A/N: I can't believe I actually managed to write something with all the studying I have to do, but I did. This isn't the original chapter. A lot more was supposed to happen in this chapter, but just as I loved writing all those Edward and Alice moments I already wrote, I loved writing this Bella and Alice moment, so it turned out to be longer than I thought it would. I hope you don't mind and like what I came up with.

That's definitely the last I'll post before my big exam on February 15, so wish me luck!

Disclaimer: The Twilight Saga and all its characters are property of Stephenie Meyer. Olivia, Mrs Morris and Danielle are mine, though.

12. MENDING

BELLA

That night was the first night I didn't spend sitting behind the sofa in front of the window, staring outside until it was time to leave again. I was vibrating with energy when I stepped out of the car, which I'd decided to park in the garage since it had to spend the last four nights outside and I didn't expect to have to leave again tonight. In fact, I was feeling positively giddy, which I hadn't expected. When I left the party I'd felt drained, exhausted. I had believed they'd left me because they didn't love me anymore, had believed that every time they told me they loved me they'd lied. Now I knew I'd been wrong. They'd always loved me. They hadn't forgotten me.

They'd never come because because Edward had asked them to.

I didn't think I could ever forgive him for doing that to me. I couldn't force him to stay with me when he didn't love me anymore—I loved him too much to do that to him, to take the chance of finding his soulmate away from him—when we we'd once had no longer existed, but he'd had no right to take his family away from me. I did understand why he'd done it. I'd seen what it did to you when you couldn't get away from someone who still loved you. Leah had suffered terribly before she imprinted, and it had been hard for Sam as well because he'd always known what she was feeling since they couldn't not share every thought and emotion when they were wolves and telepathically connected. Intellectually, I understood why Edward had told them to stay away. Esme had said he still blamed himself for not being able to keep Jasper from attacking me, that he'd left because he wanted to protect me, and maybe that was true. He had made me promise not to do anything reckless after all. But if he'd allowed his family to keep in touch he'd have to put up with me, with the ex-girlfriend he couldn't get away from—just like Sam and Leah. I didn't know what to believe anymore, but for once I didn't car. Esme had said I'd always been part of their family, that I'd always have a place with them if only I wanted it.

At that point, when I realized that I had them back, that they'd never leave me, not because of Edward, I'd started laughing so hard my eyes stung with tears I couldn't shed, and even now as I closed the door of the garage behind me I couldn't wipe a big grin of my face. I'd clean my office, which I rarely entered anymore because it made me sad, tonight, I decided, then watch TV or read; I hadn't done either in so long. I leapt up the front steps, giggling like a teenager while I dug for my keys—then the wind shifted, carrying the scent of a vampire towards me, a scent I didn't know. I spun around, prepared to fight since now I had something to fight for, and the giggle I'd chocked back down broke out of my chest as hysterical laughter at the expression on Alice's face. She stood on the narrow path leading up to my front door, her arms raised, her face comically twisted like that of a child whose mother just caught her with her hand down the cookie jar. Her amber eyes were sparkling with laughter, though, as she straightened, pouting a little, which told me she'd planned this.

"You scared me," I managed accusingly, then started laughing again. Alice joined, her laughter the sound of tinkling bells. I hadn't realised how much I'd missed that sound. I smiled hesitantly, still giggling, and Alice crossed the distance between us in a single stride and flung herself around my neck.

"I've missed you," she squealed. I hugged her back, inhaling her sweet scent, able to distinguish between different fragrances where before I'd only smelled pleasant sweetness.

"I've missed you too," I whispered into her shoulder. "You could have called."

Alice leaned back, her arms still around my neck. "I should have called," she corrected me, "and I'm sorry I didn't. I shouldn't have listened to my idiot brother." I winced at the mention of Edward, but Alice pretended not to notice as her eyes travelled over my face, then down and across the black dress Danielle had picked out for me. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, which told me she knew something I didn't but couldn't wait to share.

It was as if she'd never left.

"Do you like the dress?" she blurted.

"Yeah, I do." I looked down at myself. It was snowing again, and perfect crystals in varying shapes and sizes were scattered across the black fabric like stars across the night sky. "I didn't buy it myself, though," I admitted. "I sort of forgot about the gala. My assistant picked it out for me this afternoon. She bought a lot of other things too, so I'm not looking forward to the credit card bill."

