balance

I sighed again, for about the twentieth time that afternoon.

I was sitting on the edge of my bed, an old crumpled-up piece of paper in my hand. It was covered in splotches of ink and half-finished sentences, crossed out so hard they left angry indents in the paper.

My eyes flickered down to the final line of the note, the only one that hadn't been crossed out.

Yeah, I miss you, too. Still doesn't change anything, though. Sorry.

—Jules

It was the nicest of everything there, which was still perfectly readable in spite of the crossouts. They all said basically the same thing—we weren't friends anymore, and we couldn't be.

I'd been expecting this response, when finally out of desperation I'd written a note and handed it off to Charlie to pass along to Bonnie to pass to Jules. After all, if Jules wanted to talk to me, she would just answer the phone when I called.

But somehow, it hurt a lot worse than I'd expected. Maybe because I knew behind the angry words and the distance she put up at the end that she was really having a hard time. I knew what it was like to be depressed, to be down, and she had been there for me then. It killed me I wasn't there for her to do the same. Especially when I was pretty sure that, if she was depressed, I was a big source of it, if not the source.

My gloomy thoughts were interrupted as I realized that I smelled the stove burner downstairs. Someone was cooking.

My brows contracted as this new emergency penetrated my brain—in this house, for anyone to be cooking besides me was a Defcon Two situation. Leaping up from my bed, I quickly stuffed the note in my back pocket, then tore off downstairs.

I was immediately relieved to find the crime was still in progress. I took a second to assess for the most pressing problem, and spun in the direction of the microwave first. I yanked out the jar of spaghetti sauce—it had only been in there a few seconds, so no harm done.

"What?" said Chief Charlie Swan, my dad. "What did I do wrong?"

"First, metal and microwaves don't mix," I noted, untwisting the lid. "Plus you always want to take the lid off anyway, otherwise things have a tendency to explode. And, sometimes glass jars aren't such a good idea." As I spoke, I poured some of the sauce into a new container, with a microwave-safe symbol stamped on the bottom, then put it in the microwave and replaced the jar in the fridge.

Charlie watched my adjustments with a frown. "What about the noodles? Those okay?"

I went next to the stove, which had first alerted me to the situation. I peered down into the pot. I grabbed a spoon from the drawer and began working to pry off the mushy hunk that had been scalded to the bottom. "You might want to try stirring once in a while," I suggested.

Charlie sighed.

"What's going on here, exactly?" I said, suspicious.

Charlie didn't answer, only folded his arms and glared out the back window into the sheeting rain. "Nothing's going on. I just thought I'd cook for a change. Let you have a break."

I stared back at him. I didn't believe him. For one, Charlie didn't just wake up some days and decide to cook—I'd be shocked to learn if this wasn't his first time at a stove since I'd moved in close to a year and a half ago. For another, he seemed a bit out of sorts, and normally he didn't get like that at least until Edythe showed up for her daily evening visits.

When Edythe and the other Cullens had first gotten back from their few months in L.A., Charlie's general attitude toward Edythe had been glacial. We'd had more than a few heated conversations on that topic—although Edythe had said she planned to have a talk with him sometime that she hoped would warm Charlie's feelings toward the both of us, there had never seemed to be a good time. Though as I doubted she would be mentioning future premonitions of suicide or human-eating vampire governments, I had my doubts whether there was anything she could say that could make him understand.

"So," I said. "What's the occasion? Since when do you do dinner?"

Charlie grunted by way of response, then seemed to realize he was still in his police jacket from the station. He quickly pulled it off and went to hang it up next to his gun belt—he hadn't been wearing his gun belt the last few weeks, since the mysterious disappearances in the woods had stopped cold, and there had been no more sightings of mutant wolves.

He was evidently distracted by something, but I figured he would get around to saying it in his own time, so I busied myself trying to salvage the noodles, inserting the wooden spoon in between the clumps.

My eyes flickered back to the clock on the wall automatically. Just twenty-seven minutes left now. I'd lasted this long, I'd make it.

I was grounded. More than grounded, more like I was under house arrest. I'm sure if he could have, Charlie would have slapped an metal bracelet on my ankle that pinged if I strayed outside the acceptable zone. Not that I would dare to go anywhere other than school or work and then come straight home. It had been enough to face Charlie Swan's wrath once.

