happen to me, you are not allowed to hurt yourself!" "I'll never put you in danger again, so it's a moot point." "Put me in danger! I thought we'd established that all the bad luck is my fault?" I was getting angrier. "How dare you even think like that?" The idea of Edward ceasing to exist, even if I were dead, was impossiblypainful. "What would you do, if the situation were reversed?" he asked. "That's not the same thing." He didn't seem to understand the difference. He chuckled. "What if something did happen to you?" I blanched at the thought. "Would you want me to go off myself?" A trace of pain touched his perfect features. "I guess I see your point… a little," he admitted. "But what would I do without you?" "Whatever you were doing before I came along and complicated your existence." He sighed. "You make that sound so easy." "It should be. I'm not really that interesting." He was about to argue, but then he let it go. "Moot point," he reminded me. Abruptly, he pulled himself up into a more formal posture, shifting me to the side so that we were no longer touching. "Charlie?" I guessed. Edward smiled. After a moment, I heard the sound of the police cruiser pulling into the driveway. I reached out and took his hand firmly. My dad could deal with that much. Charlie came in with a pizza box in his hands. "Hey, kids." He grinned at me. "I thought you'd like a break from cooking and washing dishes for your birthday. Hungry?" "Sure. Thanks, Dad." Charlie didn't comment on Edward's apparent lack of appetite. He was used to Edward passing on dinner. "Do you mind if I borrow Bella for the evening?" Edward asked when Charlie and I were done. I looked at Charlie hopefully. Maybe he had some concept of birthdays as stay-at-home, family affairs—this was my first birthday with him, the first birthday since my mom, Renee, had remarried and gone to live in Florida, so I didn't know what he would expect. "That's fine—the Mariners are playing the Sox tonight," Charlie explained, and my hope disappeared. "So I won't be any kind of company… Here." He scooped up the camera he'd gotten me on Renee's suggestion （because I would need pictures to fill up my scrap-book）， and threw it to me. He ought to know better than that—I'd always been coordinationally challenged. The camera glanced off the tip of my finger, and tumbled toward the floor. Edward snagged it before it could crash onto the linoleum. "Nice save," Charlie noted. "If they're doing something fun at the Cullens' tonight, Bella, you should take some pictures. You know how your mother gets—she'll be wanting to see the pictures faster than you can take them." "Good idea, Charlie," Edward said, handing me the camera. I turned the camera on Edward, and snapped the first picture. "It works." "That's good. Hey, say hi to Alice for me. She hasn't been over in a while." Charlie's mouth pulled down at one corner. "It's been three days, Dad," I reminded him. Charlie was crazy about Alice. He'd become attached last spring when she'd helped me through my awkward convalescence; Charlie would be fore'ter grateful to her for saving him from the horror of an almost-adult daughter who needed help showering. "I'll tell her." "Okay. You kids have fun tonight." It was clearly a dismissal. Charlie was already edging toward the living room and the TV. Edward smiled, triumphant, and took my hand to pull me from the kitchen. When we got to the truck, he opened the passenger door for me again, and this time I didn't argue. I still had a hard time finding the obscure turnoff to his house in the dark. Edward drove north through Forks, visibly chafing at the speed limit enforced by my prehistoric Chevy. The engine groaned even louder than usual as he pushed it over fifty. "Take it easy," I warned him. "You know what you would love? A nice little Audi coupe. Very quiet, lots of power…" "There's nothing wrong with my truck. And speaking of expensive nonessentials, if you know what's good for you, you didn't spend any money on birthday presents." "Not a dime," he said virtuously. "Good." "Can you do me a favor?" "That depends on what it is." He sighed, his lovely face serious. "Bella, the last real birthday any of us had was Emmett in 1935. Cut us a little slack, and don't be too difficult tonight. They're all very excited." It always startled me a little when he brought up things like that. "Fine, I'll behave." "I probably should warn you…" "Please do." "When I say they're all excited… I do mean all of them." "Everyone?" I choked. "I thought Emmett and Rosalie were in Africa." The rest of Forks was under the impression that the older Cullens had gone off to college this year, to Dartmouth, but I knew better. "Emmett wanted to be here." "But… Rosalie?" "I know, Bella. Don't worry, she'll be on her best behavior." I didn't answer. Like I could just not worry, that easy. Unlike Alice, Edward's other "adopted" sister, the golden blond and exquisite Rosalie, didn't like me much. Actually, the feeling was a little bit stronger than just dislike. As far as Rosalie was concerned, I