A/N: Another long chapter, though this time that's more my fault than the sticking-to-original-conversations issue. For some reason, I ended up wanting to add a lot in...

Edit July 2021: It wasn't my original intent to change any of this after the real Midnight Sun came out, but as I was working on revisions I decided to go for it. I added in a new scene (because the original version of the chapter was clearly not long enough) with Earnest, and also revised the main Edythe/Archie conversation to include an idea from Midnight Sun I found particularly striking.

As always hope you enjoy, and see you at the end!

Chapter 15: Preparations

My hands gripped the steering wheel, but as I put some distance between myself and the Quileute elder, I relaxed a little.

There was nothing to worry about. Bonnie Black and the other members of the council might not like what was going on, but it wasn't as though they could do anything about it. The great wolves that once protected their land were no more. As near as we could tell, none of the Quileute teenage girls had changed in decades, not since the last pack. They may have passed down the legends, but they were powerless.

Besides, I wasn't technically breaking the rules, not according to the treaty. It meant little, if Bonnie Black was aware of what I was doing.

I stopped back home to drop off my car. However, I thought it might not be a good idea to go inside—not when I'd probably just set Royal off again. Instead, I reached over and slowly twisted the knob on the stereo, turning the music back up again. It was still the CD that Beau had in his player, and I leaned my head back against the seat, closing my eyes.

For a long minute, the screaming, loud beat of twanging electric guitar filled the silence, and the corner of my lips twitched in a smile. Beau was right—this was good music if you didn't want to think.

I heard his thoughts as he approached, so when the passenger door opened, I wasn't surprised.

"Nice music," said a cheerful voice. "I love this band. It's great to see you expanding your tastes. He's such a good influence on you."

Sighing, I turned the music down and opened my eyes to see Archie sliding into the passenger seat, pulling the door shut behind him.

I turned my gaze to face the front, before I let my eyes slide closed again. "It grows on you after a while," I said absently.

Archie didn't immediately speak, and for several moments, nothing but the quiet sound of a guttural human voice screaming filled the car.

"So," Archie said at last. "You're still doing Saturday, huh?"

I hesitated. "Yes." I didn't offer any excuse or argument—I knew full well there wasn't one, not one that either Archie or I would buy.

A deep sigh blew from his mouth. "Guess I can't stop you."

As he glanced my way, I saw my own face in his thoughts. My eyes were closed, and I could have almost looked relaxed, even peaceful—if not for the unmistakable tension in my jaw.

"That day is going to make all the difference," he said at last, staring out at the dark garage. "Right now, you're caught up in this careful balancing act. Together, yet... not together. You've been trying to keep your distance, keep him from getting too close. But Saturday, you won't. You're going to get close. That's decided. The only question is whether, when you do, your control will be all the stronger for it—or it'll be too much, and you'll kill him. Saturday will be the turning point."

In spite of the horror of what he was saying, the potential for disaster, I felt a small smile curve my lips. "Archie, why do I get the feeling you've been seeing things that are supposed to be private?"

He laughed a little. "All I have to do is take a glance at either of your possible futures when you're in Biology to know what you're dying to do. And he's dying to do."

My grin widened. "He'd probably be embarrassed if he knew what you could see."

"But not you, huh?"

"You should know by now, Archie. I'm shameless."

He laughed out loud this time. "True, that." He paused, then added suddenly, "You should introduce me to Beau tomorrow."

My eyes flashed open, and my smile was abruptly a scowl. "Archie, I told you—"

"Hey," he said, eyebrows raised, "if you're going to kill him on Saturday, it's only fair I get to meet him at least once, right?"

I flinched at the words, and glanced away. I took a slow, steadying breath. "Okay... maybe," I allowed.

"By the way," he said, "I'm going hunting tomorrow. It's about time for me. You should come with—might as well do everything you can to prepare, right?"

I nodded slowly. "Yeah. That's probably a good idea." I already knew gorging myself on animal blood didn't help all that much when he was near, but it would make me feel better. To know I'd done everything I could.

"We'll make it big, all afternoon," he said. "I'll come and get you after lunch tomorrow."

I hesitated, reluctant to have any of my time with Beau cut short.

As though reading my mind, he rolled his eyes. "Come on. You'll get to ask all your questions before school, and during lunch, so you won't be losing that much time—besides, I don't know if I could stand to watch either of you suffer through another Biology class."

I considered a second longer, before my shoulders slumped slightly. "Okay. After lunch, then."

He grinned. "Sounds like a plan. See you then." He started to climb out of the car, then paused and looked back a moment. He grinned. "You know, Edy, if you don't kill him—I think it's going to be awesome."

Then he was gone, disappearing through the rain back to the house.

I sighed, closing my eyes again and leaning back. I breathed deeply, and his scent, still lingering in the car, burned my nose and throat. Saturday—if I could just make it past Saturday. The turning point.

I turned up the music again, and let the screaming voices and heavy metal instruments try to drown out my thoughts.

It was perhaps half an hour when once again I heard approaching thoughts, and the quiet crunch of feet.

I waited until he was abreast with the car door before I opened my eyes, and turned the banging music down to background noise. I rolled down the window.

Earnest smiled down at me. "So you do still live here," he said. "I was starting to wonder. I haven't seen you five minutes together since... I'm not sure now."

I forced an apologetic smile. "Sorry."

"Why don't you come in a moment, Edythe?" he asked. "Play something for me. I was so happy to see you playing again."

I smiled back, but hesitated.

Perhaps guessing what I was thinking, he said, "Royal and the others are out at the moment. Though I do wish the two of you would find a way to get along."

I ranged out with my extra hearing, and was surprised to hear he was right—Jessamine and Archie's thoughts were faraway and fading, and Royal's and Eleanor's were not in range. They'd slipped away when I wasn't paying attention.

I smiled at him in gratitude. "Royal and I disagree on a lot of things," I noted as I turned off the car and stepped out.

Earnest touched my shoulder affectionately. "That I know." He added, "It just seems... particularly intense this time." In his mind's eye he pictured Royal, pacing back and forth in front of my Aston Martin, every now and again glancing at it with black fury, flexing his fingers experimentally. He tried to hide the image from me as soon as it came, but couldn't.

I glanced at him and smiled ruefully. "My behavior these past few days... I've put you all at risk, and he's right, I didn't consult any of you. He has a right to be angry." He could total the car if it made him feel better—it was just a car, after all.

Earnest considered my expression, surprised. Besides our family, the Aston Martin had always been one of my prized possessions. In the past, for Royal to even consider chipping the finish would have had me flying after him in a rage. Earnest contemplated the change as we headed toward the house.

Another thought occurred to me, and I added, "There might be more for him to be irritable with me over, too. You should know, while I was at Beau's house, one of the Quileute leaders came by and happened to see me there. I don't expect anything to come of it, but you might want to warn Carine. Just in case."

I realized with some chagrin that I ought to have let her know immediately after it happened—the Quileutes were no danger to us, but Carine would still want to keep relations, if not cordial, at least not overly hostile.

"I'll pass it along," he said after a moment. "When she gets back from the hospital. She's working late today."

He held the door open for me as we went inside, then led me over to the piano. As I took up a place at the bench, he sat beside me, and years of memories flitted through my mind. We used to do this all the time back when I was playing regularly—I playing, he occasionally joining in with a harmonizing note, though mostly just watching me with all the pride and joy of a parent watching a child do something they loved. I felt an unexpected needle of guilt for neglecting my music for so long.

I started out hesitantly, touching a few keys here and there. Before I melted into Earnest's favorite song.

I played, letting my fingers shift fluidly from one chord to the next in the familiar motions. It felt so easy, so natural, and I wondered again that I had been away for so long.

And yet...

My fingers slowed. Music was emotion—or at least, reflection of emotion. Wordless, yet made all the stronger for it being so. And so, even though it wasn't his song, the emotion of the sound seemed to build inside me, compounding everything I felt, the contradictions all swarming together, raising me up, and pulling me apart.

I only made it to the second movement before my hands fell from the keys, leaving the last note ringing in the quiet, the song unfinished.