Charlie had always been pretty laid back about where I went and what I did, so long as I made sure to let him know what I was up to. But every dad had his limits, and for Charlie, his came when his son abruptly disappeared for three days, without explanation or so much as a phone number. However, his reaction to that had been fairly minor compared to when he had found out about the motorcycle.

Charlie Swan did not like motorcycles. He did not even like to hear them brought up in casual conversation. Hence, when he found out I'd been sneaking around riding one with Julie Black from down at La Push—my best friend who had turned informant on me—he'd been slightly more than just a little put out. My visiting hours had been severely cut down, from basically all afternoon to a short window of seven to nine-thirty p.m. Hence, Edythe would be here promptly at seven, and leave at exactly nine-thirty on the minute.

Course, fortunately we still had school, and Edythe and I had most of our classes together, not to mention Edythe snuck into my room almost every night so we could talk and just generally be together. Edythe didn't have the slightest problem scaling the wall through my second-story window, and it helped that she could read minds, to tell if my dad was ever coming.

I really couldn't complain about the few hours of separation, even if sometimes they seemed to drag on an eternity. There was no question I'd definitely brought all this on myself, and I wasn't about to be a turd and start making threats about moving out. Especially since a more permanent separation between me and my dad was looming ever closer on the horizon.

Charlie sat down at the table and unfolded the damp newspaper sitting beside his place. As soon as his eyes scanned the headlines, he frowned deeply and grunted with disapproval.

"This is why you're better off living in a small town," he said suddenly. "Stories like this."

"Something going on?" I asked conversationally as I took the bowl of sauce from the microwave and began trying to knife out the spaghetti into a bowl. I figured there was no recovering from the damage.

"Seattle," he said, grinding his teeth. "Five unsolved murders in the last two weeks. Can you imagine living like that?"

I shrugged. "I think Phoenix has a higher homicide rate than that." And in fact, I'd never once come close to dying until I moved here. I had quite a few close calls under my belt, of which Edythe could attest. At the moment, I was on at least two hit lists that I could think of.

"Think it's a serial killer or something?" I said. "Or gangs?"

"Could be," Charlie muttered, still frowning hard at the paper. "You couldn't pay me enough."

I speared a couple of clumps of spaghetti onto plates, then set them out on the table. We slathered some sauce on, then did our best to choke the stuff down. With enough sauce, it was almost edible.

Charlie's eyes continued to scan the newspaper headlines, so I reached over and picked up my copy of Frankenstein, which I'd left on the table from breakfast, and tried to absorb myself in crazy scientists and monsters while I waited for him to work up the nerve to start in on what he wanted to say.

I was just to the part where Frankenstein and the monster finally sit down to have a conversation, when Charlie cleared his throat, and let the paper fall to the floor.

"You're right," he admitted. "I did have a reason for doing this. I wanted to talk to you."

I set the book aside; the binding was so worn that it slumped flat to the table. I folded my hands on the tabletop, giving him my full attention. "You could have just asked, you know."

Charlie nodded, looking a bit sheepish. "I'll remember that next time. Just thought it might be nice if you didn't have to cook..."

I smiled a little. "Thanks for the thought, Dad. But whatever it is, you probably might as well just spit it out now."

Charlie paused, then took the plunge. "I wanted to talk to you about Julie Black."

My aspect turned abruptly frosty. "Oh yeah?" I said, my eyes staring straight at the wall. "What about her?"

Charlie sighed. "I know you're still upset about the motorcycle, but I'm glad that she did what she did. It was the responsible thing to do."

I snorted. Responsible. Right. "So what about her?"

In spite of my careless tone, the question repeated itself in my mind, more serious. What about Jules? My former best friends who was now...what? My enemy?

Charlie eyed me warily. "Don't blow a fuse when I say this. Okay?"

"What?" I said suspiciously, almost positive that if he was going to these lengths, the chance that I wouldn't blow up was probably zero to none.

"It has to do with Edythe, too."

I was silent. I was starting to see why he was so hesitant. Eight times out of ten, when Edythe was mentioned in conversation, we ended up in a argument. I'd have thought they might have bonded a little over their mutual hatred of motorcycles where I was concerned, but Charlie could be stubborn, and he still seemed to think it was a majorly bad idea for me to be seeing her again, after what had happened last winter.

"I've been doing some thinking," Charlie began. And suddenly, unexpectedly, he grinned.

"You've been taking all this pretty well. I don't think I know too many teens who'd put up being grounded this hard and this long with such good grace. So, I've been thinking it might be time to say you've served your time and call it good. Parole for good behavior."

