five
december
"God gave us our memories so that we might have roses in December."
- J. M. Barrie
o.o.o
Bright and early on the first weekend of December, Alice Cullen and Rosalie Hale show up at the Swan front door with - what Bella will eventually realize - their shopping faces on. A bubble of dread takes root as Bella steps back silently, the door swinging open to release the gust of warm air that the heaters had been clanking away to create. She eyes the vampires hovering in the front hallway, then scuttles back to the kitchen, prodding at the black pudding on the stove.
It's one of the very rare weekend mornings where Charlie doesn't immediately rush off the La Push's fishing hole and Bella has made a culinary occasion of it. She says as much to the vampires, keeping her voice low as she works to dice shallots and onions and ripe tomatoes, adding a splash of whole milk to the skillet of eggs, fussing with rosemary-olive oil red potato chunks.
"We won't drag you off until you're done eating," Alice promises, seating herself at the table and shuffling through store adds that are probably not altogether necessary, considering she was psychic, rich, and possessed vampire-perfect memory.
Bella turns her head enough to catch Rosalie's dispassionate gaze as the blonde vampire trolls around the small kitchen, eyeing the food with pursed lips. Eventually, though, Rosalie says, "We're playing human today," in answer to Bella's silent inquiry.
She shakes her head. These vegetarian vampires were masochists; Emmett had been particularly colorful in relating what happened when vampires actually ate human food and Bella just can't imagine any scenario in which Rosalie would force herself to go through what sounds like an extremely unpleasant purging process. Just the thought of it is almost enough to make her stomach turn, but Bella has been hungry for the last hour, a ravenous sort of craving that was quelled only slightly by another long sip of water.
She'd read somewhere that the brain confuses hunger-pangs with thirst, but even drinking entire bottles of water when she was hungry didn't soothe the ache in her belly. She supposes that her brain doesn't confuse hunger and thirst. It didn't sound all that unreasonable to her logic. Besides, her increased hunger could easily be explained by teenage growth or even a hormonal imbalance; never let it be said that Bella did not search for answers where she had questions.
"You don't have to eat this," Bella replies, scraping a rubber spatula around the edge the pan with scrambled eggs, trying to give her friends a reasonable out. "Just say that ate before you came over."
Rosalie smirks, eyes butterscotch-bright. "Oh, we did."
Alice giggles at the wave of realization that passes over Bella's face.
"But this doesn't smell too revolting," Rosalie continues, trailing a shining emerald nail over the oven-warm plate of sausage. "What is it? I never ate anything that looked like this when I was human."
"As if you ever stepped foot inside a kitchen when you were human, Rose," Bella says with a roll of her eyes, charmed by the haughty tilt of Rosalie's head that acts as confirmation. "It's black pudding, uh, blood sausage?"
"Blood?"
"Really, it's very common. Every culture in the world has some equivalent of it," Bella says, not missing the exchange of significant looks between Rosalie and Alice. "It's not that weird."
The subject is dropped when the creak of stairs alerts them to Charlie's presence and Bella forgets all about it as she is swept through a morning of watching Alice wrangle various agreements out of a very charmed Charlie, who looks as if Alice and Rosalie are angels sent from on-high. Yes, says Charlie to Alice's decree that Bella is going Christmas shopping with them. Yes, says Charlie when Rosalie casually mentions that Emmett and Jasper would be bringing a fresh tree around the next day. Yes, says Charlie when Alice decides that Edward will be more than happy to help with the outdoor lights. Yes, says Charlie when Rosalie off-handedly asks if Bella could spend Christmas Eve with the Cullen family, considering Charlie's work schedule.
Bella watches all of this, incredibly amused as she scrapes a wedge of potato through the leftover sauce on her plate. Who would have thought that all it would take to sway her father was a pretty face? But then, of course Charlie would be vulnerable to this kind of persuasion. She'd heard the story enough from Renee - how the new junior deputy from Seattle had been so forgiving to the high school senior with the speeding ticket at the bat of an eye and a promise to dinner (of course, Renee never failed to mention that she hadn't thought she would fall in love so quickly, either, especially with her plans to leave small-town Forks behind for good). Charlie was weak to a pretty face. Alice and Rosalie were prettier than most.
Sat in the backseat of Rosalie's sparkling red BMW, Bella goes along with the plan, as she suspects Alice already knew she would. She'd been planning on dragging Charlie out to Port Angeles at some point before Christmas to replace his seriously outdated decorations - lights and ornaments that were probably as old as Bella - so they could share a real Christmas together. She's certain that Charlie hadn't celebrated the holiday since Renee left and while it's not exactly Bella's favorite, she enjoys the merriment just as much as anyone else. It would be nice to give some of that merriment to her father. The Swans hadn't shared the Christmas holiday since Bella was a very small girl and she ached at the thought that her father had been so lonely this last decade, exiled to the nightshift by his own volition to better avoid memories that were too painful to visit.
Alice's plan would ease the way - now, Bella could really surprise her father. Besides, what was the point of digging her heels in when the events would ultimately go in her favor? It was a skill long-learned from having Renee as a mother; Alice's willful ways were, in comparison, rather weak to the whirlwind that was Bella's flighty childhood.
