look satisfied with this advice. "I can't just..." he floundered. "What would I even say?"

McKayla had to stifle another laugh. Look at his face. He's going red. I can't picture him going to Taylor and straightening it all out, he's way too shy. I guess even Taylor can be smart once in a while, I bet she was counting on this. I almost wouldn't mind seeing him take her to the prom, it would be hilarious. He'd probably hate every minute. And better Taylor than Edythe Cullen...

"Man up, Beau," McKayla advised. "Or rent a tux. Your choice."

It was rare that McKayla and I were in sync on anything, but there was some amusement to be derived from this situation, in spite of the obvious distress it caused Beau. I would have to tip him off about Taylor already having the dress, he might want to factor that into his plan of action.

Beau seemed obviously distracted in his government class, and I watched him through the teacher's eyes. At the same time, however, I occasionally checked in on Jeremy—in between imagining the various steamy scenarios between Beau and me, sometimes substituting Beau with himself, he was refining his strategy for prying the details from Beau. Not that he expected to have much trouble—who wouldn't want to brag about a night with Edythe Cullen?

I was almost as impatient for Trigonometry as Jeremy. I really didn't know how Beau would respond in this kind of situation. He obviously didn't like it and was embarrassed, but he didn't like conflict or being badgered. I wondered if he would make something up just to get Jeremy to leave him alone.

In between checking on Jeremy, I also found myself searching out Allen's familiar mind, but for a different reason. I'd had it in mind for a little while now to do something for him. Get him something he wanted, as an anonymous thank-you for simply being a nice person and a good friend to Beau. And, though he wasn't aware of it, being by far my least irritating spy glass when it came to following Beau's day-to-day activities.

However, I was surprised to find this was more difficult than I expected. He had a calm mind, content, and didn't seem to want anything in particular that I could find. He was a relatively good student, always responsibly took notes and paid attention in class. He didn't seem to dislike anyone. He was excessively shy and didn't like oral presentations—but I didn't see how I could help him much there.

Those times his mind did drift away from his studies, he was usually thinking about his little twin sisters. From his memories of them I could tell that they adored him. There weren't many older brothers who would sit down and patiently play dolls for hours at a time, or brought home funny trinkets he thought would make them smile out of his own allowance, or planned out trips to the nearby beaches or parks.

I would have to continue to keep tabs on Allen. Something was bound to turn up eventually.

Finally, Trigonometry arrived, and I barely saw my surroundings as I settled into my desk in English, all my concentration zeroed in on Jeremy. Beau walked into his classroom just a minute or so before the bell rang. His eyes flickered to another empty desk a few rows away, as though considering taking it, before he squared his shoulders and reluctantly approached the available seat next to Jeremy.

The teacher wasn't in the room yet—fortunately, for both Jeremy and me.

Look at him, thought Jeremy as Beau lowered himself into chair with obvious deliberation. He looks tense. Did he see Edythe Cullen again between classes? Or does he look like that because he didn't see her?

As usual, Jeremy's conjectures were far off the mark. Beau was on edge because he knew what Jeremy was going to ask, and perhaps even more so knowing I would be listening to every word. I wondered if maybe I shouldn't have tipped him off. However, I was definitely planning to bring it up to him later, and it seemed more fair he should know beforehand.

Jeremy wasted no time. "Dang, son," he said in a low voice, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Who knew you had that kind of game?"

Beau rolled his eyes. "I have no game."

Jeremy's grin widened. Oh, so you're going to play it like that, huh? "Please. Edythe Cullen. C'mon. How did you swing that?"

"I didn't do anything."

"How long has this been happening?" Jeremy asked eagerly. "Is it some kind of secret? Like, she doesn't want her family to know? Is that why you pretended you were going to the movie with us?" Come on you dork, stop trying to play it so cool.

"I wasn't pretending anything. I had no idea she was in Port Angeles last night. She was the last person I expected to see."

Looking at Beau's face, it was obvious to Jeremy he was telling the truth. Jeremy sank in disappointment.

"Have you ever been out with her before last night?"

"Never."

"Huh. Just a total coincidence?"

"I guess."

Jeremy immediately picked up on the off-tone. There is totally more to this story than he's saying, he thought, and I'm gonna find out what it is. Time to start playing hard ball.

"Because, you know," he said, "it's not a secret that you've been, like, obsessed with her since you got here."

Not a secret. That was a bit of a stretch—it was certainly what Jeremy had suspected all along, and later Allen and McKayla, but if, as he seemed to imply, everyone knew about Beau's apparent obsession, I was reasonably certain I, as the resident mind-reader, would have been aware of it. Jeremy's suspicions had been on rather scanty evidence—a few scattered looks at my table, and his own prior massive crush on me.

However, from the look that crossed Beau's face, it was immediately obvious to both Jeremy and I that he had hit the nail on the head.

"It's not?" Beau said, looking dismayed.

Jeremy grinned with satisfaction. "So, I have to wonder how you turned that around. Do you have a genie in a lamp? Did you find some blackmail on her? Or did you trade your soul to the devil or something?"

Jeremy was determined to squeeze something out. Belittling Beau's skill in the conquest and forcing him to defend himself seemed a good start.

Beau didn't take the bait. "Whatever, man."

Jeremy kept pushing. "Exactly how much did you get in the bargain? Bet it was a pretty wild night, eh?"

Beau was starting to look peeved, but he tried not to show it. "It was an early night," he said. "Home by eight."

"Are you serious?" Jeremy demanded, not wanting to believe it, but fairly certain by now he could tell when Beau was lying, and pretty sure he wasn't now.

"It was just dinner and a ride home, Jeremy," he said.

Jeremy hesitated, then with a remaining spark of hope said slyly, "What about this morning, though? You were still with her."

Beau spun on him, finally losing some of his indifference. "Still?" he sputtered. "No! What—you thought she was with me all night?"

"She wasn't?" Jeremy asked, frowning.

"No."

"But you were in her car—" he tried to argue.

"She picked me up for school this morning."

"Why?" Jeremy asked. Seriously? This is so random.

"I have no idea. She offered me a ride. I wasn't going to say no."

"And that's it?"

Beau didn't answer, only shrugged his shoulders.

Come on, Jeremy thought. You can't be serious. What am I supposed to do with that?

"Really? Please tell me you at least made out with her—anything."

Beau glared, openly annoyed now. "It's not like that."

Jeremy's thoughts were colored with disgust. What's that supposed to mean? They're not dating after all? La—ame. Aloud, he said, "That is, hands down, the most disappointing story I've ever heard in my entire life. I take back everything I said about your game. Obviously, it's just some pity thing."

Jeremy's thoughts continued with contempt. You know, I bet that's it. I bet he begged her to let him take her out once. And she just couldn't say no. I mean, he does kind of give off that helpless vibe sometimes. Guess it makes sense he wouldn't want to brag about that.

"Yeah, probably," Beau answered, tone off-handed.

"Maybe I should try to look more pathetic," Jeremy added, fantasies already blossoming in his head. "If that's what Edythe is into." Yeah, you're not special. She'd probably take out any guy she felt sorry for.

"Go for it," Beau said indifferently.

