Two: Attendant
Being alone with my immobile wife and sleeping daughter is both wonderful and frustrating. I enjoy watching Bella uninterrupted, humming various soothing melodies to her (our wedding music most frequently) while listening to Rey's dreams, which are full of new words, images, and concepts—the mixed-up ones are especially adorable, like the water rainbow she imagines splashing about in, swirling the different colors around into pretty patterns. But I am still impatient for Bella to wake, and frustrated by the continuing silence of her mind. I know it is a boon not to hear it now, when she is almost certainly suffering to some extent, but I can't help thinking (perhaps unrealistically!) that I could still give our daughter the attention she deserves were Bella's pain-filled thoughts running through my mind.
As the minutes pass, more and more of my attention focuses on searching for Bella's thoughts—so it is something of a relief, after failing so constantly, when Renesmee wakes after only 23 minutes. I explain that the others have gone outside to hunt, then engage in a few brief conversations as her thoughts skip through various topics until she settles on the stories Rosalie has been telling her. Inspired by the (much embellished) rescue of Emmett, I offer to tell her the story of how Bella and I met.
Her beatific smile is answer enough, even without her enthusiastic thoughts.
"When Mommy wakes up, it will be six hundred days ago," I tell her, because the round number feels profoundly providential to me, and Rey understands the concept of a day, even if she can't yet imagine so many of them. "I was at school, sitting in the dining hall with Alice, Jasper, Rosalie, and Emmett, trying not to attract any attention from my schoolmates, when the most beautiful girl in the whole world walked into the room—except I couldn't see her because I was trying too hard not to see anyone."
She doesn't understand what I mean, so I try to keep the explanation simple: "I thought I was a monster, so I didn't talk to anyone in case I hurt them." Except that leads her to ask why I thought I was a monster; so I explain that I thought the differences between vampires and humans were greater than they really are. She considers asking about these differences, but then decides she'd rather I go on with my story.
"I didn't look for her thoughts until she asked the girl beside her about us, expecting to hear the same sorts of things I've heard thousands of times—but I couldn't hear anything. Where her mind should've been, there was only silence. Complete and utter silence. I was shocked; I'd never encountered a mind I couldn't read. Then I was angry—at first at her, and then at myself, for getting so worked up about it. I tried to tell myself it didn't matter—that she didn't matter—but she quickly proved me wrong. We were in the very next class together, and the only spare seat was next to me. When she walked by, her scent wiped every thought from my head. I wanted to bite her so badly—just like you did—" Rey nods, remembering the heavenly taste of her mother's blood—"except you didn't hurt her, and I would have. If I'd bitten her, she wouldn't be here, and neither would you."
When she asks me to explain that, I don't particularly want to admit how close I'd come to becoming one of Rosalie's monsters (I shouldn't have told her this story!), so I settle for saying that Mommy would have been justifiably upset if I'd been so rude, and she would have rightly told me to stay far away from her. Amazingly, Rey immediately grasps the fact that the two of us not being together means she wouldn't exist, so she compliments me for being good.
I give her a kiss on the hand and we enjoy each other's smiles for a moment before she encourages me to tell her what happened next. So I describe fleeing Forks, visiting our cousins in Denali (Rosalie has already told her a few stories about that side of our extended family), and trying not to think about the curious girl whose thoughts I couldn't hear, despite her face dominating my every thought.
She drinks it all in, eagerly anticipating the return of her mother to the story. To gloss over Bella's many subsequent near-death experiences, I ascribe greater success to my woeful efforts at befriending her, share a few highlights from our first (official) date in the meadow, and wrap up with a moral. "The day I met your mother was the day I learned the true value of self-control. I hope you never have to go through anything even half as demanding as that, but if you do, I hope you'll always try to do the right thing."
She immediately asks what the "right thing" is. I have to laugh.
"Ask your mommy after she wakes up," I advise. "She always knows the right thing to do."
Renesmee grins, liking the sound of that, but her attention is already shifting back to thoughts of warm blood (specifically, her mother's). I don't want to leave Bella's side, but I can't deny our daughter—and the sooner she sates her appetite, the less risk there is that she'll start thinking about Jacob—so I tuck her under my arm and 'fly' her downstairs. She giggles and encourages me to go faster—until I reach the fridge. Then I hit a snag when she not only wants to see where the blood is stored but also to understand how the fridge works.
