again by his youth, his outrageous perfection. At his side was Esme, I
assumed, the only one of the family I'd never seen before. She had the
same pale, beautiful features as the rest of them. Something about her
heart-shaped face, her billows of soft, caramel-colored hair, reminded me
of the ingénues of the silent-movie era. She was small, slender, yet less
angular, more rounded than the others. They were both dressed casually,
in light colors that matched the inside of the house. They smiled in
welcome, but made no move to approach us. Trying not to frighten me, I
guessed.
"Carlisle, Esme," Edward's voice broke the short silence, "this is Bella."
"You're very welcome, Bella." Carlisle's step was measured, careful as he
approached me. He raised his hand tentatively, and I stepped forward to
shake hands with him.
"It's nice to see you again, Dr. Cullen."
"Please, call me Carlisle."
"Carlisle." I grinned at him, my sudden confidence surprising me. I could
feel Edward's relief at my side.
Esme smiled and stepped forward as well, reaching for my hand. Her cold,
stone grasp was just as I expected.
"It's very nice to know you," she said sincerely.
"Thank you. I'm glad to meet you, too." And I was. It was like meeting a
fairy tale — Snow White, in the flesh.
"Where are Alice and Jasper?" Edward asked, but no one answered, as they
had just appeared at the top of the wide staircase.
"Hey, Edward!" Alice called enthusiastically. She ran down the stairs, a
streak of black hair and white skin, coming to a sudden and graceful stop
in front of me. Carlisle and Esme shot warning glances at her, but I
liked it. It was natural — for her, anyway.
"Hi, Bella!" Alice said, and she bounced forward to kiss my cheek. If
Carlisle and Esme had looked cautious before, they now looked staggered.
There was shock in my eyes, too, but I was also very pleased that she
seemed to approve of me so entirely. I was startled to feel Edward
stiffen at my side. I glanced at his face, but his expression was
unreadable.
"You do smell nice, I never noticed before," she commented, to my extreme
embarrassment.
No one else seemed to know quite what to say, and then Jasper was there —
tall and leonine. A feeling of ease spread through me, and I was suddenly
comfortable despite where I was. Edward stared at Jasper, raising one
eyebrow, and I remembered what Jasper could do.
"Hello, Bella," Jasper said. He kept his distance, not offering to shake
my hand. But it was impossible to feel awkward near him.
"Hello, Jasper." I smiled at him shyly, and then at the others. "It's
nice to meet you all — you have a very beautiful home," I added
conventionally.
"Thank you," Esme said. "We're so glad that you came." She spoke with
feeling, and I realized that she thought I was brave.
I also realized that Rosalie and Emmett were nowhere to be seen, and I
remembered Edward's too-innocent denial when I'd asked him if the others
didn't like me.
Carlisle's expression distracted me from this train of thought; he was
gazing meaningfully at Edward with an intense expression. Out of the
corner of my eye, I saw Edward nod once.
I looked away, trying to be polite. My eyes wandered again to the
beautiful instrument on the platform by the door. I suddenly remembered
my childhood fantasy that, should I ever win a lottery, I would buy a
grand piano for my mother. She wasn't really good — she only played for
herself on our secondhand upright — but I loved to watch her play. She
was happy, absorbed — she seemed like a new, mysterious being to me then,
someone outside the "mom" persona I took for granted. She'd put me
through lessons, of course, but like most kids, I whined until she let me
quit.
Esme noticed my preoccupation.
"Do you play?" she asked, inclining her head toward the piano.
I shook my head. "Not at all. But it's so beautiful. Is it yours?"
"No," she laughed. "Edward didn't tell you he was musical?"
"No." I glared at his suddenly innocent expression with narrowed eyes. "I
should have known, I guess."
Esme raised her delicate eyebrows in confusion.
"Edward can do everything, right?" I explained.
Jasper snickered and Esme gave Edward a reproving look.
"I hope you haven't been showing off— it's rude," she scolded.
"Just a bit," he laughed freely. Her face softened at the sound, and they
shared a brief look that I didn't understand, though Esme's face seemed
almost smug.
"He's been too modest, actually," I corrected.
"Well, play for her," Esme encouraged.
"You just said showing off was rude," he objected.
"There are exceptions to every rule," she replied.
"I'd like to hear you play," I volunteered.
"It's settled then." Esme pushed him toward the piano. He pulled me
along, sitting me on the bench beside him.
He gave me a long, exasperated look before he turned to the keys.
And then his fingers flowed swiftly across the ivory, and the room was
filled with a composition so complex, so luxuriant, it was impossible to
believe only one set of hands played. I felt my chin drop, my mouth open
in astonishment, and heard low chuckles behind me at my reaction.
Edward looked at me casually, the music still surging around us without a
break, and winked. "Do you like it?"
"You wrote this?" I gasped, understanding.
He nodded. "It's Esme's favorite."
I closed my eyes, shaking my head.
"What's wrong?"
"I'm feeling extremely insignificant."
The music slowed, transforming into something softer, and to my surprise
I detected the melody of his lullaby weaving through the profusion of
notes.
"You inspired this one," he said softly. The music grew unbearably sweet.
I couldn't speak.
"They like you, you know," he said conversationally. "Esme especially."
I glanced behind me, but the huge room was empty now.
"Where did they go?"
"Very subtly giving us some privacy, I suppose."
I sighed. "They like me. But Rosalie and Emmett…" I trailed off, not sure
how to express my doubts.
He frowned. "Don't worry about Rosalie," he said, his eyes wide and
persuasive. "She'll come around."
I pursed my lips skeptically. "Emmett?"
"Well, he thinks I'm a lunatic, it's true, but he doesn't have a problem
with you. He's trying to reason with Rosalie."
