Chapter Twenty-two

1 "You told me that not all of these half-breeds are as powerful as Re-name-me," Leah said, right out the gate, as Demetri joined her in the kitchen.

From the certified sheepish expression on his face, she could tell that he wanted to talk about Charlie, and that was the last thing she wanted to talk about. Therefore, while Creepula and Bell-Bell were working out their relationship problems or whatever next door, and Maria was talking strategy with her creepy underlings, Leah had absconded to the kitchen to make herself some coffee. Yeah, this was basically theft, but they were here to save the Earth, Captain Planet-style, and she was the only one who needed this kind of sustenance, anyway, so it shouldn't make too much of a dent in the house owners' pocket. No, didn't make it better. Wrong was wrong, no matter what. Thing was, a strict moral compass only ever worked in theory. Real life had a tendency to get in the way of personal philosophy, and then some. Sometimes, the world needed rescuing from unholy demon-spawn. Some fallout in the form of pinched coffee was to be expected. It was a transgression Leah could live with. Hell, if she couldn't live with something this trivial, how was she supposed to ever sleep again, having several deaths on her conscience? Nothing was ever as easy as it seemed.

Well, bummer for her.

"That's correct," he said, blissfully unaware of her internal brooding, and took a seat at the round, white, metal kitchen table. It had those curved, ornamented legs that Leah usually associated with the Roaring Twenties. Maybe it even was that old. This was obviously a very pricey humble abode.

"How many of these things are there?" she said, rinsing the coffee-maker's glass carafe and then pouring water into the machine. "When me met, you told me most vampires shoot blanks." Despite herself, she had to snigger. "Which makes for a weird first date conversation, but at least I know you're honest." She cast a look over her shoulder and saw that he was smiling. The coffee started brewing. She leaned backwards against the kitchen counter, grasping its smooth, cool edges with both hands.

"There aren't many," he said, and she saw that he was remembering to blink every few seconds, which had to be purely for her benefit. "I was telling you the truth: most of us can't reproduce. It's estimated that the number of male vampires who can impregnate a human woman is about one in a thousand."

She arched her eyebrows. "Christ, how many of you are there? Is there a census?"

"Kind of, yes," he said, smirking a little. It didn't look at all malicious and therefore not even in the same ballpark as Jasper's douche-baggery – at least she thought so. Then again, she wasn't the most objective of people; she never had been. "We have people positioned all over the globe, keeping an eye on the vampire population, preventing most of them from attempting to turn others. Usually, the deliberation alone falls under the rule of secrecy umbrella. In any case, there can't be too many of us smugly strutting about, as I'm sure you'll agree."

"Oh, I agree, all right," she said, and scratched her forehead. "Vampire population control. Who'd a thunk it." She chewed on the inside of her cheek and then frowned. "Wait, attempting to turn?"

"It's difficult. Oftentimes, the vampire trying to turn a human will end up killing him or her. There has been the exception of people using syringes to infect humans, but the odds of that working are slim to none."

"Worked with Bell-Bell."

He shrugged. "It seems like Edward was like the perfect storm of improbable catastrophe: powerful gift, the ability to reproduce biologically , and lucking out when turning his wife via proxy."

"Artificial insemination because he couldn't get it up." It was out before she knew it. For two seconds, she stared at him out of huge eyes, before she burst out in very silly, very childish giggles. She slapped her hands to her face. "Oh, God, I'm sorry! Forget I said that! It never happened!"

"Oh, it happened," he said, snickering. "Here we are, like teenagers, and I'm a thousand years old. It's patently ridiculous."

"Well, you are entitled to some fun, now and again," she said, sighed, and mopped at her eyes. "Okay, then. Back to the doom and gloom. Perhaps you can explain something to me: if there are so few vampires that can knock up a gal, and even if they do, the spawn is usually not even close to being as Cthulhu-esque as our beloved Borg Queen…" She trailed off and shrugged. "Why do you guys hunt them down like you do? I mean, I get why your boss, Blond Prissy Dude, hates wolves – our kind or not, it doesn't matter. Wolf is wolf, and he hates us. I saw the scar. I get it. It's not too hard to put two and two together. But what is it about the demon-spawn that sets you people off so bad? There aren't many around, and most are – from what I gather – less of a menace than our good pal Creepula." She shook her head, shrugged again. "It doesn't make any sense to me."