"It won't take her long to get bored with you, I bet," Jeremy needled, annoyed at the lack of response. Yeah, you'll see. You should have tried to make more of it when you had the chance.

For the first time, Beau's even, unconcerned expression flickered. His eyes dropped.

Jeremy grinned broadly, satisfied at having scored a hit.

"Yeah," Beau said in a low, defeated voice. "I'm sure you're right."

The teacher showed up to class then, and the smattering of talk around the room started to die down.

"You know what, though?" Jeremy added under his breath. "I think I'd rather be with a normal girl."

Now that he'd finally gotten under Beau's armor, he was feeling generous. His tone was understanding. Beau should just enjoy this while it lasted, but when it came to an end, that wasn't anything to worry about. A normal girl was better in the long run anyway.

I wasn't expecting such a bit of wisdom from Jeremy of all people. I also didn't expect the words to cut me like they did. Of course, I already knew that—that a normal girl would be far better for Beau in the long run, and I was no more than a fantasy who would disappoint him in the end. But somehow, hearing it said aloud by someone else made it real in an entirely different way.

Jeremy was looking at the front of the room, so I didn't see Beau's responding expression. But a moment later, Beau, his voice was unusually cold, replied, "That's probably for the best. Keep your expectations low."

Jeremy blinked, startled, but when he looked at Beau, Beau's eyes were focused up on the teacher.

Jeremy's face settled into a resentful scowl. Oh, I get it. You think you're some kind of romantic, huh? Well, you'll see. When she drops you like yesterday's trash, you won't be feeling so high and mighty then. Guys have to stick together. But go ahead, figure that out the hard way. See if I care.

Jeremy's acidic thoughts likely would have continued, except that the teacher called on him just then and he had to fumble to try to find the answer. However, by the end of class his internal grumblings against Beau had resumed in full force, and he didn't bother to wait for Beau as he usually did as he headed out to the next one. I tried to watch Beau through the eyes of other students, and though I couldn't be sure, I thought he didn't look like he missed the company.

Meanwhile, Beau's conversation with Jeremy gave me a lot to think over. Overall, I supposed Beau had said little that ought to have come as a real surprise—as much as I might have enjoyed a little embellishment, he had already proven time and again he didn't care about showing off. And when someone tried to pick a fight with him through insults or derision, he had always just taken it quietly rather than feel the need to defend a bruised ego.

But that part near the end kept going through my mind. Obviously, it's just some pity thing. Irritating a notion as it was, it made some sense that Jeremy's small, narrow mind might arrive at that conclusion. But did Beau really think that? I had been fairly certain I had made my feelings abundantly—almost embarrassingly, painfully—clear the previous night. I wondered how he could have possibly come away with that impression. Perhaps I hadn't come out and said the precise words, but hadn't it been obvious in the subtext of everything I said? Did? If I had any pity for him at all I would stay away from him.

And did he really think I would inevitably be getting bored soon?

I brooded the rest of the class over his cryptic words and completely illogical expressions, impatient for lunch to come so I could confront him. I was confident I would get more answers than Jeremy—I had hypnotism by dimples on my side.

In the fourth hour, Gym was even more of a trial than usual—we all loathed Gym, especially Eleanor, who hated throwing games on purpose. But as I lethargically tapped the birdie with my badminton racket, and Archie, my teammate, stared at the wall in indescribable boredom, time seemed to crawl by with particular slowness.

Considering Logan Mallory was on the opposing team, I decided to try to pass some of the time imagining appropriate retributions I might inflict on him, simply for his unforgivable attitude toward Beau.

He eventually noticed my intense stare from across the court, and he immediately glanced away, unnerved. However, he did his best to shake it off.

You're imagining things, he told himself. Probably thinking about something else. The Cullens are too good to pay anyone any special attention—except for the amazingly talentless Beau Swan, of course.

Thinking of Beau triggered a whole line of sulfuric thoughts, including a broad array of plans to interfere with Beau's apparent plans with Taylor, which he had clearly been ruminating over for some time. He was also considering ways he might make sure to send anything he might have with me down in flames—even though Logan wasn't particularly interested in me, mainly because he already knew I wasn't interested in him, he found the idea of someone so obviously beneath him in looks and simple coolness going with someone of a stratospherically higher social status personally offensive.

As Logan's thoughts about Beau became progressively more scornful and just plain nasty, my plans to deal with him became progressively more like something out of the Dark Ages. At last, Archie tilted his head subtly toward me and rolled his eyes.

You know, he's planning to be a model. He'll probably want his thumbs for that. And his arms. Archie hadn't had any actual visions about what I would do to Logan—yet—but it seemed he had learned to read my expressions well enough to hazard a fairly accurate guess.

I shrugged, as I casually tapped the birdie and it sailed over the net, and Logan swung hard for it and missed. Too low for Logan to hear, I muttered back, "Not if he's modeling prosthetics."

Archie wordlessly shook his head, then, between another languid hit of the birdie, he mimed putting me in a straight jacket.

We were all more than happy when Coach Clapp called the games and sent us out early. It was a stroke of good fortune she'd chosen today to skip breakfast as part of a new diet she was trying, but by now her will had weakened, and she was ready to skip out and get a large lunch at her favorite burger joint—she'd start the diet over tomorrow.

I could barely keep myself from skipping to the math building. I would be able to meet him as he got out of class.

Have a good time, Archie called after me as he headed off to meet up with Jessamine for lunch. Say hi to Beau my man for me, won't you? He's going to ask you about me.

My jaw tightened slightly. Little brothers were expected to be annoying at the best of times, but sometimes I forgot how precognition could make them doubly so.

FYI, he added, it's going to be sunny on both sides of the sound this weekend. Might want to rearrange your plans.

I considered that as I walked. Before the events of yesterday, this would have been a crushing disappointment. To be forced to cancel and be denied my ready excuse to be with him. But now that he knew everything, he might be open to something else... I would have to think on it some more later. When I was away from him again, and had tedious time and thinking space I needed to fill.

I leaned against the wall by the door, waiting. I was close enough I could hear Jeremy's voice through the bricks as well as his thoughts—he had cooled down since the last class, but the accusation still leaked into his tone, and his thoughts were full of scorn.

"You're not sitting with us at lunch today, are you?" he asked. Course he's not. Looks like he can't wait to get out the door. He has it so bad it's pathetic. Not even a shred of dignity.

"Um, not sure," Beau answered, and he really did sound uncertain. Apparently my promise to save him a seat at lunch the previous night and my parting See you at lunch this morning had not been clear enough. Or did he really trust me so little he didn't even expect me to keep my word on something as inconsequential as that? After all, if he thought I was going to get bored any second and run off...

Jeremy was annoyed at this. If you're going to sit with her, just say it. Go ahead, ditch us, but don't expect to just come running right back when she cuts you loose. You want back in, you'll have to crawl.

In spite of Beau's uncertainty where he would be sitting, Jeremy turned and without another word strode out, fuming to himself. However, the moment he passed the door frame, his eyes fell on me, standing there by the door.

He spoke his thoughts out loud.

"Seriously, what the hell." His voice carried above the noise, so loud several heads turned.

