A week passed, with no further conversation on our plans. Esme was happy at our truce, and life for that week settled into a pleasant routine, with Carlisle and Esme leaving early in the morning for work and Edward and I settling in to read or otherwise pass the time quietly until they got back. Occasionally I would go for a walk in the woods, perhaps hunt a little, but mostly I just wanted to go sit by the stream and let its soft noises calm me into at least a façade of patience.

I was determined to have Edward broach the subject. I was not going to break the silence or push. I wanted him to know that he was going to be my leader. I hated letting him have the lead, letting any man have the lead, but I knew that he would keep me out of trouble and keep my plan on track. He'd ensure that those men ended up dead. I just wished he'd do it a little faster.

I couldn't control my thoughts, though, and I knew that he was aware of how often my thoughts turned longingly to images of those men dying at my hands. I was in the middle of one of these fantasies when I heard Edward sigh deeply. I turned to look at him, and he tossed the book he'd been reading aside.

"You've been very patient, Rosalie. But I can see that you're not going to be able to forget about this."

"Of course not." I didn't understand what made him think that forgetting would even be an option.

"I suppose that we should start our plan, then?" He looked at me, eyes narrowed, wanting to see once more that I was willing to let him be involved in every step.

I nodded. I was too excited to speak, and I wanted to at least appear to be calm.

"I think the first thing we should do," he began, striding over to Esme's plan cabinet and removing from one of its long shallow drawers a map of Rochester, "is to go over where each of these men live, work, and play. We can figure out where the best place would be to ambush each one." He laid the map carefully out on the table in the middle of the room and smoothed it with his hands. "I assume you want to leave Royce for last?"

I felt the smile spread slowly across my face, and the mental images that had been playing on continuous loop began anew.

"I take that as a yes," Edward said, smiling a little. "So, we have how many? Five? Not counting John, of course."

"Five. Richard Hallowell, Billy Jeffries, Robert Stephens, Charles Smythe, and Ted Jackson." Royce's crowd. First sons of the ruling families of Rochester. Soon to become the late sons of the ruling families of Rochester. The thought made me smile again.

"Okay, I assume you know where each man lives?" I nodded. "Okay, mark them on the map for me."

I picked up a pencil and began. Each man lived very near the center of town, the oldest part. It was not here they'd meet their ends, I was almost certain. There were always too many people around. Their homes were within a half mile of one another and formed a crescent shape in the middle of the map. Like a bite mark.

"That's not promising," Edward commented. "You're quite right about that. But there are some points in the day when we might catch them there without too many people around. We'll learn a little more about their schedules while we're gathering information."

I fought back the impatience that rose in my chest at the thought that we'd have to put in so much research. I wanted to head to Rochester at that very moment, begin at one point of the crescent and work to the other, laying waste to anyone and everyone in my path.

"But that is not conducive to keeping our existence a secret is it?" Edward spoke softly, not judging me, just reminding me of my responsibility to our family. To Esme.

I shook my head once, tightly, trying desperately to gain control. "What else do you need to know about town?" I asked, trying to keep the process moving.

"Where do these men work? Just keep marking buildings with their initials the way you did with the houses."

Three of the men worked in the same bank as Royce. Not helpful. Charles Smythe didn't work at all, just waited for his father to pass on the family money. He preferred to spend all of his time in the club. I marked it with his initials and a star. Edward followed my thought process.

"That might work. There wouldn't be many people in that area during the day. I'll check when I go to town later today."

"Can I come?" I asked, eager for something more hands-on.

"No, Rosalie. You're still a newborn. We're running a big enough risk that you'll end up feeding on one of these men. We can't take the chance with an innocent life." He touched my shoulder, gently. "You will get your chance. This is why I am here to help you. To keep us all safe."

EPOV

I didn't really want to be involved in Rose's telling of her story, but at this point, she insisted. Actually, she threatened to tell the full story to Bella if I didn't contribute, and, knowing Rose as well as I do, I agreed to tell my part of the story.

