A/n: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. However, I, under the penname listed above, do own this story, plot and its variations. I prefer it not to be plagiarized and thank you in advance.

Buckets of bountiful gratitude to my Boggled, beautiful beta Quothme. Nerdward belongs to her. Heart, soul and bowl cut.

Thank you to everyone who is reading, reviewing and reccing. They inspire and delight me.

I recced the stunning And With Thee Fade Away on the Little Known Ficster. Don't bother my the rec, just read the story, it's brilliant.

You may know that I posted outtakes under a new story called A Living Legend. There will be more coming, so alert it if you feel like it.

Please note that while much of the information in this story is based on fact, it's got a fair amount of twisting under creative license. No harm is intended.

Chapter 7

There's nothing like a teenager's outlook on life. For them, every moment, every opportunity, every event is treated like their last, like life or death, like do or die. They're all James Dean, dreaming as if they'd live forever, living as if they might perish the very next day.

And because of that outlook, there's nothing quite like a teenager's enthusiasm. Especially for school dances. Dances represented the best and worst of high school: the soaring expectations and the crippling rejections; the tender brush of first (or second or third) love and the wondering of whether they'll get to first (or second or third) base; the clothes and the company, the music and the moments—all of this and so much more made up that holy grail of high school happenings. And of all dances to warrant importance, it was the last dance of the year that always received the most excitement.

And so it was with the dance coming up. Hopes for it didn't wane, even when the administrative staff announced that due to a parent's complaint (and by parent, they meant Reverend Weber), no one would be allowed to take a date. Further stating that the practice of holding a dance that automatically forced students to choose among their peers which encouraged ostracism, even long-time couples like Angela Weber and Ben Cheney (nicknamed The Children of Chastity) weren't allowed to attend the dance together. Everyone was to go stag, as dates were forbidden.

But to forbid something to teenagers is to guarantee it. So the latest trend to hit FHS was to find the perfect way to not ask someone to the dance. There was so much effort put into stealthily approaching and obtaining a non-date that even the gossip about who was (or as it were, 'wasn't') attending with whom was told in whispers. And since there was no one who was a better dirty dancer, no one who could execute a prevaricating polka or a tergiversate tango more skillfully than Edward Cullen, the foremost question on the quivering females' minds became:

Who was Edward Cullen not going to ask to the dance?

[-]

Bella was sitting in the Forks Diner, having her monthly dinner with her old friend, Jacob Black. Jake was rather important to her, being her oldest friend. Although he had hinted on more than one occasion that he might like to be more than merely her oldest friend, he was like sunshine—warm and bright but also everyday and expected. There was nothing about him that excited her like the dark, moonless night of Edward, with all his mystery and secrets. But despite her lukewarm feelings toward Jake romantically, she would always hold him dear to her heart platonically. With Jake, conversation was never forced or stilted, jokes and teasing never too serious. He never got upset if Bella had to change plans or reschedule. Being friends with him was easy, like breathing. And so, even though they hadn't seen each other in some time, they chattered on amiably until Jake excused himself to the restroom. He had just slid out of the seat across from her when an unexpected body slid into it.

She jumped. "Oh, Edward! I'm sorry, I didn't see you."

"It's okay." Then continuing in a mutter too muted for Bella to hear, "It's not the first time."

"I'm glad I ran into you, Bella," he said, reverting to his regular volume, his smirk twirling the corners of his lips upward. His voice was cool and fluid, washing over her like a monsoon rain and molding itself into the crevices of her body—tucking behind the shell of her ear, brushing in the hollow of her clavicle, nuzzling down the valley of her breasts, threading through the gaps between her fingers, licking behind her knees and nudging itself between her legs.

As his smirk morphed into a genuine smile, Bella couldn't help but let the flutter in her stomach (and lower) spread to her heart.

"You are?" she said, paradoxically ducking her head while meeting his eyes. "What can I do for you, Edward?"

Edward made a tutting noise. "Ask not what you can do for Edward Cullen. Ask what Edward Cullen can do for you."

