Life and Death

by Stephenie Meyer

  “No, no, you promised,” she laughed, placing her cold finger against my lips. “Do you want to hear the story or not?”

  “You can’t spring something like that on me, and then expect me not to say anything,” I mumbled against her finger.

  She lifted her hand, moving it to rest against my chest. The speed of my heart reacted to that, but I ignored it.

  “You don’t have to breathe?” I demanded.

  “No, it’s not necessary. Just a habit.” She shrugged.

  “How long can you go … without breathing?”

  “Indefinitely, I suppose; I don’t know. It gets a bit uncomfortable—being without a sense of smell.”

  “A bit uncomfortable,” I echoed.

  I wasn’t paying attention to my own expression, but something in it made her suddenly serious. Her hand fell to her side and she stood very still, watching my face. The silence stretched out. Her features turned to stone.

  “What is it?” I whispered, carefully touching her frozen face.

  Her face came back to life, and she smiled a tiny, wan smile. “I know that at some point, something I tell you or something you see is going to be too much. And then you’ll run away from me, screaming as you go.” Her smile faded. “I won’t stop you when that happens. I want it to happen, because I want you to be safe. And yet, I want to be with you. The two desires are impossible to reconcile… .” She trailed off, staring at my face.

  “I’m not running anywhere,” I promised.

  “We’ll see,” she said, smiling again.

  I frowned at her. “Back to the story—Carine was swimming to France.”

  She paused, settling into the story again. Reflexively, her eyes flickered to another picture—the most colorful of them all, the most ornately framed, and the largest; it was twice as wide as the door it hung next to. The canvas overflowed with bright figures in swirling robes, writhing around long pillars and off marbled balconies. I couldn’t tell if it represented Greek mythology, or if the characters floating in the clouds above were meant to be biblical.

  “Carine swam to France, and continued on through Europe, to the universities there. By night she studied music, science, medicine—and found her calling, her penance, in that, in saving human lives.” Her expression became reverent. “I can’t adequately describe the struggle; it took Carine two centuries of torturous effort to perfect her self-control. Now she is all but immune to the scent of human blood, and she is able to do the work she loves without agony. She finds a great deal of peace there, at the hospital… .” Edythe stared off into space for a long moment. Suddenly she seemed to remember the story. She tapped her finger against the huge painting in front of us.

  “She was studying in Italy when she discovered the others there. They were much more civilized and educated than the wraiths of the London sewers.”

  She pointed up to a comparatively dignified group of figures painted on the highest balcony, looking down calmly on the mayhem below them. I looked carefully at the little assembly and realized, with a startled laugh, that I recognized the golden-haired woman standing off to one side.

  “Solimena was greatly inspired by Carine’s friends. He often painted them as gods.” Edythe laughed. “Sulpicia, Marcus, and Athenodora,” she said, indicating the other three. “Nighttime patrons of the arts.”

  The first woman and man were black-haired, the second woman was pale blond. All wore richly colored gowns, while Carine was painted in white.

  “What about that one?” I asked, pointing to a small, nondescript girl with light brown hair and clothes. She was on her knees clinging to the other woman’s skirts—the woman with the elaborate black curls.

  “Mele,” she said. “A … servant, I suppose you could call her. Sulpicia’s little thief.”

  “What happened to them?” I wondered aloud, my fingertip hovering a centimeter from the figures on the canvas.

  “They’re still there.” She shrugged. “As they have been for millennia. Carine stayed with them only for a short time, just a few decades. She admired their civility, their refinement, but they persisted in trying to cure her aversion to her natural food source, as they called it. They tried to persuade her, and she tried to persuade them, to no avail. Eventually, Carine decided to try the New World. She dreamed of finding others like herself. She was very lonely, you see.