I'd hoped she'd forget about our conversation, that she'd just take my acceptance and Esme's love and start anew, forgetting all about what caused her to become one of us. Clearly at that point, I didn't really know Rosalie. After several days in which Rose's thoughts of revenge and murder intruded upon my every action, and the question in her mind became more prominent to the point of nearly screaming at me, I realized that action would have to be taken or Rosalie would never find any peace. And neither would I.

I'd told myself when I came back to Rochester, when I returned to the life that Carlisle had wanted for me, that the killing would stop. Carlisle never discussed it with me. The change in my eye color made my actions as clear to my adoptive parents as if they'd been able to see my thoughts. But their thoughts were only of joy, so happy to see the prodigal son return that they didn't question what I'd done. Part of me wished that they would, so that I could reassure them that I'd only killed evil humans, ones who wanted to harm the innocent. Rapists. Murderers. Child abusers. And always when they were poised to strike. I knew it would make Esme feel better, but Carlisle wouldn't want to hear it. He loathed killing of anyone. He felt no real relief when Esme's husband was found dead. He was glad that he'd never hurt anyone again, but he felt sorrow that a life of violence had ended in violence. The seemingly endless cycle wearied him.

Carlisle and I had discussed John many times after Rosalie's human death. We were certain that he was an incubus. What we didn't really know was his affect on the human males around him. It seemed strange and out of character for Royce, so concerned with playing the part that had been handed him at birth, to destroy the key to his future. A marriage to the most beautiful woman in town was incredibly important to him. I knew, having been in his presence before, that this was constantly on his mind before a match with Rosalie was even proposed. He'd thought of it often. So why destroy her on a darkened street?

That question weighed heavily on me. I did not want to destroy men whose souls were salvageable. Men who might well never have harmed Rosalie if not for John.

Rosalie would kill them with or without me. She was trying desperately to do it right, to do it safely so that we would not risk exposure, at least more than would be necessary. People would begin to wonder when these men turned up dead, no matter how we attempted to disguise it. Rumors would swirl. In a year, one way or another, we would no longer be living in Rochester. And this would make Esme unhappy. She'd worked hard to improve Rochester, and the thought of her turning her back on all she'd done would be hurtful for her, I knew. But she'd already begun thinking about it. I'd aged out of my life here, and Rosalie would never be able to set foot in the city limits again. She was a risk, no matter how well-behaved she might learn to be.

I'd have to help her. And in a year, we'd be living in the cabin in the Tennessee mountains that Esme had picked out years before. There was no help for it.

So, with regrets, I began helping Rosalie with her plans. I set her to work marking residences, places of business, and social clubs on the map. Once I realized where I was headed and had reviewed the faces of the men once more in Rose's thoughts, I headed down to town. Rosalie would have to stay behind.

"Rose, I'm going to go down and begin some research. You must stay here. I'm sorry for that, truly I am, but you must stay here. Is there anything that I can bring you?" I wanted to make it up to her. I knew how difficult it would be for her to let me take the lead in the preparation.

Rose shook her head, but I saw a brief glimmer of a shop or two. Rose missed shopping. She really only had three or four dresses that Esme had gotten for her. We were all so busy acclimating ourselves to the routine of keeping Rose fed and simply getting used to a fourth presence in the house that none of us had really thought of it. Rose's closets at home were stuffed full. I'd been there, after all, when I retrieved her wedding dress. I resolved to purchase her another week's worth of clothes on my way back home.

I felt I had a lot to make up for. My behavior had been abominable, and I was sorry. Rose would certainly never be the companion for me that Esme fantasized about, but she could perhaps become a sister.

"I'm going now, Rose, and I'll be back well before nightfall. Be sure you hunt in another hour or so. I trust you to be here on your own."

Irritation flashed brightly in Rose's mind. I honestly didn't mean to patronize, but sometimes Rose's impulses were so childlike that I couldn't help myself. And she was young. In so many ways.

"I'm sorry. You know what I mean. I meant it as a compliment." And a reminder, I added silently.

"I know. Thank you," Rose replied, stiffly.