Of course, it helped that Alice and Rosalie were more than comfortable to let Bella read in the car, both to and from Seattle. It's easy to tune out their vampire-quick chatter and fall into the richly long-winded world of Charles Dickens. Alice already knows the stores they should go to; Bella soon discovers that Alice's version of shopping was made all the easier by her psychic ability. There was no second-guessing for sizes or colors, no reason to hem and haw over the sale price because Alice already knew the best deals. It was rather relieving, in a way. Not so stressful, even with the crush of crowds in Seattle. If she comes home with clothes Alice insisted on buying, then at least Rosalie had been able to drag Bella to little-known shops to find old books and vintage wares. Bella's Christmas shopping is completely done in the space of a single day - quite a feat, since her number of yearly presents tripled with the addition of the Cullen-Hale brood.
Back home, she sits among the cluster of bags - decorations and presents alike - in the living room after Rosalie and Alice leave and nearly laughs herself sick.
Bella Swan had actually enjoyed shopping.
Maybe it had something to do with the company she keeps.
o.o.o
o.o.o
Emmett Cullen lugs a squat, fully-branched five-foot fir through the backdoor in the kitchen with a single hand, clearly showing off his vampire strength. He doesn't ask where she wants to put it because Alice has already given him explicit instruction. Jasper follows along and, with a dutiful bow of his head, sets the base of the tree into water.
"Ever had a live one?" he asks.
Bella shakes her head. Renee's idea of Christmas trees changed each year; she'd had plastic white, green, and pink; a rescued dying pine from the side of the road; even a cactus, one year, but that was never repeated and definitely never spoken of. So she listens attentively as Jasper and Emmett take turns explaining how to care for a live Christmas tree. When their advice begins to conflict, she plainly asks for the manual that came with the tree base.
Emmett's boisterous laughter nearly shakes the walls of Charlie's house.
o.o.o
o.o.o
Her chest is warm as she watches Edward balance on a ladder, following her cues as to where to put soft white lights on the house. Although he doesn't require the charcoal scarf or knit cap pulled tight around his ears, it offsets the coppery sheen of his hair and the paleness of his skin - her heart rabbits when he smiles at her from the roof. He is enjoying this bit of domestically the way only a boy from the Victorian age could.
Bella, with her hands warmed by mittens and a half-full thermos of coffee, finds that she doesn't mind it one bit.
She's fifteen, but she's never felt her age. Never fitting in with her peers, always a tad more mature than even the adults around her - on intellectual par with people decades older than herself. Whether by being forced into a parental role by her mother's childishness or by the inevitability of maturity through the insight of her gift, she wasn't sure. Did it matter? She didn't feel fifteen. She didn't feel frightened by the gravity of what is by all counts a serious relationship, even in its fledgling stages. It felt right.
Mate, Edward had thought - and she had agreed with so little hesitation.
Did humans feel it, too, that instant bond of attraction that was not at all unlike the propelling force of magnets? Opposites attract, right, but in their case, opposites complete each other. They are opposite ends of a compound sentence, the beginning and the end of a book, met in the middle by a kiss in that meadow. Their singular kiss, but she wasn't going to count. She knew there would be others - and she knew his restraint was in deference to her age as much as it was to his ingrained sense of propriety. Which was a sweet thought and greatly appreciated, but she didn't consider it necessary, truly.
Her mind was already fully devoted to Edward. She couldn't imagine that her body would not soon follow - when she was ready, whenever that may be. The trouble would be in convincing him, she's sure.
Bella occludes her sense of glee at that inevitable argument. The promise of Edward's opposition - a rarity, for they were generally compatible in most things - and the mental work-out she would undergo in convincing him was exciting.
Is that odd? Should she want to argue with her partner? Perhaps she looked forward to it because she could already sense victory.
Still, it wasn't the right time. She has desires, but she's not ready - and more importantly, he's not ready. The last thing she wanted to do was demand he compromise his sense of morality before either of them was prepared for a physical relationship. They were new. They were immutable. There was time.
"Up on the left," she instructs in a low murmur, biting the inside of her cheek to mute her inane smile. Edward didn't really need her instructions from the ground, but for the last fifteen minutes he'd been messing up on purpose, drawing the time out for longer than was really needed. Savoring the moment, imprinting it into his memory. She catches him doing it all the time.
"Like this?" he calls down, just at the perfect volume for her weaker ears to catch.
Her eyes gleam. "Now up on the other side," she says, as if it's actually possible to hang a round wreath crookedly. "Still doesn't look right."
"Is that so?"
"Maybe it needs to go higher."
He laughs outright at her mischievousness. "Maybe we need a second opinion," he retorts, dropping his arms and looking down the street.
She follows his line of sight, catching the front bumper of the cruiser a good thirty seconds before Charlie actually pulls into the drive. The engine dies, headlights cutting off, and Charlie steps out, rubbing at the shadow on his jaw. He snorts when Edward asks him to settle the score, then watches with a faraway look in his eye as Edward finishes adjusting the outdoor decorations to Bella's specifications, arm tossed over her diminutive shoulder.
