theory

CAN—CAN I ASK JUST ONE MORE?" I STUTTERED QUICKLY AS SHE ACCELERATED much too fast down the quiet street.

I was in no hurry to answer her question.

She shook her head. "We had a deal."

"It's not really a question," I argued. "Just a clarification of something you said before."

She rolled her eyes. "Make it quick."

"Well… you said you knew I hadn't gone into the bookstore, and that I had gone south. I was just wondering how you knew that."

She thought about it for a moment, deliberating again.

"I thought we were past all these evasions," I said.

She gave me a kind of you asked for it look. "Fine, then. I followed your scent."

I didn't have a response to that. I stared out the window, trying to process it.

"Your turn, Bella."

But you didn't answer my other question."

"Oh, come on."

"I'm serious. You didn't tell me how it works—the mind-reading thing. Can you read anybody's mind, anywhere? How do you do it? Can the rest of your family do the same thing?"

It was easier to talk about this in the dark car. The streetlights were behind us already, and in the low gleam from the dashboard, all the crazy stuff seemed just a little more possible.

It seemed like she felt the same sense of non-reality, like normality was on hold for as long as we were in this space together. Her voice was casual as she answered.

"No, it's just me. And I can't hear anyone, anywhere. I have to be fairly close. The more familiar someone's… 'voice' is, the farther away I can hear them. But still, no more than a few miles." She paused thoughtfully. "It's a little like being in a huge hall filled with people, everyone talking at once. It's just a hum—a buzzing of voices in the background. Until I focus on one voice, and then what they're thinking is clear.

Most of the time I tune it all out—it can be very distracting. And then it's easier to seem normal"—she frowned as she said the word—"when I'm not accidentally answering someone's thoughts rather than their words."

"Why do you think you can't hear me?" I asked curiously.

She stared at me, eyes seeming to bore right through mine, with that frustrated look I knew well. I realized now that each time she'd looked at me this way, she must have been trying to hear my thoughts, and failing. Her expression relaxed as she gave up.

"I don't know," she murmured. "Maybe your mind doesn't work the same way the rest of theirs do. Like your thoughts are on the AM frequency and I'm only getting FM." She grinned at me, suddenly amused.

"My mind doesn't work right? I'm a freak?" Her speculation hit home. I'd always suspected as much, and it embarrassed me to have it confirmed.

"I hear voices in my mind and you're worried that you're the freak." She laughed. "Don't worry, it's just a theory.…" Her face tightened. "Which brings us back to you."

I frowned. How was I going to say this out loud?

"I thought we were past all these evasions," she reminded me softly.

I looked away from her face, trying to gather my thoughts into words, and my eyes wandered across the dashboard… stopped at the speedometer.

"Holy crow!" I shouted.

"What's wrong?" she asked, looking right and left, rather than straight ahead where she should be looking. The car didn't decelerate.

"You're doing one-ten!" I was still shouting.

I shot a panicked glance out the window, but it was too dark to see much. The road was only visible in the long patch of bluish brightness from the headlights. The forest along both sides of the road was like a black wall—as hard as a wall of steel if we veered off the road at this speed.

"Relax, Bella." She rolled her eyes, still not slowing.

Are you trying to kill us?" I demanded.

"We're not going to crash."

I carefully modulated my voice. "Why are we in such a hurry, Edyth?"

"I always drive like this." She turned to flash a smile at me.

"Keep your eyes on the road!"

"I've never been in an accident, Bella—I've never even gotten a ticket." She grinned and tapped her forehead. "Built-in radar detector."

"Hands on the wheel, Edyth!"

She sighed, and I watched with relief as the needle gradually drifted toward eighty. "Happy?"

"Almost."

"I hate driving slow," she muttered.

"This is slow?"

"Enough commentary on my driving," she snapped. "I'm still waiting for you to answer my question."

I forced my eyes away from the road in front of us, but I didn't know where to look. It was hard to look at her face, knowing the word I was going to have to say now. My anxiety must have been pretty obvious.

"I promise I won't laugh this time," she said gently.

"I'm not worried about that."

"Then what?"

"That you'll be… upset. Unhappy."

She lifted her hand off the gearshift and held it out toward me—just a few centimeters. An offer. I glanced up quickly, to make sure I understood, and her eyes were soft.