I try to distract her by offering her a colorful mug to drink out of, but she ends up climbing into the fridge to play with the three remaining unopened pouches of blood, and then with the thermostat. The coldness is nothing more than a minor curiosity to her, so I do my best to wait patiently while she explores this new territory, counting Bella's steady heartbeats in an attempt to overcome my discomfort. But I'm still not used to the resonant sound or its quickness, and being away from her while her heart is flying through the milliseconds fills me with all-but-irrepressible anxiety.
Telling myself there's nothing wrong doesn't help as much as it should, and it makes me realize that my formerly rational fears for Bella's wellbeing are about to become (for the most part) wholly irrational—and if I can't settle my nerves now, in the safety of our family home, how will I fare when we're anywhere else?
Thankfully, Rey is oblivious to my agitation—but she still wants to take the drink back upstairs so we can watch over Bella. As she drinks, she taps the metal straw against the inner wall of the mug, playing a rhythmic motif from one of the pieces I've been humming. At first, the straw won't do as she wants, but it only takes a minute for her to get the hang of moving it so that it hits the mug when she wants it to and makes the sound she wants. I love the way she uses the meter of Bella's heartbeat to set the tempo.
After listening for half a minute, I start humming the melody she's hearing in her head. She giggles happily and immediately varies the rhythm, turning it into a game.
"We can play once you've finished your drink," I promise her, but she responds by dropping the straw and pushing the mug toward me. "I'm not thirsty."
I'm not thirsty, she agrees, echoing me teasingly, even though she must need to drink a lot more to fuel her body's swift growth.
While I'm trying to bargain with her, I feel Rosalie's and Emmett's minds. Despite Emmett's ongoing protests, they are on their way home; they'll be here in under a minute. Renesmee grins when I hesitate, claiming victory, and I have to laugh as she starts tapping out a two-handed rhythm on my arm. She is so much like Bella.
Emmett crows when he sees the half-full mug of blood I'm holding and announces that they got back just in time. Expecting Renesmee to refuse, he jokingly asks to have it—but she agrees wholeheartedly, which makes me the bad guy for saying he's not allowed any.
He "overrules" me by asserting the need for "quality control", and Rey giggles when he dips the tip of his little finger into the mug.
Rosalie catches his hand before he can lick off the drop of blood. "It's not for you," she scolds, the high pitch of her voice reflecting her concern that he'll react badly.
He just sticks out his tongue, unperturbed, and then moves it beneath his bloody fingertip. If his curiosity weren't greater than his thirst, I would never let him do this… and maybe I'm being as reckless as he is right now, but Emmett wants to test himself and I want to give him that chance.
As a drop of the blood falls through the air, Renesmee watches curiously, aware of our tenseness but not understanding where the danger is. Then she sees the wild flash of thirst in Emmett's eyes and it terrifies her. She urges me to give him the mug, afraid he'll attack us if I don't.
But the chilled blood isn't remotely as potent as fresh blood. The moment passes quickly, and Emmett is Emmett again.
"I'm sorry, sweetie," he murmurs regretfully. "I didn't mean to scare you."
Her pulse is still racing, but she appreciates the apology. She holds out her hand to him, wanting to ask what happened.
As he slowly reaches out to give her his unbloodied hand, I say, "Emmett is a typical vampire," deliberately teasing him to help him get his mind back on track. "One drop of blood makes him forget everything else."
Rosalie doesn't appreciate the teaching moment; she thinks he was being selfish. "One drop makes him into a monster," she "corrects" angrily.
"I'm sorry, Rose," he murmurs, but she just scoffs.
I shake my head before she gives in to the urge to slap him. "It helps Renesmee understand our limitations," I point out. "Now she's seen a glimpse of the thirst Bella will feel when she wakes up."
Rosalie's ire vanishes in a flash, and she sags against her mate. "That's why you didn't stop him," she murmurs, even as Rey asks what I mean.
I nod to Rosalie, then explain to Renesmee that Mommy will be even thirstier than Emmett when she wakes up. Rey doesn't like the sound of that, but now she understands why she has to wait an indeterminate amount of time for Bella to feel like herself again.
