Chapter Eight: Together Again

Italy is a crowded country, but it's also a beautiful one. I can understand why so many people would choose to live on one peninsula. And it has nothing to do with the pasta. In the cities there is a cool confidence, beautiful and sophisticated like the tall lean, dark woman of Milan; those cities and people always structured as if they were stunning architecture. And in the countryside these hills that rise and fall into orchards. Trees of olives and grape vines, and filled with this vitality and life.

I'm not Italian, but I've been born there.

Italy, like other parts of the old world, always makes me feel nostalgic. So many old sights still remain, changed perhaps, but not completely erased. In other parts of the world you can't always see the past, it's gone in a lifetime. Rome, well it's alive like any city, but somehow I can still find my way around in it. It manages to remind me of my father's stories about his home.

My father was a Roman, he grew up in chariots on these streets back when they were stone. Back when the gladiators still fought in the coliseum and the emperor was a man and not a part of history. He was a noblemen soldier, a second son who had gone to Egypt to watch over one of the most foreign parts of the empire. And he'd made the wise choice to fall in love with a daughter of Egypt. He found wealth and power in Egypt but due to unhappy circumstances, he was forced to visit Rome, only in his memories.

But my brothers and I would listen to his stories, of the world and culture he had grown up in. He wasn't a tender man, but he waxed nostalgic and my mother had no interest on his recollections.

Volterra, a town I didn't hold fond memories for, was only a short drive from Rome. It was an inconsequential little town, excepting for a 'vampire' festival that drew tourists. That was still several months away so people wandering the city at the moment were the locals who knew better than to stare at the expensive silver car that sped through the town. The vampires of the Volturi knew not to feed on any of the town's citizens, but there were still whispers in the town.

How could there not be?

The silver car entered through what appeared to be a private parking garage, Jane used a keycard to raise a heavy gate, but instead of driving upward, Jane speed away from the light and into the darkness below. We spiraled downward for a time before Jane came to a stop. A row of expensive dream cars were lined up neatly and Jane slid into a spot smoothly.

She stepped out the car gracefully and I followed trying not to look too human. The charade was over, it had been a lovely innocent little game. But there was no use pretending to be normal now. Still I couldn't help but feel more than ever like some teenage girl, shivering as I walked through the cold cement garage and into the dark tunnel that awaited me.

"You've done some remodeling," I said trying to sound blasé or perhaps even brave.

Jane peered at me over her shoulder as we walked in the gloom, "Well, it's been almost a century," she commented loftily. "They didn't even have proper automobiles then, more like slugs."

I nodded.

My visits to Volterra tended to blur together. The bloodiest, which had resulted in the formation the Vampire festival, had been not long after Dydium had died. I had not known her well, but I'd heard mention of her and a part of me had dared to hope that the insane family melodrama that had consumed our lives for centuries would fade.

But I'd been a fool. Dydium's unique ability to incite happiness in those around her had only granted us a short reprieve. Her death had sparked a tidal wave, and the inevitable battle that had ensued would have been epic, if it hadn't happened so many times before. Still the violence had made the existence of vampires evident to the human residents of the small town, but luckily St Marcus had come to rescue them from the terrible fiends and the town still celebrated his heroics to this day.

"You don't look much different," Jane commented. She had been peering at me. "At first you I didn't recognize you. The hair, and skin. But you smell the same, and the way you act."

"I am the same," I said to her tiredly. The vampires never knew what to make of the twelve. We shifted and changed, unlike them, and yet our minds and personalities were just as timeless as their own. The hostility between us was difficult to define. They didn't fear us, nor we them, and the risk to each other was negligible.

Jane shrugged and I continued to follow her soft steps.

Entering the stronghold of the Volturi is somewhat like entering a high court. The walls tower upward and were craved inward like a relief to create the illusion of arching columns and ornate decorations. It was also timeless, no hint of fragility in the architecture. This was an underground fortress meant to endure forever.

And it would have to, if it were last as long as its residents would.

A few vampires, their red eyes sharply alert, watched as Jane lead me through the arching entrance into the less formal apartments where the more senior members resided. I shivered in the cold. The space was unheated and buried at least a mile underground, the temperature plummeted. I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to use friction to warm them.

"Ah, Jane," a smooth voice interrupted our steps.

Jane stopped and stood perfectly still, then her body, without any shift in posture, turned to face the other direction.