Don't worry about me," she said. "I can handle it."

I took her hand, and she curled her fingers very lightly around mine for one short second, then dropped her hand back to the gearshift. Carefully, I placed my hand over the top of hers again. I ran my thumb along the outside of her hand, tracing from her wrist to the tip of her pinkie finger. Her skin was so soft—not that it had any give at all, no, but soft like satin. Smoother, even.

"The suspense is killing me, Bella," she whispered.

"I'm sorry. I don't know how to start."

Another long moment of silence, just the purr of the engine and the sound of my hitching breath. I couldn't hear hers at all. I traced back down the side of her perfect hand.

"Why don't you start at the beginning," she suggested, her voice more normal now. Practical. "Is this something you thought up on your own, or did something make you think of it—a comic book, maybe, or a movie?"

"Nothing like that," I said. "But I didn't think of it on my own."

She waited.

"It was Saturday—down at the beach."

I risked a glance up at her face. She looked confused.

"I ran into an old family friend—Jules, Julie Black.

Her dad and Charlie have been friends since I was a baby."

She still looked confused.

"Her dad is one of the Quileute elders." I watched her carefully. Her confused expression froze in place. "We went for a walk—" I edited all my scheming out of the story "—and she was telling me some old legends—trying to scare me, I think. She told me one…" I hesitated.

"Go on," she said.

"About vampires." I realized I was whispering. I couldn't look at her face now. But I saw her knuckles tighten convulsively on the wheel.

"And you immediately thought of me?" Still calm.

"No. She… mentioned your family."

She was silent, staring at the road.

I was worried suddenly, worried about protecting Julie.

"She just thought it was a silly superstition," I said quickly. "She didn't expect me to think anything of it." It didn't seem like enough; I had to confess. "It was my fault, I forced her to tell me."

"Why?"

"Lauren said something about you—she was trying to provoke me. And an older boy from the tribe said your family didn't come to the reservation, only it sounded like he meant something different. So I got Julie alone and I tricked it out of her," I admitted, hanging my head.

She startled me by laughing. I glared up at her. She was laughing, but her eyes were fierce, staring ahead.

"Tricked her how?" she asked.

"I tried to flirt—it worked better than I thought it would." Disbelief colored my tone as I remembered.

"I'd like to have seen that." She chuckled darkly. "And you accused me of dazzling people—poor Julie Black."

I blushed and looked out my window into the night.

"What did you do then?" she asked after a minute.

"I did some research on the Internet."

"And did that convince you?" Her voice sounded barely interested. But her hands were clamped hard onto the steering wheel.

"No. Nothing fit. Most of it was kind of silly. And then…" I stopped.

"What?"

"I decided it didn't matter," I whispered.

"It didn't matter?" Her tone made me look up—I had finally broken through her carefully composed mask. Her face was incredulous, with just a hint of the anger I'd feared.

"No," I said softly. "It doesn't matter to me what you are."

A hard, mocking edge entered her voice. "You don't care if I'm a monster? If I'm not human?"

"No."

She was silent, staring straight ahead again. Her face was bleak and cold.

"You're angry," I sighed. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"No," she said, but her tone was as hard as her face. "I'd rather know what you're thinking—even if what you're thinking is insane."

"So I'm wrong again?" I challenged.

"That's not what I was referring to. 'It doesn't matter'!" she quoted, gritting her teeth together.

"I'm right?" I gasped.

"Does it matter?"

I took a deep breath.

"Not really." I paused. "But I am curious." My voice, at least, was composed.

She was suddenly resigned. "What are you curious about?"

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen," she answered promptly.

"And how long have you been seventeen?"

Her lips twitched as she stared at the road. "A while," she admitted at last.

"Okay." I smiled, pleased that she was still being honest with me. She stared down at me with watchful eyes, much as she had before, when she was worried I would go into shock. I smiled wider in encouragement, and she frowned.

"Don't laugh—but how can you come out during the daytime?"

She laughed anyway. "Myth."

"Burned by the sun?"

"Myth."

"Sleeping in coffins?"

"Myth." She hesitated for a moment, and a peculiar tone entered her voice. "I can't sleep."

It took me a minute to absorb that. "At all?"