Guilt forgotten, Emmett offers to let me suck the residual blood off his finger. Rey giggles, fortunately (for Emmett in particular) oblivious to his blatant teasing, and opens her mouth, so he gives her his bloody finger. Her bite strength surprises him; when her teeth scrape along his skin as she inexpertly cleans off the blood, he half expects them to leave scars (and is a little disappointed that they don't).
The dash of blood refreshes Renesmee's thirst, so she holds out a hand for the mug—although a large part of her motivation is to free Emmett from the ongoing temptation.
As she drinks, Emmett and Rosalie both watch on in thoughtful silence; Rosalie is trying not to get her hopes up, but she thinks Bella's love for her baby will be as useful a focus as her own thirst for vengeance had been, helping her to repress the newborn bloodlust, while Emmett delights in Rey's cavalier drinking style. Their thoughts remind me that, even now, neither of them feels anything remotely like the curiosity that had led me to abandon my family in pursuit of a different lifestyle all those decades ago. (Yes, I'd wanted to give Carlisle and Esme some time to themselves, but I could just as easily have traversed the United States without altering my diet.)
Inspired by Emmett's amusing—but equally unsettling—image of Rey tackling a grizzly (because he thinks the blood in her mug is actually less appealing than a grizzly's), I ask Renesmee if she's looking forward to going hunting with us.
I expect an answer in the affirmative, but she rejects it immediately, thinking of Jacob supplying her future needs. Somehow, she is already prejudiced against non-human blood.
"You can't ask the wolves to share their blood with you whenever you want," I tell her, even though Jacob would give her every last drop if she asked for it. "It's a very special gift."
She isn't inclined to see my point of view; she would share her blood with them if they wanted it, and she doesn't appreciate that the fact that they don't want it makes her willingness irrelevant.
As much as Rosalie likes the idea of Jacob being Renesmee's personal blood bag, she hates the implication that he will be a regular visitor. Her disgust is exacerbated by the expectation that Bella will side with him—and that I will side with Bella, no matter how I feel personally.
It is bizarre to feel her indignation on my behalf. I don't know whether to—or even how to—appreciate it, especially as it's accompanied by irritation (because she thinks I ought to stand up for myself more).
Bella's not human anymore, she "reminds" me. You're even now.
"I might agree with that in a few decades," I murmur.
Though I spoke quickly and quietly, Renesmee has no trouble hearing it and immediately wants to know what I'm talking about. Rather than telling her the truth, I invent a little story that doesn't involve Jacob or the losses Bella will have to endure now that her human life is over; then I change the topic entirely by asking if she'd like to make a xylophone with me.
She initially dismisses the idea, still content to tap out rhythms on my arm, but after I mimic a few of the instrument's bell-like chimes, she is won over.
Rosalie offers her assistance and then dashes out to the garage to retrieve the necessary tools and materials, while Emmett tries to convince us to make a crossbow instead. Happily, Renesmee is innately more interested in building a musical instrument than a weapon (even if Emmett only wants to use it in a sporting context), so we start designing as soon as Rosalie returns. She shows Rey the different pieces then sweeps her into her arms, instructing Emmett and me to undertake the actual construction. Rey giggles and settles down with her while she watches us work—needless to say, asking a constant stream of questions.
We've just completed the wooden frame when I sense Alice's mind. She and Jasper are a little over seven miles away; Carlisle and Esme are with them, because Alice had a vision of them at the cottage. She has already had visions of Rosalie and Emmett, too, and she can't wait to meet Renesmee and experience her thoughts. Her hopes are high that the headache won't be as bad now, so Rey's gift is an unexpected compensation for the impending blindness.
Jasper shares her excitement. He is intensely relieved that Renesmee won't incite his bloodlust, and he loves her unique name (he is used to "mashup" names thanks to the online worlds he frequents).
The moment I share the news of their impending arrival, Renesmee's attention shifts from the xylophone to recalling what we've told her about her aunt and uncle. Rosalie is thrilled by just how much she effortlessly remembers, and more than a little smug about the enjoyment her stories give her.