He stalked off down the hall, and I watched him go for a second. I might have been concerned, Beau having falling outs with his friends over me. But Jeremy really wasn't all that much of a friend—he talked about solidarity between guys, but in truth he would have stabbed Beau in the back where I was concerned if he had half the chance.

Besides, the scenario that Jeremy projected with such certainty—that I would lose interest and dump him, and Beau would have to grovel at Jeremy's feet to be re-accepted into the group—was an impossibility anyway. When it came down to it, he didn't need Jeremy. He didn't need anyone who didn't contribute meaningfully to his happiness, not as far as I was concerned.

Many people came hurriedly to the door, to see what had incited Jeremy's outburst. As each of them saw me, one by one they glanced back at Beau before hurrying on to lunch. They were all in no doubt why I was here.

When Beau finally came to the door, he peeked around apprehensively. I wondered what he was expecting to see.

However, as he saw me, his face lit up.

"Hello, Beau," I said. I felt like beaming back, but I was aware of a few curious eyes hanging back to watch us, to determine if the rumors were true, and I didn't want to scare anyone. Or put them under hypnotism.

"Hi," he said.

"Hungry?" I asked.

"Sure."

By then our audience had begun to disperse, eager to get to lunch. They had better things to do than listen to our perfectly ordinary, dull conversation.

As we turned toward the cafeteria ourselves, I shifted my bag slightly and he noticed it.

"Hey, let me get that for you," he said, stretching out an arm.

I knew I shouldn't tease him, but he of all people should know how ludicrous the offer was, and as I looked up at him, I caked on the weak and helpless vibe. "Does it look too heavy for me?" I asked, in a slightly higher, twittering girlish voice.

He looked uncertain. "Well, I mean..."

"Sure," I said, shifting my shoulder so the bag slid down my arm, holding it out with my pinkie finger. My bag was always fairly heavy, but it was heavier than usual, thanks to the couple of extra textbooks Archie had inexplicably asked me to grab for him.

"Er, thanks," he said, a second before I let go of the bag and let it fall into his hands.

He half staggered and grunted under the weight, but then wordlessly hefted it over his free shoulder. He glanced at me.

"Do you always bring your own cinder blocks to school?"

I laughed. "Archie asked me to grab a few things for him this morning."

"Is Archie your favorite brother?" he wanted to know.

I suddenly remembered what Archie had said about how Beau was going to ask about him, and I wondered if he had asked me to bring the things solely to spark this conversation. He had been concentrating on Jessamine's future when he asked me, like he always did when he was trying to hide his thoughts...

Archie one, Edythe zero, I mentally conceded. I'd have to be more careful next time.

I evaded the question and said instead, "It's not nice to have favorites."

"Only child," he answered with a bit of a smile. "I'm everyone's favorite."

"It shows," I muttered. I paused, debating whether to sidetrack the conversation onto something else. However, Archie won again—I couldn't resist asking how his mind worked, where his unexpected conclusions came from. "Anyway, why do you think that?"

He tried to shrug, but couldn't quite manage it under the weight of my bag. I really shouldn't let him carry it. He could hurt himself. I'd read more than one article in several medical journals on the correlation of carrying heavy backpacks in school to chronic back problems later in life.

"Seems like you talk about him the most easily," he said.

I didn't answer. He said it so casually, but I was surprised he had picked up on that.

In the cafeteria, I proceeded directly to the food line. Remembering how little he had eaten on the last day we had sat together, I was determined to remedy that. He was really far too thin to be healthy, I suspected from skipping too many meals.

I didn't realize Beau had turned his eyes to look toward the corner where my family usually sat until I heard Archie's thoughts. While Beau was gazing toward them, a thoughtful, speculative expression on his face, Archie glanced up and met his eyes. He smiled widely, and it only got bigger as Beau smiled back. Then Beau glanced down at me, as if to see my reaction.

My mouth pressed into a thin line as I focused on Archie.

Did you see that, Edy? he thought. He wants to meet me, too. It's only a matter of time, you know.

My mouth pressed thinner, and I glared at him.

His smile widened, and his bright teeth flashed at me across the room. You're just delaying the inevitable. Come on, why not today? Let me just meet him at least.

I raised my eyebrows, my lips curling back from my own teeth, but it was not a smile.

Archie rolled his eyes, putting up his hands. Fine, you win. For now. But remember, it's coming, whether you like it or not.

It was our turn in line and I took a tray. I realized I had no idea what Beau liked—yet—so I just reached for one of everything.

I noticed Beau had been watching the two of us closely, and I sighed a little, giving in.

"I'm pretty close with all of my family, but Archie and I do have the most in common." I added, "Some days he's really annoying, though."

It's what I do best, he thought, and his shoulders shook with laughter. You know it's just because you're my favorite sister.

Beau was back to watching Archie and me curiously.

We reached the end of the food line, and the server rang us up.

"That'll be twenty-four thirty-three," she said.

This seemed to get Beau's attention. "What?" When he saw the tray, his eyes turned round.

I could feel the objection coming on, so I quickly paid and strode off for our table.

"Hey," he said as he caught up, frowning. "I can't eat all that."

"Half is for me of course."

"Really."

I was already sitting, the tray pushed to the center of the table. "Take whatever you want."

He dropped our bags to the floor, mine hitting the linoleum with a heavy clunk like a sack of bricks. I was going to have to learn how to travel lighter from now on.

The both of us sat down.

"I'm curious," he said in a low voice, too low for our closest neighbors—a group of seniors sitting at the other end of the long table—to hear us. "What would you do if someone dared you to eat food?"

Although no humans could have heard us, it was a different story for immortal ears, if they were listening. Perhaps I should have told Archie to warn them ahead of time. Oh well.

"You're always curious," I said.

Wrinkling my nose I reached forward and grabbed a piece of something off the plate, putting it in my mouth. Pizza—though if I hadn't seen what it was, I wouldn't have been able to tell. It was slimy and repulsive as any other human food. I forced myself to swallow, and it slid slowly and uncomfortably down my throat. I would have to choke it back up later.

He looked at me, shocked, though just a little impressed.

"If someone dared you to eat dirt, you could, couldn't you?" I asked.

He grinned a little. "I did once... on a dare. It wasn't so bad."

I shook my head. "Somehow, I'm not surprised." I looked back up. "Here." I pushed the tray further toward him, offering him the slice of pizza.

He took it obediently, taking a bite and chewing slowly. I watched him—as always. His eyes were, at the moment, on the pizza. I wasn't sure which I preferred, when he was looking away, and I was free to study his every feature, or when he was looking back, into my eyes...

Look at that—seriously? She's leaning toward him—look at how she's staring at him. She looks totally into him. And he's just sitting there, munching pizza like a dork. Don't tell me—she's been the one trying to get him to move things along and he's beating around the bush. Is he an idiot?

My gaze flickered once toward Jeremy, and the second our eyes met, he turned away quickly. I couldn't help but laugh.

Beau swallowed the bit of pizza. "What?" he said, bewildered.

I was getting used to automatically answering his questions, whatever the ethical implications. However, I did enough editing it didn't seem too wrong, and what I said seemed easy enough to have guessed anyway.

