the veil

Beau

I spent the next few days doing everything I could to get ready—training, practicing, whatever you wanted to call it. At times, the intense concentration left me so spent I almost felt human again.

However, I liked the distraction. Not just from the memory of what Sulpicia had done to Jules, which I would never forget so long as I existed, but also from everything Sulpicia had said after. The knowledge which churned like a heavy, sticky sludge through the back of my mind.

"We have approximately two weeks, according to information I've taken from captives of Salvatore's army. Two weeks until he makes his grand move."

"And what move is that?" I had asked reluctantly.

I took a deep, measured breath, concentrating on the bubble of elastic all around me. Focusing on making it one with my will—but as always, it fought me for ever inch I pushed it, and only the force of my concentration kept it from snapping back in on myself.

Sulpicia smiled in my memory, almost apologetic. "To break down the barrier between our kind and those of the humans. To make us known."

I breathed again. I pushed the bubble outward, inch by inch, until it enveloped Tacita standing beside me too. I concentrated, keeping it there.

The enemy's plan, according to Sulpicia, was fairly rudimentary. Salvatore would lead his army to attack a city, and they would feast on the unsuspecting inhabitants in broad daylight. To further ensure the attack couldn't be ignored or explained away by a natural disaster, Salvatore also planned to take over one of the city's network studios. He would tell the humans of their new overlords himself directly.

In the best case scenario, military organizations of the world would respond quickly with the technologies and weapons that would be effective against immortals, and the world would erupt in war. Worst case, humans would be quickly ground down and subjugated, turned into slaves and perhaps kept and raised like cattle to be consumed at will.

It all seemed so impossible, distant even—when I had first learned of the existence of vampires, their world had still seemed separate from mine in some indefinable way. I had lived the first seventeen years of my life in the normal world, and while I wouldn't have gone back even if I could have, the idea that the two worlds could ever come together seemed beyond contemplation.

Of course, Sulpicia wasn't totally sure of all her information. She thought Salvatore had very likely planted some of it for her to find to misdirect them, particularly the timing. She also seemed fairly confident the the real purpose of the planned attack was mainly to bait the Volturi into acting, force them out of hiding. However, that didn't change anything—the Volturi still had to try to intervene, otherwise the face of the world would be irrevocably changed, and there would be no coming back from the ensuing violence.

Where I came into all this—even though I'd known this from the beginning, now that there seemed to be a deadline involving a real living place, I couldn't seem to get my head around it. In some ways it was just a simple equation—Jonathan and Alexa had to be taken out before the attack, so that the Volturi could destroy Salvatore and his fellow rebels without resistance. Simple. Except it wasn't simple at all, because that meant the only thing standing between the world and absolute Armageddon was—me.

The bubble around us wavered, like a taut rubber band about to snap. I gritted my teeth, trying to redouble my focus—but it was too late. It jerked back in, sweeping past Tacita like an insubstantial breath of wind, settling back around me in its comfortable default. Leaving Tacita exposed—again.

I snarled in frustration, and clenched my fists at my sides. I'd already vented my anger on the landscape around me, and felled trees dotted the clearing, alongside split rocks and fissures in the earth.

Sulpicia watched me serenely as she had the past few days. I could almost imagine a steaming cup of tea in her hand. She had not commented on my tantrums up to now, but I wondered if perhaps I had somehow pushed a step too far because she suddenly rose gracefully to her feet, and approached.

"I know!" I snapped at her before she could speak. "I'm trying!"

Before what Sulpicia had done to Jules, I'd done my best to speak to her as little as possible. Part of that had been a simmering anger over what she had made me do to Edythe, but the truth was I'd been intimidated, too. If there had been one thing I'd known how to do as a human it was keep my mouth shut to avoid trouble, and I knew annoying the ruler of the world of vampires when she held both Jules and I in her power wasn't the smartest move in the world.