was an unwelcome intruder into her family's secret life. I felt horribly guilty about the present situation, guessing that Rosalie and Emmett's prolonged absence was my fault, even as I furtively enjoyed not having to see her Emmett, Edward's playful bear of a brother, I did miss. He was in many ways just like the big brother I'd always wanted… only much, much more terrifying. Edward decided to change the subject. "So, if you won't let me get you the Audi, isn't there anything that you'd like for your birthday?" The words came out in a whisper. "You know what I want." A deep frown carved creases into his marble forehead. He obviously wished he'd stuck to the subject of Rosalie. It felt like we'd had this argument a lot today. "Not tonight, Bella. Please." "Well, maybe Alice will give me what I want." Edward growled—a deep, menacing sound. "This isn't going to be your last birthday, Bella," he vowed. "That's not fair!" I thought I heard his teeth clench together. We were pulling up to the house now. Bright light shined from every window on the first two floors. A long line of glowing Japanese lanterns hung from the porch eaves, reflecting a soft radiance on the huge cedars that surrounded the house. Big bowls of flowers—pink roses—lined the wide stairs up to the front doors. I moaned. Edward took a few deep breaths to calm himself. "This is a party," he reminded me. "Try to be a good sport." "Sure," I muttered. He came around to get my door, and offered me his hand. "I have a question." He waited warily. "If I develop this film," I said, toying with the camera in my hands, "will you show up in the picture?" Edward started laughing. He helped me out of the car, pulled me up the stairs, and was still laughing as he opened the door for me. They were all waiting in the huge white living room; when I walked through the door, they greeted me with a loud chorus of "Happy birthday, Bella!" while I blushed and looked down. Alice, I assumed, had covered every flat surface with pink candles and dozens of crystal bowls filled with hundreds of roses. There was a table with a white cloth draped over it next to Edward's grand piano, holding a pink birthday cake, more roses, a stack of glass plates, and a small pile of silver-wrapped presents. It was a hundred times worse than I'd imagined. Edward, sensing my distress, wrapped an encouraging arm around my waist and kissed the top of my head. Edward's parents, Carlisle and Esme—impossibly youthful and lovely as ever—were the closest to the door. Esme hugged me carefully, her soft, caramel-colored hair brushing against my cheek as she kissed my forehead, and then Carlisle put his arm around my shoulders. "Sorry about this, Bella," he stage-whispered. "We couldn't rein Alice in." Rosalie and Emmett stood behind them. Rosalie didn't smile, but at least she didn't glare. Emmett's face was stretched into a huge grin. It had been months since I'd seen them; I'd forgotten how gloriously beautiful Rosalie was—it almost hurt to look at her. And had Emmett always been so… big? "You haven't changed at all," Emmett said with mock disappointment. "I expected a perceptible difference, but here you are, red-faced just like always." "Thanks a lot, Emmett," I said, blushing deeper. He laughed, "I have to step out for a second"—he paused to wink conspicuously at Alice—"Don't do anything funny while I'm gone." "I'lltry." Alice let go of Jasper's hand and skipped forward, all her teeth sparkling in the bright light. Jasper smiled, too, but kept his distance. He leaned, long and blond, against the post at the foot of the stairs. During the days we'd had to spend cooped up together in Phoenix, I'd thought he'd gotten over his aversion to me. But he'd gone back to exactly how he'd acted before—avoiding me as much as possible—the moment he was free from that temporary obligation to protect me. I knew it wasn't personal, just a precaution, and I tried not to be overly sensitive about it. Jasper had more trouble sticking to the Cullens' diet than the rest of them; the scent of human blood was much harder for him to resist than the others—he hadn't been trying as long. "Time to open presents," Alice declared. She put her cool hand under my elbow and towed me to the table with the cake and the shiny packages. I put on my best martyr face. "Alice, I know I told you I didn't want anything—" "But I didn't listen," she interrupted, smug. "Open it." She took the camera from my hands and replaced it with a big, square silver box. The box was so light that it felt empty. The tag on top said that it was from Emmett, Rosalie, and Jasper. Selfconsciously, I tore the paper off and then stared at the box it concealed. It was something electrical, with lots of numbers in the name. I opened the box, hoping for further illumination. But the box was empty. "Um… thanks." Rosalie actually cracked a smile. Jasper laughed. "It's a stereo for your truck," he explained. "Emmett's installing it right now so that you can't return it." Alice was always one step ahead of me. "Thanks, Jasper, Rosalie," I