This was definitely an unexpected turn in the conversation. I gaped at him, too shocked to react for a minute. "I'm...free?" I said, though I was unable to quite keep the suspicion out of my voice.

"There is a catch," he admitted.

I rolled my eyes. "Course there is."

Charlie put up a hand. "Just hear me out, kid. This is more like a suggestion than an actual rule. You're out of jail, but I'm hoping you'll use your freedom judiciously."

I eyed him, frowning. "Which means..."

He shook his head. "I know you're happy spending every minute of every day with Edythe Cullen—"

"I hang out with Archie, too."

"And Archie," he amended. "But you have other friends outside the Cullens. Or you used to. When's the last time you hung out with some of your school friends? Allen Weber? Or Jeremy?"

I paused. I had spoken to Allen just on Friday at lunch, but we hadn't hung out outside of school in an age. As for Jeremy...I couldn't remember the last time I'd spoken to him. Before Edythe had come back, my friends at school had kind of split off into two distinct groups. I liked to think of it as the Jedi Order vs. the Sith. Allen, his girlfriend Becca, and McKayla had all given me a break after I'd gone zombie when Edythe left. However, Logan was without a doubt Senator Palpatine, and he'd gathered around himself a following of evil apprentices, including Jeremy.

The line between good and evil had become even more distinct when Edythe had made her return. That had taken its toll on McKayla's friendship, though she still managed to be nice, but Allen had stuck with me through and through, and he even sat with Archie, Edythe and me at lunch every day, in spite of the fact that most people seemed to be naturally repelled by the Cullens and their indefinable aura of strangeness. He and Archie were almost starting to be friends. You couldn't help but like Archie, once you had the chance to get to know him.

"Beau?" said Charlie, calling me back to the present. "Last time you hung out with any of them?"

I shook my head. "I've been grounded. I haven't been hanging out with anyone."

Charlie nodded slowly. "That's fair." He paused. "There's also Julie Black."

I didn't answer.

"The two of you used to be thick as thieves, and now you don't even talk."

That wasn't exactly my fault, but I just shrugged. "What is it exactly you're wanting me to do to earn my freedom, Dad?" I said. "Just go ahead and say it."

Charlie sighed. "I don't want to make this complicated. You are free—but bear in mind I'm trusting you to be responsible. Try to find some balance. Hang out with some other friends. Don't forget them—particularly Julie." He added, "She was a good friend to you when you were having a rough time of it."

"I know that," I muttered, almost defensively. My eyes drifted to the window above the sink. "But...it's not that simple."

"Don't you miss any of the old times?" he pressed, looking frustrated. "She's still your friend, isn't she?"

I didn't know how to answer. Of course I missed Jules, of course I still considered her my friend—but I couldn't exactly just come out and say she was part of a werewolf pack who absolutely loathed vampires, and wouldn't come near me as long as Edythe was around.

"I don't know," I said, staring at the table. "I don't think she wants to be friends."

Charlie gave me a stern look. "You're making assumptions. I have it on good authority she would rather be friends than nothing, and right now she's down in the dumps and could use a friend in the worst way."

I stared at him, my suspicions aroused. "What authority?" I wanted to know.

Charlie coughed, looking suddenly embarrassed. "The subject might have come up with Bonnie."

I groaned. Nothing was sacred when it came to parents' determination to meddle.

"Bonnie's been worried about Julie these days," he said.

I sighed as I tried to pry apart more congealed spaghetti. "I'll try, Dad. But if she really wants to talk to me, she hasn't acted like it. But I'll try to find some balance."

Charlie nodded. "Good. I trust you, Beau."

I scowled as I gave up trying to segment the monster and just speared the whole thing into my mouth. He always knew just how to get me.

"Oh, by the way, you've got some mail," Charlie said, abruptly changing the subject with no preamble. "It's by the stove."

I was probably as glad to put an end to the uncomfortable topic as he was, but I didn't move. My thoughts were still caught on Jules. I figured it was probably junk mail anyway, so I was surprised when, as Charlie got up to rinse his plate in the sink, he reached over and snagged the envelope, tossing it across the table to me. It skidded to a stop against my elbow.

"Might want to look at it," he said casually.

I swallowed the large lump in my mouth hard, eyes watering, then I picked up the envelope. I noticed the return address—University of Alaska Southeast.

"Huh. That was fast. Must have missed the deadline on that one, too."

Charlie chuckled, and when I turned the envelope over I saw it was already open.

