Chapter Text
My newest pet project was a feral newborn named Prisha. She and I sat on a park bench in the early morning, practicing mindfulness. We were watching the dew evaporate off the grass, which we'd done about ten times before, but never in such a public place. She was starting to get jumpy.
“Here, this will help.” I said, holding my flask out to her. “Take a swig when you feel yourself slipping.”
Prisha frowned at it, “What's in it?”
“Does it matter?” I asked as a woman sauntered by with an absolutely delicious smelling toddler in her arms.
Prisha snatched the flask out of my hand and took an urgent swig.
“Pure bleach,” I explained as she let out a low, disgusted hiss, “strong enough to override pretty much any human smell.”
“You drink bleach?”
“Doubles as a punishment and a palate cleanser.”
Prisha coughed a laugh. “Why should I be punished if I haven't done anything?”
I shrugged. Self-sacrificial punishment rituals were good for some newborns, it assuaged their guilt and reminded them of what they were. She wouldn't have asked that question if she were one of those. “Just a palate cleanser, then.”
I didn't have to tell her that talking wouldn't help with mindfulness. She turned her attention back to the grass and the way moisture evaporated off of it in wisps of smoke, curling up to disappear in the bright yellow sun.
There was a crack in Prisha's concealer, right at the side of her mouth, and one persistent twinkle was shining through. Probably not perceptible to human eyes, but even so, I reached over and smoothed it with my thumb. She didn't move, already used to my meddling, and engrossed in the meditation despite it. Maybe as a gift I'd commission her a little dimming charm.
Three hours later, I started to feel a tingling. Someone was poking at my shield again. I allowed it for a moment, trying to get a sense of what I might be up against. It wasn't the first time this had happened recently, and it felt like the same suspect. The talent was faint from distance, and not physical in nature. I pulled my perma-sheild back a bit, and then rammed it out hard, swatting the offending talent away like a incessant bug. A prompt message. Back off.
“We need to go.” I murmured to Prisha.
If the owner of the talent was serious about their snooping, I didn't want to help them narrow down my location by being in the same place when they tried again. Prisha knew better than to ask any questions. We rose and moved toward the parking lot as quickly as possible without arousing suspicion from the joggers and dog walkers whose innocent eyes never left our faces.
It was only once we were safely inside my innocuous baby blue Ford Ranger, I hazarded to speak. “How are you and the others getting along?”
“Oh, well enough. Cyri is trying to teach me Javascript but I don't really have a mind for it.”
“You're a vampire. You have the mind for anything.” I reminded her. It was important for newborns to stretch their preconceived notions about their abilities while their brains were still mutable, wet with their own blood.
She shrugged, “I miss the Dairy Queen counter.”
I snorted, “Don't we all. You always have the option of transferring to the Grove, if you don't like the tech stuff. ”
Prisha crossed her arms, another silly artifact from her human life, and an obvious tell.
“What?”
“I think...” She hesitated, “I think some people in the house are upset that we work together so often. They don't understand why I'm useful to you.”
“You're not useful to me. Not yet.” I reminded her. “And neither are they. It's apprenticeship.”
“I tried to explain that, but—”
“It'll be an exercise in diplomacy. I trust you not to let it come to a fight. The last thing I need right now is a spectacle.”
Prisha lived in a little apartment in the center of Belltown, nicknamed the Hive because at any point in time it was absolutely buzzing with vampires. There were only two human residents in the entire building; Lovely for their obliviousness. The safest human beings in all of Seattle.
One of them, an old man in a weather beaten Dolphins letter jacket, was smoking on his patio when I pulled up to the curb.
“What's his name?” I asked Prisha, gesturing.
“Don.”
“Don.” I repeated, admiring him. He reminded me of Charlie, in a way. The mustache, maybe. It couldn't have been the jacket. Charlie hated the Dolphins. "He's charming.”
Prisha snorted. “He's just another old man to me. And he doesn't even smell very good. Will I see you tomorrow?”
“No, actually. There's something I need to take care of, I”ll be tied up. If you run into any more problems with your roomies, talk to Cyri.”
“But Cyri told me to talk to you.” That wasn't a surprise to me. He was a genius, but it was near impossible to rope him into socialization.
“Well, now he's outranked.” I said as she hopped out of the car, knowing full well at some point in the week I'd get a call from Cyri complaining that my children were getting rowdy, as if wasn't his job to keep them in line.
I watched Prisha leave, waving at Don on the way in, before I pulled back into the street, cell already in hand. She answered on the first ring.
“Strix.”
“It's Sig. Someone tried to jab me this morning.”
“Again? Did you ask Corvus?”
“I'm on my way over there right now, but I doubt she knows anything.”
“You sound like you have a theory.” I was glad it sounded that way. In truth, the attacks had made me jumpy, and I called because I knew Strix could get me even and not be weird about it.
“No, not yet. Maybe after I dump secrets with the girls.”