I'm so caught up in everyone's excitement (including my own) that Alice and Jasper are less than two miles away before I realize they haven't had a single thought about their efforts in the Amazon. Does that mean they found something? I can't help wishing I could use Alice's visions to spur them on, even though they are already running almost as fast as they can. In the meantime, feeling how much Alice has missed me through her own thoughts as well as Jasper's gift makes me realize I haven't had time to miss her (or to appreciate just how awful it was to be so far away without any visions of us to sustain her).
The four of them rush upstairs as soon as they arrive home. Alice leaps from the doorway into my arms with a cry of joy. To indulge her (and Renesmee), I spin her around in a couple of tight circles, before introducing them to each other. Even Carlisle and Esme's profuse praise for their stunning granddaughter has not prepared them for the feeling of absolute wonder she inspires. They both feel the immediately intense attachment we all feel, made even stronger by her reciprocal response. Although she has no memory of their voices, they aren't strangers—much to Alice's delight when Renesmee tells her that Rosalie has promised that the two of them will literally fill my room with beautiful clothes for her.
When Jasper realizes he is as blind as I to Bella's current emotional state, my old worries about her transformation threaten to resurface. It is so typical of the uncertainty that has always surrounded her that everything seems to be conspiring against us.; I might've laughed if it weren't borderline horrifying. But Jasper isn't concerned (he has never tested his gift on a transitioning human before, so he's comfortable imagining that the pain of the transformation is confined to the deepest part of the mind, which, in Bella's case, he assumes he can't 'read' any more than I can), and everyone is much too full of joy for me to dwell on my unlikeliest fears. What's more, feeling their happiness (and my own) through Jasper, after his comparatively long absence, magnifies it even further.
Renesmee is captivated by the overlapping scars across Jasper's jaw and neck that are fortunately too faint for human eyes to see. She runs her fingers over them, intrigued by the subtle texture, while he and Alice listen raptly to her thoughts. Their respective gifts mean that hearing, seeing, and feeling her mind isn't nearly as jarring as it had been for the others, and this deep insight into such a special mind is more than either of them ever dreamed they'd experience.
To entertain Renesmee further, Jasper pulls up his sleeve, exposing the hundreds of ridges crisscrossing his forearm. She eagerly runs her fingers over them, too, cataloguing each one, before asking if there are more. He chuckles and then removes his shirt entirely to reveal the innumerable scars patterning his torso.
Alice laughs as Rey giggles and starts running her hands all over his chest. "Get your fill now," she warns playfully. "This is the only time you're allowed to touch him. He's mine."
Renesmee giggles again, aware that the warning doesn't really apply to her—but she still takes it disturbingly seriously, already viewing Alice's possessiveness as not merely reasonable but logical.
To refocus Renesmee's attention without validating Alice's claim, I prompt Alice to admire the intriguing changes in Bella's new body (because she is so thrilled to see Bella wearing the orange dress that she hadn't noticed). She likes my theory that the blood Bella drank while human has supplemented the transformation, but she's too busy teasing me about my sexy wife to think it through properly. Trying to ignore her, I convey Bella's warning about the dress—but that simply inspires her to tease me that only that racy swimsuit has suited her better. Then she tries to tell me that she's seen us making love, but I see through her, so she switches to thinking that she'll tear herself away from Rey as soon as we leave to make sure she doesn't miss any of the "action". Because I can't voice my feelings (and Bella's) about her snooping, and Renesmee will want to know what the matter is if I frown, I have to settle for subtly shaking my head—which has no effect on my brazen sister's conscience.
Fortunately, Renesmee's thoughts are far more interesting than teasing me. Although Alice's visions are similar to seeing thoughts in many respects, she has always been curious about my gift, so she is ecstatic to finally be able to see what I see. She misses being able to converse with me through her visions, but getting to know her niece without "spoilers" is another thrilling novelty. As fast as Rey shares her memories, Alice remembers something fun to share with her, so they end up swapping stories back and forth as the detail of one story links to another story of the other's.
When it becomes clear that Renesmee's influence is no longer causing a headache alongside the blindness, Rosalie wants to know how Alice plans to track hybrids without it. Rather than spoiling Rey's fun, she asks me to explain—not realizing that I don't know any more than she does. I wait till Rey finishes her latest story and then hold up my hand for Alice.