"Really, Dad? Isn't that a federal crime?"

"Just read it," he said, chuckling again.

I pulled it out to find a folded schedule of courses.

"Congrats," said Charlie with a grin. "First acceptance."

"Thanks," I said, looking over the offered classes.

"We should talk about tuition," he continued. "I've been putting some money aside—"

"Don't even go there, Dad. That's your retirement. I've already got some saved up from working for the Newtons." Or I did, before I blew most of it getting a couple of motorcycles repaired.

Charlie shook his head. "You've really got to think about this, Beau. We're talking a lot of money here—these places can be pretty pricey. You can't tell me you can't use all the help you can get. You really don't need to banish yourself to Alaska just to save a few dollars when you're smart enough to go to a really good school."

In fact, Alaska was not cheaper than the average university, but it was far away, and Juneau had an average of three hundred and twenty-one overcast days per year. That was better than even Forks for a vampire, which was vital if Edythe was going to go with me.

"I'm sort of set on Alaska. And it shouldn't be too hard to get loans, there's financial aid everywhere. I'll have to learn how to manage money sometime."

Charlie chortled at that. He probably knew I'd been in charge of budgeting in my house for my mom before I was out of elementary school. However, he suddenly broke off and gave me a beady stare. "So," he began. "Just how does Edythe feel about Alaska?"

This was a question I didn't want to answer. "Uh."

A light knock on the door saved me. I jumped up and Charlie sighed, grumbling to himself and frowning deeply at the wall.

I practically ran to the door, then paused there a moment, drawing in a steadying breath, taking a moment to compose myself so I wouldn't look as ridiculously eager as I felt. I really tried not to do the puppy dog look in front of Edythe, if I could avoid it. I finally opened the door, and there she was.

Edythe was as glorious as the first day I had met her—her pale skin as always could have been made from finest porcelain, her small, slight frame deceptively delicate. She was wearing her hair down today—her bronze hair hung down her back, shimmering slightly in the evening light as droplets of rainwater glistened in stray strands. Her perfect lips were curved into a smile. I let my eyes meet hers—and I saw they were a liquid gold.

I realized I was gawking at her, and I grinned a little sheepishly, embarrassed. I was glad, as I often was, that Edythe's mysterious power of reading minds didn't work on me. Being the one exception, a kind of freak, definitely had its advantages.

Edythe reached forward and took my hand, and though her touch was cold as ice, it sent an electric thrill through me, and I smiled.

"Hey," I said.

Edythe raised my hand and traced my knuckles with a cool fingertip, smiling. "Hey," she answered. "How was your afternoon?"

"Slow," I admitted.

Edythe laughed, a soft, musical sound. "For me as well."

She lifted our linked her fingers, pressing the back of my hand to the side of her face. She closed her eyes as her nose skimmed the skin of my wrist, where my blue veins stood out against my pale skin. She breathed deeply, taking in the scent, then sighed with content.

For some strange reason, my blood had always had a magnetic draw for Edythe, more than the blood of any other human she had ever come into contact with. From what I understood, the frenzied thirst it excited in her actually burned her throat, to the point of intense physical pain. Before, she used to try to maintain some space between us, sometimes even holding her breath so she wouldn't take in the smell, but now she often seemed to seek out the closeness, and draw in the scent of my blood.

It seemed faintly masochistic to me, and I sometimes worried about her, and the constant effort she was forced to exert just to be around me. However, I took some comfort in the fact that wouldn't be an issue much longer.

Edythe let my hand fall, though she kept her fingers twined with mine. "Shall we go inside?" she asked softly.

"I guess," I answered, reluctant. Inside was where Charlie was, and as much as I loved my dad, the deep freeze that always seemed to come over the house when he and Edythe were in the same room was not pleasant.

I heard someone clear his throat in the hallway, and turned to see my dad standing there, arms folded.

"Good evening, Charlie," said Edythe, ever flawlessly polite.

"Edythe," Charlie answered with a polite nod, but in a tone well below subarctic.

Edythe, still holding my hand, led me toward the kitchen, walking right past him with no apparent sign of discomfort.

"I brought another set of applications," she said brightly, and I noticed for the first time the manila envelope tucked under her arm. She reached into the pocket of her light gray jacket, withdrawing a roll of stamps on the way."