About half a minute or so went by in silence. He just looked at her with the strangest expression on his face. What was this? Sadness? Regret? Something in the general vicinity, at least. From outside the window came the high-pitched but pleasant trill of some small bird – a warbler, maybe. Leah had never been much of an ornithologist, but she enjoyed listening to the birds singing.

She poured herself a mug of freshly-brewed, heavenly-scented coffee, joined him at the table, and told herself to stop it with the nonsensical internal ramblings. Christ on rollerblades. "If you don't want to talk about it," she said. Nursing the cup, she let the wonderfully fragrant steam rise up to her face and breathed it deeply. Coffee was awesome. "Then we don't talk about it. I really don't want to be nosy."

"It's okay," he said, briefly glancing down at his hands, which he'd placed flatly on the table-top, before meeting her eyes again. He was smiling wryly. "It's just a little personal."

"I'm sorry, I-"

"It's fine. You're involved in this; you have the right to ask questions and get some real answers." He waited, but so did she. "All right. You see, it's been hundreds of years, but it still feels like it just happened. Our memories don't fade much over the years, no matter how much time goes by. Joyous ones last forever, but so does pain."

"That sounds awful," she said, cradling her mug as if that could keep away the horror. Still, an unpleasant shiver slithered down her spine.

He shrugged. "It's life."

Taking in his almost uncanny-valley symmetrical features, the pasty skin that had once definitely been darker, the nearly black eyes that signalled his physical need for human blood, she felt as if her innards were being crushed by a Terminator's hand. "Not by choice."

"We didn't choose to be born, either, but it happened, anyway," he said, that little dry smile curving up the corners of his mouth again. "You didn't choose to be a wolf. I don't hear you complaining."

She almost told him that she believed his lot was so much worse, that she was still human most of the time and not condemned to a sleepless, basically immortal, and strictly parasitic existence, but then she thought better of it. He didn't want to feel sorry for himself. It wasn't her place to force pity on someone who was actively rejecting it. This wasn't about her. Her sympathy and understanding weren't important enough to override the affected party's obvious wish for silence.

Instead, she said, "No, I don't. You're right. But back to the topic at hand: you don't have to tell me about that if it hurts too much."

After just looking at her in contemplative silence for another few seconds, he said, "It was the late Middle Ages. We thought that we had a pretty good handle on the supernatural world: the Romanian reign of terror was over and the humans they'd enslaved had been liberated. The Egyptians were in check. The Chinese were locked in something of a cold war with us, but they didn't want to upset the status quo, and neither did we. The Russians were mostly gone after a few bloody skirmishes, and licking their wounds. We were basically at peace – the entire vampire world as we knew it. Our secret was safe and the world kept turning, oblivious."

"It's always when you least expect it, isn't it? When life decides to screw with you?" she said, hating the bitter undertone that had crept into her voice. This was stupid. He didn't want to feel sorry for himself, so she was doing it in his stead? Pathetic. She told herself to cut it out.

"It is," he said, less bitter than wistful, making Leah wonder what was worse. Bitterness implied anger, which in her book was much less difficult to bear than sadness. "I'll spare you the gory details, but due to a host of unfortunate events, a member of our coven decided to rescue a human woman who was about to be killed. He was in love with her, of course, and she with him." He shrugged. "The rest is history, as the idiom goes."

After drinking some more of her coffee, she returned the shrug, and said, "Okay…so one of your pals knocked up a lady, a demon-baby was born…then what? And before you say it, yes, I know people you cared about died, and I'm really sorry about that, but I still don't know why your leaders have issued the vampire equivalent of a hit on any and all demon-babies."

"For the same reason all governments pass laws and go to war," he said, giving her an unreadable look. "The dhampir infected someone important."

2 "Imagine what would happen if they found a way to cure Irina," Jasper said, as he pulled his shirt back over his head again and started sorting out his dishevelled hair.

Bella, already completely dressed and just watching him move whilst she herself sat on the big couch, creased her forehead. "Excuse me?"

The last two hours had been the best she'd had ever since she'd fed on those campers, before the fight at the Cullen house. Sure, that had only happened a few days ago, but it felt like an eternity had gone by in the interim. This right here had been so different than all the bloodless, sanitised, passion-free hours she'd spent with Edward. Well, she and Edward had had sex a few times during their honeymoon, and it had been good, but this…wow. There were no words – no words. Bella had not believed that she was even capable of anything resembling passion anymore. Now she knew better. Was this a way of retaining some humanity? Probably not, given the fact that Jasper didn't avoid it like the plague. Maybe, though, it could be for her; it could be a way for her to actually feel like she was a person, even if that was only in relation to someone else.