But it felt like something in me had snapped. I wasn't being careful or smart, but I didn't care. I knew what Sulpicia could do to us—would do to us, if it suited her—but I was done being cowed. Far as I was concerned, Jules had had the right idea from the beginning; if we were going to be prisoners, we didn't have to give them the satisfaction of laying down and letting them walk all over us. And if the world was going to go up in flames, I didn't want to do it cowering in fear.

However, as usual Sulpicia showed no sign of being in the least perturbed by my rudeness, and the corner of her lip merely twitched slightly as though she were trying not to chuckle.

She said mildly, "You're doing much better, Beau. The work is paying off. You've been consistently keeping the shield up around Tacita for a full five minutes, and when you're on form, you've kept it as long as eight minutes. That is a great improvement, and if you are able to do the same when it comes time to act, I believe our plans may just succeed."

I glared out at the forest. A couple of days back Sulpicia had told Kirill he was allowed to take his leave, and return to his home to be with the other members of his coven. However, there was no guarantee he wouldn't be recalled the moment I didn't seem to be making the progress she wanted. I knew if I was doing well that ought to make me relax, but I didn't trust Sulpicia's reassuring smile.

The plan as Sulpicia had formulated it wasn't anything fancy. I'd enter Salvatore's camp with a small team, ideally Renatus and Tacita, Renatus to protect us from any physical attacks, and Tacita to take out Jonathan and Alexa. We'd get rid of them, then return to the Volturi, and Sulpicia's forces would take care of the rest.

Except if my concentration wavered for just an instant, and I lost the shield—Jonathan could incapacitate Renatus, and the team would be dead and burning quicker than anyone could say useless. And with us, the world. If I couldn't keep my concentration up running across an empty field, I didn't see much hope dodging through a camp of hostile vampires.

Sulpicia must have seen the way the hostility in my face faded briefly to gloom, because she repeated firmly, "You are doing well, Beau. In just these few short days you have gone from being unable to feel the shield around you to projecting it around one and even two others, and holding it as you run. It is merely confidence now you lack."

I sighed and turned my back to her, so she wouldn't see my sullen expression. I had been getting more consistent, it was true. Even if it was so hard to maintain, I was getting better at keeping the shield out as the mental exercise of it became more familiar.

However, on the downside, the eight minutes Sulpicia had mentioned was only if I was shielding Renatus, not Renatus and Tacita together. The strain of shielding two was greater than just one, so if I didn't get my time up on both consistently, the backup plan was for me to just take Renatus. Which would mean that Renatus or I would be doing the assassinating.

Renatus, who trailed after Sulpicia wherever she went with hunched shoulders and bent head as though terrified of his own shadow, seemed about as much an assassin as I was. I might be a vampire now, but I'd never before murdered another immortal, a sentient being. I didn't see how I'd be able to keep up my concentration through something like that—all it would take was a moment of hesitation, of weakness, and Jonathan would get Renatus, and through him, me. It felt like there were a thousand paths to failure, none to success.

However, I was getting better. I just had to focus on that, and hope I could bring my time up while shielding both Renatus and Tacita. Maybe I could do it, with just a few more days.

I didn't look at Sulpicia, instead still staring at the forest. But I gave one irritible nod.

I saw out of the corner of my eye as Sulpicia smiled again kindly. "You really are doing very well," she said. Then added, "That's good. Because we will be leaving in the morning."

We started out just as the first rays of light were breaching the horizon, and arrived at a hidden airstrip just after nightfall.

As it turned out, Sulpicia had many such strips spread strategically throughout the United States, Canada, Mexico, South America, Europe, and pretty much ever other major continent or country throughout the world. Sulpicia had set them up for the Volturi's convenience, and they had become almost a necessity since the implementation of heavier airport security in the last decade. This particular one was relatively close to Alaska, in the Yukon territory of Canada, though the run took us probably about twice as long as it might have if we'd been traveling at night.

Jules had loudly wondered why genius-queen of darkness had thought it a good idea to leave just as the sun was rising, and continued to voice the complaint until Sulpicia had finally pointed out in a mild voice that they would be taking off from the strip at night to better make certain they avoided detection, finally shutting Jules up.