"Aro," she said reverently, bowing her head and closing her eyes.

I turned, coming from a doorway was one of the oldest vampires in the world. Not the oldest, of course, but arguably one of the most powerful. Aro, always had a odd sort of fascination with the twelve, Marius and me in particular.

"Aro," I said softly. I didn't like the ways his eyes lingered on me, the way his lips opened and tongue jetted out slightly. He smiled in predatory way and I shivered, but not because of the chill.

"My dear, how good to see you again," he said softly, stepping forward. "Jane, Alec is looking for you. I can see that Banafrit gets to her destination."

Jane nodded and I didn't even bother to look to her for some assistance, I kept my gaze on Aro.

"It's Bella, it was last time as well."

I tried not to think about the last time.

Aro's lip curled, "Yes, I remember. But your little made up name is so very simple, not worthy of such a fascinating history. Your proper name…it reminds me of other times."

I didn't know much about Aro and his past, but I could sense that he and Marcus were of a similar time, indeed that the three leaders of Volturi were like brothers, all stemming from the same age. But I didn't know of his life.

I didn't really care.

But, Aro liked to know things, his ability to see into anyone's history made him immune to the idea of privacy. I did know that Aro liked things that were unique. That was something that I knew well. And he was currently examining me with some sort of dark fascination.

"I'd love to know what you've seen," he said, reaching out a cold white hand.

I drew back slightly, "You're not…" I trailed off unsure of what to say.

It was forbidden, and had been for as long as I had known the other members of the Volturi. Marcus was a tolerant vampire, or so I was told. I had never quite seen this side of him; because where matters of his family were concerned Marcus had no control. He was covetous and cruel when it came to Marius and me.

I looked at Aro's flawless hand, it still shone in the distance between us looking perfect. It was hard to believe the violence that had been done to it once.

Aro caught my gaze, and instead smiled. "He's not quite so lively these days."

He moved closer and I swallowed but felt revulsion crawling over my skin.

But he paused, the space of an inch before my flesh. Perhaps he was remembered as well. Once, many, many years ago, Aro had let his curiosity get the better of him and had tried to place just one innocent hand to my skin. Curiosity and vampires.

Marcus had latched onto his wrist before his prying mind could latch onto mine. I'd gasped in shock as the grip shattered the vampire's hand like it was made of glass. His flesh has danced across the floor, scattering in all directions.

That had all been some time ago, but I knew that his memories were as enduring as mine. I looked at Aro's hand, and he seemed to examining it as well. For a moment the old vampire seemed to settle his gaze in my eyes.

"You really are beautiful Banafrit, well, as far as being human is concerned."

Then his hand jerked out moving like a striking serpent, but the cold fingers that encircled my wrist held it gently but firmly.

I closed my eyes, disgust trailed like worms moving over my skin, and tried not to feel violated as I knew his mind was scouring my entire life. I hated for him to be able to see the long string of my lives, hated for him to know my darkest secrets; Hated for him to know my pathetic role in our private tragedy.

But his cold hands remained holding mine tightly. He shook my arm slightly and I opened my eyes in shock. His burgundy gaze was locked on me, his face looking surprised but still filled with a greedy sort of desire.

"What…how do you…?" he trailed off with an excited smile.

"Aro," A quiet voice growled.

Both of us turned and in the shadows there was a face I knew all too well.

The twelve, our faces changed, but somehow his had remained just as it had ever been. The shoulder length black hair he'd inherited from our mother, the strong jaw of our father, only the red eyes that I had become familiar with were something entirely of his own. Marcus, the origin of this all.

"Marcus," Aro said gently, "I was merely…"

I blinked and Marcus was clasping his fingers tightly around Aro's throat, he forced his fellow Volturi back into the wall and the hard solid stone fractured under the pressure as the two old vampires grappled silently.

I knew their strength was about even, but Marcus's eyes were burning with a brighter glow and his face was locked in a mask of fury.

"I told you, never her," he stated pounding Aro back into the rock with every syllable, creating a hard thud that sounded like the noise a wrecking ball makes.

"My mistake, old friend," Aro managed to say, his voice unimpeded by the hand wrapped around his throat.

Marcus dropped him, and Aro merely straightened his robes with a brushing of his hand. "You know how weak I am to temptation, I wasn't certain you'd mind anymore…and it didn't matter much."