"He's a good boy, huh?"
Bella doesn't think that Charlie is actually looking for an answer, but she responds anyway, boldly ignoring the flare of embarrassment in the honesty of expressing her truest feelings. "Yes, he is."
It's worth it for the happiness coating Edward's mind when they part ways after the outdoor lights are casting warmth onto the frost-bitten front yard, the touch of their hands lingering and sweet. Better yet is Charlie's quiet approval of her relationship, of Edward. He's leery of how quickly it's become so serious, but she knows from his thoughts, that he sees his own lost love in the way she and Edward revolve around each other - even so soon after establishing themselves. He sees her happiness, a shining, fragile thing that he does not want to see broken. He sees that Edward Cullen has given something that she had sorely been lacking, something that she could not find in books or in the world around her - a companion, a peer, a love.
That night, the Swan household is alight with new memories and the crooning of Bing Crosby as Bella ropes her father into swathing their tree with golden ribbons, fresh pine cones, and bronzed glass ornaments in the shape of balls and antlers. They step back and stare at the tree, at the piney garland weaved through the stair bannister, and the unorganized rolls of wrapping paper stuffed under the burlap treeskirt. Charlie kisses her forehead, mustache tickling her skin.
Not even Christmas Eve and it is already the best, truest Christmas Bella has ever had.
o.o.o
o.o.o
"-gether? Hello? Space cadet Bella!"
Bella's eyes rise slowly from the page she'd been reading as she wandered from her English classroom toward the general direction of the cafeteria. She blinks, taking in her relative location, and concluding that she'd been walking awfully slow if she was one of the only people still left in the outdoor hallway, uncaring of the nip of winter winds against her nose and cheek as she lost herself in the enduring fiction of Little Women. Then, she frowns. Jessica had snapped at her again - even if she hadn't heard it this time, she just knows that the bubbly, curly-headed girl had the audacity to perform such an action for a second time. And lo and behold - there is Jessica, a foot to her left, tapping her foot impatiently, her brows raised in expectation.
Bella has seen that expression before. It's Jessica's gossip face. She's immediately weary.
"Sorry, what?"
Jessica rolls her eyes. "Bella! Are you going to make me beg for details?"
Unsure of what Jessica's initial goal in accosting her had been, Bella can only flatly reply, "Yes."
Jessica huffs in irritation, but then goes on to repeat herself, probably for the third time by this point. "So, are you and Edward Cullen, like, together?"
Oh, Bella realizes, closing her book and hugging the worn cover to her chest. This was new. Bella has never been the subject of gossip before, really. She'd always been so insulated, so caught up in her own world of books and academia to even be tangentially involved in anything noteworthy enough to grab the attention of her age-mates. Until now. If she's being honest, she didn't really understand how any relationship of hers would strike the interest of Forks High's runner-up gossip queen - but then again, there did seem to be something scandalous about a seventeen year old dating a fifteen year old, even if said fifteen year old was a senior and said seventeen year old a junior. Maybe it was the oddity of her circumstances, being in advanced classes and graduating light-years ahead of her age-mates, that made the situation newsworthy. Or perhaps because it was Edward Cullen, who had been the solo-man for as long as he'd been in Forks. Or maybe it was because Edward was not being at all subtle in his advances, often meeting her outside of classes to escort her through the awning-covered hallways, thus drawing attention to both of them.
"Bella! It's not a hard question! Are you or aren't you?"
There's no escaping, is there? Jessica was like a dog with a bone. Maybe simple answers was the easiest way to go about this. "Yes," she answers, preparing to take a step forward, only to be halted in her tracks by Jessica's ear-splitting squeal and outrageous display of clapping.
"Oh, my God! Wow!" she exclaims. "What's that like? Have you gone out a lot? What about your dad - does he approve? How couldn't he, right, I mean Edward's, like, Edward Cullen!"
Bella flounders, not sure how to answer any of these questions and certainly not willing to. It's not really any of Jessica's business. How to put that politely? Is there a polite way? Diplomacy isn't exactly Bella's strong suit, though, so in the end she simply says, "I was supposed to meet him, actually, for lunch. So I should…go."
The delivery is so awkward though and it's clear that Jessica doesn't really buy it. Bella is scrambling for her seldom-used social skills when, blessedly, a familiar honeyed voice calls out from down the hall. "There you are," Edward says, purposefully exhaling as if he had worked his respiration rate upward in search for her. He was an excellent actor. Bella would bet money that Alice had sent him along, that clever psychic. "I've been looking everywhere."
Bella's lips twitch. "I'm sorry. I was caught up."
Edward deliberately eyes her book rather than the obvious cause of her delay, which watches this exchange with round eyes. "Let me guess, you were multitasking?"
"Guilty."
"You know, you would probably have more time to read if you just waited to get to your destination rather than trying to read and walk at the same time."
"That sounds so boring," Bella teases.
Edward's firm arm slips around her waist, his other hand reaching for the book as he subtly turns them away from Jessica. The curl of his palm over the curve of her hip, a proprietary touch, kindles a new sort of yearning in Bella. She wants to kiss him desperately in that one moment, a feeling so overwhelming that she nearly does it. Instead, she bites her lip and engages in his gentle ribbing.
