So far this month, my air conditioning, fridge, and laptop have all broken. But fanfic is a great escape, so here I still am! As always, thanks for the feedback. I appreciate every reader & every review.

A question and answer session from Edward's point of view.

I waited, trying not to be impatient, as Bella decided how to answer my question. I was used to the slowness of humans in comparison to myself and my family, but I wasn't usually so interested in what they had to say. I tried to distract myself by counting to one hundred in Aramaic while she fidgeted.

"She's very light-hearted," Bella finally said. "Spontaneous. She gets bored easily and she loves trying new things." A smile stole over her face and I couldn't help an answering smile. "She finds the wonder in the world. She's much more outgoing than I am—and much prettier than I am."

I bit back a compliment, worrying that I would make the girl in front of me uncomfortable. I had seen pictures of Renee Dwyer and, while it was true that she was beautiful, it struck me as the sort of appearance that relied on flash rather than substance. I preferred a quieter sort of beauty, the kind that drew you in and made you want to look again and again to see what you might have missed the first time.

"Now," she said, sounding eager, "tell me what you meant about Alice."

That was really the sort of thing that she ought to ask Alice about. However, it was also the sort of thing that Alice wouldn't be easily able to answer. "She doesn't remember her human life at all," I finally said. "Or how she was created. She woke up one day, a vampire. It could have gone quite badly if it had been anyone but Alice."

Bella looked as though she were about to burst. "You can't say that and then not explain why."

I supposed that that was fair. "Alice has a gift," I explained, watching her closely. She hadn't reacted particularly well to the revelation that I was a telepath; I had no idea how she would feel about Alice. "She sees things."

"What kind of things?"

I tried to limit how much I was breathing around Bella, but I still had to inhale before I could continue to speak. As always, the scent ripped through my lungs; my throat burned in spite of the fact that I had eaten as much as I could stomach before risking myself in a small space with her again. I dug my fingers into my thigh, steeling myself against the temptation. "Facts, usually. She's good at putting two and two together and coming up with five. Once in a while, however, she sees the future."

Her body tensed. She looked startled, as though she were prepared to flee. "The future? How much of it?"

"Not much. It seems to be a rare extension of her perceptive abilities." Not for the last time, I wished that I had Jasper's particular abilities. It would be nice to be able to soothe away some of the fear I could sense.

"How did that help her?" she asked, then shook her head. "No, explain more first."

"She gets—flashes, I suppose—of things that will happen to her or to those who she's close to. They aren't infallible. Sometimes knowing the future makes you take actions that will change it, or sometimes someone else changes their course of action significantly enough to change the future. We've come up with some theories about how it works, but we're not really sure." I took another breath; it was slightly less painful than the previous one. Longer exposure seemed to lessen the impact that she had on me, for which I was grateful. "She had one of them not long after she woke up, of hunting deer with Jasper. It set her on a good path."

Her eyes darted back and forth across my face. I kept my expression as neutral as possible, waiting for her to respond. It felt like an infinity before she finally opened her mouth. "So she doesn't just… know everything that's going to happen?"

"No," I reassured her. "Only a few have power with that kind of scope, and they tend to be invited or conscripted into ruling covens." Her jaw stiffened—was she remembering the conversation in which I had admitted that those ruling covens didn't care about humans? I would give anything to know what she's thinking.

"It's your turn," she said.

I couldn't help myself. "What's going through your head right now?"

She laughed. The sound never failed to send sparks through me; it was always so sudden, so unexpected, and so bright. "I'm not sure I know myself," she admitted. "Clairvoyance is… unbelievable, but… so is everything else about this. I'm curious about what other powers exist."

"That's almost too much to cover in a single afternoon."

"A summary, then?" She looked up at me entreatingly and I couldn't deny her.

"I know of telepaths, shields, charmers, matchmakers, truthtellers, empaths, sirens, illusionists, sadists, anesthetists, and trackers. There are others, less easily categorized. Few powers are true copies of each other—even those within the same category may have only the broadest overlap." The mention of trackers made me feel conflicted. I suspected that the nomad who had attacked Bella was one, and the fact that he had escaped from Jasper and Emmett meant that he was still out there, a potential threat. That shouldn't make me happy—I shouldn't be looking for excuses to spend time with this fragile human. I ought to be staying away from her.

I didn't want to do that. The knowledge pricked at me. I realized, too late, that it was my turn to ask a question. Bella was looking at me inquisitively. I tried to gather my thoughts. "Are there any things you like about Forks?"

She leaned her chin on a fist; I found the posture alarmingly endearing and averted my eyes. "The farmer's market," she said. "And… the people, most of the time."

My heart, if I had one, would have stirred at that admission—but no, I refused to count myself among the people of Forks. I wasn't really a person, not in the way she meant. "I'm glad it isn't all terrible."

She smiled, but it faltered quickly. "You said—you said the ruling covens don't care about us dying," she started, sounding unusually subdued. It appeared that I had been right in my earlier guess as to what she was thinking about. "So… most vampires, well, they eat humans, then. Why? I assume most of them started out as normal people who weren't—you know—murderers." She was worrying her lip again—I fervently hoped that we could avoid a repeat of Tuesday night.