"You've got Jeremy so confused," I said, grinning.

He relaxed at this, instantly dismissive. "Tough."

I smiled. "He really let his mind run wild when he saw you get out of my car." That was an understatement.

He shrugged, taking another bite of pizza.

I stared at him for a moment, Jeremy reminding me again of that conversation in Trigonometry. How I felt must be obvious, if even someone as dense and self-absorbed as Jeremy was picking up on it. So why did he always seem so uncertain?

"Do you truly agree with him?" I asked suddenly.

I should have waited for him to be done chewing. He tried to swallow quickly, in a hurry to reply, and nearly choked. I half rose, alarmed—although I had learned the Heimlich maneuver in theory, I'd never performed it in practice on an actual human—but fortunately he put up a hand to hold me back while he swallowed hard.

"I'm fine," he said when he could speak again. Then, remembering my question, and the low intensity in my voice, he asked slowly, "Agree with him about what?"

"Why I'm here with you," I said quietly.

He considered for a long moment. A touch of color crept up his face. At last, he shook his head.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

I wasn't sure if he really meant that, or if he just wanted to avoid the question.

"Obviously, it's just some pity thing?" I repeated. I could feel my irritation rising again. Surely he couldn't possibly really think that. He had just been trying to appease Jeremy. Maybe he was a better actor than I'd given him credit for.

I expected him to look chagrined or embarrassed to be caught out, but he only shrugged. "It's as good an explanation as any."

"And I'll be getting bored soon, will I?" I tried to keep my face and voice calm, but the anger was bleeding through, and my eyes narrowed.

At this a flicker of pain shot across his face, but he shrugged again, trying to look indifferent.

I stared at him, wondering how on earth he could be thinking this way. After everything yesterday. Wasn't it obvious how I felt? I didn't see any need to go comparing our feelings, but if it came to that—did he really think the emotions produced by his mere seventeen years of existence could come anywhere close to the all-consuming, soul-crushing love of a century-old immortal? Perhaps it arose out of some warped form of humility, but I could only perceive his assumptions as an insult.

"Beau, you're being ridiculous again," I said coldly.

His eyes were on the table. "Am I?"

Though he tried to sound offhand, his tone was so dejected that I relented a little, half smiling, half frowning.

"There are several things I am currently worried about," I said. "Boredom is not one of them."

I stared back at him for a minute, and he looked back at me. "Don't you believe me?" I asked softly. My eyes were intense—it had to be obvious. How I couldn't look away from him. How I studied his every feature, hung on his every word, could think about nothing else—it felt as though my eyes could hide nothing from him.

"Um, sure, I guess. If you say so."

My frustration was nearing a crescendo. What was he thinking? Did he really think Jeremy was right about me? Did he think I did this all the time—stalk human males wherever they went, place myself in their power by revealing all my deepest secrets? Deep down, did he look at me in much the same light as McKayla did—like I was just jerking him around, looking for a fun time, and would cut him loose the instant something more interesting came along?

"Well, that was an overwhelming affirmative," I said, my voice cutting.

He wasn't intimidated. He took another bite of pizza, watching me thoughtfully, and I couldn't begin to guess his thoughts, though I concentrated again, trying to force my way inside, as I had done a thousand times before.

I waited, hardly able to stand it, for him to finish chewing so he would speak. But when he swallowed, he took another bite without saying anything.

"I truly loath it when you do that," I said, glowering at him across the table.

He finished chewing, then swallowed with more care than usual. He raised his eyebrows at me. "What? Not tell you every single stupid thought that passes through my head?"

It was obviously a rhetorical question, and I almost smiled, but I kept my mask of annoyance firmly in place. "Precisely."

He sighed. "I don't know what to say. Do I think you'll get bored with me? Yeah, I do. I honestly don't know why you're still here. But I was trying not to say that out loud, because I didn't want to point something out that you might not have thought of yet."

So, he didn't think my intent malicious, it seemed. He believed that I meant what I was saying, at least for now. But he expected I would lose interest eventually—inevitably.

It was so ridiculous that I couldn't stop the smile this time. If only he could see inside my head—understand. Would he be gratified to know the extremity of my feelings, or terrified?

"So very true," I said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I never would have realized it myself, but now that you mention it, I really ought to be moving along. That Jeremy suddenly seems alluringly pathetic—" All my amusement disappeared at the look that came over his face. The color had drained from his skin, as though he had been knifed in the gut.

"Beau?" I said, startled, shocked. "You know I'm joking."

He stared back at me. He nodded slowly, but didn't speak.

I gazed back a long moment, wondering exactly what I was going to do with him. He seemed entirely uncertain of me. It was so easy to hurt him and make him feel insecure without meaning to. Maybe it wasn't so much that he didn't believe me as he was afraid to. How was I going to convince him? Make him see?

The only thing I could think of was to spell it out. To just come out and say it, and say it over and over, express it with every word and action. If I just kept hammering away, eventually it would have to penetrate, even an unfathomable brain such as his.

However, expressing my feelings was not something I was accustomed to—not the nice ones, anyway. It made me feel strange. Vulnerable in a way that was hard to define. I thought I had been open beyond reason or decorum the previous night, but clearly I was going to have to learn to be even more so. However, I trusted Beau, implicitly. That would make it easier, I hoped.

Slowly, I reached my hand across the table toward him. I hesitated there, suddenly worried he wouldn't take it. However, a moment later he placed a hand over mine.

He smiled a little and I smiled back.

She didn't—She didn't! I'll kill her! I'll take her car apart piece by piece!

No way... seriously? She used to be the responsible one.

I had a feeling this would spiral out of control. If the Volturi find out...

Several shocked and outraged thoughts skewered me through the back from across the cafeteria. Royal was viciously imagining the things he was going to do to my favorite car—and various other things I owned. Eleanor was in disbelief while Jessamine was radiating disapproval.

Sorry, Edy, thought Archie. But they heard part of your conversation and, well, I could see things would turn out worse if I didn't explain everything. I had a mental picture of what Royal would have done if he found out at home—where he didn't have a facade to keep up. My Aston Martin mangled and up in flames. I knew I'd have to consider hiding it somewhere out of state.

Beau caught my sudden grimace and, misinterpreting it, quickly withdrew his hand. "Sorry."

"No," I said quickly, before he could draw away completely. "It's not you. Here."

I stretched out my hand for his again, but a second before touching I hesitated. Then, paying very close attention to what I was doing, I let my fingers rest lightly on his palm. His hand folded around mine.

"What was wrong just now?" he said in a low voice, sensing my tension.

"Many different reactions," I muttered back, making a face. "Royal has a particularly strident mental voice."

He glanced over automatically at our table across the room, and froze when he saw the hostile looks oriented in my direction.

Royal's gaze shifted for a fraction of a second to Beau, and for an instant his mind filed with images of exactly what he'd like to do to the skinny, helpless little—

I spun around so fast in my chair Royal didn't have time to look away. The moment our eyes met and he saw the expression on my face, his eyes dropped, sullen. He didn't need to read my mind to know what I was thinking; he'd seen murder in my face enough times to recognize it.