"Oh, well," Alice said sheepishly.

I narrowed my eyes at her suspiciously. "What?"

"I wouldn't worry about that bill," she replied in a small voice, adding quickly, "I'm glad you like it, though. I knew it would suit you."

"You're unbelievable," I said slowly. I should have checked the name on the credit card bill, but since I'd assumed Danielle had paid with my own it hadn't occurred to me. I wasn't angry at her, though. I was touched, and while Alice would probably rip my head off if tried to thank her for the trouble she'd gone through, insisting that it hadn't been trouble at all but fun (and, for her, it probably was) my heart warmed at the thought of her driving downtown to buy me clothes. Still. If this was going to work I had to set a few ground rules. "I'm going to pay you back, Alice," I said.

"No, you're not," she replied firmly. "You're family now. What's ours is yours. And that's not open for discussion." She strode past me with an air of finality.

That went well, I thought.

"Esme said that too," I said after a while, turning to face her again, "but I don't see how it's supposed to work. Edward and I are bound to run into one another, and I don't think I'll…" I took a deep breath. No need telling Alice that I was an emotional wreck. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"You know," Alice said, plucking the key I'd finally dug out of my purse out of my hand to unlock the door, "maybe you guys should talk."

"What's there to talk about?" I followed her inside where it was only marginally warmer since I'd left most of the windows open. It hadn't done much good; the entire first floor still smelled of Edward and so, I suspected, would the second floor. "He doesn't love me anymore. End of story." I kept my voice even. I didn't want Alice to see me break down. I slipped out of my shoes and put my bag and the keys on the small table beside the door. Alice was simply looking at me.

"What?" I asked eventually.

"Nothing. I just happen to think that it would help."

I shook my head. "No, it wouldn't. You're wrong this time, Alice." It wouldn't. It couldn't. If Edward had ever loved me, it wouldn't have been so easy for him to leave me. It was as simple as that.

"If you say so," Alice said in a voice which made me think she hadn't even listened to, let alone thought about, what I'd just said and went into the living room. There she paused, hands on her hips and tsked disapprovingly. It had taken her exactly the quarter of a second to take in the polished floor, the white walls and empty shelves and the equally empty mantelpiece. "I can't believe this is where you live," she exclaimed incredulously.

"Alice," I said softly, walking around her, "do you know what I usually do when I get home from work?"

"I watch reruns of Oprah," Alice replied, smiling, but her eyes were weary and I knew she'd sensed the sudden change in my mood. Happiness had suddenly returned to my life, and I wanted to hold on to it and never let it go, but I couldn't simply forget the months of loneliness and despair. They were part of my life and always would be.

"I sit in front of the window and look outside until it's time to leave again," I told her quietly. "I don't read. I watch TV. I have no pictures of my friends or my parents because it hurts to see them, knowing how much they worry about me, knowing I won't be able to see them again. It's how I've kept myself from going insane."

Alice was looking at her feet.

"I'm sorry," I said, hugging her again. "It's how I felt. It's past now, though, I think." I smiled down at her. "I have you and Jasper, and Carlisle and Esme, and Emmett. Maybe even Rosalie. I'm not alone anymore."

"No, you're not," Alice replied firmly, finally looking at me. "And we're never going to leave you again."

"Good." I grinned. "Now, let's get upstairs. I thought I'd clean my study tonight. I haven't used it in a while."

"Sure," Alice agreed.

We went upstairs in silence, and while I was changing into clothes more suitable for cleaning, Alice sat down cross-legged on the bed, watching as I slipped out of the dress and into a pair of jeans and a shirt, though I suspected it wasn't really me she was looking at but my closet and what was in it. I draped the dress carefully over a hanger and put it on the rack in the back; I probably wouldn't need it anytime soon. I turned. Alice was frowning. I quickly closed the door, hoping she wasn't thinking what I feared she was thinking.

"Where's the rest?" she asked.

"In the car," I replied, assuming she was referring to the pile of clothes Danielle had left for me this afternoon.

