Posted 2023-09-09; Beta'd by Eeyorefan12

It took considerable energy for Bella to focus on what the group of men said to and asked of her.

Men. Were they even that?

"And you remember nothing about being taken?"

She shook her head again.

"Did anyone examine her for marks?" It was a new voice that asked, coming from a thin figure at the edge of the room.

"No." Mr. Cullen's sharp tone suggested there wouldn't be any such examination.

"Why would there be marks?" she asked.

Several of the men stared at the floor.

Mr. Othonos cleared his throat.

"Even if there were, we haven't discussed the chain of custody," Mr. Othonos finally said. "We're assuming our Pisma found her second. There could be—"

"Why would there be marks?" Bella asked more loudly.

The man who'd asked the question muttered something, and those closest to him chuckled.

Mr. Cullen stood abruptly, his posture stiff. "Gentlemen, I propose we convene another day. Miss Swan is tired and it grows late."

After grimly eyeing him, Mr. Othonos nodded. "You're correct. I'll visit the keepers myself tomorrow and make sure there are . . . appropriate guidelines in place, should they be required again."

Mr. Cullen nodded, looking equally grim.

"And I'll read your report, Mr. Cullen, as will the rest of the committee, before leaving it with the archivist." Mr. Othonos got to his feet, which appeared to signal the end of the meeting. Behind him, the other committee members began to split off in twos and threes, making for the door. Fragments of more social conversation filled the room. "Miss Swan." The committee leader gave her a curt bow. "When it is convenient for you, I would be most grateful to interview you on more general matters—to learn of your home and how it has changed since my last time there."

"When was that?" she asked.

He gave a thoughtful hum. "A long time ago. I was very young. It was the height of the women's movement. I was there for several of your years and I left in—" He turned to Mr. Cullen. "What year would that have been?" He smiled apologetically at Bella." Our calendars do not align. I always struggled with the Julian system."

"1817," Mr. Cullen said softly.

The room did a little twirl. "I'm sorry. I thought you said eighteen—"

"Seventeen." Mr. Cullen eyed her with obvious concern.

"Tragic, that war." Mr. Othonos sighed, shaking his head. "So many lives wasted. And of course, you've marked the turn of yet another century. I hope, not with more war?"

The shocks were coming hard and fast, the underpinnings of her reality cracked, crumbling, or caved in. If Mr. Othonos was on earth for the end of the War of 1812, did that mean time passed at different rates? He was old, but he couldn't possibly be that old. If she could bring herself to accept that she was indeed on a different planet, and the evidence was becoming overwhelming, what year would it be when she returned? Her hands were feeling numb again. "You said that our calendars don't align. What did you mean by that?" Was her voice shaking?

Mr. Othonos chuckled. "Time passes differently here than there. You'll need a better teacher than I to reduce the complexities to something simple, I'm afraid."

Her throat tightened. Would anyone she knew be alive when she finally went home?

Only Mr. Othonos, Mr. Cullen, Bella, and one other man remained in the room. "Good evening to you all," Mr. Othonos said, bowing slightly and walking out, tapping his cane lightly as he went while the other man followed him.

"You're not feeling well." Again, Mr. Cullen reached for her elbow, guiding her back to a chair. He sat down next to her.

"What did he mean? About the time?"

"It does pass differently, yes."

Oh God. Tears threatened.

"Miss Swan? Tell me what I can do."

After several rapid breaths, she managed to form a croaky whisper. "My time. If he was there then, will I—?"

"You will return to your own time period," he said softly.

"How can you be sure?"

"You will, I assure you. For severance, we need to know the precise stage of each phase."

Bella swallowed a sob of relief. "When I return, how long will I have been gone?"

"Just under a year."

A year. There was a flood of relief and then panic. She'd have been missing for a year. She thought again of her father, her friends, of Jason—and then just as quickly considered how she would explain her absence. What kind of lie could she give—or should she lie at all? Surely no one would believe her—would they think her crazy? The pain the people she loved would go through and the anger they would feel when she came back was . . . unimaginable.

Then there was the intervening time itself. Where would she live? How would she support herself? The committee leader had been clear enough that it wasn't Mr. Cullen's fault she was here. His family had been kind enough so far and called her a guest, but she wasn't their responsibility. She'd need to find work and a place to live.

"Miss Swan?"

"Yes. I'm sorry." She wasn't sure how long she'd been lost in thought, but he'd politely waited on her. "I was . . . thinking."

"No apology is necessary from you. The circumstances my actions have caused you to be placed in are inexcusable. I apologize to you without reservation."