Earnest was watching me. Sensing all that I was feeling, slowly he stretched out his arms for me, and I didn't resist as he pulled me to him, holding me to him like a small child. Questions circled in his mind—but he was quiet.

I recalled almost nothing of my human life, but sometimes I wondered about my human father, what our relationship had been. If it had been like this. Carine had always spoken highly of him—he had been a man ahead of his time, so she said, who had believed in me and my potential, and loved me enough to give himself up to try everything he could to save me. Sometimes I thought I recalled bits and pieces, long late-night discussions of philosophy and history, a gentle smile. But I could never be sure if I'd made it up myself.

If he had been anything like Earnest, I knew he had been a wonderful father. More than I deserved—especially now.

"Yes," I whispered at long last, in answer to some of his questions. "Yes, I... am in pain."

I could sense his own pain in response. He causes you pain, he thought solemnly. Not an accusation, just a statement of fact.

"I do it to myself," I whispered. Then I added, in answer to his other silent questions, "And yes, he... also makes me happy."

He smiled at me cautiously. "Then that's all right."

I closed my eyes. Was it all right? Would this happiness still be all right if, in the end, I ended up...

I pressed down the rising guilt once again. Yet still it remained half stuck there in my consciousness, compressed for the moment, but not small enough to forget.

"I'll want to meet him," Earnest said after a moment. He added quickly, "When you feel comfortable, when you feel it's right... I want to know him. This boy who makes you so happy you're miserable."

I turned in his arms to look at him, and I couldn't help it, I smiled. "I will," I promised softly.

He thought, I suppose you'll be going to see him soon.

I was still smiling, but it was apologetic now. "Yes."

What do you do all night? He looked at me, thoughts curiously bemused.

"Think, mostly," I admitted. "Think, and burn." Always burn.

His face formed an expression that was half smile, half worried frown line.

I turned away then, and he released me. However, he kept a supportive, reassuring hand on my shoulder, as I lifted my hands to play one last song.

Unlike the previous night, his sleep seemed much more peaceful. He didn't toss and turn, and didn't wake up even once—for that, I was relieved. I didn't like to see him looking so under-rested. Instead, I simply sat in my chair, watching his face. Memorizing every perfectly formed feature, as if I hadn't already, and wondering if he was dreaming, and if he was, if I was in his dreams...

The next morning, I brought the car around, as before timing it so I pulled into the drive the moment Charlie's cruiser was out of sight. Beau was out the door a second later, bag over his shoulder, and he was smiling hugely as he got into the passenger seat.

"How did you sleep?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Fine. How was your night?"

"Pleasant," I said, smiling.

"Can I ask what you did?"

"No." My smile was already widening into a grin. "Today is still mine."

I forced myself to drive a little slower today—I wanted more time, and I thought he seemed more relaxed, quicker to answer more fully when we were alone. People were on the agenda today—I wanted to know about as many he'd known in his life before my time was up.

I wanted to know about his mother first. He had more than a few stories of situations his mother and her harebrained schemes had gotten him into. However, it wasn't always entirely her fault—she was very attractive, not just for her age, but for anyone, and Beau found himself recalling once when he and his mother had gone to parent-teacher conferences, and a sleazy guy from Beau's class had come up and started hitting on her. It was one of the few times Beau recalled ever feeling like he really wanted to punch someone. He might have, if one of the teachers hadn't intervened.

I laughed at that, but this story made me think of something else.

"What about school friends?" I asked. "Best friends?"

He shrugged. "People came and went. Sometimes I'd get kind of pulled into a group, but I always kept kind of on the fringe. I tried to keep to myself when I could."

I was a little incredulous. How could he go through school without a best friend? Alone?

However, I got the feeling there really wasn't much more to tell on this topic, so I moved on to another school-related question.

"What about bullies?" I asked. "Any particular enemies?" I added as an afterthought, "You don't need to tell me any names."

We were in the parking lot now, but we still had some time before class. I didn't move to leave, and neither did he.

Beau sighed. "I guess I look like the kind of guy who knows a lot about bullies, don't I?"

I said quickly, "You don't have to answer that if you don't want to." However, my curiosity was now a blazing inferno.

He turned to look at me, frowning, and seemed to interpret the look on my face correctly. He sighed again in defeat. "No particular enemies," he said. "Like a rival or a mortal enemy or anything like that. The only guy I've known who's seemed like he has it in for me is Logan. But, I'm hoping now that Taylor's not after me to go to the prom with her, that's over." He grinned a little.

In my mind, that would hardly absolve Logan from guilt, and I was still considering ways I might repay him for his treatment of Beau—but I let it pass, only waiting patiently for Beau to continue.

"But," he said, "I guess there are always those kind of guys around, who like to pick on other people. In a big school like mine, they had plenty of targets to choose from, and I was just one in the rotation." He shrugged. "It wasn't a big deal. Seventh grade was probably about the worst of it. When I got to eighth, I hit a growth spurt and shot up, and they pretty much left me alone after that."

"Seventh grade..." I mused, trying to imagine Beau at that age. It was an unpleasant, vulnerable time for most adolescents, but I could only imagine how much worse it was for those forced to suffer under the rule of mini-tyrants. "And, if I may ask, what did these bullies do, exactly?"

Beau shrugged again. "Just the usual stuff. They'd take your money if you had any, or your lunch. They'd trip you if you walked by them, or shove you around a bit if they were in the mood."

He paused, considering. "Course, what I really hated was the lockers. I definitely don't miss that at all."

I frowned slightly, gaze drifting to the school outside. The parking lot was completely empty now—we only had a few minutes left to get to class, or I was going to make him late. Reluctantly, I pushed open my door as I repeated, "Lockers?"

He nodded as he opened his door and got out. "As in, they'd come along and shove you into them, then shut you inside. I was a real shrimp in seventh grade, so I fit right into a locker. Worst was definitely the first time—first week of school."

I was quietly aghast, but I tried to keep my reaction muted and casual as his. "That sounds... uncomfortable," I said cautiously.

He shrugged again as we hurried across the lot. "Yeah, but you sort of got used to it over the course of the year."

"First week of school..." I repeated slowly, hoping to prod him into elaborating a little. I noticed he still hadn't actually told me the story—but before I could press him further, I hesitated. I felt compelled to add, "But, I suppose, if the story is too painful to relive..."

He snorted. "More embarrassing than painful."

We had pushed through the doors into the hall now, in time to hear the one-minute bell ring. I knew the story would have to wait, and for a moment I was sorely tempted to suggest that we take off for the day, go back to my car and drive out somewhere so I could keep up the questions nonstop. However, people would talk, and in a town as small as this, no doubt rumors would get back around to Charlie. Better to let Beau be responsible.

I determined then and there I would soon have a word with Mr. Cope—surely I could have my schedule rearranged to better accommodate my needs. These continual separations seemed an unnecessary hardship.

For a moment I gazed up into his face, and was once again tempted to reach up and stroke my finger along his jaw. He was looking down at me, too, as though he couldn't look away.

Then the bell rang and he muttered something under his breath, before he disappeared into the classroom, leaving me to the impatience and torture of my still unanswered questions.

Sighing, I turned and trudged off to my own class.

I caught him between classes like the previous day, but as we only had a few minutes, I had to stick to shorter questions, and I didn't press him into telling me the locker story until lunch.

I hurriedly piled some food for him on a tray—after yesterday, I had a little idea of what he liked—and shepherded him off to our usual table. I'd barely let him sit down when I launched right in.

"Okay," I said. "You were saying—'The worst was definitely the first time, the first week of school'?"

He gave me an incredulous look, then made a face. As though taunting me, he picked up a sandwich from his tray, took a slow, deliberate bite, then chewed carefully before swallowing.

I raised an eyebrow.

He sighed. "Fine, I'll tell you. Okay, it was my first week of school, seventh grade. I was standing in front of my open locker, trying to get this big textbook to fit in my bag, when a couple of big guys came up behind me and shoved me in, then slammed the door on me. They laughed like crazy, and then one of them told me if I yelled for help, they were going to jump me after school and beat me to a pulp.

"Well, like a doofus I believed them, and I didn't say a word. It was dark, and cramped, and I couldn't stand up straight because of the shelf at the top. Even though there were big slots, I felt like I couldn't breathe, and I kind of started hyperventilating. I don't know how long it was before a hall duty heard me, and got the janitor to open the locker."