I wasn't sure what I was expecting when Sulpicia talked about a secret airstrip, except maybe a small runway out in the middle of nowhere concealed under a dense patch of trees. However, I was a bit startled to find a setup that was very Bond, complete with an underground hangar and high-tech hydraulics. There was an immortal guard there who, from the faint smell of oil and fuel about him, seemed to have been working to make sure the jet was prepped for flight, but the entrance was so well concealed it probably didn't need guarding as a general rule.

Sulpicia noticed Jules and I looking around in disbelief, and said lightly, "You'll find you can build many things when money is no object. Normally, an independent chartered aircraft would need clearance for a trans-atlantic flight—unless of course, the craft has been engineered with military-grade stealth technology to avoid detection by radar."

As Sulpicia boarded, followed closely by Renatus and then Brenden, Jules muttered to me, "Who wants to bet that for every law on the book, she's figured a way around it?"

My mind was still on my mental training, which I had kept up the entire run over, and I didn't answer. But if I'd been betting, my money would have been with Jules's.

The takeoff was uneventful. Of course there was no crew there waiting, even the mechanic Volturi didn't try to board, so when Cato and Brenden disappeared to the cockpit, I figured Sulpicia must have had all her Volturi guard trained how to fly. Or at least maybe Brenden would be getting some training now.

Consequently, it was down to just Sulpicia, Renatus, who sat slightly hunched on one side of Sulpicia as though to make himself more inconspicuous, Tacita, who sat on the other side, regarding us with sharp, unblinking eyes, and Jules and I. From what I could tell, we were on a luxury business jet, so the black leather seats had been designed to face each other over tables, to facilitate business meetings. I'd taken up the seat across from Sulpicia, as far from her as I could manage without triggering Tacita to try to pin me to the floor, but Jules, as soon as takeoff was over, opted to sprawl herself across a side couch, head resting on hands.

I'd turned my head to stare out the partially opened sliding window.

"We keep human food stocked in the pantry," Sulpicia said unexpectedly, looking at Jules. "If you would like, I can call Brenden back to have him fetch something for you."

Jules, who had closed her eyes as though for a nap, cracked one eye open.

Ever since the episode with Kirill days ago, Sulpicia had been extra polite to Jules, making sure she had food and water, and that all her other needs were taken care of with respect. The guards including Tacita seemed to tread carefully around her, and no one had so much as touched her since then. Even on the run to the hidden airstrip, they'd let her ride on my back.

Maybe Sulpicia thought playing nice with Jules would make me forget about Kirill and what she had done. However, the image of Jules's ashen face, contorted with agony, was as sharp as it had been that first moment, and every time I let my mind turn fully to it, I was seared through by another crippling wave of white-hot fury. But I couldn't afford to let myself dwell on that, so I forced it from my mind, focusing again on practicing my gift, spreading it out to cover one, then two at once, holding it as long as I could.

"Any chilled blood?" Jules wanted to know. "If I'm going to be flying with vampires, might as well get into the mood."

Sulpicia chuckled a little. "I'm afraid not. We prefer our blood fresh. But we do keep a cooler of all the best wines—I've entertained more than one important diplomat from time to time. It serves one well to maintain key political connections."

"Course," Jules muttered. "Politicians consorting with vamps, that makes me feel good."

Jules eyed Sulpicia for a minute, then rolled onto her side to face us, propping herself up on one arm. "That reminds me though, I'm curious."

"Curious?"

Jules shrugged a shoulder, running an idle hand through her hair, beyond tangled from the months spent as a wolf and now as captive.

"So," Jules said, "let's say everything goes wrong, the rebels win the day. What then?"

I felt Sulpicia's gaze shift to me.

"I prefer to focus on the present," she said lightly. "And the possibility of preventing that from happening. If we do not succeed, the world will become one of death and chaos."

Sulpicia paused for a long moment, then added, "But, as I say, I have connections in high places. I know many political leaders, or at least I know those who have the trust and access to those leaders. The first course—the only course, really—would be to spread to as many humans as possible the key to destroying us. Napalm and warhead technologies could be used to great effect against us, but they will only be truly effective with knowledge. Where we the Volturi would not have the power to stop Salvatore, human numbers and technology might."