"You've got to be kidding," I muttered. I felt like I'd probably applied to just about every college in the country, and I was considering going to see Carine about the tendonitis I thought I might be developing. It was doubly unreal, considering how late in the year it was and most deadlines ought to have already passed me by. But Edythe seemed to have a knack for finding loopholes and places willing to make exceptions—apparently loopholes were easy to find when you had way too much money to throw around.

Charlie followed us silently into the kitchen and stood there in the doorway, the picture of disapproval, though he probably couldn't have chosen a better, more responsible activity himself.

I moved my copy of Frankenstein to the counter, and Edythe and I sat down.

As though they had been having an ongoing conversation, Charlie said abruptly, "By the way, Edythe—speaking of college." His tone was civilized enough, but he stood with his feet spread apart, arms still folded aggressively. "Beau and I were just talking about it a minute ago. You have any plans for next year?"

Edythe smiled. "Well, I've received a few acceptance letters, but I'm holding off on making an absolute decision just yet. I'd like to take some more time to think about it."

"Where have you been accepted?" he asked, feigning a nonchalance that fooled no one.

Edythe pretended to be embarrassed. "Just a few places. Syracuse...Harvard...Dartmouth...and I also received an acceptance to the University of Alaska Southeast just today."

Charlie was momentarily shaken at this. "That's pretty impressive," he admitted reluctantly. He eyed her for a minute. "Ivy League. That would make Carine really happy."

"Actually, I'm leaning toward Alaska right now," Edythe answered. "The landscape is very striking there, and the area has a lot of atmosphere. I believe, and Carine agrees with me, the hardship of the extreme weather would be a good experience for me. Character shaping."

Charlie's eyes narrowed, and he looked suspiciously between the two of us.

"Hey," I said brightly, playing along. "That's awesome. Guess what—I got an acceptance to the University of Alaska, too."

Edythe turned, eyes wide with pretend excitement. "Really? Are you considering going there too, Beau?"

"Yeah, it was one of my first picks. What a coincidence."

She grinned. "It's almost uncanny."

Charlie scowled, obviously not fooled by the bit of playacting. "Well, fine," he muttered. "I'm going to go watch the game." He glared at me. "Nine-thirty, Beau."

I cleared my throat. "Hold on, Dad. What about what we talked about earlier? My parole for good behavior?"

Charlie blinked, remembering. He sighed. "All right," he grumbled. "Ten thirty then. It's still a school night."

Edythe looked suddenly excited. If I didn't know she could read minds, I wouldn't have suspected she knew anything. "Beau isn't grounded anymore?"

"Terms are conditional," he muttered, rudely squinting at a spot above Edythe's head rather than looking her in the eye.

"That's great news. Archie has been wanting to get out of town some weekend—guy stuff, you know—and he's been dying for someone to go with."

For some reason, Charlie looked alarmed at this. "No," he said abruptly. "Absolutely not."

"What now, Dad?" I said, giving him a strange look. Charlie didn't care for Edythe, but Archie he had always been fine with.

Charlie shook his head. "I told you about what's been going on in Seattle, murders every other day. I don't want you kids going anywhere near that place."

I snorted. "Dad, the chances are better I'll get struck by lightning than the one day I'm in Seattle I get offed by some random ax-murderer."

"Oh, no," Edythe said quickly, cutting in and looking earnest. "No, I wouldn't be comfortable with them going there either right now. I'm thinking they'll probably go to Portland."

I rolled my eyes. The idea of me being in danger from even the most psychotic serial killer when I was with Archie was a joke.

Charlie seemed to relax a little at this, though he was still frowning. "Fine," he muttered. Without any more ceremony than that, he turned and clumped from the kitchen to the living room to catch the game.

I waited until I heard the sound of blaring voices and commentators before I turned to Edythe. "What—" I began, but Edythe cut me off, shooting a meaningful look back toward the living room.

"I think you should be able to recycle your essays for this one," she said, pushing one of the applications in my direction. "The questions are about the same as the last one."

I figured Charlie was still listening in on us, and I focused on filling out the usual info. However, as I happened to glance at the name on the form, I suddenly snorted.

"Dartmouth? Seriously, Edythe?"

There was not a hint of a joke in Edythe's voice as she replied, "I think you might like New Hampshire. Plenty of night courses I could take, and there is plenty of forested area nearby for hikers." She smiled a little. "Of course I'd let you pay me back later, if that made you feel better. I can even charge you interest."

I grimaced. To get me into Dartmouth, I figured a lot of money would have to be changing hands under the table somewhere.