"What happened to the two who did it?" I asked, eager, thinking it was too bad that torture or severing of limbs was illegal in this country.

He shrugged. "Nothing. Because I hadn't been yelling or anything, the hall monitor kind of thought I might have been hiding in there because I didn't want to go to class. The last thing I wanted was for people to know me as the pathetic kid who got shoved in a locker and was too scared to try to get out his first week of school for the rest of junior high, so I didn't say anything. I think some of the teachers kind of suspected what had happened, but since I wouldn't say, they couldn't do anything. I ended up getting a detention." He shrugged again.

"Your mother would have had to sign the slip, wouldn't she?" I asked. "Did you tell her what really happened?"

He looked horrified at the thought. "No way. She would have freaked out. I just told her I did it on a dare, and it was dumb and I promised never to do it again. Usually my mom could see through my lies a mile away, but I guess since my mom skipped class a lot in junior high, she just believed me. She gave me a long lecture about the importance of education and all that, then she made me do the dishes and get groceries for a month." He chuckled a bit. "Course, I was doing that anyway."

I couldn't be quite so flippant as he was, as I pictured a small, seventh grade Beau terrified and hyperventilating in a locker.

He glanced at me, seeing my expression. "It's okay," he said. "You can laugh. I'm over it now."

I forced a smile, but didn't laugh. "What did you say their names were?" I asked, my voice politely interested.

He frowned. "Who?"

Still keeping my tone casual, I said, "I mean your two friends, who put you in the locker."

He raised an eyebrow. "Um, Edythe, I thought you told me not to tell you their names."

I made my smile a little wider, and my tone reassuring. "I did say that. But I changed my mind. Just call me obsessive compulsive, I like to have all the details."

He eyed my benign expression warily. "Well, even if I wanted to, I couldn't. I never saw either of them again after that, I never knew who they were. They were probably ninth graders, and we didn't have classes together."

"Oh." I tried to mask my disappointment. It was probably just as well. Carine wouldn't like me to be contemplating hunting down human youths and doing terrible things to them... Some of the medieval forms of judgment I'd come up with for Logan had already transferred to the faceless, nameless boys, and now they were only saved by their anonymity.

I decided I was satisfied on the topic of bullies for now—or perhaps I just didn't think it wise to expose myself to more temptation for severe violence and retribution—and I moved the questioning to more pleasant topics, any grandparents he might have known, then back to more about his school friends and teachers he'd liked.

As we neared the end of lunch, however, I finally worked up to a subject I was keenly interested in.

"So," I said, my smile turning a bit sly. "What about girls, then?"

Predictably, patches of color began crawling up his face. "What do you mean?"

"Girls," I repeated. "Girlfriends, dates, crushes—there has to be at least a few good stories there. Any standouts?"

I had been burning to ask this question for awhile, and I would have already asked it yesterday, but I'd needed a little time to mentally prepare—to strengthen my resolve not to go back and hunt down any girls who might have broken up with him in a cold, heartless way.

"Umm," he said, looking down. "To be honest... I never really dated. I was forced into a few group things, but I never knew any of the girls. Anyway, I didn't really have a lot of extra time for that kind of stuff. I was too busy trying to help my mom out." He added quickly, "Not that it mattered. I didn't really see the appeal in dating, honestly."

I hadn't been expecting this. A seventeen year old who hadn't gone out at least once? Or even had a crush?

I wondered if that could really be the truth.

"So you never met anyone you wanted?" I asked. I studied his expression carefully, looking for signs he was hiding something.

However, his eyes remained perfectly clear. "Not in Phoenix."

I considered that. I guessed that was something else I could put down that we had in common—zero romantic experience. This was as new for him as it was for me.

He took a bite of his sandwich.

Ready to go?

I blinked, as I heard Archie's mental voice interrupt my thoughts. Something occurred to me that I'd been so wrapped up in my questions I was ashamed I hadn't thought of.

"I should have let you drive yourself today," I said suddenly.

He swallowed the bit of sandwich. "Why?"

"I'm leaving with Archie after lunch."

"Oh." His face turned abruptly glum. Then he worked to appear nonchalant, shrugging. "That's okay, it's not that far of a walk."

I was slightly incredulous. "I'm not going to make you walk home. We'll go get your truck and leave it for you."

"I don't have my key with me." He sighed, then said, "I really don't mind walking." He didn't hide his lack of enthusiasm well.

"Your truck will be here, and the key will be in the ignition," I insisted. I added with a laugh, "Unless you're afraid someone might steal it." Wouldn't that just be Beau's luck—an ancient Chevy that probably didn't go above sixty miles per hour that no one could possibly want, and someone decided to drive off with it.

"Okay," he said, but I could tell he didn't believe me. "So where are you going?"

That sapped the amusement from my face.

"Hunting," I said in a low voice. "If we're going to be alone together tomorrow, I'm going to take whatever precautions I can."

As I spoke, the image from Archie's vision rose in my mind again—brilliant sunlight glittering off my skin like strobes of rainbow colors through a prism, surrounded by emerald green grass, and his broken body limp in my arms.

Should I really do this? Should I really take such a risk?

I looked up into his eyes, not sure what I wanted him to do. "You can always cancel, you know," I said softly, and for one moment, I almost hoped that he would.

His eyes dropped from mine. His expression was hard to interpret—hurt? Or just worried about something?

Finally his eyes flickered back up. "No," he said quietly. "I can't."

I gazed back into his eyes. There was a softness about his expression, but also a steady determination. I won't, his tone seemed to imply. I don't want to.

"Perhaps you're right," I murmured as I continued to gaze at him. If I was so determined for this day to happen even with the possibility of the future I'd seen in Archie's vision, if he did try to back out, would I really let him? Or would I lay on the charm and the hypnotism, and do everything I could to persuade him it was safe? "I care about you too much, Beau. I could never really hurt you, no matter what I am." A lie.

He shifted uneasily, and I knew he saw it—the darkness that suddenly came into my eyes at the thought, of his trying to escape me.

"What time tomorrow?" he asked, in a deliberately normal, casual tone, trying to break the tension.

I closed my eyes for a moment, forcing myself to be calm. "That depends..." I said, making my voice as light as his. "It's a Saturday. Don't you want to sleep in?"

"No," he said, so quickly and emphatically that I had to smile.

"Same time as usual, then?"

He looked relieved, his face brightening, "Where should I pick you up?"

"I'll come to your place, also as usual."

He frowned. "Um, it doesn't help with the Charlie situation if an unexplained Volvo is left in the driveway."

I almost laughed. How much he still had to learn. "I wasn't intending to bring a car."

"How—" he began, but I cut across him. We didn't have time to get into another long conversation about vampire powers.

"Don't worry about it. I'll be there, no car. No chance that Charlie will see anything out of the ordinary." And then, because this was precisely the opposite of what he should find reassuring, I added coldly, "And then, if you don't come home, it will be a complete mystery, won't it?"

"Guess so," he said with a shrug. "Maybe I'll get on the news and everything."

I glared at him as he calmly took another bite of his lunch. I wondered if he was really so blasé about his own life, or if it was simply that he trusted so much, believed so strongly that I would never hurt him, that he still thought I was exaggerating the danger.

The thought of his trust filled me with conflicting emotions. A warm glow seemed to ignite in my chest—darkened by a crippling wave of guilt. Because as much as I tried to convince myself otherwise, I knew there were no guarantees. There were two possible outcomes, and I wouldn't know which way our fate would turn until the moment arrived.

Some of the tension in my posture faded, more depressed and anxious now than angry.

"What are you hunting tonight?" he asked conversationally, the way he might ask what restaurant I was going to, or what my parents were cooking for dinner. It was hard to get used to—how quickly he'd accepted so many strange things about our lifestyle, and our way of seeing the world. I wasn't sure if I was glad or not, seeing how fast his view of normal had changed.

"Whatever we find in the park," I answered. "We aren't going far." By this point, being away from him for any length of time was physically painful—never mind the panic attacks I had whenever he was out of my sight.

"Why are you going with Archie?" he wanted to know. "Didn't you say he was being annoying?"