Jules blinked, not quite able to hide her surprise, but it quickly turned to skepticism. "You would really do that. Tell humans how to get rid of you, like the nasty pests you are. And what happens after the rebels are taken care of, when they get wise and come after you next?"

Sulpicia smiled a little. "It would be a calculated risk, I grant you. But so is everything else in the game of establishing or re-establishing peace and order. I would consider it my responsibility to keep ahead on things enough to avoid allowing that to happen." She considered, then added, "Besides, if only one of our kinds could survive—I must concede you are the more peaceful race, relatively speaking. I would rather you have your world back than see it under the chaotic rule of the likes of Salvatore or others of our kind."

Jules thought about that. Then she snorted. "Translation, you need us more than we need you. Life wouldn't be worth living for you bloodsuckers if you didn't have humans around to pick off for a snack."

Sulpicia chuckled softly. "I suppose there's probably some truth in that as well."

Jules seemed to have lost interest in the conversation, because now she had laid back down, head on her hands. She gazed up at the lights dotting the ceiling, and I wondered what she was thinking about—about Bonnie and her wolf sisters back home, maybe, being so far away from them at a time like this. Or maybe what the world would be like if I failed.

As always, I couldn't help but marvel at her strength—that she could just sit and talk so normally in the face of everything, after what she had been through, and what may still yet be to come.

Jules yawned widely, closing her eyes and rolling onto her side, away from us. It wasn't long before her breathing evened out, and any tension in her form relaxed. Even though Sulpicia had been giving her food to eat, I'd noticed over the last few days of my training she hadn't slept much. She'd spent most of the time watching me, cracking jokes, making snide comments—trying to keep my spirits up.

I noticed Sulpicia make a small gesture toward Tacita, and Tacita reached into a side compartment of the chair and produced a laptop. Sulpicia opened it on the table and typed something briefly. Keeping in contact with the rest of her people no doubt—or maybe communicating with some of her political friends in the human world. Getting ready for when we failed, and Salvatore won.

I shook my head once, then closed my eyes, resuming my mental exercise. Concentrate. Press out. Hold.

"Beau?"

The elastic of my bubble snapped back into place around me, and I opened my eyes to find Sulpicia regarding me over the laptop with an unfathomable expression. I noticed someone had dimmed the lights in the cabin—whether for Jules's benefit or out of practicality as our eyes didn't need the added light, I didn't know.

I didn't reply, just gazed back at her, my mouth set in a hard line.

She closed the laptop lid, and handed it back to Tacita, who returned it to its original compartment. "I know you have been practicing your power all the way here," Sulpicia commented. "That's good—you have been using the time wisely."

I didn't answer, wondering why she was interrupting my concentration just to tell me that.

"However," she continued, "just like exercise training for humans, sometimes overdoing it can be counterproductive. You must be greatly fatigued. Perhaps you might take a break for a little while."

"I'm fine," I answered stiffly. "I don't get tired anymore."

"Perhaps not in body," Sulpicia agreed. "But you must have discovered by now how weary the immortal, never-resting mind can become. Very often I have found stubbornly trying to force a solution to a complex problem I am working on yields no useful progress, and it is only when I allow my mind to stop for a moment, and return to the problem rested and refreshed that the answer comes to me. Perhaps now it is time to let the power alone for a moment, so you may return with renewed strength and vigor when we arrive."

I hesitated. My instinct was to do the opposite of anything Sulpicia might suggest. However, she might have a point. It had only been a few days, but they already felt like a lifetime, a lifetime of the constant habit of intense concentration. It didn't feel altogether healthy. And if anyone knew about using their brain to the fullest, surely it would be Sulpicia.

Letting out a short breath, I closed my eyes again, only this time I let my hold over the power slip away from me, at least for the present. I wondered vaguely if this was how Edythe used to feel—forced to keep up a constant, unwavering concentration all the time we were together. Never able to ease up even for a moment. It was a marvel I'd probably never fully appreciated until now.