"Alright," Alice said, disappeared and was back a second later, the bags slung over her shoulder. Turning it upside down, she emptied it on the bed and began sorting through the pile of clothes. I caught the bag she'd discarded and folded it neatly in half before stashed it away in the pantry for later use as trash bag. When I returned upstairs, Alice was buried inside my closet, tossing blouse after blouse, shirt after shirt on the floor.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, horrified. I stood frozen in the doorway, looking at the growing pile of clothes, then back at Alice, who briefly glanced at me and shrugged, not the least bit impressed by the horror in my face.

"What's it look like?" she replied, dragging over the bed so she could reach the top shelf, its heavy feet leaving scratch marks as they scraped over the wooden floor, and Alice didn't even have the decency to pretend to be ashamed.

"Have you lost your mind?" I asked.

"I'm doing you a favour," she replied. "It's for your own good."

"I doubt that," I replied icily.

Alice sighed and turned to face me, a purple bag in her hands I'd never used. It wasn't even pretty, and I couldn't remember why I'd bought it—maybe I'd bought it before I was changed. Maybe Olivia had given it to me. It was the kind of present she'd buy. "Bella, please. You have know idea how guilty I'm feeling right now."

"Alice, you don't…" I began, but she shook her head.

"Yes, I do. I screwed up. I should never have listened to Edward. I didn't know why I did. I saw how much you suffered—well, before you disappeared from my sight anyway—and I should have come back. I'm sorry I didn't."

I sighed and plucked Alice down from the bed to hug her again. I was surprised at how little she weighed; then again, my measure was probably off, considering I could lift a grown tree out of the ground without any problems. "Well," I said, "if I said I never blamed you for abandoning me, I'd be lying. But I didn't know that Edward had asked you not to contact me. I thought you didn't love me anymore."

"We've always loved you," Alice said firmly.

"I know." I smiled reassuringly. I didn't want Alice to feel guilty. I wanted her to be as happy as I was right now. "What I meant to say was that I don't blame you for not coming back. Not anymore. I'm just glad to have you back. And," I added, "threatening to buy me new clothes isn't the best way to make it up to me—which you don't have to anyway."

Alice looked up at me from under her lashes, her amber eyes wide. I knew that look and I knew that Alice would get what she wanted, and probably more. I was such a sucker for guilt trips. "Please," she breathed, then squealed in delight as she saw my decision. "I promise you won't regret it."

"Oh, somehow I'm rather sure I will," I replied, sighing in resignation, but seeing Alice's smile light up the room was almost worth it.

—

Alice decided to help me.

As I opened the door to my study Alice, standing on tiptoe so she could see, peeked past my shoulder and wrinkled her nose in disgust. I had to agree with her. I didn't go in here very often, usually just to drop off the magazines that had arrived in the mail, and everything—aside from the things Edward had moved or touched—was covered in a thick layer of grey, in some placed almost black sticky dust.

"Ugh," Alice said.

I slowly nodded, carefully moving a pile of of magazines aside so I could close the window. I'd stacked them as high as the ceiling in some places—no shelves; I hadn't bothered to buy any when I first moved in—because I'd never gotten around to cancel the subscriptions. Reminding me of what I'd lost, I rarely glanced into them.

I'll read them next weekend, I thought, feeling more optimistic than I had in years, and the feeling made me grin. I turned and found Alice standing in the middle of the room, almost disappearing behind a pile of magazines. Revolving slowly around herself, her eyebrows knit together in disapproval, she took her time assessing the situation. "So," she said.

I braced myself for another lecture.

"Where do you want to start?"

I blinked. "What?"

"Where do you want to start?" she repeated, impatiently enunciating each word. "What?" she asked when I didn't reply immediately.

"Nothing," I managed eventually. "I'm just not used to you asking first. Period."

Alice shot me a dirty look. "I always ask first," she replied. "Well, when it's not as vitally important as clothes that is," she added.

"Good to know," I said, laughing. "Alright, I guess we should get these outside." I gingerly picked up a magazine and shook it gently, which I shouldn't have done. Black dust virtually exploded in every direction. Alice quickly dove out of the way. "Well, maybe we should dust them first," I amended, dropping the magazine back on the pile to wipe the sticky grime off my fingers and then the dust which had settled on my face.

Sorting the magazines so Alice could stack them according to specialty, subject and, within these categories, date of release outside in the hallway once she'd wiped off the dirt, I told her about my life after they left Forks, about graduation a year later, my time at Stanford and later in Pasadena, about Olivia who'd been my best friend, and my work in the ER. I edited a lot. I didn't tell her what I'd been like in those first months after they left, didn't tell her about Jake and his pack because it hurt, didn't tell her how I'd been changed because those memories were painful, too, and because I didn't want Victoria to taint my new-found happiness.