"I admit that the hallways aren't quite so fascinating as the drama of the March family, but at least then you wouldn't be so cold."
"I'm not cold," she argues, then catching the first part of his sentence, tilts her face upward in unabashed enthusiasm as they walk toward the cafeteria, Jessica long-forgotten in the wake of their intimate bubble. Bella has to tilt her head quite far, for Edward is a good eight inches taller than herself, but all that really means is that she fits neatly into his side. "Edward Cullen, did you just admit to reading Little Women?"
"Of course. You said it was one of your favorite books."
"I have many favorite books."
Edward grins boyishly, winking at her with eyes the same shade as raw honey. "And I endeavor to read them all."
"You'll be reading for ages," she tells him, only partially serious.
His fingers slip against her own and for a moment, they are both cradling the spine of Little Women. His sincerity radiates through his mind, brighter than the white noise of his telepathy or the plucking notes of a melody always being re-written in the background of his thoughts. "It's a good thing that I happen to have a lot of years to spare, then."
This time, she doesn't resist pressing a sweet kiss to the hinge of his jaw.
o.o.o
o.o.o
Dear Great Uncle Aro & Great Aunt Sulpicia,
As I know of no other way to contact you, I am sending this letter out as a final Hail Mary attempt to reach either of you. This is the longest we have not been exchanging letters since I learned how to write. To say that I am worried is an extreme understatement of the exact degree of my concern for both of you.
Please, write back. Please.
All my love,
Your Great Grandniece Isabella
o.o.o
o.o.o
Great Uncle Aro still hasn't written back by the third week of December.
Neither has Great Aunt Sulpicia.
And the vampire Mele is still skirting around the range of Edward's telepathy, her movements too unpredictable for Alice to predict, and her emotions too muted for Jasper to latch onto.
All three are cause for concern. Bella doesn't know which to be more worried about and as the uncertainty of a vampire stalking his mate continues, Edward becomes steadily more protective, even to the point where he hunts only small game in favor of watching over Bella from his perch in the tree in her backyard. His eyes are darkening by the day and her sleeplessness grows by the night.
Something has to give.
o.o.o
o.o.o
Honestly, though, Bella didn't think it would be her bookcase to give in first. The shelves have been bowing, creaking, slowly warping under the weight of her books since August and now the day has come where they threaten to give out.
It is the night before Christmas Eve; Charlie is toiling away at the night shifts that he has taken for the majority of the month and Bella had taken the opportunity to absolutely hog the bathroom, languishing in a bubble bath of Great Aunt Sulpicia's dwindling soaps for an hour until she is pink and pruned. Cloaked only in a deep plum bathrobe, she pads from the bathroom to her bedroom, pulling a brush through long tresses of espresso-dark hair. Her mind is a million miles away, caught up in the unanswered mystery of where her relatives have disappeared, in the babbling phone call she'd shared with Renee a few hours earlier, lingering over the dryness of her throat.
She sets the brush down on her desk, then moves forward to consider her bookcase. She'd worked her way through several books this year and with Christmas Eve on the horizon, it is time she celebrate the holiday in her own way with an annual reading of A Christmas Carol. A pinch works its way into her heart. Her copy of the book was a gift from Great Uncle Aro.
Where did she put it? She knew it was somewhere on the bookcase; Phil had been good enough to send all of her books, which meant that she didn't have any missing from her ever-growing collection. But Bella also didn't have an organizational system, so locating it might take some time. She searches each shelf with a keen eye, tilting her head to read the titles of books that are stacked horizontally; she crouches to give the lower shelves equal attention, then places her hand on a mid-level shelf to steady herself as she stands. The shelf groans in protest at even that slight weight and quite suddenly, Bella is forced to leap backward to protect her bare feet from the clomp of books on that shelf falling to the floor.
She stares at the shelf, almost feeling betrayed as she examines the other shelves for similar signs of weakness. As she does so, though, she catches sight of a familiar spine and the name Dickens balanced on the very top of the shelf, just barely within reach. Bella picks her way around the fallen books, stretching onto her tip-toes - and then another shelf gives out, swamping her bedroom floor with another flood of pages and making the bookcase rock forward, setting A Christmas Carol off balance and decidedly out a reach as the slim novel wedges between the back of the bookcase and her dusty purple wall.
"Unbelievable," she mutters.
What was she going to do, now? Until she got a new shelf, her books would simply have to take up residence below the window, but for the moment, she really needed to address the inevitability of other shelves simply giving up. She certainly didn't want to be woken in the night to the alarming sound of books toppling to the floor. Only Bella was small and not known for her great physical strength - and it had taken quite a bit of maneuvering between Charlie and herself to even get the solid oak bookcase up the stairs. Broken or not, there was no way she would be moving it by herself.
But she did know someone who could.
Gingerly, Bella steps around the books on the floor and pries open her window, wrapping her arms securely around herself as cold December wind seeps into her room. She looks at the tree in her backyard, catching the subtle glow of milky skin among the shadows. "Edward," she calls softly. "Can you help me?"