Marcus roared and flung himself at Aro again, but this time the third member of the Volturi had emerged, Caias had dropped out of nowhere and placed a hand between the two.

"I like a good fight," he said with some eagerness, his eyes flickering between the two excitedly, "But here isn't the place." Caius, with his blonde hair and white face, looked almost bright in the gloom. He gestured over his shoulder carefully and the others must have seen something that I couldn't.

Marcus shouted something quickly in Italian, too fast for me to interpret. But whatever he said must have dissuaded whatever onlookers we had acquired, a soft almost silent sound of footsteps existed for a moment and then was gone.

Aro opened a massive door to the left, like those that had been popular during the middle ages. Normally such doors took four men to open, by Aro moved it as if it weighed nothing at all. He gestured inside with a polite almost amused smile.

A cold hand on my arm sent another shiver throughout my form, and I knew Marcus was behind me ushering me inside. I didn't have to turn around to know he was, in his own way, guarding me from Aro and Caius.

The twelve had endured many disagreements with the Volturi, and many of them had, at one time or other, met their end by either the guard or even the other two leaders. But only one of its number had ever ended my life.

Again and again.

I felt so very tired, I thought, as I was shepherded into a smaller stone room. I barely noticed when the heavy door was closed behind us, shutting out any sound from their underground fortress. I wanted to close my eyes and sleep, and not have to endure this all once again. I wanted to turn off my brain of what was about to fallow. For all my distaste of suicide, if I'd had a gun I'd have pulled the trigger right there.

"Tut tut tut," Aro said in a mocking manner.

The pressure holding my arm had grown, and I turned to see Marcus's eyes looking like an empty black pit. He was smelling the air, tasting it like it contained some delicious sent. And his grip grew tighter as he pulled me closer.

"Goodness, can't even last a few minutes anymore," Aro commented in the same mocking tone. "Really doesn't say much about the power of our species as it ages."

"Who needs self control when you know she tastes so good," Caius commented. He seemed to lick his own lips as he watched Marcus.

"True, a singer is a rare gift. And Marcus is lucky enough to have the pleasure repeat again and again."

I hated how they spoke about this, like it was just a game for their amusement. The pain in my arms as he held me tighter and tighter continued to grow, at least this wouldn'

"Still," Caius said with a sigh, "You know he's going to be unbearable for the next few years, he's impossible afterward."

"Well, by the looks of things maybe he's decided to do away with that silly guilt nonsense, certainly isn't stopping him now."

I wondered how long it would take for my bones to break. He could snap them like toothpicks if he wanted to, and I knew that he didn't want to. But he couldn't stop, never could.

And what I hated more than Aro and Caius, what I hated even more than Marcus and this stupid repeating drama, what I hated even more than dying-it was the voice in my head. The voice that said just let it end. Let it be quick. Let him drink me dry, don't let's make this more than it has to be.

Maybe I could have another chance at things, I had a reason to want one now. Why couldn't this failed attempt just end.

"Urghhh," Marcus growled.

So suddenly I couldn't prepare myself, he tossed me away and I skidded across the stone floor, falling hard on my knees and palms. I lay there for a moment catching my breath before I drew my aching arms to my chest to try and sooth some of the pain.

Marcus was pacing, his hands running through his usually perfectly contained hair and throwing it about wildly. Somehow he looked more like his human self this way, although I didn't know why since in his life he had always been perfectly contained and controlled. The only thing that had ever flustered him had been Marius.

Aro and Caius snickered across the room.

"Get out," Marcus said, his cold eyes turning to Aro and Caius.

"Sorry, sorry, old friend, but it's good to see you so- vigorous," Aro said. He turned to Caius with a small smile.

"It certain has been a very quiet century," the blonde vampire stated.

"What is there worth saying," Marcus said with a low voice, he crossed the room to be as far away from me as possible. "It's always the same. Every day and year, nothing changes. The humanity rots away at our feet still fighting the same struggles, making the same connections, losing the same loses."

"Yes we know," Aro said rolling his eyes in a dramatic fashion. "It's all very tiresome, but that is no reason to become a social recluse."

"Something's got you sparked now," Caius commented.

The room was silent for a moment, but the Volturi were comfortable with silence. Time didn't mean much to them, I among the twelve had spent the most time with them and knew that could sit for days not moving or speaking. My breath seemed to be the only noise in the place, and I tried to keep it calm and composed.

