Possibly because of the transfusions, possibly just because time was passing, I stopped puking up everything I ate. My skin lost its yellow cast and became peachy-pink once more. Carlisle had instructed me to weigh myself every morning, and I saw with relief that my weight was going back to normal, slowly at first and then more and more rapidly. After a few days, I weighed as much as I had on Isle Esme. Two days after that, there was a small but visible bulge over the waistband of my jeans.
I went to see Carlisle again over the weekend. He weighed me and took my pulse, then did another ultrasound so he could measure the amniotic sac. Even I could see it was bigger than it had been a few days ago. Then Rosalie invited me and Edward into the room she shared with Emmett, to talk about the tests she'd been doing on my blood.
Whatever I expected Rosalie's room to look like, this wasn't it. It was spacious and airy, like every room in this house, but it was even more densely packed with stuff than Edward's. All four walls were covered with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, containing hundreds of volumes on psychology, biology, biochemistry and physics. There were a few novels tucked into a low bookshelf placed beside a comfortable-looking velvet couch, but aside from those, there was hardly a title I could pronounce.
Across the room from the reading-couch was a long, narrow table which held an assortment of microscopes, glass vessels, and more lab machinery than Carlisle had in his office downstairs. I sat on the couch and gaped about me; Edward was always saying Rosalie was smart, but I hadn't realized how much time she spent on this stuff. In school she'd never even talked about anything but theater.
"Carlisle gave me some of your blood samples to work on," said Rosalie. "Once I talked myself out of drinking them like so many juice-boxes, I discovered quite a few items of note." I couldn't tell if she was joking or not—probably not, I decided. But then she graced me with half of a shy smile, and I laughed.
"Yeah, sorry my blood's so stinky," I said. She smiled more broadly. "So, what'd you find out?"
"Well," she said, "for one thing, I believe your immunity to vampire mind-powers may have roots in something deeper than your lifelong aversion to society. Edward tells me that your father has a form of mental block—Edward, perhaps you can explain that one."
"I don't hear any deliberate thoughts from your dad," he said. "I used to think it was because he just didn't think much, but now I realize it must be partially hereditary. I hear flashes of the sorts of thoughts that accompany emotional surges; for instance, I heard him panicking when you were taken to the ER last winter. But anything more structured than that is closed off to me."
"Edward tells me that it is the same way with Jacob Black," said Rosalie. "He can hear nothing structured or deliberate. Tell me, Bella—how far back has your family lived here?"
I saw at once what she was getting at. "My great-grandmother was full-blood Quileute," I said. "Do you think I have wolf in there somewhere?"
"Well, Jae and Ard were both in the area around that time, and at least one of them had no objection to sowing his wild oats. It's quite possible that you and Jacob do share a common ancestor, or at least that you have genetic ties to Jacob's wolf pack. Possibly it's enough to give you some inherited resistance to our powers, although obviously you lack the gene that causes a full-blown phase. I can't definitively say more about this train of thought until I've studied samples from a shape-shifter, and as you may imagine, they aren't lining up to have me stick needles in them. It is possible that your mental immunity, Jacob's and your father's are three unrelated cases. But that seems unlikely, given the strong correlation."
"Okay," I said. "This is all very interesting, but I have to ask—why is it even important?"
"It's important," Rosalie said with a sad little smile, "because vampire venom is toxic to shape-shifters."
"So?" I said, but then I saw the unhappy looks Rosalie and Edward were giving each other and it dawned on me. "You think it may be toxic to me, too?"
"It may," Edward said. "It may be that a time will come when this pregnancy has damaged your body to the point where only venom can save you, and if it turns out venom can't save you...well, we'll need to take this into consideration."
"Furthermore," added Rosalie, "if it turns out you do have some shifter in there, we have no idea what the mingling of vampire and shape-shifter DNA might do to the fetus. It may have no effect, or unexpected effects. Do you think you might be able to convince your friend to supply us with a sample of his blood? He could do it at the hospital; he need not come here. It could be enormously helpful. At the very least, we might be able to figure out if you're related to each other on your wolf's side."
"I'll ask," I said, frowning. "What else did you find out?"