“Okay...Bella?”
“You aren't supposed to call me that.”
“We're secure. Tighter than a drum.”
“The one thing all dead vampires have in common is—”
“--they weren't careful enough. I know. Don't be paranoid. He can't touch me any more than he can touch you. Anyway, you gotta stop calling me every five seconds, I'm up to my neck in newborns and they all wanna speak to Mama Shield. The questions are getting annoying. You aren't as interesting as everyone is supposed to think you are.”
“Jeez, thanks. Tell them I love all my babies equally, and I'll swing by soon to scare them veggie.”
“They'll love that.”
“Bye, Noemi.”
“Bye, Bella.”
Foot flat on the petal, I sped to the Grove.
The grove was a beautiful Spanish revival home—less McMansion, more oversized bungalow—that butted right up against the shores of Lake Washington. It had belonged to some of the victims of the first silent war, when everything was chaos. Before I showed up. Buying it cheap from the bank was one of the first things I did when I was assigned. Now it was filled with secret keepers, the best of whom we called Corvus. She greeted me at the door, and led me silently into the reception room.
Corvus was another satelite agent, much older than me. She'd been turned in the late 1800's, recruited by the Volturi in the 20's, and she'd died with a mane of wavy brown hair that ran down past her knees. She kept it down since her death. On anyone else, it would give an air of Mormonism. On Corvus, it was high french drama. That, combined with her eyes, orange like a dimming fire, made her look more like a vampire than any vampire I'd ever met.
There were seven of us waiting to greet me in the reception room, lounging all about like Greek sculptures come to life. The walls of the room were heavily robed in brown-red Velvet, and the heels of my shoes clicked as I walked across the floor. As soon as I walked in, everyone stared. They didn't know who I was, but they could see the charms on me, and that indicated that I must be someone special. Only Lucia, the charm maker, eyed me like the cat that ate the canary. I gave her a wink.
“How is everybody?” I asked, and the tension cracked like eggshell.
“Everybody is well.” Corvus answered for them, “And everybody should be going to find something to do, yes? My guest and I need to have a private conversation.”
The other vampires in the room disappeared in the blink of an eye, as if they'd never been there at all, and I walked over to one of the plush couches to sit. Corvus followed.
“A low ranking V scout came through.” She started, no time wasted with courtesy. “No talent, no interests except in pleasure and local cuisine. But he paid in documents.”
“V documents?” That was rare, and high treason. The Volturi didn't like a paper trail.
“Correspondence. Mostly movement notices. A few personal letters. Apparently this scout was tasked with destroying them, but thought he might be able to barter.” She leaned across the couch to open the drawer of the side table, and pulled out a stack of envelopes, tied with ribbon.
“Clever boy. What'd he get out of you?” I took the stack.
“Two nights with Clover, and a kayaker with an undiagnosed brain tumor.”
I swallowed the familiar pang of regret at the loss of human life. Corvus would see it as a weakness.“Documents are worth at least double that. You shorted him. Did he know?”
She smiled, revealing the gap in her two front teeth, “I don't think so. He seemed awfully grateful to me.”
“Alright. Has there been any talk? Any questions?”
“There are always questions.”
I sighed, “Any concerning questions? Particularly from tourists with talents?”
“No, nothing more than the usual fanfare. Are you looking for someone?”
“Someone's been testing me.” I admitted, unsure if I should. “Not our borders. Me.”
“How is that possible? Do we know of anyone who—” Her voice pitched up into shrillness. Damn. I was allowed to be jumpy, but if my people got jumpy, that wasn't good.
“The only thing I can think of is trackers.” Calm. Decided. “What's your last update on Demetri?”
“He's down been South, helping with the Instabilities.”
“Any reason V might want to rope me into that whole mess?”
Corvus scoffed, “God, I hope not.”
“Yeah, me too.” The trouble about keeping up appearances of order in a cesspit like Seattle was that one day, the powers that be might decide to reassign me. And then everything would fall to shit. “Okay, well, I'm gonna go sink to the bottom of the lake and think it through.”
“Alright. I know you said it wasn't your scene, but if you ever need some stress release...” Corvus smiled her gap-toothed grin, and gestured to the room around her.
“No, thanks.” I courteously excused myself, the packet of letters tucked into my jacket pocket.
“Prude.” She teased as I left. She didn't know the half of it.
With the letters safely stashed in my glove compartment , I left my car in the driveway and walked down to the little park on the lake. It was midwinter, probably ten degrees with windchill, even with the sun shining brilliantly enough to make me double check my charms. The lakefront was thankfully deserted, so I wiggled out of my redundant winter clothes and slid into the cool, calm water.
Lake Washington is two hundred and forty-one feet deep, and a still vampire sinks like a stone. I needed to be about five million miles away from every impossible issue that waited for me as soon as I resurfaced, but two hundred and forty-one feet could take some of the pressure off.