Okay, she knew for a fact that that was nothing new. She'd only ever defined herself in relation to others, manipulating boys and looking down on girls. Twenty-twenty hindsight was both a gift and a curse, it turned out.

"Cure her compulsion to obey the half-breed," he said. "Imagine what an impact on the vampire world that would be, even if that only applies to her. She has no powers. She's definitely not immune. Still, there's some resistance in her, because she helped Leah contact Demetri. It's impressive. They'll want to exploit that. Maybe they can find a way to break the control any dhampir has on a regular vampire or human."

Her frown steeped. "Why do you think they – and I presume you mean the Volturi – are trying to find a cure for this?"

Casually, he dropped himself on the couch to her right and put an arm around her. "Well, for one, it makes sense, them being the vampire government and all. Also, why do you think Caius didn't kill Irina on the spot? For someone who's been exposed to that mind-warping little pest, she was remarkably fine."

"So are you."

He shook his head. "I'm immune. There's no infection. That doesn't count." Some of the doubt she had must be expressed on her face, because he added, "It's not like an actual sickness, the way humans have them. I don't think so, at least. It's more like a mental power that seeps into your brain and takes up shop. Still, it makes sense to assume that if one person out of all that have ever been corrupted by a half-breed shows some resistance, then that is worth exploring."

"Even if they do find a cure and it works for more people apart from Irina, it wouldn't be applicable to our situation. We're acting today. If they knew anything that might reverse the process, they would undoubtedly call Demetri," she said, straight-faced, feeling a little heavy. Her thoughts lingered on her dad. Poor Charlie. He did not deserve any of this. She wondered if he might be thinking of her right now, and what. What did he believe had happened to his daughter? Could he even still consider her that after all he'd witnessed? There was no knowing without asking him. Bella could only conjecture, and her predictions had a tendency of missing the mark by a thousand miles. "So my guess is that none of that, if it's actually happening, will do us any good."

"Probably not, no, but in the future, perhaps. Maybe we could walk the Earth, killing half-vampire abominations as we go, freeing the enslaves masses," he said, very clearly over-the-top on purpose, and placed a little kiss on her lips. "It's not quite that dramatic. From what I gather, your little bundle of joy is particularly nasty, as far as dhampirs go. There shouldn't be that many, anyway."

"Why do you say that?"

"If there were, humans would've found out by now. Those things aren't exactly inconspicuous, and vampires aren't exactly renowned for their innate self-control."

That made sense. "Oh. That."

"Yes, oh, that," he said, grinning, and gave her chin a little pinch. "To be perfectly candid with you, darling, I believe you're absolutely right. I don't think it's gonna amount to anything useful – not useful to us. Even if any kind of experiment should yield a result, it won't add a solution to our little predicament."

"Yes. Like I said." She studied his face for a few seconds before deciding that he was up to something. This was a good thing, right? Getting to know someone well enough to be able to tell from their expression that they were up to no good? She couldn't quite decide. "What are you getting at?"

Surprisingly, he went serious. Solemnly looking down at her, he said, "Bella, you know that I'm as unapologetic about my nature and my proclivities as a person can be, but I swear I'm not being a bastard when I tell you this: this thing with Charlie…to put it colloquially, it ain't gonna end well." He gave her the opportunity to reply, but she remained silent, mostly because she had no idea what to say to that assessment. "I honestly don't want to depress you. It's just that, well" – He shrugged – "looking at the situation and then taking your father's personality into account, I don't think he's gonna make it out of this pickle alive."

Slowly, she shook her head from side to side. "They won't kill him. They need him as a bargaining chip."

"He'll be right in the eye of the storm," he said, very obviously unconvinced.

"If something happens to him, I'll turn him. I won't let him die. I don't want him to die."

There was a subtle change in his expression that she couldn't quite classify. He shifted his weight so he could look at her properly, pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, and raised her face. "What if he doesn't want to be turned?"

"It was your idea!"

He just kept his eyes trained on her. "That has nothing to do with what he might want. It also doesn't answer my question."

She shrugged jerkily. "Once I have turned him, he'll see that it was for the best."