"I found traces in your blood of the Denalion molecule—that's what we believe powers vampire cellular activity. These traces were imperfect; most of the molecules appeared to have been partially deconstructed by your own white cells, and none of them were doing anything. My hypothesis is that the infant is producing these molecules, and they are passing through the amniotic sac as waste and ending up in your bloodstream, there to be disposed of by your immune system. Honestly, I've no idea what this means for you and the baby. I'm still working on it. But it is comforting to know that the fetus is at least capable of creating the Denalion molecule; there is a good chance your child will have a greater-than-human lifespan, which can only be good news to his immortal family."
"Sounds good," I said. It cheered me to think the grasshopper was already taking after his father. If he was making the magic molecule, I was sure he would be strong enough to overcome whatever weirdness his mixed DNA wanted to throw at him.
"As Carlisle told you, I also found a frighteningly low blood cell count," said Rosalie, "but judging from your color right now, I'm guessing that when I test this next batch it'll be much better. I'm glad the donor blood seems to be working so well. And I'm hoping that soon Carlisle can take a sample of amniotic fluid, if you're amenable—assuming it even proves possible." Actually, I wasn't all that thrilled about anyone poking holes in the one thing that was keeping my kid from shooting out of my belly like a bullet. But I nodded anyway. Whatever they needed me to do, I would do.
"That's about it for the labwork," she finished, sitting next to me. "How are you feeling these days?"
"I'm okay," I said. "Check it out, I've already got a bump. Freaky, huh?" I lifted up my shirt so they could see. At my encouraging smile, Rosalie cautiously laid one palm against the swelling curve. I felt the grasshopper nudge against the slight pressure of her touch, and she gasped, then let out a surprised and delighted laugh. "He likes his aunty," I said, grinning. Rosalie looked like she would have been crying, if only she still knew how.
That night, I sat with Esme and Edward in the living room. I'd shown them both the letter Bree'd brought me at school. Esme had read it gravely, unsurprised at its contents.
"She's smart, communicating this way," said Esme, still studying the letters. "Using Bree, forcing you to read the last words her victims ever penned… She's only targeted teenaged girls so far, and reading between the lines I'd guess that they are girls who won't be missed for some reason or another, so we can't even hope that the Volturi will care enough to intervene. She could more easily have sent you an email, but instead she chooses to do it like this." She brandished the photos, fanned out like a deck of cards. "She's playing with you, Bella. She doesn't have access to people you already care about, she can't possibly target your own friends and family without rousing an outcry that will risk attracting Volturi attention. All she can do is hurt total strangers, yet she has manipulated the situation with great finesse. The photos, the letters, the very age and gender of the victims, using Bree as her mouthpiece—she is forcing you to care."
"Yeah, well, it's working," I muttered, carefully not looking at the pictures Esme was waving around. "But I'm still not going to hand her Jake."
"As if you even could, now," said Esme. "The pack knows all of this. I spoke to Tadi just this morning. But I am not even sure that her goal is to convince you, personally, to betray an unwitting Jake. I doubt she would so openly reveal her endgame in any case."
"What are you getting at, Mom?" asked Edward, a little wrinkle appearing between his heavy eyebrows as he tried to sort through what Esme was saying and what she was thinking.
"I'm sure of nothing, of course," admitted Esme with a shrug, "but one possibility is that she hoped all along that you would share this with all of us, even Jake, so that we all begin to feel some measure of responsibility for the safety of our eastern neighbors. The longer we do nothing, the greater will be the consequences for the homeless of Seattle, the more grisly Polaroids of innocent girls we have to look at, the more our judgment is clouded by guilt and uncertainty. A natural move for us, then, would be to pretend to deliver Jake to her, all the while planning an ambush, never intending to turn him over at all. That is the most straightforward of plans. Such a move would be risky for us, and it would give her a greater chance at achieving her aims than she possesses now, with us safely barricaded on our own turf. Assuming Jake is the one she wants at all, that he's not merely a red herring intended to lull the rest of us into a false sense of our own security."
"Who else could she want?" Edward asked. "Jake killed James. It's simple."
"Perhaps," said Esme musingly. "I'm a little suspicious of all those reassurances that you are perfectly safe, Bella, that she doesn't blame you."
"You think she might want me?" I said hollowly. "What did I ever do?"
"Well, it was you James was after. This could be a very simple case of victim-blaming. But truly, this is only a guess. She may want any of us, or all of us, or Jacob only, or Jacob and you, or something else entirely. What I wouldn't give for a few minutes in a room with her…"
"So she's just going to keep doing this," I said, "until I find some reason to bring Jake out to 1742 Baker Street, wherever that is. Which I'm not going to do."