"No," I said. "Not happening."

Edythe sighed, and began gathering up the papers of the application. I was feeling triumphant until she said, "I suppose I'll just have to fill these ones out for you. You know I sign your name better than you do."

I stared at her in disbelief for a second, before I slowly shook my head. I glanced back toward the living room, then said in a low voice, "You're taking this way too far, you know. I don't need to apply anywhere else, I've already been accepted in Alaska. That's as good an alibi as any. We both know I'm not going to college—I won't be in any condition to be around other people."

I actually didn't know a whole lot about what my first few years as a vampire would be like. Edythe didn't like to talk about it. But I got the impression I would be completely wild, liable to go into a blood craze if I so much as saw a human. I figured I would be staying pretty much in seclusion until I was able to work up some self control.

"I thought the timing was still undecided," Edythe said lightly. "You might enjoy a semester or two of college. There are many human experiences you've never hand."

I raised an eyebrow, pressing my mouth into a firm line. "Sulpicia gave me until after graduation. I say the timing is pretty much set, unless you want to do it earlier."

"You let me worry about Sulpicia," said Edythe. "I doubt she'll be sending a delegation down here the moment you have your diploma in hand; there are just too many other things she has to deal with that are more pressing. You just worry about what's best for you."

"I want to get it over with and stop putting you all in danger," I muttered. I had already decided—I really didn't see much point in putting it off.

However, as I thought again of the set date, and realized it was really only a few weeks away now, I did feel a twinge of nerves in my stomach. Especially when I thought of the separation it would mean from my dad, and my mom, who was still shooting me emails begging for me to go visit her over the summer. And Jules...when I disappeared, even if I could keep communication up with my parents for awhile, Jules would know what it would mean. And she would be revolted by me.

I shook my head, trying to shake off the sudden gloom, but of course Edythe immediately read the consternation in my expression and she put a hand over mine. "There's no hurry," she murmured. "I'll keep you safe. You can take all the time you need."

I looked away from her, not wanting her to divine my thoughts. My wandering eyes fell again on the newspaper Charlie had been reading. The bold headline of the article he had been looking at jumped out at me.

DEATH TOLL ON THE RISE,

POLICE FEAR GANG ACTIVITY

Edythe's eyes dropped to study the paper, too, and her brow furrowed. Her eyes again rose up to mine, and her expression was serious. "So anxious," she said quietly. "Are you really so anxious to become a monster, Beau?"

I looked again at the headlines, and remembered Edythe's serious look when she had said she wouldn't have me in Seattle. It suddenly clicked together.

"Hold on," I began. "You don't think...these attacks in Seattle..."

"...are the work of a vampire," Edythe completed quietly. "Yes. The signs are all there—the unlikely disappearances, the poorly disposed of corpses, the lack of other evidence—we've been monitoring the situation for a few weeks now. We think it's a newborn, bloodthirsty and out of control, as we all were in the beginning. Normally it's the creator's responsibility to reign in neophytes and inform them of the rules, but clearly no one has stepped up in this case."

I stared down at the story, unable to look her in the eye. The names of the dead jumped out at me. Martin Gardiner. Georgina Campbell. Greg Razi. Mike O'Connell. Rosie Albrook. Five people with hope for the future, whose lives had been prematurely ended, in the most horrific way imaginable.

Edythe was watching me closely. "The existence of monsters results in monstrous consequences," she said quietly.

I shook my head, trying to shake off the shock of seeing those names. It was one thing to think about murder in the abstract sense. But having the names—names of individuals, as real as Charlie or my mom or Phil or any of my classmates at Forks—staring me in the face was something else.

"I won't be like that," I said in a low voice. "I'll have someone taking responsibility for me. We can live in Antarctica or something away from people and you'll keep me from doing anything I'll regret when I'm still...wild."

Edythe glanced away from me. "I hope so, Beau," she murmured, almost to herself. "I hope so."

After a moment of silence, Edythe's eyes returned to mine and, as though sorry to see me looking so troubled, she suddenly smiled.

"You realize if we go to Antarctica, the menu will be rather limited. Penguins, mainly." She made a face at the thought.

I couldn't help but smile a little at that. The Cullens considered themselves Vegetarian vampires, in that they drank the blood of animals to meet their dietary needs instead of human. However, some animals tasted better than others. They all seemed to like big predators best.

"Guess that puts us back to Alaska then. Maybe somewhere more remote than Juneau, though. There are grizzlies in Alaska, aren't there?"