It was overcast outside, naturally, and very pleasant, not raining. Birds sang, and I could sense all the animals in the forest around me. I was hunting so often now that they held no temptation for me whatsoever, and I left them to peacefully pursue their lives, hunting, nesting, mating. I had bigger prey.

The run down to the town took very little time. I loved running, the speed, the cleansing breeze in my hair and on my face. I felt refreshed when I finally reached the limits of Rochester and emerged onto the road. I walked much more slowly, but still briskly, with a sense of purpose, toward the area of town where the men all lived. It was beautiful, full of old trees and large homes.

I paused outside of the first home, that of Charles Smythe. I leaned against a tree, pretending to enjoy the feel of the breeze on my face, but listening intently to the sounds of life inside.

There were three people there. A young male voice, the timid steps of a servant, and a voice that probably belonged to Charles's mother. I glanced at my pocketwatch. It was just after 9:00 in the morning. The father was out, but Charles was not alone. I listened for a while, and finally began to overhear a conversation between Charles and his mother.

"I'm going out, Mother."

"Are you going to visit poor Royce? He's having such a hard time getting over the death of that beautiful Hale girl. So sad. I spoke to his mother just yesterday. He's barely eating and won't leave the house, just sits by the window all day long. Hasn't been to work since she died."

"I don't know, Mother. I might stop by."

His thoughts indicated that he wouldn't. He felt it prudent to stay away from those he was with when he helped to kill Rosalie. He was heading instead to the club. His mind was filled with images of a glass, ice tinkling, the brown glimmer of bourbon. I would pay it a visit later.

I walked down the street to the next house. The Jeffries house. There were no signs of life immediately. I eventually heard a young female voice singing while she did laundry. A servant here, too. No other signs of habitation.

Two more blocks over lived the Hallowells. Here there was more life. The Hallowells were a large family, and Richard Hallowell was the oldest of seven. The youngest child was not yet in school. Richard was nineteen, and his youngest sister was five. I could hear her playing, her child's voice lifted in song, a song that made no sense to anyone but her. Her thoughts turned often to each person in her family, including her eldest brother. She felt he didn't like her anymore. He hadn't played with her in a week. He was staying in his room a lot, and he smelled funny most of the time. She remembered clearly a scent she didn't recognize, but I did. The sweet smell of alcohol. He'd been drinking a lot. Her thoughts didn't linger on him, though. The gap in their ages was such that she spent more time with the brother and sister who were closer to her age. Their faces swam to the surface of her thoughts, and she was filled with joy when she thought of them. They were at school.

I felt remorse already. Losing her brother would be difficult for this child, and would probably be the first time that death's shadow entered her small, happy cocoon. All I could offer her to ease the burden would be a death for her brother that occurred far away from this home. I'd keep Rose away from his face, so that his brothers and sisters could look on it one last time. That was the best I could offer.

The next two homes were smaller and were completely empty. The Jacksons and the Stephenses weren't as wealthy as the other families. Mrs. Jackson had died several years ago, and Mrs. Stephens was out frequently as she volunteered at the hospital. I knew these families better than the others. Billy Jeffries, Robert Stephens, and Ted Stephens all worked at the bank with Royce and his father. I was not sure where I'd find them between work and home. That would be what I'd need to find out.

I walked slowly around the block, seeing what I could of the backyards of the five houses. They were all fenced. Nothing that could keep Rose and me out, but it might look suspicious if we came up to the house from the back and we were spotted. Most of the homes in the neighborhood were occupied by at least one person. It would be unlikely that we'd be able to get to the men at this time of day.

I heard Smythe leave his house, and followed him at a distance to the club. He walked briskly. His thoughts were muddled, but I saw Rosalie's face pop up quite often. He was excited when he thought of her, and that knowledge made a growl rise up in my chest. I could have taken him then and there on that street, but I held myself back. He entered the club, which still sported a small window in the door, where until very recently, a password had been spoken before entry. I'm sure Smythe celebrated quite well in February. He had probably been drunk ever since.