Bella giggled despite herself. Edward's puns were rather ridiculous. "Fine, what can Edward Cullen do for me?"

His left eyebrow popped up.

It was like dirty, wayward thoughts were directly correlated with the level of his eyebrows. As soon as that errant brow rose, thoughts of just what Edward Cullen could do for her, with her, to her swirled around her head, unbidden, uncensored, unadulterated... but very adult.

"Well, I'm guessing you've heard about a certain dance that may or may not be taking place this Friday," Edward said. Bella nodded as she fought the urge to snort. It was all that anyone at school could talk about. Rosalie and Alice had already dismissed it as unworthy of their attention—Rose claimed that she had no reason to go to an event where she couldn't make Emmett as bitter as McCarthy with jealousy, and Alice was going out of town. Hence, Bella had figured that, without her cohorts, she had no reason to attend.

Until now.

"Yes, I have."

"Then you know about this 'no dates' idiocy the school is peddling," Edward continued. She nodded. "Well, then I have to ask…no one has not asked you to the dance yet, right?"

She thought she knew what he was asking, but couldn't quite comprehend it. "Huh?"

"Yeah, ignore the double negatives. What I'm really asking is," Edward took a deep breath and smiled at her before continuing, "will you not go to the dance with me?"

His brow furrowed at the same time as Bella's. "Uhh…"

"What I meant was, and pardon the poor grammar, will you go to the dance not with me?" Edward said, a laugh in his voice. Bella giggled. And then quickly realized that, not only was Edward waiting for an answer, but, out of all the girls in school, out of literally any one of them who was ripe for his picking and those that may have already picked, Edward Cullen had asked her to the dance.

"Yes, Edward. I will go to the dance not with you." They both laughed.

"Now, I can't pick you up because that might give people the idea that we're going together, and since we're not going together, we wouldn't want that." He leaned over to grasp her hand before continuing, "We wouldn't want anyone to see me pull up in your driveway and knock on your door, nervous as hell. We wouldn't want them to hear me tell your father that I have completely honorable intentions toward you or that I will have you back by your curfew. We wouldn't want them to see me be unable to stop smiling because I'm so damn excited to go to this lame thing simply because you'll be there with me."

"No," Bella echoed, breathless from his breathtaking words. But more than his words, it was his expression: there was no trace of his usual sensuous smile or purring, poetic prose. Only his refined golden gaze, unyielding and honest, connecting them and conducting an almost tangible electricity between them. "We wouldn't want that."

She couldn't have looked away from him if he had begged her to. But the bustle and the busy banging of the diner brought them out of their daze, and they smiled, shy but sure that the moment they had just shared was truly that—a Moment.

Edward stood. "Goodbye, Bella."

"Goodbye, Edward." As she echoed his words, she realized that her entire side of the conversation had been nothing more than an echo, her parroting back everything that he had said. But Edward hardly seemed to care; his eyes crinkled at the corners, warm and weightless with happiness.

Jake returned to the table just as Edward, with a grin as wide as Bella's, was departing. Bella's expression was pleased as punch. Jacob's expression was pleased as punch, too—as pleased as a punch to the face.

"What did Cullen want?" he asked, his hackles clearly raised.

"Uh, he wanted to ask me about the dance on Friday," Bella replied without looking at Jake. Her eyes were still following Edward, who turned and tossed her one last lingering, sweet smile before exiting the diner. With effort, she dragged her attention back to her table.

"Bella! I can't believe you're going to that dance with Cullen!" All the warmth had hissed out of his words, yet they were still heated, full of hot air. But Edward's attention had left Bella buoyant.

"Clearly, you weren't listening properly, Jake. I'm not going to the dance with Edward. No dates allowed, remember?" Bella's voice was light and bouncing, hardly that of a girl who just hadn't been asked to the dance. Jake rolled his eyes.

"Cullen is just...did you know he hangs out with the Clearwater twins?" Jake said, scoffing. Bella knew this, of course, but didn't understand how this detail was significant.

"So?"