The corners of his mouth were twitching slightly. There was a spark in his red, utterly inhuman eyes. "Think back on your own transformation, sweetheart. How well do you remember it?"

Pain flared up deep in her throat. Memories flashed before her mind's eye: skin sloughing off, tongue swelling and cracking, intestines dissolving, bones breaking. All the muscles tightened in her face. For a couple of seconds, she closed her eyes. When she faced him again, she said, "With perfect clarity," her voice hardly above a whisper.

"Now, are you willing to put him through the exact same torment?"

"It's worth it," she said, obstinate. It was. It had to be. What sense would any of this make – the pain the confusion the frustration the thirst the sin the loss – if it wasn't worth it? Yes, she remembered thinking, knowing that it wasn't worth it, that nothing ever could be, but that was in the past. She wasn't human anymore. She wasn't even Bella anymore. Still, she was fine. Once you became a soulless monster, it seemed, actually being monstrous was less horrible than the prospect of simply ceasing to exist.

To her surprise, he said, "I don't know," sounding both contemplative and melancholy. "I try to make the best of it, you know, be the best undead abomination I can be. What's the use in being an unholy, godforsaken thing if I can't enjoy what benefits this brings? I'm not human anymore. Why even try to ape them? We can't, and it doesn't work. Might as well roll with it, as the idiom goes." He chuckled dryly. "But that doesn't mean I always love what I've become. I was never a particularly compassionate guy, but I was more…well, human. You were, too. We all were."

Finally, the penny dropped. She wished she could have a physical reaction like a knotting stomach or a chill that went down her spine – something. There was nothing, though. There was nothing to physically manifest what was going on in her mind. Somehow, that was even worse than recalling her death in HD. "You think the pain and the fact that the memory never, ever dulls drives us insane, that it makes us psychotic."

"It'd mess anyone up, wouldn't it? You are unmade and reformed. You skin melts off. You innards puree. You are forced to eat your own teeth and tongue and gums right before you vomit it all up again, even though it can't go anywhere because your lips are welded shut and your nostrils are clogged." He snickered now, and there was a certain sick desperation to it that made her want to be the one able to provide him some relief through sleep. "Then, there's getting used to being a vampire: the blindness, the deafness, the disorientation, the thirst, that awful sensation of being trapped inside a fortress – all of it. It's a never-ending horror, because it never goes away. Why should we try to be good? I'm not even joking; I think there really is no sense in conforming to conventional standards of goodness. We got to get something out of all this misery, and that's what I do. That's what I think you should do, too."

"I have, haven't I?" Several objections to his little speech popped up in her mind, such as the living (undead?) proof of vampiric decency that was Demetri, but she chose not to voice them. It wasn't as if she didn't know where he was coming from, after all. She took his hand – his slender yet strong, beautiful hand – and raised it to her lips, kissing it softly. "I have spent a lot of time struggling with the idea that I'm nothing but a monster, and then you tell me that I should revel in it, and I have. Being monstrous feels wonderful. It makes me feel alive." She gave his hand a squeeze and touched the side of his face with her other one. "That doesn't make it right, though."

"Of course it doesn't," he said, making a face at her as if she'd said something particularly obvious. "Just like your insisting to turn Charlie isn't right any way you spin it. Yes, I know it was my idea. I just said that because it's either turning him or killing him. Doesn't mean it's a miracle cure, though."

A little taken aback, she straightened her posture and pulled her hands back. "I'll do it because I want him to live. That's love."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Is it? Sounds an awful lot like pure selfishness to me." Again, her expression must have given away her emotional reaction, because he took her hands, smiled with something akin to kind-heartedness, and said, "It's not an admonition, Bella. I don't care how selfish you are. I don't care how shallow you are. I like you; by now you should know that I do. I'm not projecting and I'm not judging. Be who you are. Be a monster. You don't answer to anyone but yourself anymore."

Unwittingly, she thought about her first day as a functioning vampire. She'd run into the woods and killed those campers. Their screams had faded into nothing as she'd torn them limb from limb. The memory should make her shudder, but all it did was remind her of her words to Jacob, her good friend, the person who'd taken her hand and led her through the darkness:

You should kill me. You…you're not human. You're one of those things that kill things like me. You're meant to kill me, Jacob. You hate me.

His answer had been devastating, even if back then, she'd lacked the vocabulary to describe it this way: I wish I could, but that ship has sailed. It doesn't matter anymore. I couldn't kill you, even if I wanted to.