I lied to Corvus. I didn't think it was a tracker. Anyone who knew me well enough to target me would already know where I was, already have the intel to find me. Demitri wasn't brave enough to try to kidnap me for the South, not with the following I had. That would be mutiny.
It could be the Redies in Bellvue. They had a Curse talent, a nasty, unsmiling girl named Bet. It would be stupid of them, but it was no mystery they hated me. The restrictions I'd put on their hunting, the pressure I'd put on them to convert, and the fact that I converted nearly every poor sap they turned in defiance, meant that they had a reason to try something. But if it wasn't them, and I threatened neutralization again, it might start something I had a hard time finishing. And I had enough on my plate.
Unprompted, the kayaker with the brain tumor popped into my head. Pieces of him were probably floating around down here with me. Brain tumors were treated all the time, and vampires had good noses, but not good enough to sniff out whether or not a tumor was operable. Not to mention that even if he was slated for death, if we'd left him be, he'd have time with his family, to get his business in order, to give his loved one's closure. All that was lost for some probably useless documents and for one of the Volturi's peons to get his rocks off.
The fine balance was in getting enough alone time to think through my problems, but not enough to convince myself that the best solution was to burn it all down. Once I started thinking of the human cost of operation, I knew it was time to get out of the water.
When I surfaced again, the sun had set, and other than one lone camping tent nestled into the bushes, the park was still deserted. I pulled my clothes back on, and walked back to the truck. The truck. I'd have to get rid of it soon. It was too risky to have a permanent vehicle, another thing associated with me, when I was supposed to be a mystery. Unfortunately, vehicles apparently didn't take to charming very well. At least that's what Lucia said.
I decided I would give myself one more day with it as I drove home. The doorman greeted me as Candy, the preschool teacher who had died of an embolism a year ago. I took the stairs, the five second elevator wait would feel like torture when my mind was spinning out as fast as it was right now. Stepping through the front door didn't give me much relief. My apartment was Candy's apartment, a cover, just like everything else.
Decorated in syrupy pastels, the bookshelves in the living room held textbooks on child development and early childhood education. There was a single row of pulp romance novels, which I'd read through on my first night in the apartment. I tried not to distract myself with the good stuff anymore. Jane Austen was left behind with my humanity.
The walls still held pictures of Candy's friends and family, who'd all been compelled to forget about her apartment by one of my more skilled suggestion Talents. The bedspread had been unaltered except for the occasional dusting, and still smelled like Ms. Candy.
I thought of Forks, of Charlie, of the yellowing curtains on the window at home. You like purple, don't you? Candy's bedding was teal. I pushed Forks out as easily as I'd let it in. Things are only safe when they're in the past.
In need of distraction, I walked over to the desk and pulled out the packet of letters I'd brought up from the truck. I intended to flick through all of them and pick the most juicy looking, but the return address on the second letter from the top stopped me in my tracks.
Carlisle Cullen
Nordlysveien 47
Oslo, Norway 0491
I can't tell you how long I just stared at the name. Carlisle Cullen. It'd been fifteen years since I'd thought of the Cullens, long enough that most of my memories of them had faded, the way all human memories tend to do. If I thought of Carlisle, it would only be a skip of the memory to think of the others, to think of him. And that was unacceptable. I opened the letter anyway.
“Dearest Aro,
I hope this letter finds you well. There are two purposes in my writing it. The first is to thank you for the birthday gift you sent along. I am always grateful for your generosity and kindness, and that you think of me enough to remember such an occasion. I am also writing to inform you that my family has moved residences again, and are now based in Oslo, Norway. I'm working at the local emergency room, and the rest of my coven is settled at the local college. All except Edward, who--”
Of course he had to be mentioned by name. Of course. I pressed the activation button on the paper shredder next to the desk, and ran the letter through. I pulled out a handful of shreds and ran them again, and then dumped the whole thing down the toilet.
I was walking back to the living room when I felt another twinge in my shield, much stronger than last time. The Talent was back, but not poking. This time they were pulling on me, trying to pull me out of my own protections. Smart, but not smart enough.
I imagined the tension as a cord, followed it, and it found my answer. Of course. They weren't trying to pull me out, they were trying to pin me down. Find my path and follow it forward. A psychic.
I only knew of one vampire in all of history with a psychic talent strong enough to contend with mine. The coincidence of her identity was not lost on me. But I wondered why she would bother. If not for the letter, I would have thought that Aro finally snagged her—as I guessed he'd been trying to for years—and that I was being watched. But if she was happily living in Oslo with the other Cullens, why bother me?
No matter her reasoning, it wouldn't be tolerated. The Cullens were not my allies, and were definitely not permitted to spy on me. If they had a hard time understanding that, then I would make it clear. Without hesitation, I found the thread of the psychic talent that was attached to me, and and used my shield to slice it clean away. That would sting for long enough to get her off my tail.
See you never, Alice.