"So, Seth and Leah are... well... Seth and Leah. We used to have this joke about them... did you know that they are part Iroquois?" Bella frowned. She didn't understand what their heritage had to do with anything. "Well, there's a story in Iroquois legend about a sky goddess who fell to Earth and became the symbol for fertility and 'female endeavors.'" Much to Bella's chagrin, Jake actually put up his fingers to air quote the words 'female endeavors.'

"Again, so? And what the hell are female endeavors?" Bella refused to air quote.

Jake shrugged. "You are asking me what 'female endeavors' are?" Again with the air quotes. Bella slapped his hands down and rolled her eyes in acquiescence of the ridiculousness of her question. "Anyway, the story goes that the sky goddess had twins, one good and one evil. Can you see where I'm going with this? We used to joke that Seth was the good twin and Leah was the bad one."

Bella raised her eyebrow. "That's not much of a joke."

"We made it up when we were seven, Bella. Give us some credit for the historical basis at least. It's just, that theory always stuck because the Clearwater twins are so...I don't know, notably weird. Like, we know why Seth is weird—"

"Why?"

"We're not positive, but we're fairly sure Seth is gay."

"So what? That makes him weird?" Bella said archly. She didn't like Jake's judgments.

"No, but wearing all pink outfits in high school does," Jake retorted. Bella didn't bother arguing with him. She was a firm believer in letting everyone march to their own drummer, but apparently Jake wasn't so musically evolved. "And Leah? She was the biggest, bluntest bitch you could ever meet. But she used to be kind of normal. And then she met this guy in Seattle who became her boyfriend. Some weird guy... Andrew... Andrew Cludel, that was it. Anyway, he was from Scotland and he took her there one summer. They broke up while she was visiting, and she came back... strange. Like, I'll admit, she's always been pretty, but she came back hot. And slutty. But strange."

"Jake—"

"No seriously. Her conquests are legendary. I mean, I'm pretty sure that she has these powers of 'feminine endeavors,' whatever they are, because let's just say she's successful in all her…" Jake cleared his throat suggestively "…endeavors."

Bella's mind was racing. Had Leah and Edward hooked up? Knowing Edward's current behavior—which seemed to take a leaf out of Leah's book—they probably had. Was that before or after he had become this new, improved Edward? Was Leah somehow involved in his transformation? Bella was shaken out of her musings by Jake's stare. "Well, I'm fairly sure any halfway decent-looking teenage girl looking for, um, endeavors would be fairly successful. Were you ever an endeavor she…" Bella cleared her throat suggestively "…undertook?"

"What? No. No." Jake shuddered slightly. "But...you should have seen the guys she did hook up with. It was like they saw the world through new eyes. And vice versa—like they went in boys and came out...men."

"Went in where?" Bella asked stupidly. Jake gave her a leering grin. "Ugh, Jake. Don't answer that."

"There's this Quileute belief that boys go on a quest, a spiritual quest for transformation, and come back men. We joke that Leah was that quest for many guys. Like Sam Uley, for example. You know how he's all alpha dog, big man on reservation now? He used to be kind of an idiot. Not a loser but not so good with the ladies. Then he hooked up with Leah...and I don't know if it was a sexual awakening or voodoo magic, but all of a sudden, he was a total player. He even hooked up with Leah's cousin after she left for college."

"Voodoo magic? Really, Jake?" Bella said, her outward skepticism betraying her inner reaction. Was Leah—with these powers that seemed, all of a sudden, like much more than a joke—the reason for Edward's mystic makeover? Had she subjected Edward to whatever change had befallen her in Scotland? And what exactly had happened to her in Scotland?

Jake shrugged. "Who even knows, Bella? To deny you believe it is to say you have proof of the opposite. Now, I'm not saying I believe them, but...who knows?" He punctuated his rather open-minded words with another shrug.

"Yeah," Bella said. In truth, she wanted to stop thinking about this, and changing the subject was a good, perhaps the only way, to do that. "How's the Rabbit coming along?"