"I am a monster," she said slowly, "but that doesn't mean that I stopped caring about anyone who isn't me."

"Some might argue that if you truly love someone, you'll let them go, but I say fuck it. Being a selfish monster means never having to say you're sorry." He stood up suddenly, pulling her with him, and hugged her closely around her skinny waist. "What do you say we end this little therapy session and go annoy our Dynamic Duo again? I'm pretty sure they're already getting withdrawal symptoms. Besides, our boy Demetri really needs to drink someone before the party gets started, or he might flip at the worst possible moment. He might be the universal role model for all things heroic, but even he isn't immune to starvation, bless his pure, undead heart. I don't know about you, but if that were the case, it'd annoy me to no end."

Grateful for his light-hearted tone and the topical distraction, she ran her fingers through his hair and smiled a little. "Whatever else might be said about this life, I'm really glad that you're a part of it."

"Why, thank you, ma'am," he said, smirking. Other people might find this obnoxious, but Bella thought that this lit up his whole (already beautiful) face. "I'm really glad that you're a part of mine, too."

"So," she said, putting her arms around his neck, "how long is this gonna last? When are you gonna throw me under the bus like you did with Alice?"

The look he gave her could only be described as mocking. "When you start taking advantage of an emotional vulnerability of mine and use that to manipulate me into believing some bullshit destiny. When you start policing my actions. When you start trying to mould me into something you want, instead of choosing to stay with me because you like me. When I find out that all you care about is willing a vision you've had of me into reality, consequences be damned. I don't exactly take kindly to being used as a pawn in somebody else's psychotic chess game."

"I know what you are," she said, "and I have no intention of changing anything about you. For the first time in my life, I am clear-headed enough to make informed decisions. I want to feel something. You make me feel like I never died – almost, at least, which is more than I thought was possible. I want to cling to that."

Again, he smirked. "So you're in this for you." When she nodded curtly, he did, too. "I can live with that."

"Good. It makes two of us, in any case," she said, raised her face, and kissed him.

3 What Irina saw in that cell mocked every description. She was a thousand years old. In all those centuries, she had seen many horrors and been through a good number of them, herself. There was no forgetting any of them – a heavy burden placed on every vampire's shoulders. The worst experience, apart from turning, had been watching Vasilii die. It was almost as bad as mourning the loss of her humanity, and that was only not as painful because vampirism always muddled what had come before. That, in itself, was a whole other flavour of horrible: most of what had once made a person human simply ceased to exist after the transformation, and the vampire in question could remember little of it. All that remained was an unshakeable, lingering sense of loss and sorrow. Her thoughts wandered to Lyubomir, as they so often did when she was despondent. Before her mind's eye, she saw his warm smile, the spark in his eyes, the sunshine in his hair, heard the sweet and light-hearted sound of his laughter. A little annoyed with herself, she shook these memories off. Now was not the time for this. But then again, when was it ever?

What she was seeing right now almost made her wish for the return of the false vision of the weeping, frightened little boy – almost. No, what she saw here was…desolate. No other word came to her mind. It was a young woman – short, emaciated, dirty. She was wearing something akin to a straightjacket, but fabric wasn't the only thing immobilising her arms. Thick chains were wrapped tightly around her frail body; they were probably made of the same material the door had been fashioned out of. Her ankles were shackled. Around her neck was a thick metal collar, chaining her to the wall. Her dark hair was a messy, knotted, wild mane that hung in front of her face in greasy clumps. She smelled like coagulated blood, rotted freesia blossoms, and burned sugar.

Irina stood backed against the door, not breathing, not moving, not blinking. For something that felt like an eternity, they just stared at each other. The woman's face was haggard and filthy, but as was the case with Renesmee, also very beautiful and eerily symmetric. Her eyes were huge and dark, her chapped lips plump and dark-red, her nose straight and expressive, the line of her jaw strong, her cheekbones pronounced. She wasn't as pale as a vampire, but still looked strangely white-washed, as if she would have had a darker complexion, had she been fully human.

From the other side of the door, Aro said, "What do you see?"

"A girl," Irina said quietly, leaning her head back against the cool metal (it must be freezing in order to feel cold to a vampire). She kept her eyes fixed on the chained-up dhampir, who watched her impassively. "Chained up. In pain."