  “She didn’t find anyone for a long time. But as monsters became the stuff of fairy tales, she found she could interact with unsuspecting humans as if she were one of them. She began working as a nurse—though her learning and skill exceeded that of the surgeons of the day, as a woman, she couldn’t be accepted in another role. She did what she could to save patients from less able doctors when no one was looking. But though she worked closely with humans, the companionship she craved evaded her; she couldn’t risk familiarity.

  “When the influenza epidemic hit, she was working nights in a hospital in Chicago. She’d been turning over an idea in her mind for several years, and she had almost decided to act—since she couldn’t find a companion, she would create one. She wasn’t sure which parts of her own transformation were actually necessary, and which were simply for the enjoyment of her sadistic creator, so she was hesitant. And she was loath to steal anyone’s life the way hers had been stolen. It was in that frame of mind that she found me. There was no hope for me; I was left in a ward with the dying. She had nursed my parents, and knew I was alone. She decided to try… .”

  Her voice, nearly a whisper now, trailed off. She stared unseeingly through the long windows. I wondered which images filled her mind now, Carine’s memories or her own. I waited.

  She turned back to me, smiling softly. “And now we’ve come full circle.”

  “So you’ve always been with Carine?”

  “Almost always.”

  She took my hand again and pulled me back out into the hallway. I looked back toward the pictures I couldn’t see anymore, wondering if I’d ever get to hear the other stories.

  She didn’t add anything as we walked down the hall, so I asked, “Almost?”

  Edythe sighed, pursed her lips, and then looked up at me from the corner of her eye.

  “You don’t want to answer that, do you?” I said.

  “It wasn’t my finest hour.”

  We started up another flight of stairs.

  “You can tell me anything.”

  She paused when we got to the top of the stairs and stared into my eyes for a few seconds.

  “I suppose I owe you that. You should know who I am.”

  I got the feeling that what she was saying now was directly connected to what she’d said before, about me running away screaming. I carefully set my face and braced myself.

  She took a deep breath. “I had a typical bout of rebellious adolescence—about ten years after I was … born … created, whatever you want to call it. I wasn’t sold on Carine’s life of abstinence, and I resented her for curbing my appetite. So … I went off on my own for a time.”

  “Really?” This didn’t shock me the way she thought it would. It only made me more curious.

  “That doesn’t repulse you?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I guess … it sounds reasonable.”

  She laughed one sharp laugh and then started pulling me forward again, through a hall similar to the one downstairs, walking slowly. “From the time of my new birth, I had the advantage of knowing what everyone around me was thinking, both human and non-human alike. That’s why it took me ten years to defy Carine—I could read her perfect sincerity, understand exactly why she lived the way she did.

  “It took me only a few years to return to Carine and recommit to her vision. I thought I would be exempt from the … depression … that accompanies a conscience. Because I knew the thoughts of my prey, I could pass over the innocent and pursue only the evil. If I followed a murderer down a dark alley where he stalked a young girl—if I saved her, then surely I wasn’t so terri
ble.”

  I tried to imagine what she was describing. What would she have looked like, coming silent and pale out of the shadows? What would the murderer have thought when he saw her—perfect, beautiful, more than human? Would he even have known to be afraid?

  “But as time went on, I began to see the monster in my eyes. I couldn’t escape the debt of so much human life taken, no matter how justified. And I went back to Carine and Earnest. They welcomed me back like the prodigal. It was more than I deserved.”

  We’d come to a stop in front of the last door in the hall.

  “My room,” she said, opening it and pulling me through.

  Her room faced south, with a wall-sized window like the great room below. The whole back side of the house must be glass. Her view looked down on the wide, winding river, which I figured had to be the Sol Duc, and across the forest to the white peaks of the Olympic Mountain range. The mountains were much closer than I would have thought.

  Her western wall was covered with shelf after shelf of CDs; the room was better stocked than a music store. In the corner was a sophisticated-looking sound system, the kind I was afraid to touch because I’d be sure to break something. There was no bed, only a deep black leather sofa. The floor was covered with a thick, gold-colored carpet, and the walls were upholstered with heavy fabric in a slightly darker shade.