told them, grinning as I remembered Edward's complaints about my radio this afternoon—all a setup, apparently. "Thanks, Emmett!" I called more loudly. I heard his booming laugh from my truck, and I couldn't help laughing, too. "Open mine and Edward's next," Alice said, so excited her voice was a high-pitched trill. She held a small, flat square in her hand. I turned to give Edward a basilisk glare. "You promised." Before he could answer, Emmett bounded through the door. "Just in time!" he crowed. He pushed in behind Jasper, who had also drifted closer than usual to get a good look. "I didn't spend a dime," Edward assured me. He brushed a strand of hair from my face, leaving my skin tingling from his touch. I inhaled deeply and turned to Alice. "Give it to me," I sighed. Emmett chuckled with delight. I took the little package, rolling my eyes at Edward while I stuck my finger under the edge of the paper and jerked it under the tape. "Shoot," I muttered when the paper sliced my finger; I pulled it out to examine the damage. A single drop of blood oozed from the tiny cut. It all happened very quickly then. "No!" Edward roared. He threw himself at me, flinging me back across the table. It fell, as I did, scattering the cake and the presents, the flowers and the plates. I landed in the mess of shattered crystal. Jasper slammed into Edward, and the sound was like the crash of boulders in a rock slide. There was another noise, a grisly snarling that seemed to be coming from deep in Jasper's chest. Jasper tried to shove past Edward, snapping his teeth just inches from Edward's face. Emmett grabbed Jasper from behind in the next second, locking him into his massive steel grip, but Jasper struggled on, his wild, empty eyes focused only on me. Beyond the shock, there was also pain. I'd tumbled down to the floor by the piano, with my arms thrown out instinctively to catch my fall, into the jagged shards of glass. Only now did I feel the searing, stinging pain that ran from my wrist to the crease inside my elbow. Dazed and disoriented, I looked up from the bright red blood pulsing out of my arm—into the fevered eyes of the six suddenly ravenous vampires. 2 STITCHES CARLISLE WAS NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO STAYED calm. Centuries of experience in the emergency room were evident in his quiet, authoritative voice. "Emmett, Rose, get Jasper outside." Unsmiling for once, Emmett nodded. "Come on, Jasper." Jasper struggled against Emmett's unbreakable grasp, twisting around, reaching toward his brother with his bared teeth, his eyes still past reason. Edward's face was whiter than bone as he wheeled to crouch over me, taking a clearly defensive position. A low warning growl slid from between his clenched teeth. I could tell that he wasn't breathing. Rosalie, her divine face strangely smug, stepped in front of Jasper—keeping a careful distance from his teeth—and helped Emmett wrestle him through the glass door that Esme held open, one hand pressed over her mouth and nose. Esme's heart-shaped face was ashamed. "I'm so sorry, Bella," she cried as she followed the others into the yard. "Let me by, Edward," Carlisle murmured. A second passed, and then Edward nodded slowly and relaxed his stance. Carlisle knelt beside me, leaning close to examine my arm. I could feel the shock frozen on my face, and I tried to compose it. "Here, Carlisle," Alice said, handing him a towel. He shook his head. "Too much glass in the wound." He reached over and ripped a long, thin scrap from the bottom of the white tablecloth. He twisted it around my arm above the elbow to form a tourniquet. The smell of the blood was making me dizzy. My ears rang. "Bella," Carlisle said softly. "Do you want me to drive you to the hospital, or would you like me to take care of it here?" "Here, please," I whispered. If he took me to the hospital, there would be no way to keep this from Charlie. "I'll get your bag," Alice said. "Let's take her to the kitchen table," Carlisle said to Edward. Edward lifted me effortlessly, while Carlisle kept the pressure steady on my arm. "How are you doing, Bella?" Carlisle asked. "I'm fine." My voice was reasonably steady, which pleased me. Edward's face was like stone. Alice was there. Carlisle's black bag was already on the table, a small but brilliant desk light plugged into the wall. Edward sat me gently into a chair, and Carlisle pulled up another. He went to work at once. Edward stood over me, still protective, still not breathing. "Just go, Edward," I sighed. "I can handle it," he insisted. But his jaw was rigid; his eyes burned with the intensity of the thirst he fought, so much worse for him than it was for the others. "You don't need to be a hero," I said. "Carlisle can fix me up without your help. Get some fresh air." I winced as Carlisle did something to my arm that stung. "I'll stay," he said. "Why are you so masochistic?" I mumbled. Carlisle decided to intercede. "Edward, you may as well go find Jasper before he gets too far. I'm sure he's upset with himself, and