I stayed outside and listened. There was very little noise to indicate that there were many people inside. I could hear some soft conversation…drink orders being exchanged. There were, at most, five patrons inside, a waitress, and a bartender. Smythe's thoughts were truly repugnant, alternating between Rosalie's bleeding form on the street and the face of the pretty young waitress inside. Six months ago, I would have killed him as soon as I got the chance. But I had to give Rosalie her chance. I thought they both deserved that.

I decided to go in for a while, to observe Smythe in his natural habitat. I ordered a beer for camouflage, and settled in table in the corner, facing the bar where Smythe sat. The more he drank, the more the two trains of thought merged, until it was the pretty young waitress pinned underneath his weight. She was bleeding and crying, and I read his excitement at that image.

I forced myself to remain calm, mimed a sip at my beer. The pretty young waitress came over to my table. She was remarkably like Rosalie, blonde, pretty waves of hair cascading down her back. Her eyes were hazel instead of Rosalie's blue, and her lips curled in a pleasant smile. "Can I get you anything else?" She glanced at my beer, realized that it was still full. "Is anything wrong with your drink?"

"No, it's fine. I'm more of a sipper," I said, smiling at her. I wanted to warn her, but couldn't think of a way that I could without seeming suspicious.

The waitress went back behind the bar. After a few moments, she refilled Smythe's drink, then turned to the bartender. "I think I'll take a quick break, Sam."

"'Kay," Sam replied. He was busy wiping the bar at the far end, away from Smythe. I could see the thoughts that Smythe had, his urge to follow the girl out. He glanced around, noting the occupied bartender. His eyes swiveled toward me, and I met his stare. Humans were frequently aware that I was a danger, but he didn't seem to react to the warning in my glare. His thoughts were already with the waitress in the alley. In his mind, she was already his. He got up slowly and went toward the back of the barroom, as if he was going to the bathroom, but instead, he slipped out the back door. I was through it before the door could swing shut.

The waitress was smoking a cigarette, strolling down the alley with her back toward us. Smythe's nauseous plans played in his thoughts, becoming more and more a plan rather than a fantasy. Before he could get to her, I seized the first thing I could find, an empty whiskey bottle, and hit him sharply over the head. Blood gushed immediately from a gash on his scalp. The smell was intoxicating, but mixed with my nausea at his thoughts. They revealed his desire to participate in Rose's death all over again, but this time with himself in control, and a small change in casting. It didn't matter to him who it was. It was the fear that he craved.

The waitress turned toward me, eyes wide at the sight of Smythe crumpled at my feet. I cursed to myself. "He'll be fine. Stay away from this man." She looked at me with the same fear that Smythe had imagined on her face. "Please." I held out a hand to her that I knew she would not take even if she were close enough. "Please. Stay away from this man."

She nodded quickly, and shrank further down the alley. I knew nothing was there, and I read her trust of me in her thoughts. There was a great deal of benefit to being a vampire. When I wanted them to trust me, humans usually did. She would not tell anyone that she saw me there.

I turned toward Smythe. He was unconscious, but breathing. I looked around and saw a glass sitting near the door. I pulled out a handkerchief and wiped it as clean as I could. Another bottle of gin held a few drops of the liquor. I shook them into the glass, sanitizing it as best I could. I pulled up Smythe's head by the hair. Blood ran freely down his face. Scalp wounds were always so messy. At least Carlisle can have a blood sample, I thought, as some drops of Smythe's blood trickled into the glass. There would be no way to cap it, so I tucked it into my pocket. It made a huge bulge, but it sat relatively still. The cold of my body would keep it fresh until I got it back to the house.

I kicked Smythe over and stared into his face. He looked like any other human, but his thoughts were evil. Killing him would definitely be the right thing to do. But I had to be patient and wait. I had to give Rose her chance. I turned and briskly strode away from Smythe. Clearly, he was our priority. And anything could happen in the alley behind the club. No one would ever hear him. Rosalie was very fast.