  “Good acoustics?” I guessed.

  She laughed and nodded.

  She picked up a remote and turned the stereo on. It was quiet, but the soft jazz number sounded like the band was in the room with us. I went to look at her mind-boggling music collection.

  “How do you have these organized?” I asked, unable to find any rhyme or reason to the titles.

  “Ummm, by year, and then by personal preference within that frame,” she said absently.

  I turned, and she was looking at me with an expression in her eyes that I couldn’t read.

  “What?”

  “I was prepared to feel … relieved. Having you know about everything, not needing to keep secrets from you. But I didn’t expect to feel more than that. I like it. It makes me … happy.” She shrugged and smiled.

  “I’m glad,” I said, smiling back. I’d worried that she might regret telling me these things. It was good to know that wasn’t the case.

  But then, as her eyes dissected my expression, her smile faded and her eyebrows pulled together.

  “You’re still waiting for the running and the screaming, aren’t you?” I asked.

  She nodded, fighting a smile.

  “I really hate to burst your bubble, but you’re just not as scary as you think you are. I honestly can’t imagine being afraid of you,” I said casually.

  She raised her eyebrows, and then a slow smile started spreading across her face.

  “You probably shouldn’t have said that,” she told me.

  And then she growled—a low sound that ripped up the back of her throat and didn’t sound human at all. Her smile got wider until it changed from a smile into a display of teeth. Her body shifted, and she was half-crouched, her back stretched long and curved in, like a cat tensed to pounce.

  “Um … Edythe?”

  I didn’t see her attack—it was much too fast. I couldn’t even understand what was happening. For half a second I was airborne and the room rolled around me, upside down and then right side up again. I didn’t feel the landing, but suddenly I was on my back on the black couch and Edythe was on top of me, her knees tight against my hips, her hands planted on either side of my head so that I couldn’t move, and her bared teeth just inches from my face. She made another soft noise that was halfway between a growl and a purr.

  “Wow,” I breathed.

  “You were saying?” she asked.

  “Um, that you are a very, very terrifying monster?”

  She grinned. “Much better.”

  “And that I am so completely in love with you.”

  Her face went soft, her eyes wide, all the walls down again.

  “Beau,” she whispered.

  “Can we come in?” a low voice asked from the door.

  I flinched and probably would have smacked my forehead against Edythe’s if she hadn’t been so much faster than I was. In another fraction of a second, she’d pulled me up so that I was sitting on the sofa and she was next to me, her legs draped over mine.

  Archie stood in the doorway, Jessamine behind him in the hall. Red started creeping up my neck, but Edythe was totally relaxed.

  “Please,” she said to Archie.

  Archie didn’t seem to have noticed that we were doing anything unusual. He walked to the center of the room and folded himself onto the floor in a motion so graceful it was kind of surreal. Jessamine stayed by the door, and, unlike Archie, she looked a little shocked. She stared at Edythe’s face, and I wondered what the room felt like to her.

  “It sounded like you were having Beau for lunch,” Archie said, “and we came to see if you would share.”

  I stiffened until I saw Edythe grin—whether because of Archie’s comment or my reaction, I couldn’t tell.

  “Sorry,” she replied, throwing a possessive arm around my neck. “I’m not in a mood to share.”

  Archie shrugged. “Fair enough.”

  “Actually,” Jessamine said, taking a hesitant step into the room, “Archie says there’s going to be a real storm tonight, and Eleanor wants to play ball. Are you game?”

  The words were all normal, but I didn’t quite understand the context. It sounded like Archie might be a little more reliable than the weatherman, though.

  Edythe’s eyes lit up, but she hesitated.

  “Of course you should bring Beau,” Archie said. I thought I saw Jessamine throw a quick glance at him.

  “Do you want to go?” Edythe asked. Her expression was so eager that I would have agreed to anything.

  “Sure. Um, where are we going?”