I leaned my head back against the leather seat, and it felt like my entire being was sagging. However, without the training to concentrate on, my thoughts were suddenly racing, out in all directions like a terrified stampede. Edythe, my family, the world—all either suffering or in danger. I wanted to help them, protect them. But even as a vampire, it didn't feel like I had the strength. I felt weak. Weaker than I had ever felt even as a human.

"Beau?"

I opened my eyes to find Sulpicia watching me again, her inscrutable smile as ever in place.

The edge of my mouth tightened a little. "What?"

"Perhaps some conversation would help take your mind off things," she suggested. "You don't appear entirely relaxed."

"I can think of multiple things at once," I pointed out, turning away.

Sulpicia nodded. "Yes, we can. However, we are still capable of distraction. And it might be better if your concern relegated to a secondary level of your mind, rather than allowed to take over the fore."

I didn't turn my head, but my gaze slid back to hers unwillingly. The last thing I wanted was to have another conversation with Sulpicia; I didn't care what she had to say on any topic. Or—that's what I told myself. But much as it rankled me, she always seemed to find a way to pique my curiosity. Not so long ago I'd learned more about my gift than I'd ever thought to ask. I wondered what I might find out this time.

Even through my muted hostility, Sulpicia seemed to read my answer, and she smiled again. She leaned forward slightly, her milky eyes focused entirely on me.

"I admit," she murmured, "there is something I have been wondering about for some time. Ever since I touched your Edythe's mind, but was unable to see into yours."

I didn't reply, but my eyes didn't move from hers.

"How exactly do you see Edythe Cullen?" she asked softly. "What does she look like through your eyes? When I touched her before, I saw that was one of the core questions of her existence that she couldn't seem to answer to her satisfaction."

It was like Sulpicia to land upon the one topic that was bound to draw me out of whatever shell I'd tried to maintain. The one topic I couldn't resist—even if the question was completely ridiculous.

"You used her against me," I said coldly. "You threatened her, and now I've done everything you've asked, much as I might not want to. You tell me how I feel about her."

Sulpicia's eyes never moved from my face, still as misty as ever, yet somehow piercing. She tilted her head ever so slightly, and I was startled and irritated by the way the movement reminded of Edythe, when she was trying to understand something about the workings of my head she couldn't quite work out. I wondered if it was deliberate.

This time I did look away, glaring at the half open window flap.

"Yes," Sulpicia said. "I know that you love her—that much is obvious. But, from what Edythe has observed in you, outwardly you seem to hold her in tremendously high regard. But she wonders—is that all? When she tells you of the things she has done, or you look back on things you have seen her do—when you were human, did you really brush those things aside so easily? Or do you temper some of your reactions purposely, out of a concern for her feelings?"

I had folded my arms across my chest now, and refused to look back at her. "I don't know what you mean," I said irritably. It was partially true—what things had I heard or seen from Edythe that would warrant any reaction beyond seeing her as the amazing person she was? Kind and understanding, so completely unselfish in everything she did?

I felt some of the hostility in my posture drain slightly. Part of the reason I'd wanted to become a vampire so much was I wanted to finally be her equal—in strength, in beauty. Only on becoming a vampire I'd realized those had never been the things I needed to compete with. The reason we hadn't been a good match was that it was her goodness I couldn't reach. Edythe had protected me by never letting her concentration waver, her willpower unshakeable. If things had happened the other way around, and if her life had depended on my concentration, I'd have killed her in eight minutes.

Edythe was strong—I was weak.

Still staring at the window, I muttered, "She thinks that way because she's never seen herself clearly. But she's the most amazing person I've ever met. She could have chosen anyone, and for some unlucky reason—unlucky for her—she chose me. That's what I see."

My gaze returned to Sulpicia's then, my eyes narrowed, mouth set. Daring her to try to contradict me, to start in on another speech about love being a force of destruction. In so many ways, Edythe was love—able to love without reservation, even where it was unearned. Maybe it only made sense then that someone like Sulpicia couldn't possibly understand her.