I doubt he'll listen to anyone but you right now." "Yes," I eagerly agreed. "Go find Jasper." "You might as well do something useful," Alice added. Edward's eyes narrowed as we ganged up on him, but, finally, he nodded once and sprinted smoothly through the kitchen's back door. I was sure he hadn't taken a breath since I'd sliced my finger. A numb, dead feeling was spreading through my arm. Though it erased the sting, it reminded me of the gash, and I watched Carlisle's face carefully to distract me from what his hands were doing. His hair gleamed gold in the bright light as he bent over my arm. I could feel the faint stirrings of unease in the pit of my stomach, but I was determined not to let my usual squeamishness get the best of me. There was no pain now, just a gentle tugging sensation that I tried to ignore. No reason to get sick like a baby. If she hadn't been in my line of sight, I wouldn't have noticed Alice give up and steal out of the room. With a tiny, apologetic smile on her lips, she disappeared through the kitchen doorway. "Well, that's everyone," I sighed. "I can clear a room, at least." "It's not your fault," Carlisle comforted me with a chuckle. "It could happen to anyone." "Could" I repeated. "But it usually just happens to me." He laughed again. His relaxed calm was only more amazing set in direct contrast with everyone else's reaction. I couldn't find any trace of anxiety in his face. He worked with quick, sure movements. The only sound besides our quiet breathing was the soft plink, plink as the tiny fragments of glass dropped one by one to the table. "How can you do this?" I demanded. "Even Alice and Esme…" I trailed off, shaking my head in wonder. Though the rest of them had given up the traditional diet of vampires just as absolutely as Carlisle had, he was the only one who could bear the smell of my blood without suffering from the intense temptation. Clearly, this was much more difficult than he made it seem. "Years and years of practice," he told me. "I barely notice the scent anymore." "Do you think it would be harder if you took a vacation from the hospital for a long time. And weren't around any blood?" "Maybe." He shrugged his shoulders, but his hands remained steady. "I've never felt the need for an extended holiday." He flashed a brilliant smile in my direction. "I enjoy my work too much." Plink, plink, plink. I was surprised at how much glass there seemed to be in my arm. I was tempted to glance at the growing pile, just to check the size, but I knew that idea would not be helpful to my no-vomiting strategy. "What is it that you enjoy?" I wondered. It didn't make sense to me—the years of struggle and self-denial he must have spent to get to the point where he could endure this so easily. Besides, I wanted to keep him talking; the conversation kept my mind off the queasy feeling in my stomach. His dark eyes were calm and thoughtful as he answered. "Hmm. What I enjoy the very most is when my… enhanced abilities let me save someone who would otherwise have been lost. It's pleasant knowing that, thanks to what I can do, some people's lives are better because I exist. Even the sense of smell is a useful diagnostic tool at times." One side of his mouth pulled up in half a smile. I mulled that over while he poked around, making sure all the glass splinters were gone. Then he rummaged in his bag for new tools, and I tried not to picture a needle and thread. "You try very hard to make up for something that was never your fault," I suggested while a new kind of tugging started at the edges of my skin. "What I mean is, it's not like you asked for this. You didn't choose this kind of life, and yet you have to work so hard to be good." "I don't know that I'm making up for anything," he disagreed lightly. "Like everything in life, I just had to decide what to do with what I was given." "That makes it sound too easy." He examined my arm again. "There," he said, snipping a thread. "All done." He wiped an oversized Q-tip, dripping with some syrup-colored liquid, thoroughly across the operation site. The smell was strange; it made my head spin. The syrup stained my skin. "In the beginning, though," I pressed while he taped another long piece of gauze securely in place, sealing it to my skin. "Why did you even think to try a different way than the obvious one?" His lips turned up in a private smile. "Hasn't Edward told you this story?" "Yes. But I'm trying to understand what you were thinking…" His face was suddenly serious again, and I wondered if his thoughts had gone to the same place that mine had. Wondering what I would be thinking when—I refused to think if—it was me. "You know my father was a clergyman," he mused as he cleaned the table carefully, rubbing everything down with wet gauze, and then doing it again. The smell of alcohol burned in my nose. "He had a rather harsh view of the world, which I was already beginning to question before the time that I changed." Carlisle put all the dirty gauze and the glass slivers into an empty crystal bowl. I