I walked as quickly as possible to the city limits. I tried to avoid detection and to keep from spilling Carlisle's sample. I wasn't sure how I would explain to him how I got it. Perhaps I would leave the part out where I was casing Rosalie's killers. Perhaps I just came across him in the alley, about to attack the girl. Perhaps I recognized him as I foiled the attack. Without killing him, of course. I hated lying to Carlisle, but I knew that the plans that Rosalie and I were working on were not quite his idea of sibling bonding.

I was nearly to the edge of the woods when I remembered my promise to myself to bring back clothes for Rosalie. I really wanted to follow through, but I wasn't sure what to do with the blood in my pocket. I walked quickly into the edge of the forest to where a small stream trickled ice-cold through the trees. I pushed the bottom of the glass into the mud at the edge of the water. The cold water moving past would keep the sample cold. I could do little about the possibility of contamination, so I tried to simply convince myself that any sample would be better than no sample.

I straightened my clothes, checking my shirt for any droplets of blood, but I had kept myself relatively clean. I walked quickly to the downtown shop that I knew Esme frequented. Rosalie was a little larger than our mother, so I decided to simply go up a size from what Esme normally bought. Hopefully good manners would keep the shopkeeper from commenting on it. I picked five dresses, a pair of men's slacks that I thought would be suitable for hunting, and several blouses and skirts. I paid for them quickly with cash. The shopkeeper didn't question my actions, even in thought.

I made my way with my packages to the edge of the woods where I'd left the blood sample. I scooped it up, wiping the mud off the bottom on my jacket, then nestling it in my pocket again. I knew that I'd have to walk back, but I'd still be back by nightfall, like I'd promised Rosalie.

I took my time, thinking about what I'd learned. I was sure that Charles Smythe would be the easiest man to get. We'd start there. I needed to do further research to determine when would be the best time to get to the other men, particularly the three who worked at the bank. Perhaps after we killed Smythe, I could do further research. Smythe would be easiest to kill in the morning. Fewer people would be in the club, and he would likely not be discovered until the crowds began arriving after 6:00. I'd have time to learn the others' schedules. I was sure that Smythe was a time bomb, one best taken care of early and quickly, before he hurt someone else.

I could hear Rosalie before I saw her. She was in the woods, perhaps hunting, perhaps waiting for me. Suddenly, she was at my side. "How did it go?" she asked, impatient for news.

"Are Carlisle and Esme home?"

She nodded. "Esme is. Carlisle will be home later. He had to go by the hospital."

"We will have to talk about it after they leave in the morning. Besides, I have surprises." I indicated the boxes in my arms.

"For me?" she asked, frowning.

"More peace offerings. I know it's hard on you, not being able to go down to Rochester, so I picked you up a few things."

"That was…very kind." She sounded so unsure, and her thoughts were shrouded, hard to read. I supposed it would take a while for her to trust kindness from me.

"Let's get inside. We'll get up the hill faster if you take half of these."

She took the boxes from my arms without question. I could tuck the remaining ones under my arm, so we ran quickly up the hill.

Esme was bent over some papers at her work table. I glanced anxiously at Rosalie. "I put that away," she said softly, knowing I was wondering about the map.

"Thank you," I said. Esme, of course, heard the exchange, but was politely pretending that she didn't. We were getting along, and Esme was not about to rock the boat.

"Well, what have you been up to, Edward?" Esme said, surprised at the load of packages that Rosalie and I were carrying.

"I was in town, and I thought that Rosalie might like having some new clothes. She really doesn't have much. She's accustomed to closets full to the brim, aren't you?" I winked at her. Her eyebrows contracted over her nose. She really didn't know what to do when I was being nice.

Esme looked on the point of tears. Images were flooding her mind…some of Rosalie and I behaving very much like a close brother and sister, others of us getting married, and others…more graphic. It was really quite amusing, albeit nauseating. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Esme," I said softly. Rosalie looked sharply my way.

"Esme's glad to see that we both have all our limbs," I said.

Rosalie laughed. At least, I think it was a laugh. It was a single bark, and she immediately squelched it behind a hand. Esme and I both laughed long at that, and Rosalie, for once, didn't seem to mind.