"It's… difficult to explain," I began cautiously. "Imagine if… if you decided to eat only spoiled food for the rest of your life. You might be nourished, technically, but you would never be fulfilled. You would probably always feel sickened, in fact. And every time you walked past a plate of good food, you would be tempted. Except that the food is also heroin. It's addictive and pleasurable—better than anything else in the entire world. Everything in you demands it. It's very hard to overcome that kind of conditioning. Not impossible, of course. But harder than the average person—or vampire—is willing to work."

She made a face. "But the heroin is killing someone."

"Vampires also tend to develop superiority complexes." I could say that with authority, having seen many of their minds. "Many of them wouldn't see it as killing someone. Others try to justify it."

Her grimace deepened. "I just… can't imagine. Doing that. Killing people just to feel good."

My stomach twisted. If she knew me—truly knew me—she would hate me. I would carry my guilt for the rest of my existence. I deserved that. "Some rely on blood banks. We occasionally indulge, if we need a fighting edge or are facing a moment of weakness—pulled from the least-needed types only. I might describe that as like eating nothing but tofu—it's not particularly palatable on its own, because of how it's treated, but also not particularly offensive. Perhaps you would understand that. How long have you been vegetarian?"

"Years," she sighed, accepting the redirection. "I was… eleven, I think. I saw a documentary about factory farming and had nightmares for weeks—I told Renee that I was never going to eat meat again."

"And did you?"

She shrugged. "Once, but only because I didn't know."

I wasn't surprised at her strength of will, but I did find it charming. "Impressive."

Her face reddened; I closed my eyes, willing myself not to think about the movement of blood beneath her pale skin. It was always there, in the background, but certain things brought it very urgently to my attention. "It's nothing."

I couldn't think of any response to that that wasn't unduly revealing. "It's your turn," I said, giving her another second before I opened my eyes. Her face was safely pale again; I could breathe.

"Well," she said, sounding uncomfortable. "I couldn't help but notice that you reacted very strongly on Tuesday night. How do you live around humans if the next papercut might set you off?"

She was asking difficult questions today. I traced my tongue against the razor sharp edges of my teeth, trying to find a way to answer without lying but also without revealing the depth of my need. "Some humans are more—potent—than others. More tempting."

"So I'm—what, bacon?"

I pressed my lips together to stifle a laugh. "To me, yes. To the nomad, as well. To the rest of my species? You might be delicious or barely noticeable. It depends."

"Regular blood wouldn't affect you so much, then?" She looked politely skeptical.

"It would be distracting, but I could be in the same room and not lose my control." Depending on how well-fed I was, of course. "There are occasions that I make excuses to be elsewhere."

"Was that why you didn't come to class, that first day?" she asked.

I blinked, surprised that the incident had registered. "Yes. You were… a surprise." I thought back to that first day—the onslaught of her scent, fragrant and inviting, as she lingered in the doorway with Mike Newton. It had taken all my will not to kill her right there and then, witnesses be damned. I shook my head, trying to dispel the familiar pangs of hunger that always accompanied that memory.

"You were gone for the whole week, though," she pointed out. I winced—we were perilously close to an admission of just how much she affected me. I wanted to be honest, but I didn't want to frighten her.

But perhaps she should be frightened of me. Selfishly, I decided that if I could frighten her off I wouldn't have to distance myself from her for her own good. It would be out of my hands. "I thought about dropping out, leaving town," I admitted, the words tumbling over each other. "I wasn't sure that I could face you again. But—after a few days, it wasn't so bad. I couldn't believe I'd let anyone drive me away like that." I looked down, embarrassed. "I resented you, I think."

She reached out, one hand stopping just short of touching mine where they lay clasped on the table. I froze, and after a second she rested the back of her fingers against mine. I shuddered at the warmth of her touch. "I'm sorry," she said. "I can't imagine how hard it must be."

I shrugged. "We made our choices, now we live with them." I wanted to ask her more questions, but I was all too aware of the passage of time. "I'd stay longer, but I promised Esme that I would help her at the farmer's market this afternoon," I said, regretful. "If you aren't going to the dance next Saturday, perhaps we could repeat this conversation?"

I could hear her heart speed up—was she, at last, afraid of me? I steeled myself for refusal. Instead: "I'd like that," she said. I wouldn't let myself think about what that might mean. We both rose and she walked with me to the door. We stopped in front of it, and she looked up at me as though she wanted to say something—but then didn't.

"Bella?" I asked, feeling strangely urgent.

"Yes?" She looked up at me, vulnerable and trusting. I restrained myself from reaching out to touch her.

"Don't go into the woods alone," I said. "I'm not the only dangerous thing out there."

There was the fear that I had anticipated. "I'll keep that in mind," she said, pulling the door open.

I exited. "Be safe."

As she closed the door behind me I shoved my hands deep into my pockets, trying to forget the feeling of her warm fingers against mine.