"Never," she said, her voice nearly inaudible. She turned to look at me with a wistful expression. The golden eyes held mine, and I lost my train of thought. I stared at her until she looked away.

"You haven't asked me the most important question yet." Her voice was hard now, and when she looked at me again her eyes were cold.

I blinked, still dazed. "Which one is that?"

"You aren't concerned about my diet?" she asked sarcastically.

"Oh," I murmured, "that."

"Yes, that." Her voice was bleak. "Don't you want to know if I drink blood?"

I flinched. "Well, Julie said something about that."

"What did Julie say?" she asked flatly.

"She said you didn't… hunt people. She said your family wasn't supposed to be dangerous because you only hunted animals."

"She said we weren't dangerous?" Her voice was deeply skeptical.

"Not exactly. She said you weren't supposed to be dangerous. But the Quileutes still didn't want you on their land, just in case."

She looked forward, but I couldn't tell if she was watching the road or not.

"So was she right? About not hunting people?" I tried to keep my voice as even as possible.

"The Quileutes have a long memory," she whispered.

I took it as a confirmation.

"Don't let that make you complacent, though," she warned me. "They're right to keep their distance from us. We are still dangerous."

"I don't understand."

"We try," she explained slowly. "We're usually very good at what we do. Sometimes we make mistakes. Me, for example, allowing myself to be alone with you."

"This is a mistake?" I heard the sadness in my voice, but I didn't know if she could as well.

"A very dangerous one," she murmured.

We were both silent then. I watched the headlights twist with the curves of the road. They moved too fast; it didn't look real, it looked like a video game. I was aware of the time slipping away so quickly, like the black road beneath us, and I was hideously afraid that I would never have another chance to be with her like this again—openly, the walls between us gone for once. Her words hinted at an end, and I recoiled from the idea. I couldn't waste one minute I had with her.

"Tell me more," I asked desperately, not caring what she said, just so I could hear her voice again.

She looked at me quickly, startled by the change in my tone. "What more do you want to know?"

"Tell me why you hunt animals instead of people," I suggested, my voice still tinged with desperation. I realized my eyes were wet, and I fought against the grief that was trying to overpower me.

"I don't want to be a monster." Her voice was very low.

"But animals aren't enough?"

She paused. "I can't be sure, of course, but I'd compare it to living on tofu and soy milk; we call ourselves vegetarians, our little inside joke. It doesn't completely satiate the hunger—or rather thirst. But it keeps us strong enough to resist. Most of the time." Her tone turned ominous. "Sometimes it's more difficult than others."

"Is it very difficult for you now?" I asked.

She sighed. "Yes."

"But you're not hungry now," I said confidently—stating, not asking.

"Why do you think that?"

"Your eyes. I told you I had a theory. I've noticed that people are crabbier when they're hungry."

She chuckled. "You are observant, aren't you?"

I didn't answer; I just listened to the sound of her laugh, committing it to memory.

"Were you hunting this weekend, with Emmett?" I asked when it was quiet again.

Yes." She paused for a second, as if deciding whether or not to say something. "I didn't want to leave, but it was necessary. It's a bit easier to be around you when I'm not thirsty."

"Why didn't you want to leave?"

"It makes me… anxious… to be away from you." Her eyes were gentle but intense, and they seemed to be making my bones turn soft. "I wasn't joking when I asked you to try not to fall in the ocean or get run over last Thursday. I was distracted all weekend, worrying about you. And after what happened tonight, I'm surprised that you did make it through a whole weekend unscathed." She shook her head, and then seemed to remember something. "Well, not totally unscathed."

What?"

"Your hands," she reminded me. I looked down at my palms, at the almost-healed scrapes across the heels of my hands. Her eyes missed nothing.

"I fell," I sighed.

"That's what I thought." Her lips curved up at the corners. "I suppose, being you, it could have been much worse—and that possibility tormented me the entire time I was away. It was a very long three days. I really got on Emmett's nerves." She smiled ruefully at me.

"Three days? Didn't you just get back today?"

"No, we got back Sunday."

Then why weren't any of you in school?" I was frustrated, almost angry as I thought of how much disappointment I had suffered because of her absence.