Jake lit up, droning on about various parts and aspects of the car he was fixing up in his spare time. She listened the best she could, filtering out the technical terms so that she could grasp his meaning. "But anyway, it turns out that we were thinking that the carburetor wasn't working or that the sump was leaking or something incredibly difficult to fix—but it wasn't. We were looking at the most complicated parts when the answer was the simplest one—the ignition had a loose connection. We're going to fix it tomorrow, and then the Rabbit will be ready to go!"

"Jake, that's great! I know how long you've been working on this. Congrats," Bella replied genuinely.

Jake grinned and droned on a little more about the car before falling silent with a look that she knew quite well.

"Spit it out, Jake," she said, wryly.

"Uh… well, I'm just a little worried. I've been hearing stories about Cullen and well, he hooks up a lot—"

"Jake, I appreciate your concern, but I promise you, you don't have to worry about me. I'm smart, I'm not going to do anything I don't want to," Bella insisted.

Jake chuckled. "Are you sure about that?"

"Edward is my friend, you can't—"

"That's not what I meant," Jake said with his best sneaky face. "I hear costumes are mandatory?"

Although secretly glad that Jake hadn't wanted to dive back in to all things Edward, Bella still cringed. In further demonstration of their demented foolery, the FHS administration had stated that this "no-date dance" (called the Single Mingle) was also a mandatorily costumed affair. Still, because Forks had a lackluster night life, it was the only thing to do and, therefore, guaranteed a rather good turnout.

"Yes, they are."

"So what are you going to go as?" he asked.

Bella groaned. "I have no idea. I guess I have to get a costume now." If there was ever a time she was happy to know an artist as innovative as Alice, it was now. Alice's strength lay not in makeover and metamorphosis, but in tailoring—she would know how to find or create a costume that would be an extension of Bella rather than a radical reimagination.

"You could go as a nun," Jake suggested.

Bella made a face. "Yes, I do have a habit I've been dying to wear."

"Or something silly, like Little Bo Peep," he continued. Bella shot him a strange look. "Or one of her lambs!"

"A lamb? I don't even know what that costume would look like. And Little Bo Peep had, and lost, sheep. Mary had a little lamb," Bella replied, both bewildered and amused by his silliness. Jake spent the remainder of dinner throwing out equally ridiculous, equally unhelpful costume suggestions. But as they were parting ways, he betrayed his levity by giving Bella a tight, worried hug and whispering in her ear, "Be careful, Bells."

"Always am," she responded automatically. While she could understand Jake's worry, she was fairly sure there was nothing to be careful about.

Later that night, Bella was in her room bopping to some MJ as the song changed from Bad to Dangerous. Just as her hand was poised over her phone to call Alice, she pondered Jake's words again. Could she really mock his words as ludicrous when she herself had suspected—no, had tested—Edward as an incubus just a few weeks ago?

Instead of dialing Alice's number, she pulled up her phone's web browser and began to look up the various traits that Jake said Leah possessed. But just as the page for Monstropedia loaded, she paused. Perhaps she now thought it was ludicrous because she had seen how very human Edward was. Behind his ethereal looks, he had scintillating smarts. Every stare of his golden eyes was matched in equal fervor by his passionate ideas and opinions. His sophisticated, stylish self was made even more ideal by a less than perfect, corny sense of humor. He was both the dream and the reality, the phenomenon and the ordinary, the myth and the man.

Beyond that he was the sweet boy who sat in her living room and humored her request to play Twenty Questions. He smiled at her with sincerity in his eyes and left her flowers that matched the color of her dress. Most of all, though, he was her date. And she was excited about it.

As Dangerous shifted into Smooth Criminal, she determinedly closed the browser window and dialed Alice's number.

[-]

The season was closer to that of summer than winter, but still a chill ran through the air. The clouds were low and dense, viscous with rain. Lightning flashed, a stripe on the dark night sky, and its nemesis thunder answered, as if trying to set the tone for the monumental, stupendous event that was unfolding right in the sleepy, sloppy hamlet of Forks. And perhaps hamlet really was the right way to describe it—as it seemed everyone attending this apogee event had decided to ham it up.