It was the most formal apology she'd ever received. It was also, it seemed, not warranted. "I thought—I thought Mr. Othonos said that you weren't at fault." He had said that, hadn't he?

It was Mr. Cullen's turn to sigh. "The committee doesn't hold me responsible. Technically, I did nothing wrong. But you are here, and our contact . . . no, it wasn't nearly enough for severance, but it would be enough for one of my kind to find you. Touching my skin marked you, Miss Swan. And because of my carelessness, I will take full responsibility for what has happened to you."

She thought back to the day spent at Mr. Morris' estate. "Why were you there? At the estate?"

"His name was the last I had to investigate. I called and he said I could come." He glanced at her, looking a little chagrined. "I didn't correct him when he assumed I was another university scholar. I'm sorry."

Ah.

"If it had meant I could have had access, I likely would have done exactly the same." She sighed, combing back over his words, snagging on one in particular: Marked. Marks. "Why did that man—from the committee—ask about marks? And Severance—what does that mean?"

"Severance is the term we use for passage between worlds."

Worlds. "Between our worlds?"

"There are three that we still regularly travel between. More that have since passed from range."

She wasn't sure she could absorb much more information. Already, she felt slightly numb. A little part of her was fascinated, the rest, terrified. He had neatly sidestepped her first question. Was she even up to hearing the answer to it?

"Miss Swan—"

"Bella. Please call me Bella." She closed her eyes briefly, opening them to look at Mr. Cullen. "Miss Swan is what all the condescending jerks at the university call me." This was followed by a nervous laugh. "Sorry. That sounded terrible. I'm—"

"Experiencing very trying circumstances." Again, there was that gentle expression. He was being kind. "If you wish, I'll call you by your first name in private, but"—he gave her an apologetic smile—"to do so in the company of others would be disrespectful . . . on several fronts."

His response only raised more questions, an experience that was becoming frustratingly common.

Accepting that she might as well accustom herself to the sensation, she nodded, choosing another question that had tugged at her attention and seemed more innocuous. "Are you really speaking another language?"

His gentle expression disappeared, replaced by a somber one. "Yes. I am, and so are the others. Our language most closely resembles a very old form of Greek."

Bella shook her head, confused. "But I . . . why do I understand you?"

"When the Pisma found you, they took you to a place where . . . people were taken before, when more used to come from your planet. The keepers there"—he sighed heavily—"did what they thought they should. It's been a very long time since someone has come as you did. When the committee was notified, Mr. Othonos had you brought here. I'm the most recently traveled, the most familiar with people of your time. In addition, most of my family know English, as do several committee members." He cocked his head slightly. "Do you remember being with the keepers?"

He must mean the two older men. "Yes." She felt herself shiver, clasping her hands together more tightly in her lap. "I thought—I thought a lot of things were bad dreams, but yes, I remember. They gave me water."

Mr. Cullen drew in a sharp breath. "I'm so sorry. Did they—do you recall them putting something near your face—your ear or your nose?"

"Yes." That had been real too. Another shudder passed over her. "Silver or gray, I think. It . . . moved?"

He nodded, grim. "I suspected as much. The placia. A small machine. The fact that it was implanted without your consent . . ." He paused, looking down and shaking his head. "We will remove it as soon as possible."

"Do I want to know . . . why?" Or anything about it, really? She had a sick sort of feeling she understood where it was, and thinking about it wasn't helpful.

"I will answer all your questions, as will anyone in our family, but you look pale. Perhaps you would like to rest?"

Bella laughed at his last comment. "I look pale to everyone all the time. But I am feeling . . ." Numb? Exhausted? Overwhelmed? An unexpected wave of tears threatened and she blinked them back.

She listened to Mr. Cullen call for his mother, who entered the room quietly and helped Bella stand. The wave of fatigue was sudden, and she lurched unsteadily as they walked towards the stairs.

— o — 0 — o —

Somewhat sleepily, Bella followed Esme to dinner. After a brief nap, she felt much better, though she did wonder why she'd felt so awful in the first place. The water? Whatever she'd been drugged with? The thing those men had—

Don't think about it.

"One thing at a time," she muttered to herself, steadying herself with the handrail.

Esme looked back, smiled encouragingly, and then continued on.

The parts of the house Bella had seen so far were all decorated in the Neo-Grec style, a popular one in the pre-civil war south. The antebellum south. She smiled to herself, recalling correcting Jason when he'd referred to it as the "pre-civil war antebellum south." Antebellum meant pre-war. He'd taken the correction good naturedly. It had been a mark in his favor.