"So," I say, as she laces her fingers through mine, "I assume from your silence on the subject that you found something?"
Alice grins at me, and then she finally shares her news. "I saw us meeting Zafrina, Sienna, and Kachiri—and I'm almost certain they know a hybrid."
The others react with understandable excitement, while I focus on Alice's visions. Although the short meeting is annoyingly light on detail (no matter what questions Alice has tried asking so far), the three "Amazons"—named for their rain forest home—not only confirm their knowledge of human-vampire hybrids but also offer to introduce them to a friend who is even more knowledgeable… and Alice can't see that second meeting. So, their friend is either a hybrid or in the company of one.
I'm intrigued that in all of her tests so far, she hasn't dared to reveal Renesmee's existence. When I quirk an eyebrow, she intuits my question and replies (telepathically) that she felt she needed my and Bella's blessing, even for a future that may never happen. It is one of the reasons she let the timing of the meeting shift from tomorrow to early in the new year; although she is as impatient for information as the rest of us, she doesn't want to act without Bella's approval.
I nod to convey my agreement, but I'll share my thoughts later; I don't want to interrupt Jasper or Renesmee, who is enraptured by his description of the powerful rainstorm he and Alice had experienced. The images in her imagination remind him of a favorite 'weather' poem, and Rey loves his at times exuberant, at times tender, thoughtful recital of Shelley's lyrical poem The Cloud, interspersed with explanations whenever called upon.
But the next poem he picks is a lot darker, and he thinks nothing of explaining the deeper satirical and political aspects, so I interrupt before he starts telling Renesmee about the bloated excesses and violent underbelly of Regency England.
And then the phone rings. Renesmee immediately wants to know who is calling, so I say that it is Esme's human friend—when in actual fact it is her Grandma Renée. For the first time, I feel like I'm telling an outright lie. While Rey refocuses on Jasper, blissfully unaware of my deception, I listen to Renée and Esme's disheartening conversation.
As has become usual, they begin by commiserating with each other about our lack of communication. Esme tries to avoid lying as much as possible (although almost every statement is still a lie by omission), and then she does her best to center the conversation on Renée's life. Fortunately, Renée's absentmindedness and adorably zany ideas mean that she has plenty of news, even though their last call was less than a week ago.
Despite my regular censorship whenever Jasper gets too carried away with his stories, Renesmee's attention scarcely wavers. She adores him. He is so interesting, from his curious scars to his fascinating tales and philosophies, and Alice and I both love seeing him open up with her. I don't mind that I'm on the outer now, and even Alice doesn't mind that she isn't the one absorbing all of Rey's attention.
After several hours jam-packed with new and exciting knowledge (somehow, we managed to keep it mostly positive), Renesmee is utterly worn out. Rosalie tries to insist that her arms form Rey's bed, but Jasper refuses to relinquish his charge, so I am suddenly faced with two scowling siblings, each demanding that I side with her/him.
"I'm sharing," I point out. "So can you."
Jasper immediately grins, while Rosalie screws up her nose, ungraciously conceding the point. But Renesmee's fascinating dreams soon claim their focus, and Rosalie's face comes up just often enough to appease her. While Alice and Jasper enjoy Rey's dreams, I sift through their thoughts to build up a fuller picture of their discoveries, and then relay them to our family now that we can have a fuller discussion. (In case Bella is far enough through her transformation to follow my narrative, I begin with the point that Renesmee is nothing like the hybrids in the legends.)
After three days of being rebuffed by locals, despite Jasper's best efforts to win their trust, they finally found a young woman who was willing to share some local history. In 1854, seven villagers from three families had been "slaughtered" by an unseen attacker. Officials laid the blame on a rogue jaguar, but those who saw the bodies—including the woman's great-great-great-grandfather—agreed that the bite marks were unmistakably from a human child. The people already knew (and still predominantly believed) the legends of "demon children" who gorge themselves on human blood immediately after birth to power their transformation into adult-sized demons, after which they choose their victims more carefully—but there had not been any attacks in their village before then. According to her grandfather, who had heard the account firsthand from his grandfather, after searching for almost three months, they'd discovered that two local girls—sisters—from a neighboring village had vanished in the weeks prior to the attack, and another girl admitted to having been approached at twilight by a pale stranger who tried to woo her with pretty words and sparkly jewels. Knowing that, the missing girls' devastated parents had accepted responsibility for the deaths, even going so far as to adopt the two orphaned children.