"Well, you asked if the sun hurt me, and it doesn't. But I can't go out in the sunlight—at least, not where anyone can see."

"Why?"

"I'll show you sometime," she promised.

I thought about it for a moment.

"You might have called me," I decided.

She was puzzled. "But I knew you were safe."

"But I didn't know where you were. I—" I hesitated, dropping my eyes.

"What?" Her velvety voice was compelling.

"I didn't like it. Not seeing you. It makes me anxious, too." I blushed to be saying this out loud.

She was quiet. I glanced up, apprehensive, and saw that her expression was pained.

"Ah," she groaned quietly. "This is wrong."

I couldn't understand her response. "What did I say?"

"Don't you see, Bella? It's one thing for me to make myself miserable, but a wholly other thing for you to be so involved." She turned her anguished eyes to the road, her words flowing almost too fast for me to understand. "I don't want to hear that you feel that way." Her voice was low but urgent. Her words cut me. "It's wrong. It's not safe. I'm dangerous, Bella—please, grasp that."

"No." I tried very hard not to look like a sulky child.

"I'm serious," she growled.

"So am I. I told you, it doesn't matter what you are. It's too late."

Her voice whipped out, low and harsh. "Never say that."

I bit my lip and was glad she couldn't know how much that hurt. I stared out at the road. We must be close now. She was driving much too fast.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, her voice still raw. I just shook my head, not sure if I could speak. I could feel her gaze on my face, but I kept my eyes forward.

"Are you crying?" She sounded appalled. I hadn't realized the moisture in my eyes had brimmed over. I quickly rubbed my hand across my cheek, and sure enough, traitor tears were there, betraying me.

"No," I said, but my voice cracked.

I saw her reach toward me hesitantly with her right hand, but then she stopped and placed it slowly back on the steering wheel.

"I'm sorry." Her voice burned with regret. I knew she wasn't just apologizing for the words that had upset me.

The darkness slipped by us in silence.

"Tell me something," she asked after another minute, and I could hear her struggle to use a lighter tone.

"Yes?"

"What were you thinking tonight, just before I came around the corner? I couldn't understand your expression—you didn't look that scared, you looked like you were concentrating very hard on something."

"I was trying to remember how to incapacitate an attacker—you know, self-defense. I was going to smash his nose into his brain." I thought of the dark-haired man with a surge of hate.

"You were going to fight them?" This upset her. "Didn't you think about running?"

"I fall down a lot when I run," I admitted.

"What about screaming for help?"

"I was getting to that part."

She shook her head. "You were right—I'm definitely fighting fate trying to keep you alive."

The darkness slipped by us in silence. I realized the car was slowing, and even in the dark I recognized the landmarks. We were passing into the boundaries of Forks. It had taken less than twenty minutes.

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Do you want to?" she whispered.

"More than anything else I've ever wanted." It was pathetic how obviously true the words were. So much for playing hard to get.

She closed her eyes. The car didn't deviate so much as half an inch from the center of the lane.

"Then I'll be there," she finally said. "I do have a paper to turn in."

She looked at me then, and her face was calmer, but her eyes were troubled.

We were suddenly in front of Charlie's house. The lights were on, my truck in its place, everything totally normal. It was like waking up from a dream—the kind you didn't want to lose, the kind you kept your eyes closed tight for, rolled over and covered your head with a pillow for, trying to find a way back in. She shut off the engine, but I didn't move.

"Save me a seat at lunch?" I asked hesitantly.

I was rewarded with a wide smile. "That's easy enough."

"You promise?" I couldn't keep the tone light enough.

"I promise."

I stared into her eyes and it was like she was a magnet again, like she was pulling me toward her and I had no power to resist. I didn't want to try. The word vampire was still there between us, but it was easier to ignore than I would have thought possible. Her face was so unbearably perfect, it hurt in a strange way to look at it. At the same time, I never wanted to look away. I wanted to know if her lips were as silky smooth as the skin of her hand—

Suddenly her left hand was there, palm forward, an inch from my face, warning me back, and she was cringing against the car door, her eyes wide and frightened and her teeth clenched together.

I jerked away from her.

"Sorry!"

She stared at me for a long moment, and I would swear she wasn't breathing. After a long moment, she relaxed a little.