I paused. "He's still the most... supportive." Of all of them, Archie wanted me to succeed the most. He had the most to lose if I failed.

"And the rest of them?" he asked, sensing the unspoken implication of my careful comment. His eyebrows came together in worry. "What are they?"

I hesitated, trying to think of the best way to sum up the swirl of thoughts. "Incredulous, for the most part."

His eyes flickered toward their table. "They don't like me." The guess was more a statement than a question.

"That's not it," I argued, though I knew even as I said it that it wasn't entirely true. It wasn't exactly a personal dislike, even in Royal's case—it was what I was choosing to do for him and because of him that had them on edge.

Because he was watching me, obviously waiting for more explanation, I added, "They don't understand why I can't leave you alone."

He nodded. "Me, either."

For some reason I couldn't quite explain, it bothered me that, even after all I'd said and done, he still couldn't believe how serious my feelings were—that he was so unable to see all the things about himself that I saw, that made me so unable to think about anything else. I was a monster and I didn't deserve him—wouldn't have deserved anyone half, a quarter as good as he was. Yet he was always too humble, too certain of his own inferiority. I found myself wanting more than anything to make him understand, to find something that would penetrate his thick, stubborn skull.

Strangely I found myself smiling. "You're not like anyone I've ever known, Beau. You fascinate me."

He gazed back at me uncertainly, like he wasn't sure if I was joking and he was supposed to laugh. "I can't understand that."

I pushed harder, trying to explain. "Having the advantages I do, I have a better-than-average grasp of human nature. People are predictable. But you... you never do what I expect. You always take me by surprise."

His eyes flickered away from mine. If anything, he seemed uncomfortable. There was a kind of amused disappointment in his eyes I couldn't interpret.

I continued, determined to clarify. "That part is easy enough to explain. But there's more, and it's not so easy to put into words—"

His eyes were on the back table again, watching my family as I spoke.

Troublesome little eyesore. Madness to think he could possibly be worth—

The sound of Royal's growling mental voice interrupted my thoughts, and I broke off. Beau's face had gone abruptly ashen, and I saw his face through Royal's eyes, as Royal had turned his gaze to fix Beau with his signature death glare.

I hissed under my breath, a warning too low for the humans at the other tables to hear, but plenty loud enough for Royal.

Mentally grumbling, Royal turned his gaze away from Beau, and Beau sagged in his seat, though his eyes were still wide as his gaze shifted back to me.

"That was definitely dislike."

I knew it was probably right for Beau to be afraid of my family, and yet, for some indefinable reason, I found I didn't want him to be.

"I'm sorry about that," I said quickly. "He's just worried." I hesitated, then added, "You see... it's dangerous for more than just me if, after spending so much time with you so publicly..." I couldn't finish, and my eyes dropped.

"If?" he pressed.

He was going to force me to say it. I swallowed, then whispered, "If this ends... badly."

All at once, it hit me—like an ice cold punch to the gut. What right did I have to risk his life this way? His words about the news could very well become reality. Once again, Archie's visions from the early days flashed through my mind, the search parties, the frantic terror on Charlie Swan's face. Then, at last, the realization, and acceptance, that something must have happened. The funeral, with his father and mother's drawn, distraught faces.

I forgot where I was, that we were in a cafeteria full of people, and I lowered my head until it fell into my hands, as I was seized with a paralyzing terror and agony so acute it shut out everything else.

A moment later, I felt something warm against my elbow—his comforting hand. I felt the heat even through the material of my long sleeve shirt.

For a minute, I still couldn't bring myself to look at him, and finally he said to break the tension, "And you have to leave now?"

"Yes," I answered, in an unsteady voice. I took a deep, silent breath, then let my hands fall back to the table. My eyes flickered briefly to his face—and there was not a trace of fear, only the sadness that I was leaving. Then my gaze dropped to his hand, where it hadn't moved from where it rested against my arm. I didn't deserve this kind of support, or loyalty, not with what I was doing. I didn't deserve to have him need me as much as he seemed to.

But, I wasn't making anything better for him forcing him to watch me wallow in my pessimism and self-loathing. If we were going to have to be separated for a few hours, I didn't want this to be his last memory of me.

Ready to go?

I didn't reply to the thought, but I knew Archie knew the answer. I smiled a little, raising my eyes back to Beau. "It's probably for the best. We still have fifteen minutes of that wretched movie left to endure in Biology—I don't think I could take any more."

He looked as though he saw my point. Then he suddenly jerked, quickly drawing his hand back as he caught sight of Archie, standing behind me.

"Archie," I acknowledged, without turning around.

"Edythe," he answered, mocking my formal tone. You promised.

I still didn't turn. "Archie, Beau—Beau, Archie." I smiled wryly as I spoke, knowing my brother wouldn't find the curt introduction at all adequate.

"Hello, Beau," Archie said, smiling, but toning down his excitement. He didn't want to scare his future best friend, after all. However, he added, "It's nice to finally meet you."

I shot him a warning look. Introductions, that was all I had agreed to. I had specifically avoided telling Beau about Archie's powers thus far, for more reasons than just that I thought it polite not to spread around my family's secrets without their express permission. I wasn't ready for Beau to know about Archie's visions—how he had predicted I would fall in love with him, and more importantly, how he would become one of us. Observant as Beau often was, it would be only too easy for him to pick up any subtle signals, and if he started asking questions, I knew I wouldn't be able to bring myself to avoid them.

Beau fidgeted, and he looked unaccountably nervous. "Um, hey, Archie," he said. He was looking at Archie's eyes, which were a flat obsidian and, remembering that he had figured out that little tidbit about us, I wondered if he was thinking about how hungry Archie must be.

"Are you ready?" Archie asked me, aloud this time, for Beau's benefit.

"Nearly," I said. "I'll meet you at the car."

He wasn't at all put off by my cool tone or rude dismissal and, still grinning, he obediently loped off.

Beau swallowed loudly, then shook his head. "Should I say 'have fun,' or is that the wrong sentiment?"

"'Have fun' works as well as anything." I grinned again.

"Have fun, then." He raised his voice to make it sound light and cheerful, but of course he wasn't a good actor, and the false note was obvious.

"I'll try," I said, still smiling. "And you try to be safe, please."

He sighed, and rolled his eyes slightly. "Safe in Forks—what a challenge."

My smile tightened. "For you it is a challenge," I insisted. "Promise."

"I promise to be safe," he answered dutifully. Then added with a bit of a mischievous grin, "I was meaning to deal with laundry... or is that too hazardous a task? I mean, I could fall in or something."

I didn't appreciate the humor, and I gave him a look. I was indeed suddenly keenly aware of all the possible hazards of washing machines, and other household appliances.

"Okay, okay," he said, relenting, "I'll do my best."

I climbed to my feet—I had to pry myself away, before Archie took it as an excuse to come back, and I made Beau late for class.

He got up as well, and his expression was gloomy. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said.

I smiled. "It seems like a long time to you, doesn't it?"

He nodded dolefully.

"I'll be there in the morning," I promised. Of course, I would see him before that. Yet he had no idea how much longer the time apart would seem to me—decades of immortal life I had lived, and over these past few days, I had lost all perspective. Time passed at such vastly different speeds, from flying away like a fighter jet at top speed when we were together, to crawling by, minute by painful minute when we were apart.

I went to him, briefly touching his hand and gazing up earnestly into his wide, sky blue eyes. Then I turned, and forced myself to walk away, and I felt his eyes follow me until he couldn't see me anymore.

We stopped by his house first. I slipped in my usual point of break in, the window in his room.

I'd made the decision to comb the entire house for the key, and so Archie had looked ahead to my future, and I saw in his mind exactly where I would find it. I could have also found it by smell if I had to, suffused as it was with the very particular smell of Beau's old truck. However, it became clear why Beau had seemed so confident I wouldn't—it was in the pocket of a pair of trousers back in the laundry room, buried under a pile of other dirty clothes.

As I grabbed out the key, for a minute I considered putting the clothes in the machine and getting the process started for him, so he wouldn't have to do it. Aside from the potential hazards he had pointed out, I realized the idea of doing his housework for him gave me a thrill I couldn't quite explain.