Even this far away, she can see that he visibly hesitates. She wonders why and then realizes that she's still in her bathrobe. Oh.
"I really do need help," she says, fighting the fierce blush dawning in her cheeks. "My bookshelf is very slowly disintegrating before my eyes and I'd really rather not just leave the mess until the morning. If you could just put that vampiric strength to good use…"
It's too dark for her to see him move, but in the next moment his long fingers are curled over the edge of her windowsill and he is easily hefting himself into her room at human speed, one leg at a time, his eyes rather fixated on her own in an effort to remain polite. He's not breathing, she notices.
Bella clears her throat daintily. "I'll just go change."
Edward nods, pointedly turning his head toward the window and doing his best impression of a statue as she riffles through drawers. Inanely, she wants to touch him at that very moment - nothing more than a graze over the sharp angle of his cheekbone just to get a sense of what he's thinking, what he's feeling. She thinks she understands his frustration at being unable to read her thoughts at his own leisure.
She disappears into the bathroom, hurriedly tugging on fleece-lined pitch-black leggings, a thick, oversized burgundy cowl-neck sweater, and thick socks that are too big to do anything but bunch around her ankles. In the mirror, the mossy green of her eyes is bright with an uncharacteristic bout of nerves. Butterflies are in her stomach. There's a boy in her room.
Edward is in her room.
Thanks in large part to vampire speed, Edward has already stacked her books neatly to the side and done something with the two broken shelves - probably took them outside to the trash. He is waiting when she comes back, lithe and stunning in the soft light of her lamp. He looks about as nervous as she feels and that in turn makes her relax. She sets to silently clearing the shelves of books, brushing elbows with him every once in a while as they work at human pace. Then he picks the heavy shelving up and lugs it outside to the curb, reappearing before Bella has even picked up A Christmas Carol, his hair ruffled from the speed.
"How will you explain moving that by yourself?"
Bella shrugs, wandering over to her desk to place the book down. "I'll tell Charlie that it was adrenaline," she decides glibly. And then her gaze catches on the letter she has yet to send out, the letter pleading for any kind of response, and she has to squeeze her eyes shut tightly to hold back the hot burn of tears suddenly threatening to overflow.
"Bella?" Edward asks, his chest pressed lightly against her back as he places a tender hand to her shoulder. "Why are you sad? Are you crying?"
She sniffles, feeling completely ridiculous. "Oh, I'm not sad, precisely. I'm…anxious. Worried. My Great Uncle Aro hasn't written me back in a while and it's not really like him to not respond to my letters…" She stops, breath catching at the stillness she senses from him, at the minute tightening of his hand on her shoulder. "Edward?"
"Did you say Aro?" he breathes. The shock in his tone is enough to make her turn around, peering up at his expression with curiosity; his eyes are wide, but the pupil are blown-open and darkening his gaze by the second, tracking her with an emotion that she cannot name.
"Yes, I did," she confirms slowly, frowning. "It's a perfectly common name, isn't it?"
"Not in my world," he intones darkly, almost a growl.
Bella shakes her head. "What do you mean your world?"
"Could you show me these letters?" At her dubious hesitation, his countenance softens. "I just - I need to be sure, Bella. Please let me see these letters."
"Alright," she agrees, stepping to the side of her desk and pushing her keepsake box forward, lifting the lid to wave one of the broken-wax seals beneath his nose. "Here, I keep them in this box."
Edward isn't exactly listening, though. He's eying the box and the letter with alarm, tracing his hands over the fine etching on the face of the wood. "The seal," he whispers in disbelief. "Even the box is emblazoned with it…Bella, do you have anything else from Aro?"
Bella is extremely confused, but not enough that she plans to ignore the line of Edward's questioning. Even if she were blind, she thinks she would be able to see the flare of protection that straightens his shoulders, hones his every sense on her entire person. And Edward doesn't keep secrets; if she plays along, he'll tell her what all of these dramatics are about.
So, she nudges the book she's kept on her desk for most of the semester with the back of her knuckles. "Well, he sends me books constantly. See? Secrets: On the Ethics of Concealment and Revelation…But he doesn't sign them if you're looking for a particular flourish."
"Is there anything else?" Edward asks carefully. He casts his eye around her room critically, looking for evidence of something.
"Edward, what is this all about?"
"Bella," he growls, facing her fully with those dark eyes, and she doesn't feel threatened, exactly, but more like she is being strongly encouraged to be forthcoming right now - because for whatever reason, her mate thinks it's necessary. "Is there anything else?"
She bites her lip. "His wife, Sulpicia, sends me jewelry sometimes. I'm wearing earrings she gave me for my birthday, see?" she asks as she tucks her hair behind her ear, letting him study the delicate ruby-silver stud pressing through her flesh.
Edward's hands pull through his hair as he bites back a serious of rumbling growls. "You've been marked by them," he declares around a snarl, pacing with agitation. "Claimed by the Volturi - but why?"
Bella reaches out, pressing a hand to the center of his chest, effectively halting a caged lion. "Hey, hey," she says soothingly, their skin separated by two layers of wool and cotton. "What are you talking about? What's the Volturi?"