Edythe grinned. "Plenty. Polar bears, too, that will be different. And you wouldn't believe how large the wolves get there."

Before I could stop myself, I flinched and my gaze dropped.

Edythe noticed the tension immediately and she blinked, confused. Then her features cooled.

"Of course we don't have to hunt wolves, if you find the idea offensive." Her voice was stiff and formal.

I stared down at the table and didn't reply.

We were both silent for a long minute. At last I sensed Edythe relax. She reached over to put a hand on my arm, and leaned down so she could look up into my face. Her expression was gentle.

"I'm sorry, Beau," she said sincerely. "Really."

I sighed. "It's not you. I just...I guess I was just sort of already thinking about things before you came. With Jules, I mean."

I chanced looking up at Edythe. I usually tried not to mention Jules around Edythe if I could avoid it. Edythe's eyes always seemed to get a bit darker when she heard the name.

I felt compelled to explain, "Charlie told me she's having a rough time right now. And, well...I'm sort of the one who's to blame."

"You have absolutely nothing to feel guilty for, Beau," Edythe said, almost severely.

I shook my head. "I just feel like I should be trying to make things right. I can't just do nothing—I owe her. And anyway, that's part of Charlie's deal."

Edythe's eyes were flat, unyielding.

"Beau, you know it's too dangerous for you to be around any of the wolves, not without one of us there to step in if one of them loses control. And by the terms of the treaty, none of us may set foot on their land. For any of us to do so would mean war."

I couldn't immediately think of anything to say to that and my eyes dropped.

We were both quiet for a minute. When Edythe spoke again, her voice was light and I knew she was hoping to distract me.

"Well, I'm glad Charlie decided to finally put an end to your prison sentence. For one thing, I think you could use a visit to the bookstore." Her eyes were on the counter behind me, where I'd tossed my old copy of Frankenstein. "Look at that binding. Just how many times have you read it?"

I glanced back at the book, then shrugged stiffly. "A lot."

"What is it you like so much about it?" she asked curiously. "The characters are horrible. Frankenstein creates a monster and when it begs for its creator's love and understanding, he despises it instead. And the monster, bent on vengeance, becomes a real monster in the end. It's a story about hate."

Her sincere curiosity was enough to really distract me for a moment, and I considered the question seriously.

"I think that's the point," I said finally. "It's what happens when you let hate take over. After Victor created the monster, he hated it. The monster just wanted to be loved and understood by someone, but when Victor wouldn't help him, the monster swore revenge, and took everything away from him. Then Victor made up his mind to kill the monster in retribution and undo the mistake he made. It was just a downward spiral."

"And you find that appealing in a story," Edythe said, bemused.

I shrugged. "I guess it's like a warning what not to do. In the end, they both ended up isolated and alone." I paused. "But, you know, even though Victor hated the creature until his final breath, the monster repented. He had remorse for what he did. So I guess Victor was the real monster."

Edythe was quiet as she thought about that.

I looked back up at her and sighed. She really did have a knack for distractions.

"La Push," I said abruptly, going back to the original issue. "Look, Edythe, it's really not as dangerous as you seem to think it is. I used to spend all day down there, and look—I'm still sitting here, whole and healthy."

Edythe shook her head. "Pure dumb luck," she muttered. "Are you saying you never had any close calls? That nothing ever happened?"

I opened my mouth to repeat myself, that it wasn't dangerous, but the words got stuck in my throat as a collage of images flashed through my mind. A gray wolf, crouched to spring, dagger-sized teeth bared in my direction. Spasms shooting up and down a girl's spine, as she sat in a car right beside me. Long scars down the face of a young man, not much older than me...

Edythe interpreted my expression correctly. "Werewolves are volatile, explosive creatures by nature, especially when they're still young and haven't yet mastered their tempers," she said evenly. "Combined with their monstrous strength, they are exceedingly dangerous to be anywhere near. I have experience with them—I was here when Carine first settled here about seventy years ago, and when we first made the treaty. Even though we outnumbered them, it very nearly came to a fight, but Carine was determined we try to coexist peacefully. You're right, nothing happened to you while you were there—but I consider that a miracle."

I still wanted to argue. Even if Edythe had experience with the wolves in the past, she didn't personally know any of them now, and not Jules. It was different.

"We thought the power might have died with Elda Black," she mused. "That it might be gone entirely. But perhaps it simply skips a generation." Her eyes flickered to me. "Or maybe you are just a magnet for bad luck. Anything dangerous with in a hundred miles, you draw it out."