"You have to be more careful than that, Bella," she said finally in a dull voice.

Cautiously—like I was made of glass or something—her left hand lifted mine off her right and then let it go. I crossed my arms over my chest.

"Maybe—" she began.

"I can do better than that," I interrupted quickly. "Just tell me the rules, and I'll follow them. Whatever you want from me."

She sighed.

"Seriously. Tell me to do something, and I'll do it."

I regretted the words the second they were out of my mouth. What if she asked me to forget about her? There were some things that weren't in my power to do.

But she smiled. "All right, I've got one."

"Yeah?" I asked, wary.

"Don't go in the woods alone again."

I could feel the surprise on my face. "How did you know that?"

She touched the tip of her nose.

"Really? You must have an incredible sense—"

"Are you going to agree to what I ask or not?" she interrupted.

"Sure, that one's easy. Can I ask why?"

She frowned, her eyes tight again as she stared out the window past me. "I'm not always the most dangerous thing out there. Let's leave it at that."

The sudden bleakness in her voice made me shiver, but I was relieved, too. She could have asked for something much harder. "Whatever you say."

She sighed. "I'll see you tomorrow, Bella."

I knew she wanted me to leave now. I opened the door unwillingly.

"Tomorrow," I emphasized. I started to climb out.

"Bella?"

I turned and ducked back awkwardly, and she was leaning toward me, her pale goddess face just inches from mine. My heart stopped beating.

"Sleep well," she said. Her breath blew into my face—it was the same compelling scent that haunted her car, but in a more concentrated form. I blinked, totally stunned. She leaned away.

It took me a few seconds till my brain unscrambled and I was able to move again. I backed out of the car, having to use the frame for balance. I thought she might have laughed, but the sound was too quiet for me to be sure.

She waited till I'd stumbled to the front door, and then her engine quietly revved. I turned to watch the silver car disappear around the corner. It was suddenly really cold.

I reached for the key mechanically, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

Charlie called from the living room. "Bella?"

"Yeah, Dad, it's me." I walked in to see him. He was watching a baseball game.

"You're home early."

"Am I?" I was surprised.

"It's not even eight yet," he told me. "Did you girls have fun?"

"Yeah—it was lots of fun." My head was spinning as I tried to remember all the way back to the girls' night out I had planned. "They both found dresses."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm just tired. I did a lot of walking."

"Well, maybe you should go lie down." He sounded concerned. I wondered what my face looked like.

"I'm just going to call Jessica first."

"Weren't you just with her?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes—but I left my jacket in her car. I want to make sure she brings it tomorrow."

"Well, give her a chance to get home first."

"Right," I agreed.

I went to the kitchen and fell, exhausted, into a chair. I was really feeling dizzy now. I wondered if I was going to go into shock after all. Get a grip, I told myself.

The phone rang suddenly, startling me. I yanked it off the hook.

"Hello?" I asked breathlessly.

"Bella?"

"Hey, Jess, I was just going to call you."

"You made it home?" Her voice was relieved… and surprised.

"Yes. I left my jacket in your car—could you bring it to me tomorrow?"

"Sure. But tell me what happened!" she demanded.

"Um, tomorrow—in Trig, okay?"

She caught on quickly. "Oh, is your dad there?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Okay, I'll talk to you tomorrow, then. Bye!" I could hear the impatience in her voice.

"Bye, Jess."

I walked up the stairs slowly, a heavy stupor clouding my mind. I went through the motions of getting ready for bed without paying any attention to what I was doing. It wasn't until I was in the shower—the water too hot, burning my skin—that I realized I was freezing. I shuddered violently for several minutes before the steaming spray could finally relax my rigid muscles. Then I stood in the shower, too tired to move, until the hot water began to run out.

I stumbled out, wrapping myself securely in a towel, trying to hold the heat from the water in so the aching shivers wouldn't return. I dressed for bed swiftly and climbed under my quilt, curling into a ball, hugging myself to keep warm. A few small shudders trembled through me.

My mind still swirled dizzily, full of images I couldn't understand, and some I fought to repress. Nothing seemed clear at first, but as I fell gradually closer to unconsciousness, a few certainties became evident.

About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Edythe was a vampire. Second, there was part of her—and I didn't know how potent that part might be—that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with her.