However, knowing I was breaking into his house to grab a car key and seeing I'd been sorting through his laundry were two different things—given his penchant for suddenly turning sensitive over the most ridiculous things, he might have some over-the-top reaction to my seeing his boxer shorts.

As I headed back through the kitchen from the laundry room, I paused. I tore a sheet from the notepad beside the phone and, borrowing the pen sitting nearby, I wrote two words on it, then carefully folded it and slipped it into my pocket.

I headed outside to find Archie had abandoned my Volvo where we had parked it a ways up the street, and was already waiting in the truck. Sighing, I got in on the driver's side, and turned the keys in the ignition. The engine roared to life, loud as a grumpy, waking tiger.

Archie cupped his hands over his mouth, pretending to have to shout over the noise. "I think you might want to consider trading your Volvo in for one of these babies. What do you think?"

"Funny," I muttered, setting the gearshift and backing out of the drive. If we made it through this Saturday, the first thing I was going to do was get him lined up with a new vehicle. Something that had been around preferably less than half a century. I anticipated the slow drive tomorrow with chagrin.

"Don't take it over fifty-five miles an hour," Archie advised. "I'm seeing bad things happening if you do. Then Beau really would have to walk home in the rain." He considered briefly. "Unless he could get a ride with one of his friends."

I pictured Beau in the passenger's seat of McKayla's Suburban, and I kept my foot light on the gas pedal. The slow crawl was painful, and Archie grimaced beside me. I was definitely going to have to get him something better than this.

"So," Archie said conversationally as I pulled up behind my parked Volvo. "How do you feel?"

I stared straight ahead. "You mean how do I feel right now, or about tomorrow?"

Archie rolled his eyes. Don't be smart. Tomorrow. Feeling confident?

I hesitated. I wanted to say yes, of course nothing was going to happen, I would never, in a thousand lifetimes, ever hurt him. But the truth was my mind was still awash in so many confusing and roiling emotions I didn't know how to sort them all out.

Instead of answering, I sighed.

Archie seemed to understand. You can do this, Edy. Just concentrate on what you want most, and don't let yourself forget it. Then things will turn out okay.

"I hope so," I whispered. However, even as he thought the words, I could see the probabilities in his mind—the chance that I would spill his blood and he would stare up at me with empty, sightless eyes. And before I could stop myself, the words I hadn't been wanting to say all poured out in a rush.

"Should I really be doing this, Archie? Do I have the right to take this kind of risk? I can still call it off—it's not too late. Maybe you were right, maybe I shouldn't—I mean, if I were to—to make a mistake—I don't know how I would ever—"

I didn't know what I was saying, and I fell silent. Once again, the image from Archie's vision filled my mind, horrific and ghastly, and for a moment the pain was so unbearable I couldn't breathe.

Archie was gazing at me. However, after a moment he shook his head.

No, I changed my mind. I think you're going to have to face this sometime—if you don't do it now, it'll sneak up on you eventually. Better now, when you're thinking about it, when you're ready for it. You can't avoid it forever. I think you're right to go.

I blinked, startled. I turned my eyes to him, and found him gazing back at me, his expression serious, without the least bit of humor.

After a moment, I smiled a little, turning my eyes back to my parked Volvo in front of us. That meant more than he probably realized.

Archie climbed out, and got into my Volvo. In a squeal of tires, he was soon gone, off to leave my car back at the house.

It was a longer drive than usual, but before long I had the truck at the school and, as I'd said I would, I left the key in the ignition. After having driven the thing several torturous miles, I was doubly certain that even if someone saw the opportunity, they would not be even remotely tempted to take it. If they did, it would be the thief's loss and Beau's gain, because then Beau would have no choice but to let me buy him a replacement. Something that could safely go above fifty-five miles per hour, for a start.

As I got out of the truck, I paused. I reached into the pocket of my jacket, and withdrew the note I had written in the kitchen. I left it on the seat for him to find. Then I turned, and melted away into the forest.

All afternoon and evening, I gorged myself on animal blood, consuming far more than I had ever tried before. I drank until I felt positively sick with it, until my stomach, though it was unchanged, felt as though it would burst at the seams, and the smell of any blood was almost repulsive to me.

My eyes were such a pale gold they glowed almost white in the dim light of early evening. The sun had only just touched the horizon when Archie finally thought, I think that's enough, Edy. You're seriously going to make yourself puke. You'd be the first vampire I've ever seen drink so much they couldn't keep it all down.

Archie was sitting on the branch of a low tree, finished with his hunting long ago. He had been watching my antics with some amusement at first, but now it had turned to concern.

I sat myself carefully down at the base of the tree, leaning back against the bark and closing my eyes, trying to stave off the swirling sickness in my stomach and throat. Even the thought of human blood didn't sound appealing right now—with the exception of one.

Ready for tomorrow? he asked again, as he had in the truck.

"As ready as I'm ever going to be," I replied, stifling a groan. I'd definitely never felt like this before, so full that I didn't feel like moving—almost like a human. Archie was right, one never heard of vampires throwing up blood because they drank too much. I was breaking new ground here, in so many ways.

You'll feel better tomorrow, when it's had time to settle, he thought reassuringly.

I smiled a little. "That's good to hear."

I opened my eyes, staring straight up at him, where he was still perched on his branch. "Hey," I said. "Archie?"

Hmm? He glanced down, smiling, and of course I knew he already knew what I was about to say.

I said it anyway. "I really am glad. I mean, that you like Beau, and you're going to be friends. It's just... I have trouble with the idea of letting him into our world. Putting him in danger."

And you don't want him to change, he thought. Even though he would be safer.

I sighed and shook my head. I let my eyes slide closed again. "He loves his mother. And his father, too, even if he doesn't always like to show it. To become one of us... he would have to leave his human life entirely behind."

That's true, Archie conceded. But I think... if you asked for his opinion, if you asked him to choose, he would choose you. He wasn't speaking from a vision—I was so against even making the suggestion he couldn't see that future. And yet, there was a ring of truth to it.

"I don't want him to," I whispered. "I don't want him to have to choose me over them, to have to bear the burdens that we bear. I don't want to condemn him to this life."

I was quiet for a long moment, letting the nauseous guilt wash over me again and again. A question burned in my mind—the question that had haunted me in the depths of night for so long. It was useless to dwell on the past and what ifs—but I couldn't help it.

"It's true, isn't it," I murmured. "The only way I could have prevented all this—this dilemma—was if I'd stayed away from the start. If I hadn't come back that first week."

It was from that moment I had ruined him. When I had determined to myself not to run away, I had been set on this course—this course where I would fall in love with him, and in so doing, also destroy him.

Archie was silent for a long moment. Incomplete thoughts were flickering through his mind—old visions he was trying not to remember, trying not to let me see.

I opened my eyes—only to find that Archie was gazing down at me in the crimson light of the setting sun. His face was tense, eyes full of pain.

Edy, he thought. You don't... want to know. The things I saw... while you were away.

I stared at him, at his expression. And before I could evaluate the wisdom of it, I heard myself asking anyway. "What things?" I whispered. "What did you see?"

He gazed down at me for a minute longer, trying not to think of it—then he sighed in defeat.

If you hadn't come back when you did, Edy—if you hadn't gotten to know him, fallen for him—you would have come back anyway. Eventually. And it would have been to hunt.

Images flickered in his mind, fuzzy, indistinct, but sharp enough to understand. Beau standing in front of his old truck, head bent under the hood as though checking for a problem, as I lurked in the shadows of the forest nearby... Me, standing in front of my Aston Martin along a shadowy street, as the hood gleamed in the red light of the just-set sun, as I attempted to entice him inside.

If there had been a shred of complacency inside me, a shred of the arrogance that I was too strong to fall, the images punched through the illusion like a dagger. Pain exploded like fire in my head, raw, visceral, and I couldn't think through my own sudden silent scream.

My eyes were still staring to the horizon, but I couldn't see it—only the darkness. The darkness that existed in myself, that had always existed, and existed still. They were just shadows now, unrealized possibilities, yet in this moment they were as real to me as all the memories I kept collecting, treasuring. Because I could see in Archie's mind that they had been certainties then, only the timing of it undecided. I could see, only too plainly, that the monster would have won.