I tried not to think of Edward, or remember how carefully he treated me. I tried not to think of how he'd feel when he found out I'd been killed brutally, once again. I lied to myself and said it was better this way. Surely Edward couldn't contain his thirst forever, and I didn't want the guilt of killing me on his conscious. But even the lies seemed hollow and I stared at the marble tile floor, tracing the lines with my eyes.

"Something's different," Marcus said. His voice echoing across the empty room.

"I like it when they're here, always good bloodshed," Caius whispered with a smile.

"Not them," Marcus said. He turned to face me with a confused expression, his eyes digging into me. "You've changed, Bella."

I closed my eyes as he said my new name. It sounded foreign from his tongue, unnatural even. He crossed the room and stood before me looking down at me and seeming to see something I couldn't. My heart fluttered and my panic raised a notch.

I'd forgotten, Marius wasn't the only talented member of our little family.

"Marcus," I said with a warning edge to my tone.

But he was tracing invisible threads in the air. He followed them and looked toward the West with a cringing, hateful expression marring his features.

"You're tied to someone. Have you…" Marcus trailed off and his eyes narrowed to slits as he approached me. His steps must have seemed slow to him but he moved quickly and before I was aware of it he was next to me, his eyes closed as he tasted the scents in the air.

"Marius, have you and he…" he trailed off in frustration.

He would think of Marius. Marcus's ability to see connections between people was legendary among the vampire world. With only a glance he could tell if a person loved another, who they admired, who they hated. He could even get a sense of the attachments a person had in this world, what connected them, even if he couldn't see the other end of those attachments.

And so my brother, with his unique ability, could see that after centuries his little sister had finally fallen in love.

I just didn't know what he would do with information like that.

Insert: An Old Love Story

This isn't a happy story, it's ugly. So perhaps it would be better to call the events that passed a tragedy, but that makes it sound like some elaborate twist in fate or perverse trick of destiny.

But tragedies can begin quite simply, in this case ours began over some misspoken words.

Manius was a second son of Rome, and as a second son he had to make his own way in the world. He did not begrudge his older brother his birth, for he loved him more than his own self, so he chose to be enlivened by the adventure his life was forced to become. He joined the army for a period, but luck was on his side and he survived several battles and finally made a life for himself by marrying into a wealthy Egyptian family, taking to wife a young woman named Bahiti, whose name means good fortune.

And good fortune did tend to follow their every step. Their lands would flourish while their neighbor's failed, money poured into their coffers and Decima, goddess of childbirth, blessed them with two strong sons. Where the family had long resided, it was said that Bahiti's family was born of the god Isis, and that all members of that bloodline possessed certain skills given to them by their immortal heritage. Little is known of what the family thought of this, but it was spoken of in whispers throughout Thebes.

Manius was comfortable in his lucky marriage, but he watched with horror as the politics of Rome tore his brother's family apart, and how one wrong union, resulted in the destruction of many he held dear. His brother's wife, a noble woman from an ambitious family, she and her insidious political aspirations had killed them all. By sheer luck, Manius had been allowed to keep his own life. But sadly, he was banished forever from the city he considered home, never allowed to return.

Bahiti, whose odd good luck seemed to have saved him, listened to his fears and his concerns as he plotted the lives of his sons. For who could be trusted, who could they allow to let close? Someday his sons must wed, but he didn't dare let them choose the bride for fear that they marry a treacherous asp as his brother had.

Bahiti, woman of Egypt, offered an alternative that made her husband turn away in disgust and for some time he would not speak with her.

But as time passed the idea remained, a bell that could not be unrung. And perhaps it was grief or madness, but he chose to agree with his wife and they made their preparations. In Egypt it was quite common, after all, to consolidate and preserve a family though the marriage of siblings. The Ptolemaic dynasty had lost power in Eygpt and Rome now ruled the nine kingdoms, but that royal blood still flowed in Bahiti's veins and she told him stories of how Cleopatra VII, once queen, had married her brother to protect the throne, just as her family before her had. Manius's Roman sentiments rebelled against what he saw as a foul corruption, but Bahiti's argument could not be denied.

A safe bride, a safe family.

She said the next child she bore would be a daughter. And, as luck would have it, she was right.