"There is no pain," Aro said, sounding oddly chipper. "This is its influence on you, my dear. It's trying to convince you to break its chains. After all these years, it's still hell-bent on escaping. Impressive, isn't it? Admirable, even."

"Her chains," Irina said, pressed her lips together, and slowly shook her head. She balled her hands into fists. Her whole body was tense to the point of discomfort. "Her misery."

"Can you hear it talking to you?"

"No." If only she could look away! Part of her, however, knew that at least someone owed it to this pitiful creature to look at her and see her the way she truly was. "I can feel her, though, somehow, inside my head."

"Do you want to free it?"

Irina thought about what he'd told her this girl had done. She remembered the misery Renesmee had already spread, being little more than an infant. After biting her tongue, she said, "No." There was a flare of agony shooting through her skull, a sharp outcry, a terrible pressure crushing her with misery and outrage. She shut her eyes and pressed her lips together. Her whole body was trembling from the exertion of staying immobile.

"But you feel it trying to convince you to? Trying to force you to obey it?"

"Yes." Irina clasped her hands to her throat. It was burning. God, it was on fire. "Please, let me out of here. I need to get away from this place. I need to get away from her! Please!" Her voice got loud and shrill and shaky, and there was nothing she could do about it. The clamouring in her head got louder, turning into a shrieking cacophony of despair and fury. It was as if invisible threads were attempting to coil around her arms and legs, trying to make her move toward the dhampir and not away. She spun around and slammed her fists against that strange, cold metal. "Let me out! Let me out!" He opened the door and she stumbled outside, trembling, eyes shut, not breathing. Tripping over her own feet, she crashed down on the stone floor, her throat in flames and her head pounding. She barely registered how the door was slammed shut and locked tight again.

"It's all right," Aro said, and helped her up to her feet. He took her by the shoulders and turned her so that she'd face him. "Would you please look at me?" His warm and compassionate voice was enough to melt away most of the cold and the horror. It didn't even matter whether this was a genuine sentiment or merely an act.

She blinked and locked eyes with him, said, "She is in pain. She's desperate and sad and lonely," and hugged her arms to herself.

There was a distinct look of cheerful enthralment on his face. "Could you hear words in your mind, or was it something-"

"Sensations," Irina cut in brusquely. "I could feel what she was feeling. She wanted so desperately for me to unlock those chains…so desperately." She sucked in a sharp breath and shuddered. Again, she bitterly missed the ability to weep. "But I couldn't. I had to think about what you told me, and about how helpless I felt when I was still around Renesmee…I…I couldn't."

"Not that helpless after all," he said, cracked a radiant smile, and gave her shoulders a squeeze. "And now…oh, I'm lost for words – truly lost for words. The thing in there affects you, powerfully at that, and yet, you did what no-one who was ever infected by it could do: you resisted. This is not only absolutely fascinating, my dear; it borders on a miracle. Do you know what else it means?" He waited for a reply that didn't come. The smile grew broader. There was a spark in his deeply red eyes. "What happened today changes everything."

4 "They're gonna trick you! Why can't you see that?" Barbie spat at Jacob, keeping her voice low enough so not to startle Nessie, who was watching TV.

Jacob and Barbie were war-rooming in the kitchen, whilst Charlie remained locked in one of the suite's smaller bedrooms with a shit-ton of pizza and soda to keep him company. It was safer this way. Not that he'd get very far if he tried to make a run for it, but better safe than sorry. Jacob didn't want anything to happen to him. Like it or not, he was still a Quileute wolf, and protecting humans was still kind-of-sort-of his job...

…in a sense.

He leaned his face into his hands and sighed heavily. When he raised his head again, he gave Barbie, who was appropriately standing by the huge fridge, a weary look. Then, he pulled a barstool and dropped himself on it, crossing his arms atop the stone kitchen island. It wasn't an act. It wasn't an attempt to annoy her. He really was that tired. He really was so, so goddamn tired of all of this. "I'm gonna let you in on a little secret, there, Barbs," he said, ignoring the obnoxious sneer plastered all over her stupid face. "You may not believe this, but I'm not a complete idiot. Of course they're gonna try to trick me. That's why we need some insurance."

She gave him a doubtful look. "And how do you plan to achieve that?"

"Well," he said, pressed his knuckles to his lips, and cleared his throat, "we may not be able to outsmart them, but we sure as hell outnumber them."