Still, it was strange to see the motley parade of vampires, witches, princesses and rock stars trudging slowly from the parking lot of the high school to the gym, talking animatedly, dancing and sneaking swigs of alcohol (particularly strange when the Headless Horseman tipped back the bottle). Apparently, the mandatory costume rule had forced the guys to recycle their old Halloween costumes. More creative were the girls, who had covered the gamut from slutty Marilyn Monroe to slutty nurse to, in Lauren's case, slutty slut.

Bella stood in the corner of the gym, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot while alternately picking at and smoothing her dress. Edward had agreed to meet her at the dance approximately an hour after it started and was in full swing. Worried that the impending storm might have made it tough for her to drive, she had left home a little early and was now left waiting. She leaned against a bleacher and glanced around her, noticing two (slutty) ballerinas, a clown and a (perhaps unintentional) hooker—everyone who hadn't already been swept up by someone to the dance floor—idly doing the same shuffle as she, like rejects in a mixer scene straight out of Grease. She scanned the gym to see if by chance Edward had arrived already, but she knew that if he had, she would have noticed him. Everyone would have noticed him.

And everyone did. Almost like a timed entrance, a gust of wind wrenched open the double doors of the gym. There he was, bold, beautiful, brazen, framed in the doorway. As the lightning flashed, illuminating him like a white-hot demon on the prowl, his eyes roved for his victim. They landed on Bella. His "date."

Everyone in the suddenly still gym watched as he shed his overcoat to reveal his costume. It was simple yet sinful—a sleek cut, one-button suit in a prideful, gleaming black; an enviably crisp white shirt; a thin tie with matching pocket square in a deep, hungry, lusty red—the perfect canvas upon which all who laid eyes on him could draw their fantasies. He was pure prurience—to some, he was a tumble and tussle in black silk sheets; to others, he was strength and force, pounding, pulsing against a wall. Yet more saw defiance and dominance, warring wills and slapping skin, and others, pushing and pulling, tensing and trembling, restraint, then release.

Whatever the images they imagined, one thing was clear—Edward in a suit was sex incarnate.

Slowly, like ripples in a hormonal, lust-addled pond, everyone began to move and dance and breathe again. His bright, blinding smile in place, Edward approached Bella.

"Who are you supposed to be, Edward?" Bella asked as he drew near. Other than walking sex. Other than porn in person. Other than a mobile orgasm.

"Well, that's open to interpretation, I suppose," he said, silken chuckle weaving into the air. "I prefer to keep an air of mystery."

"So you're not actually going to tell me? You're just going to make me guess?"

"Well, only for you, Bella. Since you don't have a date to the dance…" he grinned at her mock scowl "…I'll wear my complete outfit." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a pair of black leather horns and clipped them in his hair.

"So you're the devil."

"That's the general consensus."

Bella matched his smirk. As he adjusted the clips, she decided that he had chosen the perfect costume—he was, most definitely, a horny devil. "No tail?"

"I decided to forgo that part of the costume." And Bella was glad. In the smooth material of those pants, unencumbered by pockets, she could see the perfect C of his ass better than ever.

"No pitchfork?"

"Well, aren't you demanding?"

"I'm wearing glitter in my hair. The least you could do is carry a plastic pitchfork."

Edward laughed and took her hands in his before twisting them so his were on top. Then he motioned with his eyes for her to look down. But Bella couldn't concentrate on anything but the sensation of his hands on hers. His palms were incredibly warm—not hot, not sweaty—but uniformly warm, despite the fact that he wore no gloves and it was freezing outside. With the warmth came a gentle tingle, like the phantom feeling when a limb is beginning to fall asleep.

"Bella?"

She shook her head slightly and brought her attention back to him. He smelled deep and soothing, like a midnight tide, and he looked perfect, save for two tiny, angry red marks near his collarbone. She was about to ask what they were when Edward motioned again for her to look down at their hands. There, on each of his French cuffs, was a silver pitchfork cufflink. Bella failed to stifle her giggle.