Edward's eyes dart over her face, his inhalations deep and reaffirming under the heat of her palm. He swallows as he slips his hands over the curve of her upper back, pausing on the dip of her waist as he pulls her protectively against his chest. When he speaks, the deep rumble of his chest cleanses the tension she felt building behind her eyes. "We need to speak with Carlisle - now."
o.o.o
o.o.o
By the time they arrive to the Cullen house - a magnificent architectural structure set deep into the woods, a dizzying marriage of glass and steel and wood that she suspects has Esme's hand in design - with Bella on Edward's back, snuggled beneath his jacket and scarf to better mask her scent, the entire Cullen family is waiting for them. Clearly, Alice knew they were coming; better yet, Alice had even filled the entire family in on the events that had taken place in Bella's room.
The benefits of psychics are boundless, but Bella is discovering that even Alice has limits to what she knows.
Edward deposits Bella onto a butter-soft suede sectional in the middle of a clean, white-shaded living room that had been taken over by a classic myriad of Christmas décor - most obviously is the eight-foot tree set in the corner across from a black baby grand piano scattered with music parchment. She recognizes several decorations from that trip to Seattle earlier in the month, but the way that Alice had so delicately, deliberately placed each string of tinsel, each sparkling glass ornament, each string of tiny fairy lights is nothing short of magical. Her appreciation of this portion of the Cullen household is somewhat ruined by the width of Edward's back as he blocks her partially from view, a faint growl rattling through his chest.
Bella reaches for his sweater-clad wrist, effectively cooling his aggravated temper - fueled by what she knows is a deep-rooted fear of this Volturi Coven - as she tugs on his arm, forcing him to sit down next to her. He doesn't fully relax, one of his arms reaching over her knees to lock her back securely against the couch cushions even as he remains stiffly perched on the edge of the seat. She doesn't begrudge him this, does not fight against it. If taking protective stances makes him feel better about her safety, then she is glad to indulge him.
She is less charmed by the rapid-fire discussion that takes place too lowly for her human ears to hear - even lovely Esme Cullen joins the volley discussion. She sits with a pinched frown until seven heads turn in her direction. She stares back expectantly.
"Why would the damn Volturi be interested in a little human girl?" Jasper drawls, hands clasped behind his back as he eyes her speculatively.
That's the million dollar question, she thinks, careful to have her hands tucked away inside the too-long sleeves of her sweater and Edward's heavy jacket. She was cutting herself off from feeling her mate's thoughts because on the run over, her cheek had brushed against his and her head had positively spun at the dump of information she'd received.
The Volturi Coven, the effective rulers of the entire vampire race for the last two thousand years, heralded by a guard of extremely gifted vampires and extremely cunning leaders - one of whom was apparently named Aro and who Carlisle had evidently spent time with shortly after his change. Edward's mind had touched upon a painting Carlisle kept in the house that showed all three leaders - kings? - of the Volturi Coven and their mates, and his attention had lingered over Aro, Aro, everything about the vampire Aro, the touch-telepath Aro, the ruthlessly ambitious Aro, the threat to his mate Aro -
Bella had flinched away, pressing the crown of her head into the back of his neck instead of risking more skin contact. The ordinary chaos of Edward's mind, a byproduct of his constant telepathy, had been an avalanche of disordered emotions and ideas and just - just too much for Bella to handle at the moment.
"Well," Carlisle sighs leadingly, sitting down on the couch even though he doesn't have to. She has the sense that he's leveling himself to make both she and Edward feel better.
Edward seems to catch something in Carlisle's thoughts, as his rumbles abruptly cut off. "Is that possible?" he demands, whipping his head around to glare at his sire. "Carlisle, that's speculation, a theory - unless you can prove it -"
"To be perfectly honest, I did suspect when I examined you at the hospital, Bella," Carlisle says calmly, completely ignoring Edward's ire, tilting his head to study her with clinical efficiency. "Your medical records are remarkably sparse, not to mention that for a human who has never been vaccinated, your immune system should not be so efficient."
"That's not so weird. Renee honestly believes that vaccines cause autism…" Bella says weakly. Even without any of them saying it out loud, she already knows the direction all of this is heading. It's only logical. Unbelievable, but logical.
"You've never had chicken pox, have you?" counters Carlisle gently. "It's a very common childhood disease."
"I - Well, no…" Bella trails off, shaking her head with a huff of exasperation. "Oh, my God. You really think I'm, what, part vampire? Are you serious?"
Edward looks at her from the corner of his eye, but says nothing. He doesn't have to. It's written plainly on his face - and the faces of his family - that they do actually believe that Bella isn't entirely human. Ridiculous.
Rosalie leans her hip on the side of the couch, arms crossed over her chest. "It would explain why it seems to difficult to injure you. For a human, you're exceptionally difficult to bruise."
"Yeah," Emmett agrees with an excitable bounce of his large body. "Even Eddie-boy slamming you around didn't leave a mark." He winks, unbothered by Edward's warning growl.
"Plus your gift is just so developed," Alice adds, wringing her hands together.