Since then, villagers across the region had emphasized the legends' warnings for each new generation—which is why Alice and Jasper had been treated with such suspicion. The woman even joked about their physical similarity to the legends' inhumanly beautiful demons, but said she had no fear of them during the day.
The extra details in the legends are just as fascinating as the villagers' reaction to the attack, although we all feel a little guilty that the girls' parents had felt responsible for their neighbors' deaths. Thinking about the hybrids' apparent behavior—which sounds a lot like that of newborn vampires learning to be discrete without anyone else to clean up the mess—makes meeting one, or even the vampire father, feel more dangerous.
Naturally, Emmett is unaffected. He tries to hurry along the discussion so he can propose a game of chess—now that Alice can't "cheat", he is (figuratively) dying to play her—but Alice refuses to be rushed. If she and I could converse via our usual thought/vision channel, she would be happy to play him at the same time, but having to speak aloud irritates her too much to give any attention to chess. So he waits impatiently, trying to pass the time by planning out various potential strategies, while we debate the pros and cons of introducing ourselves and Renesmee to one or more hybrids.
Renesmee wakes up before we're quite finished, forcing a subject change. While she's still blinking away the drowsiness, Emmett tries to show her his chess set; he's appalled when she'd rather listen to more of Jasper's stories. To console him, Jasper says that we were about to watch Emmett and Alice play, so she agrees to watch, too. She thinks the rules are boring, but she can't help getting caught up in Emmett's passion for the game and that makes the stylized, strategic play more intriguing.
Emmett and Alice are pretty evenly matched on skill, although Alice plays me more often so she knows a few moves that he hasn't picked up yet. When one of those moves enables her to win their first game, Emmett accuses me (for the most part, teasingly) of helping her.
Rey giggles as he demonstrates a few of the different mechanisms—hand gestures and such like—I could have used to let Alice in on his plan.
"See!" he cries, pointing at Renesmee. "She knows the truth! I'm being cheated!"
Rey giggles again even as she shakes her head in my defense, and Emmett throws his hands up in mock disgust.
"Would you like a rematch?" Alice offers magnanimously.
"A proper rematch."
She heaves a dramatic sigh, knowing he's proposing his turbo-charged version (dubbed "ultra-chess"), which could take hours without her visions to shortcut play, and then nods.
Emmett whoops, then dashes to his and Rosalie's room to retrieve the eight other sets they now require. Renesmee is considerably more impressed by the enlarged board and modified arrangement of pieces, so she asks to sit with Emmett while he plays. Jasper reluctantly hands over his charge, but he rebuffs Emmett's instruction to release Renesmee's hand.
Wanting to shield Rey from my brothers' quarreling ways a little longer, I hold out my hand. "Come sit with me, Jazz."
He laughs and scoots back to my side, taking my hand and lacing our fingers together. The physical contact magnifies his sense of my emotions and he sighs contentedly.
I thought you'd need me, he thinks, referring to the uncertainty of how quickly Bella will adjust to being a vampire. But I still need you.
He is very relieved that he can't feel Bella's emotions right now; he'd been dreading it, imagining projecting Bella's pain straight into my head—but he quickly replaces that line of thought with his confidence that Bella's forewarning will protect her from the worst reaction. He believes he has seen the full spectrum of responses to the newborn condition and thirst, and he knows all the things we ought to avoid—which is basically anything that could make her angry or feel physically threatened—so as to ease her transition.
Anyone else might err on the side of caution, but not Alice. After Jasper recklessly asks her if she has seen Bella's newborn reaction to the outlandish dress, she insists on taking a break from the chess game to "complete" Bella's outfit with a pair of shoes she thinks are gorgeous, despite fully anticipating Bella's dislike of the strappy, sparkly, high-heeled things. I counsel her to stop at the dress, but she ignores me—and when Renesmee deems the shoes pretty, I surrender.