Half an hour later the study was empty but for the desk which didn't fit through the door—it had already been here when I moved in like most of the furniture I possessed—and Alice went into the bathroom to fetch a bucket of water, humming quietly to herself as she turned on the faucet. Meanwhile, I examined the walls that, once white, were grey in places. It wasn't a pretty sight. "I think we'll have to repaint," I said with a sigh.

"Let's do it now," Alice suggested, barely raising her voice over the sound of water splashing into a plastic bucket. "Lowe's is open twenty-four/seven. I'll buy everything we need if you give me your car."

I frowned. "Now?"

"Why not?" she asked.

"Huh," I said, then shrugged. Alice was right. Why not? It wasn't like I had anything else planned for tonight. "Alright." I stared at the walls, then the dark hardwood floor and the desk, trying to figure out which colour would look best.

"Yellow," Alice said, returning and putting the bucket, which was crowned with white foam, down beside my feet. "Vanilla maybe, or cream." A frown creased her forehead. "I think tangerine yellow would look nice, too."

I stared at her.

"What?" she asked.

"Frankly, I had no idea there's a difference between vanilla and cream. And what on earth is tangerine yellow?"

"It's a shade darker than gold," Alice began, then saw the look I shot her and rolled her eyes. "I'll bring samples."

I sighed. "Fine."

"Terrific." Alice smiled. "I'll be back in fifteen minutes. Wait…" Alice's voice trailed off, her eyes staring past me, looking at something only she could see. "Make that thirty," she said eventually, eyebrows knit together in disapproval. "Accident."

While Alice was gone I cleaned the desk, starting by pulling out and wiping down the drawers which we'd already emptied. I should have asked Alice to bring wood polish, I thought halfway through, but when she returned exactly thirty minutes later she'd not only brought paint, brushes, tape and covering sheets but also high-quality wood polish. And, I noted as I peeked in one of the bags, lots of other things she thought I would need.

"Now," Alice said, having opened the buckets of paint, each a different shade of yellow, and lined them up in the middle of the room, "that's cream, that's vanilla, and that's," she pointed at the last bucket, filled with golden liquid, "tangerine yellow."

"It's pretty," I said after a moment.

Alice beamed. "I thought you'd say that. Tangerine it is."

Painting was Alice was fun, but it was also a little surreal, just like talking to Jake the other night, wedged in between two horse-sized wolves, had been a little surreal. I'd been so angry this morning, angry because Edward had dared return into my life though he'd promised he wouldn't, and desperate because I still loved him and always would, and lonely because his family's absence the other night had proven right what I'd come to believe, that they didn't love me, didn't want me. Now things had changed so completely in the course of not even twenty-four hours that, had I still been able to sleep, I'd have believed I was dreaming.

I was still angry at Edward—for different reasons—and there was still a touch of despair that would always be there, the knowledge that he didn't love me anymore when I still did, but I was no longer lonely. I had a family now, and I would never be alone again. I smiled at Alice's back as she moved her brush swiftly across the wall as if she'd been doing it all her life. Sensing my smile, she turned, her lips curved into a smile as well.

"What?" she asked, unaware of the paint dripping from her brush onto her designer jeans, leaving neat, bright yellow dots on the almost black fabric. I pressed the hand not holding my own brush in front of my mouth, trying to reign the laughter in.

"What?" Alice asked again, just as I burst into laughter that echoed off the walls, the first time I'd ever laughed inside this house, and then she did notice. "Shit!" she exclaimed, dropping the brush into the bucket and sending paint flying everywhere. I dropped by own brush more carefully to wrap my arms around my torso, laughing so hard I didn't know how to stop. Ignoring me, Alice stalked into the bathroom where I heard her rummaging frantically in the cabinets. "My favourite pair of jeans," she whimpered, then, directed at me, an panicky edge to her voice, "Do you have any bile soap or Vanish? I don't care! Just something!"

I darted into the bathroom, still giggling. "I don't think bile soap and Vanish work on paint."