"And the suit?" she asked. Edward grinned and released her hands, leaving her discomfited in the wake of the glory of his grin and emptiness in her palms.

"Well, rumor has it that the devil does wear Prada." Bella snickered. "By the way, we complement each other quite well." He was right; she wore a beautiful, knee-length white dress with sequined dolman sleeves that Alice had sewn to resemble wings, and her brown hair was tied in a high knot—she looked like the naive, nubile angel to his devious, delicious devil.

The twosome fell into an awkward silence, the kind where one has too much to say to the other and yet no feasible idea of how to say it.

Bella broke the silence first, attempting nonchalant indifference. "And here we are. I guess we'll see whether it's a waste of a night."

Edward made a dismissing noise and nudged her shoulder. "Oh B of little faith. You're here. I'm here. The night is young and so are we. The night is full of possibilities and, well…" He winked at her, and she smiled back. For once, Edward's bravado, his forwardness wasn't causing her to misstep—in fact, she felt light and easy on her feet.

They looked at each other, admiring again. "You look…beyond words, Bella." She ducked her head, blushing shyly as she thanked him. When she finally looked up to meet his eyes, she could not stop her smile from growing as wide as his. Edward's large grin easily gave away any cool he may have been playing with. He was clearly excited to be here, and Bella was relieved that he was so open in his demonstration of it. All week, she had been silent about the dance, merely nodding when people (all of whom, she noticed, were present) talked about how lame it was. But she had been looking forward to this night, the costumes, the company—to her, it was more oneiric than onerous.

As the music switched to a slow tune, they looked at each other expectantly, yet, upon making eye contact, quickly looked away as if shocked.

"B-bella?" Edward's voice, though quiet, carried straight from his lips to her ears, the slight tremor in his words forming a lump in her throat, the minute stutter creating a light flutter in her heart. She looked at him. "Will you dance with me?"

She was surprised to see that he was shyly, almost fearfully staring at the ground. Like he had done to her earlier, she nudged his shoulder and nodded when he looked up.

And so, slipping his hand into hers, Edward led Bella onto the dance floor and gently pulled her to him. They danced wordlessly and closely, taking tiny steps that were more a sweet sway, back and forth, back and forth. Edward held her close, their bodies delicately touching, his head tucked in next to hers, warm breath like a lover's caress on her ear, his solid heat gently embracing her.

Then, almost like a murmur, she heard his words. "'The beautiful things of the earth become more dear as they elude pursuit.'" He pulled away slightly to look at Bella and shrugged at her amused, questioning look. "Thomas Hardy. Once a literature nerd, always a literature nerd."

Gathering her courage, she spoke into his lapel. "I like it. It's…unexpected." She hadn't enough courage to look up past his chin or deal with silence as her words sunk in. "Anyway, Hardy, pursuit, you were saying..."

Edward chuckled and drew her in to his infectious warmth, his intoxicating scent, his irresistible self once more. "Well, I think Hardy was wrong." He fell silent suddenly and held her even closer. She could sense he had something to say but seemed, for the first time, to be holding back.

Ever so slightly, she turned her face so that she could breathe the air slipping, sliding off his slick, smooth skin. "Edward?" she prodded gently.

She heard him take a deep breath, felt it as the chest she was tucked into expanded. "Hardy was wrong because I'm finally holding you in my arms and you've never been more dear, more beautiful, more perfect to me than right now."

Bella's breath hitched. As Edward drew back slightly to look at her, she realized that this was it. Edward was finally declaring his feelings for her; she had finally won not only his attention but his romantic intentions. And Edward was about to do more than declare his feelings; he was about to show them.

Edward was leaning in.

Even as Bella was elated, she was deflated—for it was a pyrrhic victory. How could she be sure that this was not just another ploy, that she wasn't just another notch? And even if Edward did want to pursue something with her, to act on this attraction and connection that they both felt, how could she be sure what kind of boyfriend he would be? One with a wandering eye? Or worse—wandering mind, wandering hands, wandering anatomy?