And Manius felt a sense of calm and steadiness as he gazed down at the girlchild who was his daughter. Never would he fear for her life, or the life of his son. The magic that seemed to cover his wife's family would keep them all safe in such turbulent times of war and empire.

He brought his sons to see the infant as well, and it was then that he spoke the words that he would come to regret. Because as both boys stared with curiosity at their new sister Manius proclaimed, "Someday, she will be your wife."

He did not, however, specify which son she would marry.

Bahiti discovered the mistake early on, and she tired to correct it by bringing another daughter in the world. But by trying to manipulate fate, it appeared she had pushed her luck too far. She died in childbirth, never telling Manius of the fear she harbored for her two sons.

And the two boys, both very different in spirit, grew up following different paths.

Marius, the eldest son, named for the god of war Mars, grew up a strong Roman. He embraced battle and the thrill of the chariot. He fought for fun in the coliseum, not as a gladiator but among the other young nobles who embraced sport. He looked for all the world like some young god, and like his mother he inherited a curious ability to have things work out just as he had intended.

Marcus, the younger, had the coloring and spirit of his mother. He followed the Egyptian world, embracing their gods and studying the history and culture his mother had spoken of in stories. He could have passed for a scholar or theologian, but he also guided the family fortune to even greater heights.

For two such different sons, the one thing that they seemed to share was a strong competitive spirit. Always were they trying to impress their father more, always were they trying to conquer over the other. Always were they fighting for recognition.

And the girl…her mother had chosen for her the name Banafrit, which means beautiful soul, in the hopes that her daughter would see her purpose in this family. She grew up spending little time with her brothers, but she loved them. She loved them honestly and simply, as a sister can love. She loved them equally. She cheered for Marius as he battled his friends in mock combat, she listened as Marcus would speak with such passion about their Mother's world and all he could see and observe.

But Banafrit became a woman, and her path had been decided before she was even born.

Her father had to choose the man that would be best for her, and as tradition lead him, he chose his eldest son.

Marcus left their home in rage, he felt belittled. He hated that he was seen as insignificant in his father's eyes. Marcus had always been good at sensing who had power, and so while the wedding preperations were being made, he flew to the temple of a peculiar god.

A god who took it's sacrifices in blood.

Marius was bold in his victory, and he gave his brother no more thought then one might give a fly. Marcus might be clever, but ultimately he had won once again. It was a battle between the two of them and always had been. Marcus had never been quite smart enough to realize that there had always been one clear victor.

And Banafrit, the girl, she did as she had always known she would have to do. She married him. She felt hollow as the words of her father's blessing were uttered. She stood lamely as her belongings were moved into her brother's room.

It was a fate she had come to expect, and yet for the first time her foolish girlhood dreams died.

Marcus couldn't have known, when he emerged as a young vampire, that he would not claim the girl as he had planned, but that instead he would find in her the sweetest scent in the world.

She had been alone in her room, sending her maids away to have a last moment of freedom before she joined Marius at his side forever. They were wed, but he mattered to her no more than he ever had. She only had a moment, the space of one breath, to see Marcus in the doorway before she felt his cold skin attach itself to her neck.

And she had been dead then, that was something she had never told anyone. Marius had not yet said his words, he would die minutes later, called to the room by the screams. The curse had not been cast. She was dead, a normal death. And for those few minutes, a time that seemed to stretch on forever, she saw a place beyond the life she lived.

And then it was gone and she was gone, and she had to open her eyes to a new life. Her new endless life.

And it would all happen again and again. Marius and Marcus's battle over the girl who loved neither, for that was closer to the truth now. She had once thought she loved them both equally, but the truth was she had grown so tired over the games they played that she felt only the barest affection for each. What love she had was habit.

She had known for a long time that neither truly loved her, they had shown her.

Marius had found other wives and added sons for a few decades changing the original four into twelve. She had ended that, not because of the wives but because of the curse he inflicted on the children. And, when they were alone, the charade was even more apparent. In all their years together he had never touched her as a lover might.

And Marcus, for all his claims of love, he couldn't stop himself from killing her brutally every time they met. He too had married, and for a time there had been some peace. But when that union had fallen apart, the game began again. It was the only thing that interested Marcus anymore, but she only sparked his hunger it was Marius who really brought him alive.

Love or Tragedy? The characters themselves didn't know what sort of scene they played.