Archie was grinning as he watched us, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Jessamine wasn't looking our way, but the consternation of her relatively quiet mind was just as pronounced as Royal's.

I turned back to the table. I was going to have to deal with the fallout from all this later, no mistake.

I was a little surprised to find Beau staring at me with wide eyes and an appropriately terrified expression.

"Did I just piss off—" he began.

"No," I said, cutting him off. Then I sighed. "But I did."

He snuck a peek back at the table again, but fortunately they were no longer looking in our direction. "Look," he asked. "Are you in trouble because of me? What can I do?"

I didn't turn, but as he asked I suspected his eyes were on Royal. However, Jessamine was the one I was more worried about. I could only hope Archie would remind her of his and Beau's pending friendship.

I smiled to reassure him. "You don't need to worry about me. I'm not saying Royal couldn't take me in a fair fight, but I am saying I never have fought fair and I don't intend to start now. He knows better than to try anything with me."

He didn't look particularly reassured. "Edythe..."

The last thing I wanted was to see him unnecessarily lose sleep worrying, so I said, "A joke. It's really nothing, Beau. Normal sibling issues. An only child wouldn't understand."

"If you say so." His eyes flickered toward Royal again uncertainly.

"I do."

His eyes dropped to our hands, still joined at the center of the table. He was quiet for a long minute.

I could tell he wasn't going to say anything more, and I thought it time to get the conversation back on track—I was irritated at Royal for cutting into my time with Beau. My time was limited, I couldn't let myself get distracted.

"Back to what you were thinking," I said abruptly.

He sighed and looked disgruntled, but resigned.

I remembered what I had decided, to say my thoughts more openly—I had to tell the truth, hold nothing back. Until he quit being so ridiculously insecure.

"Would it help if you knew you weren't the only one who had been accused of obsession?" I asked, smiling.

He made a distinct sound of dismay. "You heard that, too," he muttered. "Great."

I laughed—as though he thought I'd have missed a single moment. "I was entranced from start to finish." My own classroom could have gone up in flames and I wouldn't have noticed.

"Sorry," he muttered, looking down.

"Why are you apologizing?" I asked, bemused. If anything, I should have been the apologetic one, for shamelessly eavesdropping on what should have been a private conversation. Not that I would have apologized even if he had asked me to—apologizing implied remorse. And I wouldn't have missed it for anything.

I added, "It makes me feel better to know I'm not the only one."

He looked as though he thought I might be putting him on.

I paused, trying to think of a way to get through. Open.

"Let me put it this way," I said at last. "Though you are the one person I can't be sure about, I'd still be willing to place a very large wager that I spend more time thinking about you than you do about me."

"Ha," he laughed suddenly, making me blink. "You would totally lose that bet."

I raised an eyebrow, wondering if he was really going to try to make that argument. Still, it made me wonder—exactly how much did he think of me? As soon as he woke up in the morning? As he made breakfast? As he drove to school? As he sat in class? As he went home for the afternoon? As he went to bed at night?

Even if he did think of me at all those times, I found it hard to believe it could be a constant thought, every waking minute of the day—humans couldn't keep track of multiple lines of thought at one time like we could. It was certainly an intriguing idea, and made me almost giddy—but, very likely he was simply underestimating me. But, either way, it didn't matter much.

"Ah," I said, and my voice was condescending as I noted, "but you're only conscious for roughly sixteen hours in any given twenty-four hour period. That gives me quite a lead, don't you think?"

He folded his arms, not about to back down. Sometimes he was easygoing and quick to let someone else win a fight for the sake of peace, but other times he could be surprisingly stubborn.

"You're not factoring in dreams, though," he pointed out.

By now, some of my amusement at the ridiculous argument we were having had faded a little. I felt suddenly tired—or maybe I was just jealous. Jealous that he could sleep, and that he could dream.

"Do nightmares count as dreams?" I asked. I tried to form my mouth into an ironic smile, imagining the appropriate kind of dreams normal people had involving vampires, but I couldn't quite make my face form the expression.

Maybe it was because my face was too serious for the joke, but he didn't smile. Instead, he gazed at me, a kind of intensity in his face, even as I noticed the red spots of embarrassment already beginning to creep up his neck.

"When I dream about you..." he began quietly, "it's definitely not a nightmare."

His voice was soft, but his blue eyes were deep, intense with emotion. For a second his eyes seemed to trap me where I was and I couldn't look away. Royal could have been mentally calling me every foul name he knew from his vast vocabulary and I wouldn't have noticed. My breathing sped as I tried to imagine what sort of dreams he had about me. He occasionally said my name in his sleep, but the exact tone of the dreams had sometimes been difficult to tell.

It seemed strange that something so trivial could affect me so much—a look, a tone, a word about his dreams. But then, everything he thought and did affected me. I was a prisoner, and I realized I had no desire to be free.

He was looking at me, and I realized he was waiting for a response, so I forced myself to remember how to speak. "Really?" I asked softly, my eyes still locked with his.

Something about my tone, perhaps the honest pleasure I couldn't hide or the fact the teasing had disappeared for the moment, seemed to embolden him, and he added quietly, "Every single night."

Gag me.

Royal's condescending, disgusted mental voice interrupted us.

I really can't take any more. You—a sap for that kind of thing and making eyes at a human—I never would have guessed.

I closed my eyes, keeping my face perfectly smooth. Much as I would have liked to turn around and tell him in a blazing mutter maybe he was the one who needed to look out for his car—I knew if I showed any reaction, Beau would take it as a response to what he had said, and he would be afraid to say anything like that again. And if I told him the truth—of the audience to our conversation and Royal—he'd probably be embarrassed and self-conscious. I wasn't going to let Royal's sour attitude ruin the odd magic of this moment.

Ignoring Royal, I continued with a bit of a smile, "REM cycles are the shortest of all the sleep stages. I'm still hours ahead."

He frowned, considering that for a long moment. "You really think about me?" he said at last.

If I didn't have a photographic memory, I would have lost track of how many times I had expressed this in one form or another, but it never seemed to sink in.

"Why is that hard for you to believe?" I asked, refusing to let my mounting frustration leak into my voice.

"Well, look at me," he insisted, gesturing to himself as if his point was obvious.

I was looking. All I ever did was look at him, or wish I was looking at him. I waited for him to continue.

"I'm absolutely ordinary," he said. "Well, except for bad things like all the near-death experiences and being so uncoordinated that I can barely walk. And look at you." He gestured vaguely at me, again as though making an obvious point.

I smiled. I felt the smile grow wider and wider, until it wouldn't stretch any farther. I suppose it made sense that he had such a human perspective on things—all about looks and money and status. And he was such an unassuming person by nature. He couldn't see what I saw—clear, sky blue eyes that revealed his kind, pure spirit all the way down to his core. His loyalty, his self-sacrifice. The fact that he was sitting here, across from me, wanting to be here with me in spite of knowing the monster that I was. That was what was really hard to believe. That was the miracle here.

"I can't argue with all the bad things," I noted.

"Well, there you go," he said, at once triumphant and deflated.

I leaned my head on my hand, watching him. "But you're the least ordinary person I've ever met," I said softly.