She closed the door to those thoughts. It had been early days for her and Jason, and it wouldn't help her to pine for what could have been. A year was a long time. He'd move on, though she hoped he wouldn't.

As they passed through a small paneled and wallpapered hallway, Bella wondered which way the style had gone—from here to there, or there to here. She smiled at the historically-minded thought, a fragment of the studies she'd left behind. She'd be student enough here, she told herself.

I never did get to do the study abroad program.

The idle thought helped her hold back the threatening weight of grief she was just keeping at bay.

Just.

Walking into the blue-walled dining room, Bella saw they were the last to arrive. The men at the table, of which Mr. Edward Cullen was one, stood. He nodded and smiled politely. "Good evening, Miss Swan."

There was a chorus of "Miss Swans," from the three other men present, all four of them sitting only when Esme and Bella had done so.

"This is my son-in-law, Mr. Emmett Makris," Esme said, gesturing to a very tall, large man beside Rose. His dark hair was tied into a neat ponytail, and his eyes crinkled when he smiled. His wide grin revealed . . . the word "fangs" came to mind first, but Bella deliberately amended it to "extended canines".

Really long canines.

"And my first-born son, Mr. Jasper Cullen." Esme's hand rested briefly on the blond ponytailed man's shoulder. Like Edward's and Rose's, his skin was a dark olive. He also smiled, though his eyes didn't crinkle at the corners. If anything, he narrowed his gaze.

Fangs again, Bella thought, definitely fangs. A little nervously, she glanced to her right where Edward was seated. His closed-mouth smile revealed nothing. Had she ever seen him fully smile? He nodded slightly, directing her attention back to his mother.

"My daughter-in-law, Mrs. Alice Cullen," Esme said.

Tiny fangs. Dark hair. A pale, delicate face.

Bella glanced at Rose. Also tiny fangs. Esme had them too.

Cognitive dissonance, Bella decided, was very, very powerful.

"It's wonderful to have another woman in the house," Alice said. "We finally stand a chance at dominating the conversation."

The people around the table chuckled. Esme shook her head. "And last but not least, Mr. Sotiris Aberthau, our foreman, and Mrs. Penelope Aberthau, the household manager."

Bella gave a polite nod. "It's a pleasure to meet you all. Thank you for having me as a guest in your home."

"You're most welcome." Esme gave her a genuine smile. "As well, please understand that while most of us know some English, we may require some assistance with translation." She glanced at Edward, who nodded.

"I'll keep that in mind." She'd need to learn to speak the language, especially once she got that . . . placia thing removed. One of many things she'd have to learn.

There was a rustle as everyone unfolded their napkins and then the clink and clank of dishes being passed around. The activity brought everyone's hands into view, something Bella had specifically prepared herself for. She hadn't noticed earlier but Esme's fingernails curved and coiled round the end of her fingertips.

Small, much smaller than the men's claws, but . . . claws.

"Miss Swan?" Edward asked. He held a round, white and blue casserole dish in front of her.

"Oh, thank you." She took it, eyeing what looked like square-cut, green vegetables in a sauce. The porridge she'd been given earlier had tasted somewhat normal; until now, she hadn't given much thought to what foods these people might eat. She didn't recognize what was in the bowl.

"They taste much like asparagus," Edward said.

Ooh. Would it be considered rude to pass them along without trying them?

Edward leaned in a tiny bit closer, whispering, "They're not my favorite either."

Beside her, Esme sighed in mild exasperation. It sounded so typically parental, Bella chuckled, blushing at how obvious she'd been and taking some of the diced vegetables.

As other dishes came by, Bella wondered if there were any she shouldn't eat. A little nervously, she eyed the empty water glass in front of her.

"Mrs. Aberthau, would you pass the mother's tea, please?" Edward asked.

He'd been watching. Again.

"Thank you," she said quietly, whispering as he leaned over slightly to fill her cup. "Is there anything I should be careful not to eat too much of?"

"Nothing on the table," Esme answered.

Bella turned, surprised she'd heard.

"We have very good hearing," Esme said, smoothing out her napkin. "There are no spoken secrets in a Sabellian house."

"Especially for our mother," Rose said.

"A lie is never uttered that a mother cannot hear," Edward and Jasper chanted solemnly in tandem, quickly breaking into laughter.

"And my children clearly have no compunctions about mocking me in front of guests—even when one of them has only recently returned after years away." She gave Edward a stern look, then broke into a smile. "They assure me they respect me, Miss Swan, though clearly they're not to be believed."

Bella smiled at the familiar banter. Everyone had been served by now, and she followed Esme's lead, taking a first bite of the rice-like dish. She managed not to drop her fork, but put it down a little sharply, taking a long drink of the tea to counteract the spicy heat in the food.