"I'm going to fail," I whispered, sickness swirling in my mind, something like disease robbing my limbs of all strength. "I..." I truly was a monster. I had tried to convince myself otherwise, but I had always been a monster—and a monster could never be anything other than it was.

I heard the light tamp of feet as Archie dropped from his branch and came to stand beside me. The past possibilities of horror had been replaced with the image of crimson eyes and alabaster skin again. Still horrific—still too high a price, a sacrifice of his humanity—but better than the other.

I didn't mean that, Archie thought calmly. That path has passed. I just want you to see—things could be worse. You haven't ruined his life by falling in love with him. If anything, it's saved him. Since you first met, it's always been a delicate balance—and every decision you've made has been for his good. You've always found the path that keeps him safe, keeps him alive.

He continued, There are paths tomorrow where—where he doesn't make it. But there are other paths where he does, where you both do. You just have to find that way, Edy, like you have been all along.

I was still drained from the shock of the other visions, and my shoulders slumped, my head bending. He made it sound so simple.

Archie paused for a moment, considering. At last he added hesitantly, There is one other vision that's opened up recently. One you've created. It's not a strong thread, but...

The scene opened up in his mind. It was faded out at the edges, not as solid as the others, but still clear enough to make out. Three figures in Beau's cramped front room. Archie and I were there, Archie sitting in the side armchair by the television, mouth spread in a wide grin at some just-told joke. I was on the aged sofa, Beau beside me.

Archie and I were the same as we always were—but Beau was different somehow. His eyes were still sky blue, but his jaw was a little more square, his shoulders slightly broader. A shadow of stubble, not yet shaved that morning, sprinkled his jawline.

He wasn't much older—maybe three or four years. But he was still human.

I closed my eyes. Some of the rigid tension still in my clenched hands softened a little.

"...Thank you," I whispered.

It's a slim chance, he thought. And it's not what he's going to want. But it's out there. All you've got to do is get past tomorrow.

I nodded once, slowly. At last I opened my eyes and turned to look at him. His face almost glowing in the evening light, glittering like diamond.

"It's going to be okay," he said suddenly with conviction. Tomorrow. You're going to succeed. You love him too much not to. A hint of a smile twitched at the corner of his lip. You know, in spite of the psychotic, obsessive stalking thing.

Though I was still in little mood for humor, I wanted to object. Didn't I follow him because I loved him? However, upon further reflection I saw his point. My convenient bodyguard excuses aside, there was a difference between my insatiable obsession, and the love.

My love for him had always teetered on the edge—of being a good love, a pure love, and one so dark and sinister it might eventually destroy him. But when I looked deep inside myself—I knew. However it might come out, above all I did want what was best for him. I wanted him to be happy, to not have to make any sacrifices for me. I could suffer anything so long as I could see that goal at the end.

Your probability's gotten better, Archie thought suddenly.

I blinked, glancing up at him.

It was sixty-forty at first, he continued. Still in favor of you not killing him, but close. It dipped lower for a minute there, fifty-fifty—part of why I didn't want to tell you those other visions—but it's just gone up to sixty-five to forty-five. Whatever you're thinking, keep thinking it.

Sixty-five to forty-five. Slightly better, but still not odds I liked.

After a moment, Archie sat down beside me, next to the trunk. We both stared out at the horizon, and watched the sky darken from twilight into night. At last the stars began to come out, one by one. And I strengthened my resolve, watching as the percentage that ended in tragedy slowly went down, percent by painful percent.

When at last it was time, I climbed to my feet, and Archie too rose beside me. As Archie had promised, the blood had settled, and I felt more normal. It was time to see him again.

You should probably tell him what you're doing sometime, he advised casually. You know, that you're spying on him in his room every night. Only fair.

I nodded. Archie was right, of course. It did seem even more duplicitous somehow, when he knew about us, what we were. It felt more like a breach of trust. But I would need the night of desensitizing myself to his scent, now more than ever. It was necessary preparation.

I couldn't help but smile a bit at my usual rationalizations. Archie was right, the obsession was certainly not part of the good side to my love. Yet the two were inextricably linked, the good and the bad, sometimes one inadvertently leading to the other. My decision that first week had been fundamentally selfish—but it had prevented a worse path. I would still strive not to be selfish in future, but I could still appreciate that fact.

"What's the percentage now?" I asked, though of course I already knew.

You've been holding at seventy-thirty. Not bad. But I think you'll get it even better tonight. You have a long time to think. Plus, we want to meet him too—don't forget that.

An image of a potential future flickered in his mind—Beau, at my house, meeting the rest of my family. It was a near future, if it would happen.

I blinked, startled. Then I felt a hint of a smile on my lips anyway. I breathed deeply—regretting that the air was clean, without the blazing tongues of fire.

I started to turn, then hesitated. "Archie, do you think you could tell Royal something for me?"

Archie paused a second, scanning the immediate future for what I was about to say next.

Really? he asked, perplexed. You want me to tell him that?

I shrugged a shoulder. "Not that he has to do it. Just that he can if he still wants to."

Archie shook his head. You really have lost it. Or else that is some of the gutsiest reverse psychology I've ever seen.

I started to walk, then run—I knew Royal probably wouldn't actually do anything to my Aston Martin. That was one thing the two of us had always had in common—an appreciation for a fine instrument. He'd only consider damaging it so long as it impacted me. Still, I wouldn't mind. The image from Archie's old, now invalid vision kept playing in my mind. Irrational, but then, I hadn't been rational in a long time.

Though my body was tense—tense with the fear of what might come tomorrow, I stared straight ahead with determination. I couldn't avoid tomorrow—because that moment of decision was going to come sometime, and it could still creep up on me when the percentages were worse. So tonight I would focus on making the percentages better.

This love was far from perfect, but it made for a handy weapon, and I would use it on the monster. Until I slayed it, once and for all.

It was early the next morning when I returned home.

I was nervous—in a way wholly separate from the terror of the possibility of tragedy. It hummed beneath the fear, vibrating my entire being like jittery insect wings.

I chose my wardrobe for the day with calculated care—a simple pair of designer jeans, along with a white sleeveless shirt that Archie had put in my wardrobe for some inexplicable reason years ago. We never showed much skin in public, and so it had hung unused behind all my other clothes—but today was about showing Beau what I was, letting him see at last the full measure of my inhumaness.

It was this, I knew, which had me buzzing with nerves. Knowing he would soon see me in the sun. It seemed almost silly, after I had already told him so many horrific things which he had calmly accepted, and also with the possibility of things going terribly wrong still looming over us—Archie had sent me a text in the night, that I was up to seventy-five percent, and while the odds were with me, that was still a one-in-four chance of failure.

Still the worry whispered at the back of my mind. Despite everything I said, I must still seem human. Knowing what I was, and seeing it, were two very different things. I still recalled that first moment seeing Carine in the sun, after I was changed—I had recoiled from her, shocked at how strange she seemed, and it was only seeing myself that, for the first time, I realized how separate I was from my old human self. When he saw how alien I was, how strange, would it suddenly hit him? Would his natural human instincts finally kick in, and make him abruptly realize how repulsive a creature I was?

At the last minute, I drew a light beige sweater over the white shirt. I was more comfortable that way, I didn't need to be so open right from the start.

As I made my way for the door, I passed through the living room. Carine was not there—called into the hospital for some emergency procedure only she was qualified to perform. However, it was unusual no one else was there either. The house had been empty when I'd arrived—only a note had been left on the dining room table.

I love you, Carine had written. We all love you. Earnest had added below, Come back safely.

I suspected Carine had asked the others to make themselves scarce today. She had lived with me longest of anyone, and knew best how the babble of constant thought affected me. Shame burned at the back of my mind—knowing she would be questioning what I was doing today, what it would mean for Beau, and I was glad that she didn't know Archie's visions, what I would have done if I hadn't come back that first week.

Still I felt her support and affection through the words, and though I was still tense as a live wire, I felt comforted at her kindness, her love, if just for a moment.

The morning air was crisp as I raced the familiar path through the trees to his house. The sky was still overcast, it wouldn't be sunny until later—but there was a taste on the air that made it feel like spring anyway.