I gazed into his face, and he gazed back into mine, confused. He seemed to be thinking—trying to grasp this version of reality which didn't match what he'd known his entire life.

I half expected Royal to interrupt with another scathing mental comment or expression of disgust, but as my mind casually stretched out in that direction, I noticed his thoughts were gone. I didn't bother to spread my net wider to find him. Let him go cool off, or get away from my sappy, romantic moments—or smash my car to bits. Whatever it was, I didn't particularly care at the moment.

Finally Beau blinked, and broke away from my gaze. "But why..." he began.

I waited.

"Last night..." he started, then once again trailed off. He paused for a long minute, until I couldn't take the suspense any longer.

"Do you do that on purpose?" I wanted to know. "The unfinished thought as a way to drive me mad?"

He shook his head. "I don't know if I can explain it right."

"Please try."

He thought again for a second. "Okay," he said at last. "You're claiming I don't bore you and you aren't thinking of moving on to Jeremy anytime soon."

The corner of my mouth twitched, but I forced my face to stay neutral.

"But last night..." he said slowly, "it was like..."

I waited, tense, for some reason I could not explain.

He noticed my rigid posture, and the rest came out in a rush. "Like you were already looking for a way to say goodbye."

I stared back at him as it all suddenly made sense. I had been attributing his reluctance to believe me to something about him—he was absurd or too self-effacing or his brain didn't work right—but all along it was me. He was watching me closely, and he saw clearly the conflicting signals I was sending. Hadn't I adamantly said it wasn't too late? That I didn't want to hear him say things like that about me?

And yet, hadn't I made it clear my reasons for why I had to leave? Didn't he comprehend the danger I was to him? The danger he was in constantly in being around me? Well, I would make it clear now.

"Perceptive," I said softly, and watched as he stiffened, then slumped.

Very carefully, lightly, I squeezed my fingers around his.

"Those two things are unrelated, however," I said.

He looked up. "Which two things?"

I said matter-of-factly, "The depth of my feelings for you, and the necessity of leaving. Well, they are related, but inversely."

His eyes were pained as he gazed at me. "I don't understand," he said quietly.

I gazed back, and he didn't look away. I said, my voice lower still, "The more I care about you, the more crucial it is that I find a way to... keep you safe. From me. Leaving would be the right thing to do." The only thing to do.

His jaw tightened slightly, and his eyes never moved from mine as he slowly shook his head back and forth. "No."

I drew a deep breath, and once again his scent burned the back of my throat, making my head spin—it was a good thing I'd worn the scarf all through classes, it had kept me accustomed to the smell, so it didn't hit me as hard now. But still it was always present, a thought at the back of my mind. I loved him—so much—why couldn't that be enough to will it away? This fiendish, dark longing for his blood?

He still didn't really understand the danger. He didn't understand the risk, my giving in to my impulse to spend so much time together, how unforgivably selfish I was being. Naive as he was, he wanted me to be selfish—and I was selfish enough that, deep down, I was happy about that.

"Well," I said, lip curling with disdain at my own weakness, my eyes hard, "I wasn't very good at leaving you alone when I tried. I don't know how to do it."

He frowned back at me. "Will you do me a favor? Stop trying to figure that one out."

Naive. I gazed back at him. He was afraid—afraid of my leaving. But he didn't need to be, didn't need to say that. Because for all my talk, at this point, I wasn't even really trying.

I smiled a little. "I suppose, given the frequency of your near-death experiences, it's actually safer for me to stay close." It was as convenient an excuse as any—I would take what I could get.

He brightened, seizing on that. "True story. You never know when another rogue van might attack."

I frowned, not sure I liked this new flippant streak he was developing.

"You're still going to Seattle with me, right?" he asked. "Lots of vans in Seattle. Waiting in ambush around literally every corner."

Definitely too flippant.

I already knew Seattle was out, thanks to Archie's weather forecast. Or at least, if he went, I couldn't go with him.

"Actually," I said, "I have a question for you on that subject. Did you really need to go to Seattle this Saturday, or was that just an excuse to get out of saying a definite no to your bevy of admirers?"

"Um." His face said it all.

"That's what I thought."

His brow clouded and he looked at me with a sudden touch of accusation. "You know, you actually put me in kind of a difficult position with the whole thing in the parking lot with Taylor."

"You mean because you're taking her to prom now?"

His mouth fell open in shock—I wondered when he would get used to the fact that, aloof as I might seem, I was completely keyed in to all of the high school gossip—at least gossip that concerned him. Then he closed his mouth and I thought I heard the sound of him grinding his teeth behind his lips.

I shouldn't have found his plight amusing, but my lips twitched. "Oh, Beau," I said gently.

My overly kind tone got his attention. "What?" he said, suspicious.

"She already has her dress."

His eyes widened—the fact he looked more terrified at this revelation than at finding out I was a blood-sucking vampire was not lost on me.

I took pity on him. "It could be worse—she actually bought it before she claimed you for the date. It was secondhand, also, not a large investment. She couldn't pass up the deal."

He didn't look much consoled. I squeezed his hand.

"You'll figure it out," I encouraged.

He slumped, glum. "I don't do dances."

Before I could stop myself, I heard myself asking, "If I'd asked you to the spring dance, would you have told me no?" I made my voice light and teasing, but this was something I had been wondering about for awhile. I was becoming too used to asking every question that came into my mind—apparently I no longer had a filter.

I started to grow worried when he didn't answer right away, simply staring at my face as he considered it. Taking this long to decide couldn't be a good sign.

At last he said reluctantly, "Probably not." He added, "But I would have found a reason to cancel later. I would have broken my leg if I had to."

I didn't know quite how to respond to this pronouncement. "Why would you do that?" As always, the path of his thoughts was too bizarre to follow.

He shook his head. "You've never seen me in Gym, I guess, but I would have thought you'd understand."

I considered that. Now that I thought about it, for all my mind-stalking I never had watched him in Gym, at least not consistently. I would soon remedy that. But, I had watched him enough to have a feeling I knew what he meant. "Are you referring to the fact that you can't walk across a flat, stable surface without finding something to trip over?"

"Got it in one."

"I'm a very good teacher, Beau."

He muttered, "I don't think coordination is a learnable skill."

Always so stubborn. We would have to come back to this subject of dances later, but for now, better to return to the matter at hand. I noticed we tended to get sidetracked quite a bit.

"Back to the question. Must you go to Seattle, or would you mind if we did something different?"

He paused, then said slowly, "I'm open to alternatives. But I do have another favor to ask."

I hesitated, nervous, though I wasn't quite sure why. "What?" I asked warily.

His clear blue eyes met mine. "Can I drive?"

I stared back, wondering if this was his idea of a joke. "Why?"

"Well," he said, "mostly because you're a terrifying driver. But also because I told Charlie I was going alone, and I don't want him to get curious."

I was slightly incredulous. "Of all the things about me that could frighten you, you worry about my driving."

I paused, as a sudden idea for where we might go instead struck me. A flash of excitement pulsed through me at the thought of taking him there—my own personal place. The place I went when I wanted to be alone in my head. However, beneath the excitement I also felt just the barest flicker of terror. It would be sunny that day. Could I do it? Show him exactly how inhuman I really was?