"Why don't you ladies go and open some packages? Rose, there are some men's pants in there, but those are for you, too. I thought they'd be functional for hunting and the like."

"That was…thoughtful," she replied. I smiled. It was clearly very difficult for Rosalie to come up with positive adjectives to describe my behavior. Her thoughts were unclear and were best summed up with a simple question mark. She had no idea why I was being nice to her.

I didn't really, either, except that I'd accepted that she was going to be a part of our lives for a very long time. There was no point in fighting it. It would be best if we, somehow, learned to behave well with one another. Perhaps one day, we might even really care about one another.

As Esme and Rosalie left the room, I made my way to the refrigerator in the unused kitchen. It held only medical supplies, and I added the cup of blood to the stockpile of vaccines and other medicines. We didn't use them, but Carlisle liked to have his supplies nearby in case of an emergency. I was sure that Carlisle would be eager to begin his analysis of the blood's proteins and to see if there were any pathogens that he could identify. Hematology and histology were sciences in their relative infancies in the 1930s, but Carlisle kept on the cutting edge of all advances. He would do the best he could, and I was certain he'd be so excited about the sample that he wouldn't question too much where it came from.

At least, I hoped.

RPOV

I was stunned when I saw Edward return. His arms were full of boxes from the finest clothing store in town. I couldn't think what he might have purchased. When he said they were all for me, I just couldn't believe it. He did something for me.

Esme was brimming over with pride and joy. I kept wondering what Edward wanted. If he wanted me to drop my plans, he was going to be disappointed. I couldn't think about anything but what Edward had found out on his trip into town. It would be a very long night.

I felt Esme's hand on my arm, and she pulled me into my bedroom. We opened all of the packages, pulling out dress after dress, five in all, a pair of men's pants, and four sets of blouses and skirts. To my surprise, I liked them all. Esme insisted that I try them on. With a few exceptions, each one fit me perfectly well, or so I thought. Esme pointed out a hem that needed adjustment here and a waistline that needed a tuck there. "But I can do all of that for you! Let me go get my sewing basket."

I spent the night thinking, obsessing really, about what Edward could possibly have done all day. Was his unexpected kindness masking something? Was he going to try to get out of our plan? I didn't bother hiding my thoughts. In fact, I made sure that they were clear and loud so that he'd know what I was thinking all night long.

One after the other, Esme made tiny adjustments to each of the garments, stopping only when Carlisle came home, and then only for a simple kiss. She returned to me quickly. Her fingers deftly moved over the fabric, pinching in here, folding up, pinning, pulling needle through fabric. They were mesmerizing, but didn't really distract me from my worries. Her hands and steady stream of conversation just soothed me enough that the wait was just barely tolerable.

Carlisle came in periodically to admire Esme's work and my new wardrobe. He and Edward spent most of the night in conversation. I caught only snippets here and there. They were discussing some sort of medical advance having to do with blood proteins and something called a Wasserman reaction. At least, that's what it sounded like. I couldn't follow the conversation, and they were taking great pains to keep it barely audible. I heard Carlisle open the refrigerator at one point, and then the conversation got a little louder.

"How did you get this?" Carlisle sounded angry.

"I came across one of the men. It was entirely accidental. He was going to attack a girl, and I hit him with a bottle to stop him. He was bleeding, so I took the opportunity. Surely you don't protest?" Edward sounded quite calm, conciliatory. I was dying to know what had happened.

The tone of Carlisle's voice immediately changed, became more excited, and drifted once more into terms that I did not understand.

Finally, Esme was finished, satisfied with the seemingly unneeded alterations to the clothing. She sighed. "It's so nice to have another woman in the house." She pecked me on the cheek. "You look quite beautiful. I'm going to spend a little time with Carlisle before he has to go to work."

The murmur of conversation from the other room immediately ceased as Esme came into the room. Carlisle drifted away to the other side of the house. He and Esme liked to have a little bit of time alone each evening. I thought it was sweet, and it filled me with bitterness.