If anyone noticed, they didn't say anything. Edward did refill her glass though, and nudged another dish of carrot-like vegetables towards her. She put a few of the round pieces on her plate, nibbling at them carefully. They were refreshingly sweet, like candied yams. She mouthed a quiet "Thank you" to him.

"Is our food very different from what you would normally eat?" Rose asked.

Bella suddenly recalled the meal she'd shared with Jason a few days before, quickly suppressing the threatening tears. She struggled to find her voice in her too-tight throat.

After a beat, Edward spoke. "The food on earth is very similar in many regards. Where I stayed there was a notable preference for starchy foods cooked in hot oil."

Grateful for his help, Bella nodded, her last bite of food still stuck in her throat.

"I see." Rose smiled tentatively, glancing at Edward and then her mother before turning her attention back to her plate.

Edward turned to their foreman."Speaking of food, Mr. Aberthau, I'd wondered if you'd had any luck with—"

Bella didn't understand the word Edward used, but she was mindful of his smooth redirection. She listened with only half her attention to the ensuing discussion of farm-related matters, instead mulling over what she'd learned so far.

That Edward had been gone for years was a surprise. Perhaps it explained his appearance, which was the most ordinary—human—of them all. His nails were very thick, but they were nails. His smile hadn't revealed the pointed incisors that everyone else at the table had.

Perhaps they'd been altered for his journey so as to help him blend in?

Did she dare ask him?

There was a remarkably loud "Meow" from the door of the room. A giant orange tabby cat nearly the size of a Labrador Retriever sidled up to the table.

"Oh, who let the whiffler in?" Esme frowned at the creature. "He's shedding."

"There you are," Edward said warmly, smiling and turning, tapping the side of his chair. "I was wondering when you'd come to see me."

Esme sighed.

"Hello, my boy," Edward said, rubbing the cat's ears when it approached. "This is Simeon. He's supposed to stay outside in the summer, but—"

Emmett chuckled. "His master is back a week and all the rules go out the window."

Esme shook her head. "This ends after tonight."

The cat purred, looking up expectantly. When Edward scooted his chair back, it hopped into his lap, rubbing its ears against his chest before settling down like a sphinx. Tufts of hair floated away where Edward stroked it. When the creature meowed again, the sound morphed, one part unintelligible, the next one a distinct "hungry."

No! Bella stared at the cat.

It opened its mouth and she clearly heard the word, "hungry" again.

"Your cat . . . talks?"

"Oh no," Esme said.

Edward stared at Bella. "No, they can't—and it's not a cat, but you—what is he . . . saying?"

"That he's hungry."

"Ah." Edward looked down at Simeon. "The effect will fade," he said, appearing thoughtful, "but it may last for several days."

"The effect," Bella repeated. She touched her ear. "The . . .?"

"Placia." The grim expression was back on his face. "The Sherooz," he said, glancing at his mother. "We'll need him."

Bella followed his gaze to Esme, whose eyebrows were drawn together in worry. "We haven't had one in a while," she murmured. "I'll check the roster when we go to town."

"The Sherooz?" Bella asked.

"A doctor. He travels between here and the north," Edward said.

"There isn't one in town?" Surely they had doctors?

Alice asked Rose to pass the orange dish, and Esme asked Penelope something about supplies. Whether or not they were deliberate attempts to direct the conversation away from her, Bella was grateful not to be the subject of everyone's attention.

"We're rarely in need of doctors. There used to be more," Edward said to her, "but now . . . we'll have the placia removed as soon as we can. Tomorrow, I'll start teaching you our language. It will help to reduce your reliance . . . and to speed its removal."

"HUNGRY!"

"Uh, maybe you should feed your fuzzy friend, though?"

Edward gave a surprised laugh, looking down at Simeon, stroking his fur. "Later, my boy," he said softly to the purring creature. "Even an absence of years won't excuse the breaking of that rule."

"The miasma is noticeable tonight," Esme said.

"Ah." Edward nodded.

The miasma? Bella tucked the question away for later, instead, working to ignore the feline for the rest of the meal. It was easier than expected, given the animal seemed content to remain in his master's lap and only had one word it wished to communicate. When the others began to clear dishes, Bella stood up to help.

"No, no," Esme said, putting her hand over Bella's. "You're not ready for that yet."

"You are our guest. Please, sit with me," Edward said. "I too am forbidden from helping yet." He winked at his brother, who rolled his eyes.

"Tcha, as if you need to follow the acclimation process like an offlander," Jasper muttered.