Sulpicia gazed back at me, expression still curious. "I see," she said at last. "And you were never afraid of her? Not even as a human?"

"Never," I said through my teeth.

Sulpicia seemed to consider that, crooked finger hooked beneath her chin in thought.

At last she said, "You remember my ally and brother Marcus?"

I hesitated briefly, sifting back through my clouded human memories. Marcus was one of the three core Volturi members, along with Sulpicia.

"As Edythe already told you the last time we met, he has a power to see relationships. How strong or weak they are. He saw that the bond between you and Edythe was almost peculiarly strong."

I frowned slightly. As fuzzy and indistinct as my human memories were, I did vaguely remember that.

Sulpicia folded her hands together and regarded me over them with a look of something like fascination. "With such a strong bond, it just seems odd to me that you really seem to have little understanding of Edythe as she actually is."

Silence.

Tacita had tensed beside Sulpicia, her eyes focused unblinkingly on me. I saw her body coil slightly, ready to take action in an instant if necessary.

However, I didn't react. I just stared back at Sulpicia, knowing I should be angry at this newest declaration, and all its unfair implications, but oddly I was suddenly more curious than angry. Curious what way she would try to twist Edythe's thoughts into something I could possibly think badly of. She could try to lie to me, but even if she'd had a reason to, I'd be able to see through anything false said about Edythe in a heartbeat, I was sure.

"Forgive me if my suppositions are off-base," Sulpicia continued, "but my impression is that you view your relationship as inequal. A tale not unlike that of one of the Greek gods, one which condescends to love a mortal, even now that you have joined her in immortality."

I didn't answer. She didn't need me to.

Sulpicia shook her head slowly. "All this time you have been together—all that has been overcome, all the danger you have faced. The two of you are so close. Yet you have no conception of just why Edythe loves you as she does—how it was that knowing you, loving you, changed her from what she was before you, for the better. You still see yourself as having gained the world, and she in return nothing but hardship."

My arms were still folded across my chest, fists clenched. I didn't look at her, still staring at the slitted window, dark clouds rushing by outside. I didn't need this—someone with too much knowledge prattlig on about things that were none of their business, things between Edythe and me that I had done my best not to think about. I had caused Edythe hardship, more than I could ever make up for. And much as I wanted to make her happy, would do my best if we could just make it past all this, so often I wondered what I'd really given her in return for everything she had done for me.

"I do admit," Sulpicia continued, "it is little surprise she won your admiration as she did. Compared to the vast majority of our kind, little could be said against her. She possesses many traits I value in my own guards—loyalty, a strong sense of justice. She is courageous, thoughtful, and clearly her self-control is formidable."

I had to look at her this time. I did my best to hide my surprise—I hadn't thought Sulpicia had anything nice to say about Edythe.

"Still," she said musingly, "the curious part is that you knew her when you were still human. Knew what she was, what she had done in the past."

Sulpicia raised a delicate hand, gazing down at her own palm.

"To one extent or another," she murmured, "our kind are all monsters. Murderers. Carine may be an exception, but not the other members of her coven. They have all made mistakes, taken the lives of humans. Whether by accident, like your adopted father Earnest or your sister-in-law Eleanor, by weakness—I understand Archie's early years on his own were by no means spotless—by a violent upbringing, as Jessamine, or for vengeance, your brother Royal.

"The Cullens have an impressive record by the measure of our kind. But by the measure of a human, would one be congratulated for only having murdered one or two people? The standards of good between our two worlds are two very different things. Edythe too, by human standards, is a murderer. Perhaps one with an even darker, more savage way of thinking than any of the others."

I hadn't had much to say up to this point. Much as I couldn't stop myself wanting to hear more about Edythe, I knew such a conversation with Sulpicia was pointless, because I knew nothing I said was going to change her ways of seeing things, what she thought of Edythe. However, I couldn't stand to just sit here and let her talk about Edythe that way. Only telling half the story, twisting it.

"She only killed criminals," I said flatly. "Murderers and rapists. She used what she was to stop more people from getting hurt. She didn't—torture innocent people and say she was doing it for some greater good."