"Of course not," said Esme. "I've already talked about it with Laurent, and he did warn me that sending scouts might do more harm than good. I wish I'd listened to him. This is more my fault than yours, Bella. Remember that."
"Who would think it was your fault? I bet Laurent set you up. Why would you even trust a word he says?" I burst out angrily, my eyes watering. "I wish he'd stayed away. I wish they'd all just fallen into a river and drowned before they ever got turned."
Showing no reaction to my outburst, Esme said, "Laurent has decided to relinquish his previous lifestyle and join the Denali coven. He is helping us now. I trust him because his loyalty has made a rather significant shift from Victoria and James toward his new coven—or, I should say, his new in-laws." At my questioning look, Esme smiled a little and clarified, "Laurent and Irina have become mates. He will consider her allies his, and her enemies his also. He will not betray Irina under any circumstances, any more than Victoria would betray James, or you would betray Edward. And it is Irina's wish, and her coven's, that Victoria be neutralized with all due haste. Remember, this involves all of them as much as it does us."
"Is that likely to work?" I asked, calming down a little, but still so angry my vision was misty. "Can Laurent really help?" Edward silently offered me a linen hanky and I blotted furiously at my eyes, trying to keep the tears from sliding down my face. I was so tired of crying over everything.
"We are hoping to divine some clue that will help us predict her future actions. Laurent has spent considerable time in her company. Although they could not be said to be close, he is our best authority on her behavioral patterns."
"God, I wish I were strong enough to kill her myself," I said, flinging my head against the back of the couch. My brain kept trying to think of Tamara, Jennifer, Shelly, Olimpia, Katy, Erica, Aesha; but their faces always ended up morphing into Bree. I couldn't decide which was worse: the largenumber of girls I didn't know, or the one girl I did. "How does anyone get this way? You guys aren't evil! Why is she so evil?"
"Do you really want to know the answer to that question?" said Esme evenly. "Do you really want to understand Victoria?"
Something about the way she said it made me pause.
"Is that an option?" I asked cautiously.
"It is. If you wish it. Laurent has told me a great deal about her."
"Well, what do you know?" Edward moved silently beside me, restless at this line of talk. He already knew what was on Esme's mind, even if I didn't.
"Victoria was sired by her biological sister, Anne, after a long time living on the streets and in houses of ill repute, in the foulest slums of Victorian London." said Esme. "Anne was already a member of a coven headed by a German woman, Hilda. She turned Victoria, and in so doing rescued her from certain, and certainly torturous, death. From an angry pimp, from malnutrition, from venereal disease, from whatever of a thousand maladies that were lined up to claim her. Victoria joined them and acquired three new sisters, Heidi, Mary and Noela. They were very happy for a while. Laurent has heard her speak of them often. Victoria was deeply attached to her new family and has never, ever forgotten them."
"Why'd she leave them?" I asked. "Was it because of James?"
Esme sighed. "No," she said. "The next part of the story I learned from Eleazar Denali. He was a member of the Volturi Guard for many years. He has the power to psychically sense what gifts or abilities are present in other vampires, or, to a limited extent, humans. He was often sent out into the world to seek out those with powers that Aro, the Volturi leader, might find useful. He was the one who made contact with Hilda's coven and discovered that her daughter Heidi possessed a supernatural degree of seductiveness. Not merely sexual seductiveness, but indeed a mastery over all the desires of others. She is extraordinarily hard to say no to, and used this power to act as diplomat for her family, protecting them from anyone strong enough and inclined to harm them. Eleazar conveyed this information to Aro, not expecting it to be of great importance, but it seems that Aro had been searching for just such a person for reasons of his own. Within a year, the coven had been charged with 'attracting attention', and Hilda, Anne, Mary and Noela were burned. Heidi was recruited as a Guard member for the Volturi. Only Victoria escaped, having lost everything."
"'Attracting attention'?" I repeated. "What did they do?"
"Nothing," said Esme sadly. "It was a set-up. Bella, if you wish to understand Victoria you must understand that her entire life and afterlife have been one long set-up. She had been married to James only a few years, and that was assuredly the first stability and happiness she knew since the annihilation of her coven, more than a century before. Every joy she has ever known has been summarily taken away. The universe has deemed her unworthy of lasting happiness, and the universe always wins."