Edward was leaning closer.

Oh E of little faithfulness. And suddenly, despite the delectable lack of distance between them, despite the almost hypnotic intensity in Edward's eyes, she couldn't stop the thoughts flooding her mind—the dam had broken and a sea of images poured forth, images of Rosalie, of Bree, of Renata and Didyme and Jane, of countless others. And while she knew that she liked Edward, she didn't know if she could accept him as this salacious, celebrated scapegrace. She didn't know what was going to happen between her and Edward, but she knew that they had to talk first.

Edward was closer still, and his lips had never looked so soft, so supple, so suckable.

She couldn't kiss him.

Could she?

No, she definitely couldn't kiss him. Or could she?

She had to say something.

She had to say something now.

"Edward—"she began, her hand poised against his chest to halt his advance. But before she could speak, before she could splay her palm against that crisp, white shirt, all hell broke loose.

From somewhere behind them, the shouting began. Startled, Bella shifted to see that Mike and Tyler were shoving at each other, faces red.

"You said you'd come as a cowboy and I'd be Indian-a Jones!" Tyler yelled. "We agreed!"

"No, we agreed that I'd be Harrison and you'd be Clint!" Mike screamed back. "Now we just look like two idiots with unbuttoned khaki shirts! You ruined the theme!" Edward and Bella glanced at each other amusedly.

"Why aren't they enforcing the 'no date' rule for these two?" Edward murmured. Bella laughed and almost missed seeing Mike throw the first punch, which, while splitting Tyler's lip, also unfortunately knocked some nearby girl's punch glass. Before the liquid could mar Bella's white dress, Edward swiftly moved her out of the way. As a result, the drink coated his sleeve instead.

Edward swore under his breath, and they both looked down at his outstretched arm, then back up at each other. Edward's irritation at the mishap was clearly overshadowed by his reluctance to leave her. He delayed a bit as they watched Ms. Platt squirrel (literally, as she was dressed like a squirrel) away Tyler and his bleeding lip. Bella turned from the sight, not wanting to see the blood.

"You should get that cleaned up," she said, drawing Edward's stare away from Tyler. She didn't particularly want him to go, but the very nearness of him was heady and heated, making it hard for her to think—something she knew she needed to do in light of what had just (almost) happened between them.

Edward nodded and excused himself to go clean up, leaving in the same direction as Tyler, while Bella went to sit on the bleachers. She watched as a salt-shaker and Bettie Boop (Mr. Mason and Ms. Young) pulled Mike away to admonish him in the corner, effectively ending the hullabaloo. Everyone's attention returned to the dance floor and they began cheering loudly to the emerging strains of Thriller.

After a few minutes, Bella's gaze roamed and roved to see if she could glimpse Edward again, but he was nowhere in sight. She pulled out her phone to check the time—11:30pm. The dance would end soon, meaning she had precious little time left with Edward—and even less the longer it took him to clean up. She felt like she was caught been a rock and his handsome, hard body—on one hand, she couldn't deny her raging, smoldering attraction to him, to his mind, to that handsome face and of course, that hard body. He had made this school year the most interesting of her young life. He had made this dance not only bearable, but enjoyable. But on the other hand, she couldn't dismiss his actions. Even if he liked her, how could she forget what he had done to, for, with all those other girls?

Michael Jackson began crooning. 'It's close to midnight and something evil's lurking in the dark...'

As she fiddled with her phone to text Alice about her costume's rave reviews (and perhaps ask for advice about Edward), she accidentally opened the web browser. It pulled up the last page she had accessed but not read, which had been when she had briefly considered buying into Jake's ridiculous theories. She was about to check her email when—

Scotland.

The word caught her eye.

…with sightings reported primarily in Scotland, they are known to take on the appearance of beautiful women in order to seduce men and...

She quickly scrolled up to see what exactly the article had been referring to. Baobhan Sith (pronounced baa'-van shee), she read, are a Scottish demon or faerie, a mix between a vampire and succubus. They often appear in the disguise of a young girl, furthering her beauty in order to seduce men. They draw their strength from mating but sometimes drink the blood of a chosen victim.