Carlisle nods. "Yes, that is a considerable addition. Humans typically only display an inkling toward a gift, not a fully-realized one."
Bella begins to shake her head in denial, but then Edward says, "Plus the blood."
"What?" she asks dumbly as he twists around to watch her with bourbon-dark eyes.
"You cook with blood," he explains, as if that proved some point.
"That's not proof!" she refutes, clapping her hands onto her thighs. "Honestly! Cultures all over the world cook with blood. It's actually the mark of culinary accomplishment!"
"Yes," he agrees, brow knit together. "But I've noticed that every time you stop by the butchers, you are especially thirsty for as long as you are directly exposed to fresh blood. You never express that much thirst otherwise."
Bella reels. That was - true, wasn't it. Oh, God. It was true. Everything else seemed incredibly circumstantial, but Edward wouldn't lie to her, he wouldn't bring something up unless he was sure. And if she thought about it for longer than a second, she couldn't deny the evidence glaring right in her face. Really, Bella didn't know anyone who ate a diet similar to her own that was so heavily tilted toward red meats and blood-laced recipes. She'd never given it much thought - after puberty hit, she'd started eating more meat without really thinking about it. And that was weird, wasn't it? It was. Oh, it really was.
"Chief Swan too, then. Right?" Emmett asks.
"What?" Bella bleats. "Charlie is part vampire, too?"
Emmett shrugs, but it is Carlisle who answers with a thoughtful lilt. "Now that you mention it, Charles Swan has aged unbelievably well for a human…"
Bella covers her face with her hands. There is too much guesswork at play - not enough concrete evidence. In the span of ten minutes, they'd gone from worry about the Volturi's interest in her via Aro - who was, what, tricking her for the last ten years just to keep her close for some ludicrous reason? - to speculating that she wasn't exactly human. And now they were dragging her father into it.
"There has to be a way to prove it," she says, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Carlisle, could you tell that sort of thing from a blood analysis?"
Carlisle nods, snapping his fingers. "Excellent suggestion, Bella. Allow me to fetch my medical bag and -"
Edward hisses, lips pulled back to fully expose two rows of deadly teeth, slipping into a crouch at her feet. At the same moment, Alice whirls to face the front door with a gasp. The rest of the Cullen coven scatter into positions that feel well-rehearsed; Emmett and Jasper each stepping to the side of the front door, Carlisle between them, Esme protecting Alice's back, and Rosalie guarding Edward's side.
Not to be left out, Bella braces herself, pushes her sleeve over her finger tips, and grazes the side of Edward's neck -
Mele has decided to come into range with the clear intention of speaking with the Cullens.
Mele has not come alone - on her heels are two vampires who, even to Edward's mind, feel absolutely ancient, easily masking the majority of their thoughts from him, a skill that could not have been learned by coincidence.
o.o.o
o.o.o
Bella isn't sure how she expected this confrontation to begin, but she certainly wouldn't have thought it would start with a casual knock on the front door of the Cullen household. Her vantage point is awkward, but she is able to see the way Emmett and Jasper fall back just enough for Carlisle to open the door.
Her heart leaps to her throat when she hears a warm, orotund voice warmly say, "Ah, Carlisle, my dear old friend. Might you allow into your fine home? Sulpicia and I have gone through terrible trouble to arrive so covertly. It would be a shame if our secrecy was compromised."
"Of course," Carlisle answers courteously. "Please, do come inside."
The first one who enters is a young female vampire of obvious African descent, her exquisite bone structure highlighted by the richness of her complexion, her hair shorn close to her head and her eyes a brilliant shade of persimmon. She is as tall as Rosalie, dressed in simple dark clothes that only emphasize her serious visage. Still touching Edward's neck, Bella immediately knows that this is Mele - the vampire who had been watching her for so long, the vampire that would have stopped the SUV in the school parking lot, the vampire who had ripped the throat out of a man who had dared lay a hand on Bella. Mele does not bother to mask her thoughts from Edward and so through him, Bella is able to detect a flare of warmth that Mele feels for her, an almost maternal emotion that does not show on her face.
Mele's eyes linger on Bella for a brief second - making sure that she is comfortable and safe - before she steps aside, allowing entrance to the next two vampires.
The woman - she must have been close to Carlisle's physical age - draws Bella's attention first when she makes a short-lived sound, a gasp of joy that is muffled by the flutter of her delicate hand over a rose-bud mouth. Her eyes, an incredible shade of vermillion, shine with untamed emotion; if vampires could cry, this ultra pale, auburn-haired vampire would. Sulpicia, the name gleaned from Carlisle's mind, who stands with regal grace, covered head-to-toe in a white cloak just a shade darker than the translucence of her skin, her hair coiled around a golden metal band that tapers from temple to temple.
Bella drags her eyes away, drawn to the male vampire, who could only be Aro. He is tall and more obviously ancient than Sulpicia, with a pallid complexion and a milky tinge to the glittering garnet of his eyes; his hair is long, far past his shoulders and perfectly straight, nearly as dark as Bella's; but more importantly is the shape of his nose, the cut of his jaw, the width of his brow, all of which look so familiar. It takes her a moment to realize that it seems familiar because she has seen those features in other faces. Like Charlie's. Like her own image in the mirror, though it is less obvious; Bella's nose turns up at the end, her chin is more narrow, her cheekbones softer and higher.