Sulpicia had raised a hand, and was now resting her chin upon it, her misty gaze fixed on my face in utter fascination. I scowled and looked away.

"Well," she said at last, "I think you would be surprised to learn how much Edythe knows about many avenues of torture—but you are correct. I can hardly stand in judgment over Edythe Cullen when I have done several lifetimes' worth of terrible deeds she could scarcely imagine. Still, from the human perspective, she can hardly be seen as blameless. Carine, perhaps—but not your Edythe."

As I glared at the darkness outside again, an unwilling sigh escaped me. I was tired of this conversation. What good did it do to dredge up the past? A past that even now haunted Edythe, even as it was long behind her. If anything, everything Sulpicia was saying was just pointing me back to the one flaw I'd always known about Edythe—Sulpicia, having taken Edythe's thoughts, saw Edythe through Edythe's own eyes. So if Sulpicia thought poorly of Edythe, it was because Edythe always blamed herself, thought badly of herself.

Still, Sulpicia was right about one thing. My picture of Edythe, who she was in the very depths of her soul—the soul I was sure she still had, vampire or not—probably was incomplete. Because Edythe always held back so many of her worries and fears, her pains and regrets, I didn't always see what doubts weighed most on her mind, what painful memories plagued her the most. Instead she bore all the burden herself. And so, I couldn't always help her the way I wanted.

It occurred to me suddenly—Sulpicia knew it all. She had seen every thought Edythe had ever had, every memory. Already she had told me things I didn't know. The questions that had prowled in her thoughts, and even veiled references to her past.

This was all wrong. It wasn't right for me to be finding out anything about Edythe this way. She had a right to her privacy, her secrets. If I wanted to know anything, I should be asking her directly, and if she didn't want to answer, that should be her choice.

My mouth opened to say something. To stop the conversation maybe, or at least tell Sulpicia to make sure she didn't tell me anything that Edythe hadn't, anything that Edythe hadn't wanted me to hear. However, no words came out. I couldn't seem to make myself say them—the words that would stop me from knowing Edythe better, knowing the burdens that weighed her down with fear of my knowing.

Sulpicia's gaze was far away, recalling memories that were not hers. And once again, she spoke.

"I told you," she murmured. "Why the others took human life. Accident, weakness, vengeance, simply upbringing—but Edythe was different. She always admired Carine's compassion, as I did and do, especially seeing the true purity of her thoughts as few others could. But Edythe was also impatient. Impatient with the notion that she must endure such hunger and suffering simply to protect all human life, when there was much of it she judged worthless, and in need of— cleansing."

I was looking at Sulpicia, taking in every word. Guilt screamed at me—but not strong enough to make me speak.

Sulpicia continued. "So she went to work, satisfying her ravenous appetite for human blood, and removing the filth as she deemed it from the world. In some cases she went a little further than that—those who had inflicted the most suffering on others, she took more time with. Her first kill was a man who had raped and murdered a young child—she made him know the paralyzing fear of his victim before she finally devoured him."

I found I was staring once again at the darkness rushing by outside the plane. I could almost see it in my mind's eye—Edythe, prowling silently through a dark forest, following the thoughts of a guilty soul, now bent over the small mangled corpse of someone who had met their end in the most terrifying and senseless of ways. The black rage in her eyes as she pinned her target to the ground, whispering taunts, perhaps pretending to smile with vindictive glee to make his fear complete before she finally struck. Bending her head to the kill, and her eyes glowing crimson in the darkness...

There was some part of me that still said what I had told Edythe before—it didn't seem entirely unreasonable. The people she chose had done something similar to someone else before—to have the same done to them, I could see where Edythe would see that as justice.

Even so, something in me recoiled at the image. Not the violence or brutality of it, but of Edythe being the one to carry it out. It was so different from the Edythe I knew now—such an Edythe felt like a stranger.

My hands had drifted down, to grip the armrests of my chair. However, I forced each finger to relax, and let out a short breath.