Alice shot me a frantic look. I burst into laughter again, barely evading Alice's arm as she took a swipe at me, teeth bared in a snarl, which, much to her displeasure, only made me laugh harder. Jeez, did she love that pair of jeans! "Take them off," I told her, grinning, "olive soap might work."

"Really?" Alice stripped them off in a heart-beat, revealing very feminine underwear with lots of lace. It didn't look very comfortable "Olive soap?"

"Uh-hu." I peered into the cabinet for the small box where I kept my collection of soaps; finding soap that didn't stink—and there were many of those out there—wasn't easy, so I tended to by ahead, and I was pretty sure a slice of olive soap was in there, too, not because I liked the smell (I decidedly did not) but because a few weeks before Victoria had attacked me, Olivia and I had repainted my bedroom and I'd gotten paint on one of my favourite shirts. I'd panicked—pretty much the same way Alice was panicking now, though I'd only admit that over my pile of ashes—until Liv had called her mother, who'd told her that, for whatever reasons, olive soap was a fool-proof way to get paint out of almost any kind of fabric, and, much to my surprise, she'd been right. I found the box behind a roll of toilet paper. Straightening, I turned on the faucet to splash water over the stains, then gently rubbed the soap over it. Alice's anxiety which made her hover so close to me I jabbed my elbow into her stomach every time I moved—not that she seemed to mind—was beginning to get on my nerves.

"You'd think I was handling raw eggs," I muttered to which Alice, knowing what was good for her, didn't reply. I rinsed the spot twice to see if the paint was gone, then held it out for inspection. Alice all but yanked it out of my hands, peering down at the spot which was wet but colourless, then straightened and sighed in relief. "You're very welcome," I said frostily, reaching beside her to turn on the heated towel rack. "Hang it up to dry. You can put on something from the pile on my bedroom floor."

Alice wrinkled her nose—apparently my clothes were unacceptable even as spares—but she disappeared down the hallway and into my bedroom anyway. Returning into my office a moment later, Alice was already there, wearing a faded pair of blue jeans with holes in it. "I can't believe you'd keep stuff like that," she said, shaking her head in disbelief as she picked up her brush again.

I decided not to reply. "You know what?" I asked instead.

Alice glanced over her shoulder, brush on the wall again. "What?" she replied, scowling, quite obviously assuming I'd tease her about her jeans again. It was exactly what I'd meant to say, but then I changed my mind, catching Alice by surprise when I said, "I'm glad to have you back."

—

"May I ask you a question?" Alice said five hours later, the sky outside already red instead of black. We'd finished painting the study a few hours ago, the window was clear of dust and the desk back at its old position underneath it. The room was still empty, though. Alice had decided that I needed shelves, and I had to admit that she was right, so she'd ordered four online along with other office supplies she thought I might need. Mrs Morris, she'd said when I voiced my concern about complete strangers unsupervised in my house, would be very happy to keep an eye on them; I just had to ask her before I left for work this morning.

"You already are," I replied, "asking, I mean." I finally turned off the computer. Alice had ordered clothes, too. Many clothes, too many, and too expensive, so expensive in fact that she hadn't let me see the end sum. If she did, she told me, I'd change my mind again. Knowing it would make her feel better, I'd decided to accept her gift with good grace—but I'd also made clear that I didn't want any more presents after that. I didn't think Alice had listened, though. She was very good at tuning out things she didn't want to hear.

Alice smiled at my reply, swivelling the chair around to face me and pulling up her legs—she was wearing her own pair of paint-less jeans again—to her chest to put her chin on her knees, a curious and also somewhat thoughtful expression on her face. I'd answered a lot of questions that night, so I wasn't surprised she wasn't done. I was surprised that she'd asked first now, though.

"Where did you go last week after your conversation with Edward?"

My eyebrows rose; I hadn't expected that particular question. "Didn't you see?" I asked. I didn't want to talk about Jake now. I wanted to hold on to that feeling of happiness, of bliss just a little while longer.

Alice shook her head, her forehead creasing in frustration. "No, I didn't. In fact, I've barely seen you at all since we left Forks."