Her expressive eyebrows shot up. "Do you…the humans? But I thought-"

It took him all his willpower not to glance over his shoulder in the direction of the big living area. "They're just for insurance. As long as Bella and her little friends keep up their side of the bargain, no-one has to get hurt." His throat was dry, his head was aching dully, and his back was in painful knots. Still, he couldn't help but think of Nessie, only of Nessie, and how no-one and nothing mattered as much as she did – nothing ever could. "The one thing the Volturi want is secrecy, right? We can use that to our advantage, just to make sure that they'll play ball."

"Even if we force them not to double-cross us today, what then? What do we-" Rosalie interrupted herself abruptly. Her expression went from worried and exasperated to enthralled and loving. She was looking at a point behind Jacob.

He breathed in, and the fragrant, floral scent of Nessie's skin made his heart beat faster. Sighing inwardly, he turned around enough so he could look at her beautiful, sweet, serious-as-a-heart-attack little face.

"We make them our friends," Nessie said, looking from Barbie to Jacob and back again. "All of them…until no-one in the world would ever want to hurt me ever again."

5 "This plan is damn risky," Leah said, pacing back and forth in the swanky living room, trying hard not to be annoyed by all the still-as-stone vamps around her. Here they were again, standing around in a living room, fucking talking.

Yes, yes, this was very different not just because they were in Mexico, but because they were actually discussing strategy. Still, she had to admit that she was getting real sick of this entire deal – real sick indeed. As a kid, she'd always wanted to join Bilbo Baggins or, alternatively, Frodo Baggins on one of their epic quests. Here she was, on her own epic quest. Pity that it had so far turned out to be pretty crappy, all in all. But she figured that in the end, epic quests were never all they were cut out to be. On paper, it all seemed so much less mundane and so much more, well…magical. Huh. Turned out that even in the supernatural world, reality had a way of catching up to ya, no matter how much you might wish upon a clichéd star. How depressing.

"It's the only one we have," Demetri, who was standing in the doorframe leading to the entrance area, said, sounding more than a little unhappy.

Leah stopped pacing and scrutinised him. He looked positively terrible. "I never thought I'd say this, but you need to get something to eat subito presto. The last thing we need is you flipping out due to insane thirst."

He tried to smile, but it looked like it was causing him physical pain. "I won't flip out; I promise. I'm fine."

"Give the man a medal," Jasper piped up, making Leah want to break something again. He and Bell-Bell were joined at the hip, now, it seemed, and sitting side by side on the big couch. "Back to the topic at hand, though: the plan isn't fireproof, no, but it's solid enough. General Demon-Spawn might be powerful, but she ain't exactly a tactical mastermind. Rosalie and Jacob aren't, either. They'll think we're gonna double-cross them, sure, but they won't see us coming. They have no idea what exactly we've got planned for them." He flashed a toothy grin at nobody in particular. "It'll be a thing of true and unadulterated beauty, my friends."

Biting her tongue, Leah quietly reminded herself of her promise to kill him once the current snafu had been dealt with properly. Being forced to work with him was bad enough. She'd be damned if she was going to allow him to saunter off into the sunset with his new girlfriend, like he deserved to live after everything that he'd done. Son of a bitch.

"There may be human loss, though," Maria, occupying an armchair, added with a smile. Nope, she and Leah were never going to be thick as thieves, that much was for sure. "Are you prepared to accept the possibility of" – Her smile morphed into a smirk – "collateral damage?"

"We'll try to minimise it," Demetri said, before Leah had a chance of flipping her off.

Good grief, she had just about had it with these motherfucking vampires in this motherfucking house…even if not enough to keep herself from making pop-cultural references in her own head, apparently.

"However," Demetri continued, "it is imperative that we stop the dhampir as soon as possible. I'm sorry to say this" – he locked eyes with Leah again – "but we need to face facts, here: if we don't kill the child and eliminate the ones it has infected, its influence will spread exponentially. People will die. If we don't act quickly, the death-toll will number in the thousands. I don't need to tell you what will happen if we don't act at all."

For a few seconds, Leah just stared back at him, frozen, until she realised that everyone was waiting for her approval. She crossed her arms, chuckled, and shook her head. "Fine. I cave. The good of the many outweighs the good of the few, and all that. I get it." She took a deep, slightly tremulous breath. "Operation 'torches and pitchforks' is a go."