I wandered into the study, where Edward was bent over a medical text. "You are quite persistent, aren't you?" he asked, without looking up. "I just can't tell you about my trip into town until Carlisle and Esme leave. I'm not trying to get out of anything." He looked up at me then. "I just thought you'd like the clothes. I didn't like having to leave you behind today. It was just necessary."

I didn't know what to think. It was such a turnaround from his behavior on the hillside overlooking my funeral.

"You know, it's a lot easier to be nice to someone when they aren't holding your dismembered arm." He smiled at me. "I just decided that you had some very valid points about me. And…we are family now. Do we really want to spend eternity at each others' throats?"

I realized that the soft murmur of voices from across the house had stopped. Carlisle and Esme were listening, probably intently. Edward nodded, and chuckled softly. "Why don't you have a seat? There's probably lots you haven't read yet. I was just doing a little bit of research for Carlisle."

I shuffled slowly around the room, looking through the bookshelves that lined the walls. Nothing was going to hold my attention. Finally, I came across The Art of War. At the time, I hadn't heard of it, but it sounded applicable to my situation, and I settled into the sofa to read until Carlisle left for the day. I found myself oddly drawn into it, and thought about how what I was reading might be applied to what I needed to do. I didn't understand a lot of it, but I thought that Edward would probably talk to me about it if I wanted him to. I just still wasn't sure how to approach him.

"You could just ask me any questions you have. Approach isn't really an issue with me, you know." He didn't look up from what he was reading.

"That's okay. I just don't understand all of it."

"I'm sure some parts will be useful to you. I've read it often, and there are parts that speak to me more than others. And some parts that let me know that I'm not really a warrior." He closed his eyes and said: "So in war, the way is to avoid what is strong and strike at what is weak. I have always had problems with that. And given that there are very few who are weaker than I, I'm not much of a fighter." He smiled. "There are exceptions, of course." His voice hardened a little. I wasn't entirely sure what he was talking about, so I went back to reading the passage that appealed to me most:

All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must seem inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near. Hold out baits to entice the enemy. Feign disorder, and crush him.

I would appear unable to these men. They would think that they could crush me the way that they did on the street. But it was my turn. The thought made me unreasonably happy.

We spent the rest of the evening not talking, noses buried in our books. Carlisle and Esme came in once the sun came up, and eventually left, Carlisle to the hospital, and Esme down to City Hall.

There were no more excuses.

Edward snapped shut the text he'd been reading. "We have our first target. Charles Smythe."

"What happened down there? I heard you and Carlisle…"

"I was in the club when Smythe became enamored of a waitress. He went to attack her, and I hit him over the head with a bottle." I had the strong feeling that Edward was leaving something out.

"Did anyone see you?"

"The waitress, but I don't think that she'll say anything." He waved a hand dismissively. "She was frightened, but she understood I was trying to help her, I think. The club is largely deserted during the day, so I think we'll be able to take Smythe just outside, in the alley. Tomorrow."

Tomorrow. I sighed happily, glad that finally some action would be taken.

"Smythe is a danger. We would do the town a service to get rid of him."

I nodded. I'd thought of so many ways to kill each man.

"You shouldn't shed their blood. You don't want to tempt yourself. You want to avoid taking in their blood at all costs. So don't spill any."

I nodded. Edward continued, "There are simple ways to kill a man. You can crush his chest, his skull, his throat. You can strangle him. Those should all please you," he added dryly. I nodded eagerly.

"We will attack in the morning, after Esme and Carlisle leave. Smythe will be at the club, in all likelihood. We will lure him into the alley, and you may dispose of him in any way you wish. Any bloodless way you wish. This kill will need to be fast. There will be few people around, but we need to ensure that the people in the club do not hear. You'll need to cut off his supply of air to ensure that he can't scream. Then do him in as you wish. No blood."

I nodded. Images flooded my brain, and I was so excited, I trembled from head to toe.

"You need to take today to focus. Get rid of this nervous energy. Hunt. Tomorrow, you will follow my lead on all points. Do we understand one another?"

I nodded again. I couldn't speak yet. I was too excited.

Tomorrow, Charles Smythe would die.