"Has that ever happened before?" I asked instead of answering her question, curious now as well. I leaned against the desk, left leg propped up against the cabinet underneath, loosely folded hands resting on my knee. It wasn't any more comfortable than standing. In fact, standing wasn't even uncomfortable, a position I could maintain for hours at a time without tiring—I didn't tire anymore—but while the little things I had to remember in order to appear human—like blinking, moving my shoulders when I didn't breathe and brushing my hair out of my face—came easy to me now, were automatic, the big ones, like the fact that humans didn't stand around for hours without so much as flexing a muscle, not ever, were harder. I had to remember, and I had to practice.

"No." Alice's frown deepened. "Edward asked me not to look into your future…"

Why? I thought, grounding my teeth and clenching my fists to keep the fury blazing to life in my chest the second the words registered with me in check, but Alice, too preoccupied with her own problem, did't notice. What gave him the right to ask that of her? What had given him the right to ask his family to stay away from me? It had almost destroyed me. And in the end he hadn't been able to protect me after all.

"…but my visions aren't something I can't control," Alice continued. I forced myself to pay attention. This wasn't about me, this was about her. I'm very attuned to you, and although I tried to block them I still got flashes from you, at the beginning anyway. And then, one day, you were gone for good. I might have caught images of you after that, but what I saw was so brief, so," she struggled to find the right words, "hollow that I wrote them off as ghosts. It's what I call them," she explained, anticipating my question. "Visions that aren't really visions yet, just flashes of what might be. I think it's because the future is in constant flux, and sometimes the outcome hinges on too many decisions or unknown factors interfere with a decision… Anyway, I haven't seen you in almost eight and a half years. I only saw you when I saw Edward's decision to talk to you. As I said, I might have caught you before that, but I'm not sure. And after that you disappeared again. And I need to know why."

"Are you afraid your ability is getting weaker?" I asked. Alice relied on that special sense of hers like others relied on their sense of vision, and the possibility of losing it had to scare her.

"Well, maybe not afraid," her voice didn't betray the lie, but her eyes flickered, "nervous. That's the word I'd use." I didn't want to see Alice scared—or nervous. I wanted her as happy as I was now. If talking about Jake was what it took, I'd gladly pay that price and bear the pain thinking about him caused me.

"I went hunting," I began.

"I saw that," Alice interrupted me, "up to the point where you disposed of the dead bear. When you turned to leave you disappeared."

I frowned, trying to remember what I'd been thinking then. "I was thinking about visiting Charlie," I said slowly, "and that's what I did. I decided to go to Forks." Which didn't exactly solve the puzzle as to why I'd vanished from her sight.

"Huh," Alice said, unconvinced.

"I went to my father's house, watched him sleep, spent some time in my room," I didn't mention the presents I'd found there; I'd thrown them in the boxes in the spare bedroom when I cleaned up Edward's mess this morning, "and then I left and ran into Jacob." Who'd followed me down from the border. I still couldn't believe I hadn't noticed. I so sucked at this. If Jake hadn't recognised my scent, I'd probably be dead right now. "We talked. After I left I rented a motel somewhere in British Columbia where I spent the weekend. I decided to go home sometime Sunday night."

Alice frowned. "That's when you reappeared."

"Huh," I said, not knowing what else to contribute.

"Who's Jacob?" she asked after a while.

It was my turn to frown. "Jacob Black," I replied. "Don't you know about the treaty?"

Alice snapped upright, almost knocking me off the desk. "Ephraim Black's descendant?" she asked. "And, yes, I do know about the treaty. Really, Bella, werewolves?"

I chose to ignore the disapproval in her voice. "They're my friends. Well, they used to be. I didn't have anyone else, Alice."

"They're dangerous," she said, but her features had softened at my sharp reply.

"I know." Most of my memories had faded, but for some reason I remembered the scars on Emily's face, who'd simply been too close to Sam when he lost his temper. Alice was right. They were dangerous, and sometimes the people around them got hurt. But they'd also kept me safe, and I said so.

Alice stared at me. "Why would you have needed protection? We were gone. You were safe."

I just looked back at her. If I'd been so safe, then why was I a vampire now?

Alice's eyes widened as she realised she'd missed the obvious, then her gaze dropped to her feet, almost as if she was… ashamed? Was she still blaming her for not being there? Jesus. "I didn't see your change, either," she said after a while. "Did you know the vampire who did it? Was it deliberate?"