As always, my thoughts spun in dizzying circles, and my emotions chased them, racing around from one extreme to the other in a heartbeat.

Last night, he had been unnaturally still in his sleep. There had been an unusual smell on his hand, and on his breath, and it hadn't taken me long to realize it was from some kind of strong medication. That he had felt the need to drug himself to sleep—was it simply excitement, like a couple of nights ago? Or was it possible, when the sun began to set and he recalled the possibility of what might happen... had reality finally begun to sink in?

When I arrived at the edge of the forest near his house, there was no one close by to see me—Charlie and his muted thoughts were already gone for the morning, and it was simply Beau alone in his house. So I simply emerged from the woods, and went up to his door. I knocked quietly, then waited.

As on the previous days, I heard the rapid clump of his footsteps as he raced down the stairs. However, when he reached the door, I could hear the sounds of him fumbling with the lock—as if his hands were shaking so much he couldn't quite get it. I waited apprehensively.

When he finally got the door open, my eyes instantly fell on his face. For one long second, his expression was nothing like that of the past few days. His skin was a chalky pale, and I noticed that, when he pulled his hand back from the doorknob, he left a thin residue of sweat.

Then he breathed deeply, and he seemed to relax. He smiled down at me, and looked totally content.

And, somehow, seeing him smile, in spite of all my fears, everything was suddenly right with the world.

I glanced down, and suddenly I laughed.

"Good morning," I said cheerfully.

"What's wrong?" he said, suddenly alarmed. He glanced down at his clothes to find the source of my amusement.

"We match," I said, grinning.

It was true—he was wearing jeans, and he'd picked out a tan sweater precisely the same shade as mine, with a white T-shirt underneath.

We headed out to his truck, and I went to stand dutifully by the passenger door.

He read the torture in my face, and raised his eyebrows.

"You agreed to this," he noted as he opened my door for me.

I had. And I would be foisting on him a far superior vehicle at the first opportunity, without a doubt. Although, even a better vehicle wouldn't cure what I suspected was simply an unfortunate tendency to drive slow. Then again, with his luck and reflexes, maybe that was for the best.

As he got in on the driver's side and I got in on mine, I suddenly had a new anxiety about this arrangement.

"Where to?" he asked casually.

Instead of answering, I ordered, "Put your seat belt on—I'm nervous already."

He rolled his eyes, but I didn't relax until he had clicked the belt into place. "Where to?" he asked again.

"Take the one-oh-one north."

I watched him as he drove, his eyes carefully scanning the road ahead. It was a strange reversal from our usual arrangement, with my eyes generally on the road and him watching me. I realized I didn't mind it so much—I could watch him all day and be perfectly content.

As he drove, for a moment my thoughts wandered. My mind briefly returned to the laundry room, and the thought of doing his laundry for him, and other household tasks. Cooking, cleaning, changing the sheets on the beds, making out a grocery list—

A sudden, powerful wave of wistful melancholy swept through me. To a human, such things were all mundane, commonplace chores, but to me, they were alien. They weren't a necessary part of our everyday lives.

The ache to be human, the regret of what I was, throbbed again.

I shook my head, forcing myself to come back to the present. My eyes flickered to the road, then to the speedometer on the dash. I grimaced.

"Were you planning to make it out of Forks before nightfall?" I wondered.

He grumbled. "This truck is old enough to be the Volvo's grandfather—have a little respect."

His eyes remained fixed on the road, and he stubbornly refused to increase the speed. Perhaps I was imagining it, but I wondered if he might actually be driving slower than he normally did. Maybe he was just trying to spite me.

Or maybe, I thought, he wasn't in any hurry to arrive at the site of his possible death.

I decided there was no point in rushing him. I ought to simply sit back and savor this time. I turned my eyes to watch his face—it was easier to ride with him if I wasn't looking at the road.

In spite of his driving speed, the time went by quickly, and before long the houses gave way to thick forest.

"Turn right on one-ten," I said, a little ways before the turnoff.

He did as I said without speaking, and I wondered if he was still annoyed at my jab at his driving speed—or just the implied insult to the truck. He had a tendency to get a bit defensive about it.

"Now, we drive until the pavement ends," I said.

He didn't turn his head, but he asked after a moment, "And what's there, at the pavement's end?"

"A trail."

A pause. "We're hiking?" A definite note of dismay had crept into his voice.

"Is that a problem?"

"No." However, he answered a little too quickly. It was obvious from his displays in Gym he didn't consider himself all that athletic, and apparently he wasn't a hiker, either.

"Don't worry," I reassured him, "it's only five miles or so and we're in no hurry."

He was silent.

I waited for him to answer, but he just kept staring out the front windshield. His face was serious... and grim.

Going out into the wilderness, alone, with a dangerous predator, miles from anywhere—knowing that he may not come back, that if something happened, no one would even hear him scream. Did the prospect finally begin to incite proper terror? Or was he mentally wrestling down the feeling, refusing to pay attention to it?

Finally I couldn't take it anymore and I asked, "What are you thinking?"

He shrugged. "Just wondering where we're going," he said casually.

I could tell by his tone he was lying, but I doubted I would pry any more from him, so I answered, "It's a place I like to go when the weather is nice."

"Charlie said it would be warm today," he noted.

"And did you tell Charlie what you were up to?" Of course, I already had a fairly good idea of the answer, but I felt a sudden flare of hope, treacherous as it was to my family—he had shown signs of not being quite so blasé and naïve about the danger as he appeared. Perhaps enough that he might have taken my warnings seriously, and decided to tell someone after all.

"Nope," he said, casual.

"But you probably said something to Jeremy about me driving you to Seattle," I added hopefully. I hadn't heard anything, but then, I hadn't been watching Jeremy all that closely. Or maybe I just wanted to hear him lie. To, even if he hadn't told a soul, tell me that he had—to threaten me that people knew where he was and that he was with me, and if something happened to him, I would be the first suspect. To give him some measure of external protection.

"No, I didn't," he said calmly.

"No one knows you're with me?" I demanded. I had hardly expected differently—yet hearing the words, so unconcerned, sent a thrill of fear through me, followed quickly by anger. There would be no outside pressure to tip the balance in favor of his safety. There would be nothing to protect him—nothing but my willpower. And he had chosen to keep it that way.

"That depends..." he said, still calm. "I assume you told Archie?"

"That's very helpful, Beau," I snapped.

He didn't reply, just kept his eyes on the road.

If anything, his relaxation, his composure incited me even further. "Is it the weather?" I demanded, my voice rising. "Seasonal affective disorder? Has Forks made you so depressed you're actually suicidal?"

He paused for a moment. At last he said in a low voice, "You said it might cause problems for you... us being together so publicly."

For a moment I couldn't speak. All along, I realized I'd really thought he acted as though he didn't care about the risks because he was naive—some teenage invincibility complex. He could joke around about getting on the news if he disappeared because he didn't believe it would actually happen. But now it was clear, he was fully aware of what might happen today. He knew exactly what I was, what I might do to him. Yet he had come anyway, and what was more—

"So," I said in a low, dangerous voice, "you're worried about the trouble it might cause me—if you don't come home?"

He didn't speak or look at me, only nodded.

"Absurd," I whispered, speaking low and fast. "Idiot, fool—"

The words spilled out in a rush, every word of derision I knew, a string of pure poison probably too low for him to make out.

For one second, I almost hated him—hated him as I had hated him that first wretched day in Biology. I hated him for loving him like I did, loving him so much I couldn't keep away from him, and I hated him for loving me so much that he would willingly risk his life to be with me. Not only risk his life, but love me and think of my welfare even after he was dead.

For just a second, a part of me hated him for it. He was too kind, too good, to chance such a fate—and yet he walked straight toward it, never valuing his own worth, never considering what it would mean if he was lost. To his family, even those in his future who still had yet to meet him. He didn't stop to consider any of that.

Neither of us spoke the rest of the drive. The anger, the fury still pulsed through me like a disease, and he, seeming to sense my mood, didn't try to break the silence.

We finally reached the end of the road, where the wooden sign that marked the trail was clearly visible. He pulled off along the shoulder and shut off the engine.