'They're out to get you, there's demons closing in on every side.'

Bella lowered her phone and realized she was breathing erratically. Words, conjectures, ludicrous notions swirled through her head, a mix of Jake's voice telling her that Leah had gone to Scotland and had come back strange, hot and slutty, combined with the Thriller narrator's voice intoning that Baobhan Sith often invade young girls' bodies and...

Stop. She took a deep breath. This was ridiculous. Just because Jake had joked that Leah was the evil daughter of a goddess with the powers of "female endeavors" and had apparently come back changed from Scotland didn't mean Bella had to be a fool and buy into it. She had no relationship, no interaction with Leah for this bizarre connection, whether probably false or impossibly true, to matter to her. In fact, Leah's name only registered to her because she had spent the summer with...

'You close your eyes and hope that this is just imagination, girl.

But all the while, you hear the creature creeping up behind,

You're out of time!'

Almost beyond her own volition, she began reading again. The Baobhan Sith become a type of sire to the victims, always male, who then develop similar habits. The victims often are or become extremely attractive so that they can appeal to females and become stronger through the "life force" they acquire through sexual intercourse. However, the victims are merely conduits—when they are strong enough, they will find a female who they will turn into a Baobhan Sith by mating with them and...

Her eyes were drawn away from the screen against their will as she looked up to see Edward stride into the gym. His appearance wasn't like before—his jacket was unbuttoned, sleeves shoved up along his arm, tie loosened. His nostrils were flaring, and he looked disheveled… and hassled.

Michael warned, 'And no one's going to save you from the beast about to strike.'

She began skimming as fast as possible. Because of the nature of their being, the victims of Baobhan Sith require a great amount of energy derived from sexual intercourse, as to become strong enough to create a new demon and then be released of their duty. The victims will often seek out a woman early on, one that they believe is strong and "special" enough to inherit the curse, then build up their strength. Right before they are ready to change a woman, they will often feed on human blood like a vampire to build up the stamina to conduct the changing process...

Several things happened simultaneously that drew her attention from what she was reading. First, Edward called her name as he approached her. Then, just behind him, Tyler barreled through the gym toward Mike, and, launching himself at his former friend, punched Newton in the nose. Almost immediately, Mike's nose seemed to erupt into an angry volcano of blood…

Oh god, blood. And it really can't be true...even though Jake said Leah went to Scotland, and these... Baobhan whatevers are Scottish and...even if their victims become suddenly beautiful and have to have a lot of sex and...oh god, blood and...it can't be true, but if it's true, who is the—oh blood, there's blood—why were there two marks on Edward's throat? What if that's where Leah bit him and—how is Mike's nose still bleeding? There's so much blood and who is the person Edward wants to change?

"Bella!" She could hear the concern in Edward's voice, but it was like she was hearing it underwater with cotton plugged in her ears. Between the blood—oh god, the blood, it feels like my stomach is crawling up my esophagus—and the Baobhan Sith—what if Jake joked that Leah was a goddess but in reality she was a demon, and she and Edward—and simultaneously bawdy, brooding gaze Edward was giving her, she felt consciousness rush in and out of her, like a tide crashing on the beach. What she didn't realize was that, like the tide, she too was swaying on her feet. But before she gave into gravity and fell, Edward scooped her up into his arms.

'Cause girl, I can thrill you more than a ghost would ever dare try.'

"Oh, Bella. You're not feeling well? Don't worry. Let's get out of here, and I'll make it okay." His voice was low and supposed to be soothing. He cradled her close to his body, and she thought she felt a pair of lips ghost over her forehead. "Let's get you away from Mike's blood, hm? It's okay. I've got you. You're mine. I've got you."

The last things Bella registered before she lost consciousness were three robust red drops on Edward's otherwise pristine white shirt.

And though you fight to stay alive,

Your body starts to shiver.

For no mere mortal can resist,

The evil of the thriller.

(Cue the Thriller laugh.)

As always, thank you for reading.