"No," I said, remembering the fury in Victoria's eyes as Jake had jumped her, the knowledge she'd come so close to killing me but wasn't able to finish the job. "It wasn't deliberate. If Jake hadn't been there, I'd be dead."

"Jacob again," Alice murmured, not realising I'd only answered part of her question. Tell her, a voice in my head urged. Victoria's a danger. You have to stop her. And you can't do it alone. No, I couldn't do it alone, but I didn't want to talk about it. I couldn't, not right now. I knew I was making a mistake, but I didn't think that waiting one more day would change anything. At least I hoped it wouldn't.

You're an idiot, was my conscience's comment on the matter. I ignored it.

"How long had the vampire been after you when it finally got you?" Alice asked eventually.

"Almost seven years," I replied.

Alice's eyes widened, her face paled. "And I didn't see any of it," she whispered, horrified. "How could I have missed something like that?" Leaping off the chair, Alice began pacing up and down. "Well, the pack didn't do a very good job of protecting you if the vampire caught up with you in the end," Alice said suddenly, acid in her voice.

"Don't you dare blame them for what happened to me," I snapped. Alice spun around, eyes wide in surprise; she hadn't anticipated my reaction. "If you have to blame someone, then blame your idiot brother."

Alice stared at me.

I looked away. I'd said too much. Tell her, my conscience piped up. Shut up! I snapped back.

"Do you blame him?" Alice asked very quietly.

"No," I replied, looking outside. I spotted Mrs Morris's cat Pip in my backyard; at the beginning he'd been scared of me and bolted whenever he scented me, but he'd gotten used to me eventually. Maybe his feline instincts had told him that I meant him no harm. "I don't blame him for this." I gestured at myself. "I blame him for not being there for me when I was burning alive. I blame him for not being there when I woke up."

Falling silent, I finally turned. Alice had stopped pacing and stood in the middle of the room, hands folded in front of her chest as if she was praying.

"I don't blame him for leaving me," I whispered, "but he pulled me into this world, and he should have been there for me." I took a deep breath. "Well, he wasn't. Jake was. He went hunting with me to make sure I didn't do something I might regret later. He stayed with me as long as he could, and even afterwards, even though his alpha didn't approve, he was still there for me."

Alice didn't say anything, so I continued, "Point is, the pack's always done its level best to protect me. A year after you left they chased the vampire across the border, almost all the way up to Alaska. And they almost got her, too."

Alice's eyes flashed dangerously. "Her?"

"We thought I was safe after that," I said, ignoring her. "Still, Jake insisted I be guarded, just in case. He made Leah enrol at Stanford." I smiled at the memory. Leah had been livid. We'd never been very close, and while she'd appreciated the opportunity to get away from Sam—at least when they were not wolves—she'd hated the fact it was because of me. We'd never spent much time together. "Later, Jake flew up to Pasadena almost every other weekend. By then we believed she'd given up."

"But she hadn't?" Alice asked.

"No. I always knew she never wanted to just kill me, but," I smiled at the memory, crystal clear while so many others were gone and only the knowledge I'd once had them remained, "once I started bleeding she had to improvise. Jake almost tore her face off. He was right outside, had phased to contact Sam—they can communicate telepathically when they're wolves," I explained, "but came back when he heard me scream. She must have known he was there. I think she wanted to show him that he couldn't protect me after all." I paused.

Tell her, my conscience ordered again.

I didn't obey.

"Anyway," I said, trying to steer the conversation back to where we'd started, "I always was around the pack one way or the other until I was changed. Maybe they're the reason you couldn't see me. It would explain why I disappeared when I went to Forks last week."

"Huh." Alice didn't sound convinced. I had to admit that my theory was a bit far-fetched. Why would the wolves be the reason she couldn't see my future? "Well, I can see you now," she said eventually. "I'll tell you when you disappear again."

"Thanks," I said drily.

Alice smiled. "I have to leave now. I need to change before school starts."

"Why? Your jeans are paint-free now, aren't they?" I giggled.

Alice shot me a dirty look. "I'll be back tonight. Maybe I'll bring Esme. I bet she'd love to see you try on the clothes I bought you."

"You just ordered them," I said, eyes narrowing. "They won't arrive today."

"Oh," Alice replied in that knowing voice of hers, "they will."

I groaned, Alice's tinkling laughter filling the air.

At least she hadn't asked about Victoria.

—

Did you like it?