We sat there for a minute, neither saying anything, before at last he turned and awkwardly got out of the truck.

I breathed deeply through my nose, willing myself to be calm even as his scent burned in the small space of his truck, saturating the air.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I stepped out of the truck and quickly pulled my sweater up over my head and discarded it on my seat. Now I only had on the sleeveless white shirt. Though of course I wasn't cold, I shivered slightly—having so much skin exposed made me feel uncomfortable in a way I was unused to. Especially when I knew that the sun would soon be breaking through the gauzy clouds above.

However, this was part of the plan, and I forced myself to be calm. I quickly messed with my hair, twisting it up to get it off my neck—now as much of my skin would be visible as possible. When we arrived there, he would get the full effect of exactly what I was.

I shut the truck door hard, then turned to gaze out into the forest, where we would be going, directly east.

I glanced back in his direction to see he was watching me.

"This way," I said, and my voice was still a bit crusty from our earlier exchange. I started forward.

Before I'd fully turned my eyes back to the forest, I saw his eyes glance once toward the wooden marker, then toward where I was walking.

I heard the scramble of his feet as he made to catch up to me. "The trail?" he asked, sounding alarmed.

"I said there was a trail at the end of the road, not that we were taking it," I answered.

He glanced back. "No trail? Really?"

I rolled my eyes, and I couldn't stay angry—not with his usual penchant for always panicking at all the wrong things. "I won't get you lost," I promised. I turned around to face him then, my mouth, which had been set in a hard, frustrated line, turned up in half a smile.

He didn't return the smile. Instead, he gazed back at me for a moment with wide eyes, his face contorted in a look of pain and despair.

I froze, stunned. I didn't know how to react, seeing what I had half-expected all along come on so suddenly, without warning, before I had time to prepare. I felt a sudden wave of panic—like I wanted to reach out and grab him by the arm to keep him from fleeing from me.

But, looking back into his face, I swallowed the temptation and whispered, "Do you want to go home?"

He blinked and seemed to come back to himself. "No," he said emphatically, with sudden fervor.

He marched right up to me then, and came to a decided stop right by where I stood.

I stared up into his face. In this moment I felt that not knowing what was going through his mind was more painful than it had ever been. If I could see his thoughts now, then perhaps I could have a better idea what he needed, wanted. But whenever he said he wanted something, I could never be sure if he spoke for himself, or if he was going by what was best for someone else.

"What's wrong?" I asked softly at last.

He looked at me for a second, then his eyes dropped. "I'm not a fast hiker," he muttered at last. "You'll have to be very patient."

I still wasn't sure what he was thinking, but I wanted to cheer him up. "I can be patient," I said teasingly. "If I make a great effort." I smiled wide then, the way he always seemed to like, and I gazed up into his eyes.

However, the usual spell didn't seem to work. Though he forced a smile, it didn't reach his eyes. If anything, he only seemed more depressed.

"I'll take you home," I said at last, softly. Not sure if I was just making a promise for later, to make him feel safer, or trying to really give him the option to go now by taking the initiative myself.

He looked back at me for a second and his eyebrows came down with sudden irritation. "If you want me to hack five miles through the jungle before sundown, you'd better start leading the way."

I held his gaze for a moment. Clearly, he was upset about something—but it seemed equally clear he wasn't about to elucidate his thoughts for me. Finally I sighed and turned reluctantly away, and he followed me into the shadow of the trees.

We went slowly. He seemed to be trying to be extra careful so he didn't trip, though somehow twice he managed to snag the edge of his sneakers on tree roots, and I had to catch him to keep him from falling. Each time my touch set his heart to hammering, and I wasn't sure if it was just his usual reaction, or a new-found terror.

He didn't look at me much, only kept his eyes on the path, watching for more obstacles. Every once in a while he would sigh. He was so quiet, and seemed so downcast—I considered telling him we could always turn back anytime he chose. However, so far his reactions to anything of that sort had always seemed so vehemently opposed, so I said nothing.

I didn't mind the pace now that we were out of the old truck, and in fact, I was glad of it. I used the extra time to continue to mentally strengthen myself again, to firm up my resolve. Perhaps I could get the chance up another fraction of a percent. A part of me wouldn't have minded seeing this hike stretched out for hours more, for days, the two of us simply together. Delaying the decisive moment indefinitely—the moment when everything might go horribly wrong.

I glanced back at him to find his expression brooding again, full of an odd melancholy the source of which I could only guess at.

I couldn't take the silence anymore, and I started in on more questions, which I hadn't yet had time for.

Answering seemed to distract him from whatever gloomy thoughts he was having, though I kept the the questions spread out, anxious he might get out of breath if I pushed too much.

"Childhood pets?" I asked at one point. "Are you a dog or a cat person?"

"Um," he said, as he placed a hand on the bark of a tree for support, carefully stepping over a fallen branch. "I had some fish before. Three."

"Really?" I said curiously. "What were their names?"

He shrugged. "I don't remember. They all died within a week. After that, I decided maybe it was better for me and pets everywhere if I recognized my limitations and gave it up."

I laughed aloud at that. I liked to hear his voice, and hear him joking.

We had been going for a few hours when the light overhead changed—the clouds parted, and the sunlight was out. However, I was still shielded by the shade of the thick forest. The buzzing nerves started up again, as we neared the clearing. I could see the light filtering through the trees—soon, we would be on it. And then... and then.

"Are we there yet?" he asked, breaking the silence of the last half hour.

I glanced at him. His aspect had changed. His eyes were bright, excited, and whatever lingering gloom had hung over him most of the way seemed gone for the present.

I smiled. "Nearly. Do you see the clearer light ahead?

He squinted, then frowned. "Um, should I?"

"Maybe it is a bit soon for your eyes," I conceded.

He sighed. "Time to visit the optometrist."

I grinned back—though I didn't relax, seeing him more cheerful brought my own mood up fractionally.

We went a ways further, and he squinted again. As he did, his eyes widened slightly, intrigued, and I could tell he could see it now. He walked faster, eager, and I slowed to let him pass me.

As he reached the edge of the meadow, he sucked in a sharp breath. He halted there for a brief second, then strode forward into the sunlight.

His eyes swept the clearing, taking in the emerald grass and array of color from the wildflowers, a thick spattering of violet, yellow, and white. He peered around in wonder, his eyes going up to the blue sky and bright sunshine from above.

He turned back, smiling, but blinked when he saw I was no longer behind him. He turned fully around, and for a moment he looked bewildered, uneasy, as his eyes searched for me. He relaxed when his gaze finally found where I stood, just on the periphery still in the shadow of the trees.

He smiled, stretching out a hand toward me, beckoning me to join him. He paused, then started back toward me, but I raised a hand to stop him.

I breathed deeply, and his scent raked down my throat—before I stepped forward, right into the burning glare of the midday sun.

A/N: I made this one unnecessarily long this time. For some reason I was just really interested in Beau's experiences with bullies, since that seems to be something Beau struggled with that Bella didn't.

So close to the end now, I can't believe it. Next chapter will be the last main one, before the epilogue. (And Breaking Dawn will be starting up after that.) Thanks so much for reading, and for all your thoughts! If you have a moment, let me know what you thought this time around, and see you next time!

July 2021: The main changes I made to the chapter were, first, adding in a scene with Earnest as an equivalent to Edward's scene with Esme, as I really wanted to explore more of Edythe's relationship with her family, and second incorporating some ideas from Edward's scene with Alice—it was so intense and dramatic in the official Midnight Sun, and while I didn't try to go that far here I wanted to get a bit more of that vibe. Particularly Alice's reveal about the visions she had while Edward was gone that week—just wow, mind blown. I also reworked the early part of the following scene to better fit the new tone set by the changes, though that may be something I'll need to revisit again later.

Though I have to point out, in the rewrite I originally wrote the final percentage as eighty-twenty, as it was for Edward in Midnight Sun according to Alice. Then as I was reading to the end of Life and Death again, Edythe actually says the percentage was seventy-five to twenty-five for her. So, we have it in writing that apparently Edythe was more likely to kill Beau that Edward was Bella. (I feel like I should be surprised, but somehow I'm not.)

Posted 3/25/19