Edy.

I recognized Archie's mental voice, and it was oddly urgent.

My thoughts shifted to his, and I saw his vision—and I remembered suddenly we had both seen this vision before, that morning I'd saved him from the van, when it was still indistinct, hard to make out. Now I saw it clearly—me, standing in a bright circle of sunlight in my meadow, my personal place. And Beau there with me.

I looked at the vision in wonder. So I would have courage enough to do it—show him what I was.

It's the same place, Archie thought, and his mind was full of horror.

For an instant, I didn't understand what he meant, or the strength of the emotions he now radiated. Then he summoned the vision to mind, forcing me to see it. Us, in the meadow again. Only...

Edy, he pleaded. We're going to be friends. Best friends. Please.

For just a second I was too stunned by the picture in his head to react. Perhaps the tiniest spasm of horror crossed my face—but it was too fast for human eyes to catch, and in a moment my expression was perfectly smooth, nothing but calm.

Archie had nothing to worry about. That would never happen. I knew what I was doing—I was completely in control. Wasn't I?

Not even a half second had passed, and Beau was still looking at me expectantly, waiting for my reply to his bizarre request.

I turned all my attention solely on him, shutting out Archie and his pessimistic visions. I could understand he was worried. But that wouldn't happen. Not now.

But still the image remained at the back of my consciousness like a nightmare, refusing to go away. It was an older vision, before I'd consciously known my feelings. Before I'd acknowledged their all-consuming nature. Yet it brought all my fears never far from my thoughts clamoring to the surface.

My face remained composed, but I was no longer playful and teasing. "Won't you tell your father that you're spending the day with me?" I asked quietly.

He was, of course, unconcerned, and brushed it aside. "With Charlie, less is always more." He added curiously, "Where are we going anyway?"

"Archie says the weather will be nice, so I'll be staying out of the public eye..." I trailed off, deciding to leave it vague, and hoping he wouldn't ask why Archie would be our ultimate source of weather knowledge.

Thinking of Archie, my attention briefly shifted behind me again. Archie was talking to Jessamine in a low voice—Jessamine had sensed his abrupt shift of mood. His thoughts were still on me, and that one thread of possibility in the meadow.

That won't happen, I thought. And yet, the image was worming its way deep into my mind, condemning what I was doing, all my plans, everything I wanted.

I'd left what I was saying hanging, and finally I completed, "...and you can stay with me, if you'd like to." Guilt made me sound uncertain. Wrong, whispered the small voice of my conscience—it was still there, but subdued, by now used to being ignored. Wrong, the voice repeated. Acting as though you're letting him make the choice doesn't make up for anything. Because you know what he'll say, because he doesn't really understand. Not yet.

"And you'll show me what you meant, about the sun?" he asked, his face brightening with anticipation and curiosity.

I clamped down on both voices—my conscience and Archie's warnings. I shoved them far to the back of my mind, not even to be considered right now. I wasn't going to let anything ruin this.

"Yes," I said, smiling. I paused, and as I looked into his face, still happy, lit with the thought of spending time with me and unraveling another mystery, the hard shell I had placed around my conscience to keep it quiet cracked.

You're going to do whatever you want and let the chips fall where they may, my conscience whispered, parroting my own words back at me. Isn't that right?

I love him, I thought weakly. Archie just doesn't understand. He doesn't love him, need him like I do. There is no danger—no more than usual.

You're the villain of this story, it said softly. You are precisely what he needs to escape from most—his greatest enemy he needs to overcome—and he doesn't even know it.

For a moment, this thought overwhelmed me—because for an instant I could see, without a shadow of a doubt, it was true. I was the villain—and we were racing all too quickly toward the climax. There were only two possible endings. Either it would end in tragedy, or in my defeat. Either he would finally see me for what I was and flee from me, or he would fail, and pay the price.

But even as the thoughts circled sickeningly, the images from Archie's vision flashing in my mind, I once again shoved them forcibly back. And I realized, there were some advantages to being the villain—a villain always knew precisely what they wanted, and was willing to do anything to get it, regardless of all else. Free from the tangle of moral obligations created by a conscience.

So even as my conscience seared me, and I prepared to speak, I knew I wouldn't say what I should say. It would only be a half-warning, too vague to count. I wasn't going to risk sacrificing my precious time with him, not even for his own good.

"But," I began, "if you don't want to be... alone with me—" As though I were giving him an opportunity to get away, when I already knew he wouldn't take it—"I'd still rather you didn't go to Seattle by yourself." I was already thinking of ways to make it work, in spite of the sun that day. We could still drive together—that would give us plenty of time to talk. Then I could wait in the car while he shopped in the bookstores. I'd follow him with my mind. Or maybe we could buy me a parasol—the image almost made me laugh, and I felt some of my dark mood lift. I added with a touch of sarcasm, "I shudder to think of all the vans."

As expected, he only shrugged. "As it happens, I don't mind being alone with you."

I gazed back at him a second, and I wondered if, instead of demanding my selfishness as he was now, if he told me to be responsible, I would be. If I would be acting like a better person now, someone more like Carine wanted me to be. If I didn't have such a ready-made excuse that leaving would hurt him too...

Either way, I supposed now it didn't matter.

"I know," I said hollowly with defeat. I hesitated, then added, "You really should tell Charlie, though."

His mouth twisted with distaste. "Why on earth would I do that?" He sounded embarrassed, even insulted at the thought. Like I was lecturing him, treating him like a little kid who had to have his parents' permission.

He was so casual, so relaxed—I was suddenly angry, furious. Furious that he was refusing to help me keep him safe. Refusing to take precautions. I loved him, and I longed more than anything for him to be perfectly safe around me, for me to be safe. I didn't want him to be afraid of me; I wanted him to trust me. Yet to follow me so obliviously—did he think it was brave, or romantic, to give so little thought to his own life? In a strange way, I hated his inexplicable devotion, his heedless desire to be around me no matter the risks, almost as much as I loved it.

I looked into his eyes and Archie's vision swam to the forefront of my mind, glittering sunlight and emerald green grass soaked in blood. For a moment I was no longer the strange girl who teased him and flirted with him about who thought about who more—I was the predator, the monster that wanted nothing but his blood.

"To give me some small incentive to bring you back," I whispered, my eyes narrowed, a hint of my teeth showing.

He stared back at me for a minute. I wasn't sure whether I wanted to see the fear I knew should be there. I dreaded it more than anything, and yet, he needed to be afraid. For his own good—or he would keep doing things like he had in the car. He wouldn't do anything to protect himself.

His eyes never wavered from mine. At last he said, "I'll take my chances."

Still oblivious. Still naïve. Or had I been misinterpreting his responses all along? Was the possibility of having his blood consumed by a vampire a thrill to him—an adrenaline rush to interrupt the tedium of this gray, dreary town life? Did he crave the excitement enough to risk his life for it? Did he eagerly await those moments when we were alone to see if I would succumb to my instincts, and reveal the monster I was? Like a little boy at a circus, prodding a sleeping tiger in the eye.

I looked away, glaring at the side of the table.