Edward grinned. "You were always the stickler for rules."

"Things change." Jasper carried away a large casserole dish. "Especially when my little brother is "forbidden" from helping."

"Why can't we help?" Bella asked once Jasper was out of sight.

"Oh, I probably could, but I didn't want to leave you alone."

"Oh." She felt a bit embarrassed, sitting while everyone was being useful. Still, she was grateful for Edward's company. Here in his home, he was good at putting people at ease. "And me?"

"There is a . . . set of procedures in place for newcomers as they acclimate. The water regimen is part of it. The little bears in it—"

"Little bears?" Bella asked. "Like—" she mimed claws and a growl.

Edward grinned, clearly struggling to suppress his laughter before switching to English. "I'm sorry. The placia—I've never encountered one in use before. There are obviously flaws"—he gestured to the cat-like creature in his lap—"in its function. Little bears—the word is spelled t-a-r-d-i-g-r-a-d-e-s."

"Tardigrades," Bella said. She'd heard the term somewhere before.

Edward nodded.

"They're small creatures in our water. The tea you have is free of them. The boiling and steeping kills them off, but there's enough of their substance remaining that your body will begin to acclimate. In a few days, we can begin by adding a drop of fresh water to your tea and slowly titrate."

He spoke like an academic. Perhaps he was one after all.

"Our water is an essential part of our biology. It's partly why we are so long lived. Drinking it will strengthen you—and prolong your life." His voice had taken on that soft, tentative quality again.

Prolong her life? It was another ridiculous idea in a series of them. Interplanetary travel. Blue trees. Claws . . .

"How long?" Bella asked.

"Not long. For the time that you're here, perhaps add a decade?"

A decade. Just from drinking water. "Huh." She thought of the other term he'd mentioned. "And the miasma?"

"Something like dust motes, but living." Edward ran his hand down the animal's back, earning another loud purr.

Bella watched a small cloud of cat hair float down to the floor.

"What did your mother call him?"

"A whiffler. But they're much like the felines you're used to. This one is excellent at his job—finding and disposing of rodents, or really, anything else he can sniff out."

Interesting. He looked big enough to take down a deer. "Is he friendly?"

Edward nodded, and Bella held out her hand in a closed fist for Simeon to sniff. His nose twitched and he rubbed his face over Bella's knuckles, giving her a lick.

"Hungry," Simeon hissed.

Bella snatched back her hand.

"He won't hurt you," Edward said.

Simeon hadn't moved, but he was eyeing Bella through what looked like menacingly thin slits.

"He's uh, he's really hungry."

"Oh. Well." After glancing around, Edward snatched a piece of something bread-like off the table and held it out in his palm. "Off you go, Simeon."

Forbidden treat in his mouth, Simeon hopped off of Edward's lap and onto the windowsill before disappearing outside, leaving Bella and Edward staring after him and his ghostly trail of fine fur.

"Edward, I, um—it's okay if I call you that when we're alone, isn't it?"

He nodded. "It is. Did you have another question, Bella?"

She smiled at his use of her name, grateful for one less formality. "What will I do here? How can I support myself? Earn a living?"

Edward turned fully towards her, shaking his head. "There's no need for you to. You're a guest and part of our household—"

"I can't rely on someone else for everything." She really couldn't. Even the idea of that kind of dependence made her stomach churn. "I need to work—I need a way to—I can't just rely on others."

Edward drew his eyebrows together in concern, but he nodded, not asking for clarification. "I see. I had thought—and I apologize, I know very little about you, beyond what you've told me—I had assumed you were a historical scholar, given our interaction the other day."

"I'm a graduate student, yes—studying the lives of slaves in the antebellum period."

Was, she corrected herself. She had been a graduate student. She sighed.

"Then, there is work you can do—and it would be very valuable." Edward sounded excited. "My work with the committee of reparations—we could use someone with your skills in helping index our own archives. I mean, if you'd be willing. After I teach you the language, of course, but you'll learn quickly, and—"

Bella held up her hand. "That's—that's great." She hadn't expected there to be anything she'd be skilled at. But archival work here? "What is the committee of reparations?"

Rose had returned, picking up the last of the baskets from the table. At Bella's question, she stilled, eyeing her brother.

"Will we be gathering in the parlor?" Edward asked his sister.

"I think so," she said.

Had she asked something inappropriate? Bella wondered.

Edward turned back to her, standing and holding out his arm for her to take, which she did. "Let's sit somewhere more comfortable. I can answer part of your question"—he glanced at his departing sister—"but it should be the women who tell you most of it."

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