It's the shape of his eyes that really gets her, though. Even with the shade so alarmingly red, the upturned curve of his eyes are exactly like her own and as she stares at him, she is accosted by an image that she knows is from Aro's human memory - Aro studying the shade of mossy-green in the imperfect metal reflection of ancient Greek mirrors.
Bella doesn't have the same perception of time that vampires do. For her, the moments since these three vampires entered the Cullen home have felt like an eternity; but by Edward's perception, it has been only three seconds. So, when she breaks the silence, it already feels like the conclusion had been decided eons beforehand and not in the space of a single heart beat.
"It's true," she breathes.
Aro's lips stretch into a wide smile. "Precious," he greets, holding out a hand as he steps forward, palm turned up, wrist vulnerable. "We have waited so very long to meet you."
Bella is standing before she even really realizes it, before she even registers that Edward is following, shadowing her as she reaches for Aro's hand. Not stopping her - likely realizing that it was inevitable - but not blindly trusting her safety in such precarious, unsure moments. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches Jasper's watchful posture, Alice's enamored expression, and the radiating sense of caution projected by the rest of the Cullens.
She doesn't pay them any mind.
Her fingers slip over Aro's cool, smooth palm - and the feeling is visceral. She hadn't even thought about it, but she's pushing her mind forward to meet his, just as instinctive as she does for Edward, inherently trusting that Aro would not harm her. And in fact, even as she realizes that his telepathy is different from hers and different from Edwards, she notes that he cradles her thoughts as gently as he can, gossamer-soft and so unbelievably fond.
Grandfather, she realizes. In actuality, great-great-grandfather is the correct term, but even that was imprecise to describe the nature of their relationship, nurtured so tenderly for her entire life.
Granddaughter, he returns, joyous and fierce with his recognition of her, with the ability to finally lay eyes on her personally, to breathe her scent and hear the thrum of her still-human heart. He has been waiting for her, for the heir of his long life - to make up for his mistakes, yes, but also to usher in a new age of enlightenment. She is tool as much as she is beloved and she does not hold that against him. That is the essence of his being, to use everything to his advantage.
How can she be angered by that when she has a tendency to do the same? There was a sense of entitlement that telepathy ingrained into a person, after all, and not even Bella had escaped that clutch of power.
Bella sniffles, overcome by emotion. And then she is in Aro's arms, wrapped safely in an embrace that he had been denied - first in his firstborn, Arilpicia, and in her son, Fozino, who had been raised so far out of his reach, and then in Charles, who had been taken further away. In Bella, he had finally had the chance to be a father, in a way, but it too had been limited. She knows all of this, for he has not released her hand and has no immediate plans of doing so.
"Do not cry, dearest," he murmurs, stroking her hair.
"You worried me," she tells him, clenching his fingers in her weak grip. "Why didn't you answer my letters?"
"Oh, sweetling," Sulpicia sighs, catching Bella's gaze. "It was necessary in order to make all the arrangements so that we could come here."
"Yes," Aro agrees, kissing her forehead. "Mele has been ever-so watchful, precious, but the time has come where you cannot remain hidden from the world-"
"The brothers know?" Edward interjects, a note of danger in his tone, oblivious to the warning look that Carlisle aims in his direction and uncaring of the way Mele shifts ever so slightly, weight rolling to the balls of her feet. "You told Marcus and Caius about Bella?"
Aro releases Bella, reluctantly separating their hands. But his facial expressions have a maniacal sort of ease to them, more animated than she would have guessed, and he smiles at Edward with bemusement. "Ah, you are the mate I have heard so much about," he says genially. "Young Edward Cullen with all of that genteel restraint, yes? I suppose I have no choice but to approve of you, given my darling granddaughter's attachment to your wellbeing, but it would serve you to remember exactly to whom you are speaking."
Edward holds his ground, pivoting to hover protectively over Bella's shoulder.
Aro laughs. "I did tell the Volturi about Isabella's existence, yes. I'm afraid I had to if I want all of my plans play out smoothly. But I assure you all, my granddaughter is not at risk." His expression turns stormy, foreboding. "I would never allow that to happen."
Sulpicia touches his shoulder, then smiles at the room at large. "Please, may we sit? We have ever so much to speak about and so little time to do so."
o.o.o
o.o.o
That is December.
A/N: You guys. I had fun with this chapter - hope the reunion (does it count as a reunion if there was never a union in the first place?) was handled well. We're moving along in the story line at a nice clip, but the action does not stop here. I've only done, like, half of canon-Twilights events, so. There's things to look forward to!
There have been questions about the wolves! Answers: Honestly, didn't really think about it much beyond the fact that Sam, Jared, and Paul have shifted; Jacob will not; the wolves still have a treaty with the Cullens; they definitely smell vampire on Charlie, but not necessarily that Charlie is the vampire they smell.
Anyway! As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.
~cupcakeriot