  “We have to wait for thunder to play ball—you’ll see why,” she promised.

  “Should I bring an umbrella?”

  All three of them laughed out loud.

  “Should he?” Jessamine asked Archie.

  “No.” Archie seemed positive. “The storm will hit over town. It’ll be dry enough in the clearing.”

  “Good,” Jessamine said, and the enthusiasm in her voice was—unsurprisingly—catching. I found myself getting excited about the idea, though I wasn’t even sure what it was.

  “Let’s call Carine and see if she’s in,” Archie said, and he was on his feet in another liquid movement that made me stare.

  “Like you don’t already know,” Jessamine teased, and then they were gone.

  “So … what are we playing?” I asked.

  “You will be watching,” Edythe clarified. “We will be playing baseball.”

  I looked at her skeptically. “Vampires like baseball?”

  She smiled up at me. “It’s the American pastime.”

  17. THE GAME

  IT WAS JUST BEGINNING TO RAIN WHEN EDYTHE TURNED ONTO MY street. Up until that moment, I’d had no doubt that she’d be staying with me while I spent a few hours in the real world.

  And then I saw the black, weathered sedan parked in Charlie’s driveway—and heard Edythe mutter something angry under her breath.

  Leaning away from the rain under the shallow front porch, Jules Black stood behind her mother’s wheelchair. Bonnie’s face was impassive as rock while Edythe parked my truck against the curb. Jules stared down, looking mortified.

  Edythe’s low voice was furious. “This is crossing the line.”

  “She came to warn Charlie?” I guessed, more horrified than angry.

  Edythe just nodded, answering Bonnie’s stare with narrowed eyes.

  At least Charlie wasn’t home yet. Maybe the disaster could be averted.

  “Let me deal with this,” I suggested. Edythe’s glare looked a little too … serious.

  I was surprised that she agreed. “That’s probably best. Be careful, thou
gh. The child has no idea.”

  “Child? You know, Jules is not that much younger than I am.”

  She looked at me then, her anger gone. She grinned. “Oh, I know.”

  I sighed.

  “Get them inside so I can leave,” she told me. “I’ll be back around dusk.”

  “You can take the truck,” I offered.

  She rolled her eyes. “I could walk home faster than this truck moves.”

  I didn’t want to leave her. “You don’t have to go.”

  She touched my frown and smiled. “Actually, I do. After you get rid of them”—she glared in the Blacks’ direction—“you still have to prepare Charlie to meet your new girlfriend.”

  She laughed at my face—I guess she could see exactly how excited I was for that.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t want Charlie to know about Edythe. I knew he liked the Cullens, and how could he not like Edythe? He’d probably be insultingly impressed. But it just seemed like pushing my luck. Trying to drag this too-beautiful fantasy down into the sludge of boring, ordinary life didn’t feel safe. How could the two coexist for long?

  “I’ll be back soon,” she promised. Her eyes flickered over to the porch, and then she darted in swiftly to press her lips to the side of my neck. My heart bounced around inside my ribs while I, too, glanced at the porch. Bonnie’s face was no longer impassive, and her hands clutched at the armrests of her chair.

  “Soon,” I said as I opened my door and stepped out into the rain. I could feel her eyes on my back as I jogged to the porch.

  “Hey, Jules. Hi, Bonnie,” I greeted them, as cheerfully as I could manage. “Charlie’s gone for the day—I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

  “Not long,” Bonnie said in a subdued tone. Her dark eyes were piercing. “I just wanted to bring this up.” She gestured to a brown paper sack resting on her lap.

  “Thanks,” I said automatically, though I had no idea what it could be. “Why don’t you come in for a minute and dry off?”

  I pretended I didn’t notice her intense scrutiny as I unlocked the door and waved them inside ahead of me. Jules gave me a half-smile as she walked by.

  “Let me take that,” I offered as I turned to shut the door. I exchanged one last look with Edythe—she was perfectly still as she waited, her eyes serious.