After a minute he cleared his throat, looking awkward. "So that's settled. New topic?"

I raised my eyes to his, frustrated. "What do you want to talk about?" I asked, though my tone was more hostile than conciliatory.

He looked around, as though searching out potential listening ears. When he spoke again, he kept his voice low. "Why did you go to that Goat Rocks place last weekend... to hunt?" His question turned into a guess at the end. He added, "Charlie said it wasn't a good place to hike, because of bears."

I didn't answer, only calmly waited for him to put the pieces together.

He thought for a minute, then his eyes widened. "Bears?"

I couldn't help it, I grinned.

He stared at me. "You know, bears are not in season," he managed at last.

My grin widened. "If you read carefully, the laws only cover hunting with weapons."

I watched his face, as he struggled with the shock. This seemed to get through to him in a way that none of my vague warnings of how dangerous we were had. Finally we were getting somewhere.

"Bears?" he repeated again in a small voice.

"Grizzly is Eleanor's favorite," I said casually, though I continued to watch his face. Beneath my triumph was the barest flicker of terror, but I ignored it. This had to happen. He had to be made to understand.

As though he somehow sensed the emotions churning beneath the smile, he struggled for a moment to collect himself again.

"Hmmm," he said, with exaggerated nonchalance as he took another bite of his pizza. He seemed to be looking for something to say.

"So," he said at last. "What's your favorite?"

I raised an eyebrow. Ridiculous question—as always, its commonplace normalcy made abnormal in light of the subject.

"Mountain lion," I said.

"Sure, that makes sense." He nodded, mask of composure and nonchalance still in place.

I wondered how far I could push him before I made him crack. "Of course," I said conversationally, "we have to be careful not to impact the environment with injudicious hunting. We try to focus on areas with an overpopulation of predators—ranging as far away as we need. There are always plenty of deer and elk here, but where's the fun in that?" I smiled again.

He didn't seem to know how to answer, and he muttered as he chewed, "So not fun."

"Early spring is El's favorite bear season," I continued. "They're just coming out of hibernation, so they're more irritable."

I smiled a little. Seventy years later, after the fight with a bear that had left her nearly dead and first brought her to us, Eleanor still had a grudge against bears of all kinds. She didn't like to lose.

"Nothing better than an irritated grizzly bear," he said, nodding.

I broke first and laughed aloud at his carefully polite, unruffled expression. "Tell me what you're really thinking, please."

He frowned. "I'm trying to picture it—but I can't. How do you hunt a bear without weapons?"

I'd been right—he really didn't grasp what I was or what I was capable of, even now, even seeing me lift a van and after all I had said. I had his attention now, I had to push harder.

"Oh, we have weapons," I said, smiling so wide he could see all of my teeth. "Just not the kind they consider when writing hunting laws. If you've ever seen a bear attack on television, you should be able to visualize Eleanor hunting."

His eyes drifted automatically to our table, and as his gaze rested on Eleanor, a shiver went down his spine. He looked away quickly, his eyes returning to me. Some of his put-on calm was gone. However, a flicker of concern crossed his face.

"Is it dangerous?" he asked in a low voice. "Do you ever get hurt?"

Again, I laughed aloud—the notion. "Oh, Beau. About as dangerous as your slice."

He stared down at his pizza, considering that. "Yikes," he muttered. He glanced back up. "So... are you... like a bear attack?"

"More like the lion, or so they tell me," I answered lightly. Less brute force, more cunning subtlety, or so Archie had once pointed out. Eleanor charged down her prey with a roar, while I preferred to stalk up and strike from behind. Eleanor faced her prey head on, while mine never knew what hit them.

No one had ever accused me of fighting fair.

I added with a hint of a smile, "Perhaps our preferences are indicative."

"Perhaps," he echoed. He frowned a little, gazing for a long moment at my face, perhaps still unable to reconcile everything I was telling him with what all his common experience from the time he was a child had taught him. He did believe everything I had said, and yet it must seem impossible to think of someone who looked as small and delicate as I did striking down dangerous predators. It was hard for humans to get past what their eyes told them—even for a mind as peculiar and out of step with the typical mind of the entire population as his.

He paused, then said, "Is that something I might get to see?"

As much as I had come to anticipate the unexpected and irrational talking to him, this request took me completely off guard. For a split second, my entire body seized up. My lungs seemed to freeze in my chest.

"Never!" I whispered, and the single word sounded almost hoarse in my ears. I stared at him with wide, horrified eyes as the image filled my mind—the taste of his blood reaching me on the wind just at the moment I turned my conscious mind over to the hunt, to sate myself... The vision Archie would see in that moment wouldn't be a mere possibility. I didn't need to see the future to know exactly what would happen.

The fear was paralyzing, overpowering. Without knowing quite what I was doing, in reflex I withdrew my hand from his, wrapping my arms around myself—as though to keep from falling to pieces as my body was wracked with a sudden, violent shudder.

He was watching me, startled by the intensity of my reaction.

"What did I say?" he asked quietly.

I closed my eyes, and it took a minute to steady myself, to block out the horrific images enough to relax my tense frame.

I returned my eyes to him at last, and I felt all the horror and panic turn to anger. Even after everything, he still didn't get it—not even slightly. He wasn't going to help me keep him safe, that much was obvious. It would be up to me. I was on my own.

"I almost wish it were possible," I said in a hard voice. "You don't seem to understand the realities present. It might be beneficial for you to see exactly how dangerous I actually am."

He refused to be cowed by my tone. "Okay, then, why not?"

I didn't answer. I stared at him, letting the anger contort my face, willing him to be afraid of me, even if it was just a little. Afraid enough he would be careful, take precautions—the same way he did when he was walking on icy blacktop, or trundling his truck cautiously down the road. But he never reacted, only sat there patiently, waiting for my mood to subside and for me to reply.

However, even if I had felt like answering our hour was up.

"Later," I said shortly, getting to my feet. "We're going to be late."

He blinked and looked around, noticing for the first time that the cafeteria was nearly empty. However, he didn't look nearly as panicked as he had that last time, that day of the blood typing in Biology. I really was starting to think I might be a bad influence on him.

"Later then," he said. And the way he said it made me sure he would hold me to that.

---

A/N: Ridiculously, sadistically (masochistically?) long chapter.

There are still a couple long ones coming up (measly 12,000-worders), but this one beats them out by a fair margin.

For the record, I liked the Beau-Jeremy conversation in Life and Death more than the equivalent in the original Twilight. Mostly a lot of little things, like Jeremy being the one to put Beau's feelings into words rather than Beau saying it himself. I also liked the conflict they have at the end, and how it adds to our sense of Beau as a character. (We do see Bella's disinclination to brag, but I felt like in Beau's case the social pressure was stronger.)

Anyway, ultra long chapter this time out, and some parts might have felt like we were covering the same ground (I do think it's realistic for someone in such an extreme emotional state as Edythe is to keep thinking in circles, but that can be hard on the reader, lol), but there were a lot of fun differences in the Life and Death version to play around with.

Thanks so much for reading! If you have a moment, let me know what you thought, and hope to see you next time! Happy New Year!

Posted 12/31/18