I frowned. "Hey, this one's not on me. The werewolves came back because the vampires did. But you knew that, right?"

On the contrary, Edythe went motionless with surprise.

I continued, "That's what Jules said. That your family coming here is what triggered the change."

"Is that what they believe?" she asked, eyes slightly narrowed.

I shrugged. "Well, you came here seventy years ago and there was a wolf pack. Then when you were gone there were no wolves, and now you're here again. You have to admit, it's more than a little coincidence."

Edythe blinked and relaxed. "Carine will be interested in that theory," she said mildly.

We were both silent for a long minute, Edythe gazing out the window into the rain. At last she said, "It makes little difference. You still cannot go there."

I gazed back at Edythe. I knew there was no use getting bent out of shape. Edythe wasn't being cold or heartless, she just didn't really understand. She didn't understand how good a friend Julie Black had been to me, just how much I owed her.

I'd always avoided discussing that cold, dark time with anyone, especially Edythe. When Edythe had left—told me the lies she had to make me think it was over—she'd only been trying to save me, from the constant danger of being around vampires, and save my soul from damnation. She'd hoped if I didn't entertain any lingering hopes, then I could move on and have a normal life. Instead, I'd fallen into a deep depression. I didn't in any way blame Edythe for that—looking back, I held myself responsible for most of the dumb things I'd done during that time. But Edythe blamed herself, and I could always see from the terrible pain in her face how deeply her regret run.

Still, this was important. She had to understand. I hoped I could word it in a way that wouldn't set her off into one of her self-recriminations again, but still communicate what I needed to.

I reached over and put a hand over hers, and she automatically turned her hand over to lace her fingers through mine.

"I know you're worried about me," I said. "About the risk. But you have to understand, Edythe. Right now, a friend of mine is really having a rough time. A horrible time. Back when it was the other way around, she was there for me all the way. I can't just sit here, I've got to do something."

As I'd known, the moment I alluded to that time, Edythe looked away, her entire body tensing, her eyes closed. The skin was buckled between her brows with pain.

"Such a mistake," she said softly. "A vile, thoughtless, cruel mistake. I could kill myself a hundred times over—if someone else had caused you half as much suffering and grief, I would have killed them already."

I put my other hand over hers, so both my hands rested over her delicate fingers. I could feel the tension in her arm, as though her self-loathing was a physical force.

"It's all in the past now," I said gently. "Ancient history. You're here now, and that's all that matters."

Edythe's eyes opened and she stared straight ahead, her mouth tight. Her remorseful gaze turned almost bitter. "No," she said in a low voice. "Because if it wasn't for what I did to you, you wouldn't feel this needless compulsion to put yourself in danger for the sole purpose of comforting a dog."

I flinched. I was pretty well used to the way Jules talked about the Cullens, and all her colorful slurs. Bloodsuckers. Leeches. Parasites. But for some reason, coming from Edythe's musical, velvet voice, there was a harshness about it that never failed to catch me off guard.

Edythe sighed. "I am sorry, Beau. Really. And I know I must sound cruel to you right now. But I just—I can't tolerate anything that will put you in danger. The thought of you being hurt—it's unbearable to me."

I shook my head. "You're blowing this way out of proportion. It's not like I'm marching off to war. I'll be fine."

Edythe was looking at me with something like desperation. Her golden eyes seemed to burn. "Always the same," she whispered, almost to herself. "Never any regard for your safety, never any conception of the danger."

Edythe was turned toward me, staring up into my face. Without warning, she leaned in close, and I felt her cool cheek against my neck. One of her hands came up, running once through my hair and then dropping down to my back to hold me to her.

"Do you have any conception, Beau?" she murmured. "How important you are to me? How much I love you? Please, Beau, I will do everything possible to ensure you safety, but I need your willing cooperation. Please."

"I will," I promised. "But I still have to see her sometime. I have to do something."

Edythe leaned back and looked me in the face, her expression earnest. "Then I'm afraid I'll have to stop you," she said softly. There was not a hint of doubt in her voice, and I knew which one of us was likely to get our way.

That wasn't going to stop me from trying.

I felt the weight of Jules's note in my pocket as though it suddenly weighed ten pounds. I heard the words in her voice, almost as though she was agreeing with Edythe—as though that would ever happen.

Still doesn't change anything, though. Sorry.