Chapter 2

There were four Cullen children. Emmett, the oldest, was two, and had been abandoned when he was newborn by his poor, drunken maid of a mother. Jasper had been put out for the wolves after his family could no longer afford to feed all of the children, when he was six months old. He and Rosalie- who had been disowned when her parents guessed what she was- were about a year old. And now there was Bella, the girl by the riverside.

The other three had just been introduced to their new little sister, and were now playing with her. Esme kept a close eye on them as she spoke with Carlisle. The boys could be a bit rough sometimes. They liked to hit and squeeze things, to see what they felt like.

"How many of them do you think there are?" she was asking.

Carlisle shrugged. "I only know as much as you do. There must be a reason why- well the locals call them devil children- are suddenly being created. It's only in these last few years that any have been born. There must be reason. The infants aren't picked randomly."

"All of them from families who are poor, so abandon them because its expensive to keep a baby who can't bring any money in, or from superstitious parents who think they've given birth to devil's spawn, or well-off families who don't want to know because their daughters aren't marries. In other words, all children designed to die."

"I'm sure they would have too, if you hadn't heard the heartbeats." Carlisle squeezed his wife's hand. "I'm not the only life-saver round here."

"You get paid for it."Esme laughed. Then she was serious again. "But how many can I save?"

Winter was always a bad time for the poor townsfolk. The sheep were brought in from the mountain pastures, and families collected anything that would burn. Of course, nobody could afford to keep unwanted babies that bought no money in but needed constant attention. Especially not devil-children.

The snow was five or six feet deep on midwinter's day. Esme heated the jug of goat blood over the fire for the children. They were clustered at the window, trying to peer out over the snow which rose almost to the very top of the large window. This was impossible; even when climbing on furniture, the windowsill, and each other, none of the toddlers were anywhere near tall enough to look through the inch and three quarters of clear glass.

By the fire, Esme stiffened. She could hear something over the dismay of the children and the crackle of the fire.

A heartbeat.

Carlisle was treating a sick woman in one of the tumbledown wooden houses across the river. Her right arm was swollen and an unhealthy yellowish colour.

"It bit me". She grumbled, whilst he felt the swellings with cold, expert fingers. "Nasty creature. Me husband destroyed it soon after. Can't afford to keep 'em, 'specially if they'll go bite you."

Carlisle assumed she was talking about a dog, but knowing the strange townsfolk she could be talking about a prize sheep. "It's a nasty bite, but there won't be a scar. Its the infection we need to worry about." Carlisle wondered what on earth she had put on the bite to try and heal it. Soil? There was an old tradition about putting grave dirt on wounds from Satan's creatures. No wonder they had killed the animal, if they thought it was an evil creature. But the infection was awful. She could have ended up losing her arm.

"Horrible little thing it were." the woman was continuing. "Dunno what I did to deserve givin' birth to it."

"What exactly bit you?" Carlisle's head was working furiously.

The woman looked at him as though he were mad. "Me baby did. The youngest. His teeth started growing, then the bloody brat bit me. 'Ere-" she suddenly became anxious- "you ent going to split on us are you doc? We ain't the only ones what drowned or whatever kids we don't want. And its already dead now, so makes no difference either ways."

"I won't tell anyone." Carlisle promised. His mind was racing. The woman's child had bitten her. This was- could be- perfectly normal of course. Like anybody, infants didn't know their own strength when threatened. But the woman had quite obviously smeared grave-dirt on her wound. The way, according to folklore, to banish a bite from a devil-child. The one thing from the legends that was real. The children of fate.

Of course, it might not be. And the child was dead anyway. As she had said, it made no difference.

"Say." the woman grabbed his arm suddenly, "don't tell anyone about this. No-one wants to know the mother of Satan's babes, even if they is dead. It were, honest. I could tell from 'is eyes..."

So it was true.

Carlisle hardly paid any attention to what he was doing as he drained the pus and blood from the ugly swelling, nor to the woman's cry of pain when he painted foul-swelling antiseptic fluid over her skin.

"I'll be back in a week." he told her, winding the bandages. "Don't take the dressing off."

Then he was gone, running so swiftly. Inhuman.

The scent of the dark angel child was still blazing. Perhaps it was still alive. It must be saved. For the first time, he completely comprehended what Esme had felt when she had rescued their children. He knew that she felt she couldn't not save them, and had empathized with her; the reason he had become a doctor was so he could save lives. But now he understood the pull, the urgent, desperate, instinctive need. Because inexplicably, overwhelmingly, he was suddenly aware of the immense value of this strange baby boy's life.

Another one had been born. More to the point, another one was dying.

She couldn't just run off and leave the children now. She might be gone hours. But it needed to be safe. To be saved.

Esme heard someone coming. It must be Carlisle, only a vampire could move that fast. But the mournful beating was growing louder-

The front door crashed open, announcing the arrival of Carlisle and a flurry of snow. Carlisle had something tucked firmly under her arm.

He sped into the house, and slammed the door shut. It was then Esme saw his face.

She had seen that expression four times before, but written on her own features.

It was like looking into a mirror.

Too fast for the eye to follow, they sprang into action. Esme shooed the children out into the hallway. She picked up Bella and set her down on the window-seat, then firmly shut the door. Carlisle was checking the breathing of the baby boy. He was unconscious, on the verge of a coma, as blood trickled across his scalp. But he wasn't too far gone. Yet.

Ancient, immensely powerful instincts were in charge. This boy was special. One of fate's own.

He would be healthy and well. He would part of the family. He would be alive.

Carlisle would make sure of this. He had to. The pull was so strong.

"Live, my son." he whispered to the baby, whilst Esme dressed his battered head. "Live, Edward."

Chapters 1 and 2 have basically just documented the finding of Bella and Edward. 3 will fast forward a couple of years, and things will actually start happening. xx