"What is it that upsets her?" I wasn't sure if I wanted to know the
answer.
He sighed deeply. "Rosalie struggles the most with… with what we are.
It's hard for her to have someone on the outside know the truth. And
she's a little jealous."
"Rosalie is jealous of me?" I asked incredulously. I tried to imagine a
universe in which someone as breathtaking as Rosalie would have any
possible reason to feel jealous of someone like me.
"You're human." He shrugged. "She wishes that she were, too."
"Oh," I muttered, still stunned. "Even Jasper, though…"
"That's really my fault," he said. "I told you he was the most recent to
try our way of life. I warned him to keep his distance."
I thought about the reason for that, and shuddered.
"Esme and Carlisle… ?" I continued quickly, to keep him from noticing.
"Are happy to see me happy. Actually, Esme wouldn't care if you had a
third eye and webbed feet. All this time she's been worried about me,
afraid that there was something missing from my essential makeup, that I
was too young when Carlisle changed me… She's ecstatic. Every time I
touch you, she just about chokes with satisfaction."
"Alice seems very… enthusiastic."
"Alice has her own way of looking at things," he said through tight lips.
"And you're not going to explain that, are you?"
A moment of wordless communication passed between us. He realized that I
knew he was keeping something from me. I realized that he wasn't going to
give anything away. Not now.
"So what was Carlisle telling you before?"
His eyebrows pulled together. "You noticed that, did you?"
I shrugged. "Of course."
He looked at me thoughtfully for a few seconds before answering. "He
wanted to tell me some news — he didn't know if it was something I would
share with you."
"Will you?"
"I have to, because I'm going to be a little… overbearingly protective
over the next few days — or weeks — and I wouldn't want you to think I'm
naturally a tyrant."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong, exactly. Alice just sees some visitors coming soon.
They know we're here, and they're curious."
"Visitors?"
"Yes… well, they aren't like us, of course — in their hunting habits, I
mean. They probably won't come into town at all, but I'm certainly not
going to let you out of my sight till they're gone."
I shivered.
"Finally, a rational response!" he murmured. "I was beginning to think
you had no sense of self-preservation at all."
I let that one pass, looking away, my eyes wandering again around the
spacious room.
He followed my gaze. "Not what you expected, is it?" he asked, his voice
smug.
"No," I admitted.
"No coffins, no piled skulls in the corners; I don't even think we have
cobwebs… what a disappointment this must be for you," he continued slyly.
I ignored his teasing. "It's so light… so open."
He was more serious when he answered. "It's the one place we never have
to hide."
The song he was still playing, my song, drifted to an end, the final
chords shifting to a more melancholy key. The last note hovered
poignantly in the silence.
"Thank you," I murmured. I realized there were tears in my eyes. I dabbed
at them, embarrassed.
He touched the corner of my eye, trapping one I missed. He lifted his
finger, examining the drop of moisture broodingly. Then, so quickly I
couldn't be positive that he really did, he put his finger to his mouth
to taste it.
I looked at him questioningly, and he gazed back for a long moment before
he finally smiled.
"Do you want to see the rest of the house?"
"No coffins?" I verified, the sarcasm in my voice not entirely masking
the slight but genuine anxiety I felt.
He laughed, taking my hand, leading me away from the piano.
"No coffins," he promised.
We walked up the massive staircase, my hand trailing along the
satin-smooth rail. The long hall at the top of the stairs was paneled
with a honey-colored wood, the same as the floorboards.
"Rosalie and Emmett's room… Carlisle's office… Alice's room…" He gestured
as he led me past the doors.
He would have continued, but I stopped dead at the end of the hall,
staring incredulously at the ornament hanging on the wall above my head.
Edward chuckled at my bewildered expression.
"You can laugh," he said. "It is sort of ironic."
I didn't laugh. My hand raised automatically, one finger extended as if
to touch the large wooden cross, its dark patina contrasting with the
lighter tone of the wall. I didn't touch it, though I was curious if the
aged wood would feel as silky as it looked.
"It must be very old," I guessed.
He shrugged. "Early sixteen-thirties, more or less."
I looked away from the cross to stare at him.
"Why do you keep this here?" I wondered.
"Nostalgia. It belonged to Carlisle's father."
"He collected antiques?" I suggested doubtfully.
"No. He carved this himself. It hung on the wall above the pulpit in the
vicarage where he preached."
I wasn't sure if my face betrayed my shock, but I returned to gazing at
the simple, ancient cross, just in case. I quickly did the mental math;
the cross was over three hundred and seventy years old. The silence
stretched on as I struggled to wrap my mind around the concept of so many
years.
"Are you all right?" He sounded worried.
"How old is Carlisle?" I asked quietly, ignoring his question, still
staring up.
"He just celebrated his three hundred and sixty-second birthday," Edward
said. I looked back at him, a million questions in my eyes.
He watched me carefully as he spoke.
"Carlisle was born in London, in the sixteen-forties, he believes. Time
wasn't marked as accurately then, for the common people anyway. It was
just before Cromwell's rule, though."
I kept my face composed, aware of his scrutiny as I listened. It was
easier if I didn't try to believe.
"He was the only son of an Anglican pastor. His mother died giving birth
to him. His father was an intolerant man. As the Protestants came into
power, he was enthusiastic in his persecution of Roman Catholics and
other religions. He also believed very strongly in the reality of evil.
He led hunts for witches, werewolves… and vampires." I grew very still at
the word. I'm sure he noticed, but he went on without pausing.
"They burned a lot of innocent people — of course the real creatures that
he sought were not so easy to catch.
"When the pastor grew old, he placed his obedient son in charge of the