I stared at Esme in shock: shock that she could speak with sympathy of woman who was poised to murder every teenager in Seattle, shock and even anger that she made it all sound reasonable.
"You feel sorry for her," I accused. Esme closed her eyes briefly.
"That is what understanding is. It is uncomfortable, even dangerous; it leaves open too many doors whereby pity and mercy may enter the mind, exceptions may be rationalized, mistakes may be made. I do understand why Victoria has become this thing. I have a powerful urge to help her, even to comfort her, but I cannot. All I can do is work to end this as quickly as may be. And there is only one possible end. I feel terrible sadness at the thought of inflicting yet more suffering on this girl who has only ever suffered, but there is nothing else to be done. She must be killed, whether I feel sorry for her or not."
"It's easier just to hate her," I said, bobbing helplessly alongside the incomprehensible breadth of Esme's compassion.
"Pity makes everything hard," agreed Esme. "It makes every choice a wrong one."
Whatever the author's intentions, Esme's gift of loving compassion failed to have any broader importance than that it designated her Mother Of The Year Background Art, useful chiefly for setting off the other, more gifted Cullens. But that is a wasted opportunity! I think that abnormal compassion has the potential to be an utterly kickass superpower, increasing Esme's value to her family far beyond mere Giver of Hugs and Maker of Comfort Food. (I know it was Carlisle with the compassion and Esme with the love. First, those are functionally the same damn thing. Second, whatever, Carlisle, I'll believe it when I see it. Third, my Carlisle has a different canon-compliant superpower which is discussed in the A/N following Ch. 17 of Long Long Long; he doesn't need another one.) I've significantly altered Esme's role within the family, and am rephrasing her gift as "a profound sense of empathy and love for all people, resulting from a heightened understanding of human/vampire nature, particularly regarding people's needs and vulnerabilities" (remember she fled her abusive husband not to save her own life but to protect her vulnerable offspring). She shares core qualities with Smeyer's Esme but in this story these qualities are dramatically reinterpreted according to my own beliefs about the meaning of compassion, love and motherhood. In short, this is my personal vision of Esme and I understand if it's not yours. Here's the breakdown:
1. Esme's gift means that she is constantly observing/discerning the hidden hopes and hurts of those around her; compassionate love is the result of that discernment. This is a great quality for a mother to have, because she has a panoramic understanding of what her children need, fear, desire; and she can use her understanding and wisdom to guide them to happiness whenever possible. Very Pioneer Woman of her.
2. Taken a step further, Esme can use this instinct for understanding not only to comfort her children but indeed to protect them. Because Esme's sense of love is described as being far beyond the ordinary, we can extrapolate that she feels it not just for the people you'd expect her to love but for people she has no earthly business feeling sympathy toward. People like Victoria. Understanding her enemies to the point of feeling compassion for them is an asset and a curse. An asset because understanding her enemies' vulnerabilities can tell her how best to defeat them. A curse because she lives in a world full of conflict, and universal compassion (coupled with her role as the Cullen Matriarch) forces her to act as a Gatekeeper of Hard Choices. Esme can be a heartbreakingly complex and impressive character. I love her so much.
3. Esme will always choose to protect her family over strangers; that's normal. It is her gift that allows her to do it so effectively. Her gift prevents her from acting in the heat of hatred and prejudice. Her actions are always weighed, never hot-headed or vindictive or needlessly cruel. By empathetically interpreting enemies' hopes and fears, she can more efficiently judge how to strike them down. This throwaway gift, so easy to snigger at behind our hands because it sounds way lamer than Alice's or Kate's, is exactly what makes Esme so desperately formidable an adversary. So keen is her comprehension of human (and vampire) nature that she can learn to understand the needs even of strangers, on a level usually reserved for their mothers. God help the fool who crosses her or threatens her family.
I feel like Smeyer got Esme to number 1 up there and no further. There's nothing really wrong with that and I'm not scolding her for it. But there's evidence that Smeyer's Carlisle, the patriarch, is pants at problem solving and tactical planning. The job, as they say, is open. Even if it's Carlisle who captains the family through calmer waters, in my fantasy world Esme would be the Cullens' chief wartime consigliere. Because you know what? Compassion doesn't always equal pacifism. It is absolutely possible to feel sympathy for your enemies, and it is not inherently unmotherly to do so. And mommies aren't always cuddly. Sometimes they have teeth.