Rondeau
Chapter One
Solo
It was raining in Forks. As usual.
Our family couldn't seem to avoid extremes of weather, whether it was the frigid cold of the Denali area in Alaska, or the rainiest town in America - Forks. Luckily, we were impervious to not just cold and wet, but also heat, wind, and humidity.
We'd just moved back to the Forks area after several years away. My father, Carlisle, had practiced here as a country doctor during our first residence. This time, he'd be heading the emergency room as chief physician. Esme, my architect/mother, had wanted to come back to the area to restore our 100-year-old home set in a scenic bend of the Calawah River. We felt it was long enough - over a generation - since we'd lived here the last time, and so it was back to damp Forks.
We changed our name, though - from Carlisle's usual 'Cullen' to my human last name, Masen. Just in case some Quiluete great-grandson had a long memory. Not that it mattered too much; we Masens still lived as 'vegetarian' vampires, so our treaty with the tribe of wolf shape-shifters was still in force.
Thank goodness for the new flexibility in schooling choices! Myself and my brothers and sisters - Rosalie and Emmett, Alice and Jasper - had attended high school and college often enough that we couldn't stand the thought of another four year at Forks High. This time around, Carlisle was letting everyone know we were taking online classes at various universities even as we explored career options.
Oddly, the upshot of that was, rather than feeling withdrawn and distant from the community, we seemed to be interacting with its residents more - if very carefully.
Rosalie, a talented engineer and mechanic, had stopped by the local repair shop one day to purchase a part for my silver Volvo. They had to order it, and during the casual conversation during paperwork, Rosalie had revealed her (too) deep knowledge of European automobiles. Which let to her being called in, rather regularly, as consultant on certain tricky repair jobs at Smith Automotive.
Emmett, sports enthusiast, had paused by Forks High School baseball field to watch batting practice. He'd begun talking to a young man standing next to him, who turned out to be the junior varsity team coach. Emmett was now the team's batting instructor.
Alice, with her fashion sense and insight into coming trends, was browsing in the (only) upscale women's clothing shop, Sparkles, in Forks on a slow sales day. She asked the clerk a question; the clerk turned out to be the shop owner. One conversation later, Alice ended up being a part-time buyer for the store.
And Jasper … quiet, introspective, Jasper, who struggled so mightily in his new lifestyle, who was so committed to it! Jasper had been asked to talk to groups at the local History Museum about the Civil War, or, as he called it, the War Between the States. His presentations were so popular school groups were asking to participate.
The satisfaction my siblings felt in these new relationships had been evident in their thoughts the last few weeks. Once again, though, I felt a little left behind. I didn't mean to feel sorry for myself, but some days it was hard, seeing my family members happy not just in each other, but in the new-found friends and interests in the community.
But perhaps my errand today would be an opportunity to expand my horizons.
My Volvo splashed into the parking lot of the small Forks library - I'd have to drive though the car wash later. Carlisle had asked me to pick up some material he'd requested on an inter-library loan for a case he was researching. He'd developed a special interest in burn victims since our tenure in Denali, when he'd treated a family injured in a house fire.
He'd noted the smallness and dinginess of the library when he'd visited, and talked to Esme about what might be done about it. They'd put their heads together and come up with a proposal for the town - Carlisle would donate the funds, Esme would design a new facility, and I would act as family liaison for the project. Their first step was broaching the possibility to the head librarian, and to that end, had asked me to speak to him today when I picked up Carlisle's materials.
There were a few cars in the parking lot besides mine, and when I entered the little building I found a quiet hum. A meeting of some kind … hmmm, seemed to be knitters … was clicking away in the conference room. A group of middle-school-aged children were gathered around a computer, their thoughts focused on outsmarting a game. A few people browsed the stacks, and listening to them was like a reading a list of Great Books and Bestsellers. The air was thick and humid with the scents of books and dust and old carpet and young people ...
And - BAM.
I'd never been hit so hard by a scent. It was delicious, overwhelming, irresistible, totally new, yet hauntingly familiar.
If I were a normal man, I'd have staggered against the doorway. I might have sunk to my knees.
As a vampire, I should have run, as fast as I could, away from such temptation.
But I had to know. I had a century of control to help me. What, WHO, was that scent! Why did it affect me so?
If I stood very still, I could hide my discomfiture. If I quit breathing, I could stand the temptation. If I just moved my eyes, I could satisfy my curiously.
The checkout area of the room was a U-shaped wooden counter, and behind it was a man-the head librarian, I knew. Jed Skyvorski. He was laughing, his thoughts full of admiration and … attraction.
Standing across the counter from him was a woman. Tall, with short, dark hair, snapping dark eyes, a red jacket - red as blood. I'd never seen her before, I knew. But for some reason, her scent was as familiar to me as my own, as mysterious as the moon at night, as intriguing as only a beautiful woman can be, calling my name.
Even as I prepared to turn and run, she turned to me, as if I had called her name.