"That's all in the past," I said evenly. "She turned away from that life."

Sulpicia smiled. "She did. Mostly." Once again, her gaze drifted away from me, staring off into the distance as though seeing only something she could see. "There have been moments since she met you that part of her resurfaced. You cannot fathom the hatred she holds for those who might hurt you. Joss most of all—she deeply regrets Joss was not made to suffer more than she did. If Joss had actually succeeded in killing you—well, she has never stopped contemplating how she might have exacted her revenge. How she might have drawn it out, mangled and disfigured and psychologically broke your attacker until the woman felt pain and despair as no other immortal before her."

I was still staring at the darkness outside. Back then, back when I thought I was going to die, I had written Edythe a letter. I'd wanted her to be safe—so I had told her, as my dying wish, not to play Joss's game. Not to follow her, or try for revenge. But, maybe I'd known Edythe probably wouldn't listen to that.

I suddenly sighed deeply, and leaned my head back against the seat, my eyes sliding closed. So much for resting—if anything, my mind felt more exhausted than it had through all my mental training.

"Why are you telling me all this?" I asked quietly, roughly. "Do you really think you're going to make me see Edythe as some sort of bad guy? Because you can't, and you won't."

I felt sick—not because of anything I had heard about Edythe. But because these were things I wasn't supposed to hear. Not from someone other than Edythe.

"Beau?"

My eyes opened automatically, and I found Sulpicia gazing at me.

"To answer your question," she said softly. "No, I'm not trying to turn you against her. I think your bond is far too strong for that, and what advantage would it be? I would like more than anything for us to be successful, so that you may return to her as soon as you can."

Her eyes never moved from mine, and though her expression was serene as usual, beneath the mist I saw something else there. An earnestness.

"Merely," she murmured, "after all you have done, all you have sacrificed for her sake, I believe you deserve to see her clearly. You need not feel guilt for hearing these things—these are details that a part of her has always desperately wished for you to know, to know and accept of her, as you accepted her upon learning what she was. Fear has held her back—now that you know, and accept it, in a sense you might say I have done her a favor. She has earned that much in return for our having taken you away from her."

I eyed Sulpicia for a long moment, not sure what to believe. If I should really let her assuage my conscience so easily.

Sulpicia's gaze never moved from mine, and for a moment, a strange intensity burned in their filmy depths. "To see her clearly," she murmured. "As she is, without imposing on her an impossible perfection—will that not make your love more complete?"

I stared back at her for a long moment. Then at last I looked away. This time my gaze fell back on the dimmed cabin, where Jules was still sound asleep. "Edythe hasn't done anything wrong," I said, quietly but firmly. "It's not my job to judge what she's done in the past. And it doesn't change the fact I've never deserved her, and I never will."

Sulpicia gazed at me for a long moment, intent. Then at long last she sighed, settling back once again in her seat. Her hands fell to rest on the armrests beside her.

"The veil of love that blinds is so often far too thick to penetrate," she murmured, almost to herself. The corner of her lip twitched in a bit of an ironic smile. "But, I suppose I should have expected that. I should know that better than anyone, after all."

She turned her head, gazing out the same window I had, at the dark swirling clouds outside. Her eyes distant. Then her gaze shifted back to me.

"I know many things about your life through Edythe Cullen," she said, almost abruptly. "I know many things about many lives. Considering what I am asking of you, and what you will have done for us should you succeed—perhaps you would deserve to know a little of mine."

I hesitated. A rebellious part of me was tempted to say I wasn't interested at all—but I would have been lying. This strange leader of the vampire world, who seemed at once kind and wise, and also harsh and remoseless. Who valued justice for the innocent even as she subverted it in the course of doing as she claimed was for the best, in whatever game she was playing. I had heard parts of the story from Edythe—but I knew it would be different coming from her herself. Different in whether I would be more sympathetic, or more appalled, a part of me wanted to find out.

Sulpicia met my gaze, and correctly read in my silence reluctant acquiesce. She closed her misty eyes, breathing deeply.

Outside the jet, the dark clouds continued to swirl.