didn't understand what he was doing, even when he lit the match. Then he threw it onto the alcohol-soaked fibers, and the sudden blaze made me jump. "Sorry," he apologized. "That ought to do it… So I didn't agree with my father's particular brand of faith. But never, in the nearly four hundred years now since I was born, have I ever seen anything to make me doubt whether God exists in some form or the other. Not even the reflection in the mirror." I pretended to examine the dressing on my arm to hide my surprise at the direction our conversation had taken. Religion was the last thing I expected, all things considered. My own life was fairly devoid of belief. Charlie considered himself a Lutheran, because that's what his parents had been, but Sundays he worshipped by the river with a fishing pole in his hand. Renee tried out a church now and then, but, much like her brief affairs with tennis, pottery, yoga, and French classes, she moved on by the time I was aware of her newest fad. "I'm sure all this sounds a little bizarre, coming from a vampire." He grinned, knowing how their casual use of that word never failed to shock me. "But I'm hoping that there is still a point to this life, even for us. It's a long shot, I'll admit," he continued in an offhand voice. "By all accounts, we're damned regardless. But I hope, maybe foolishly, that we'll get some measure of credit for trying." "I don't think that's foolish," I mumbled. I couldn't imagine anyone, deity included, who wouldn't be impressed by Carlisle. Besides, the only kind of heaven I could appreciate would have to include Edward. "And I don't think anyone else would, either." "Actually, you're the very first one to agree with me." "The rest of them don't feel the same?" I asked, surprised, thinking of only one person in particular. Carlisle guessed the direction of my thoughts again. "Edward's with me up to a point. God and heaven exist… and so does hell. But he doesn't believe there is an afterlife for our kind." Carlisle's voice was very soft; he stared out the big window over the sink, into the darkness. "You see, he thinks we've lost our souls." I immediately thought of Edward's words this afternoon: unless you want to die—or whatever it is that we do. The lightbulb flicked on over my head. "That's the real problem, isn't it?" I guessed. "That's why he's being so difficult about me." Carlisle spoke slowly. "I look at my… son. His strength, his goodness, the brightness that shines out of him—and it only fuels that hope, that faith, more than ever. How could there not be more for one such as Edward?" I nodded in fervent agreement. "But if I believed as he does…" He looked down at me with unfathomable eyes. "If you believed as he did. Could you take away his soul?" The way he phrased the question thwarted my answer. If he'd asked me whether I would risk my soul for Edward, the reply would be obvious. But would I risk Edward's soul? I pursed my lips unhappily. That wasn't a fair exchange. "You see the problem." I shook my head, aware of the stubborn set of my chin. Carlisle sighed. "It's my choice," I insisted. "It's his, too." He held up his hand when he could see that I was about to argue. "Whether he is responsible for doing that to you." "He's not the only one able to do it." I eyed Carlisle speculatively. He laughed, abruptly lightening the mood. "Oh, no! You're going to have to work this out with him."But then he sighed. "That's the one part I can never be sure of. I think, in most other ways, that I've done the best I could with what I had to work with. But was it right to doom the others to this life? I can't decide." I didn't answer. I imagined what my life would be like if Carlisle had resisted the temptation to change his lonely existence… and shuddered. "It was Edward's mother who made up my mind." Carlisle's voice was almost a whisper. He stared unseeingly out the black windows. "His mother?" Whenever I'd asked Edward about his parents, he would merely say that they had died long ago, and his memories were vague. I realized Carlisle's memory of them, despite the brevity of their contact, would be perfectly clear. "Yes. Her name was Elizabeth. Elizabeth Masen. His father, Edward Senior, never regained consciousness in the hospital. He died in the first wave of the influenza. But Elizabeth was alert until almost the very end. Edward looks a great deal like her—she had that same strange bronze shade to her hair, and her eyes were exactly the same color green." "His eyes were green?" I murmured, trying to picture it. "Yes…" Carlisle's ocher eyes were a hundred years away now. "Elizabeth worried obsessively over her son. She hurt her own chances of survival trying to nurse him from her sickbed. I expected that he would go first, he was so much worse off than she was. When the end came for her, it was very quick. It was just after sunset, and I'd arrived to relieve the doctors who'd been working all day. That was a hard time to pretend—there was so much work to be done, and I had no need of rest. How I hated to go back to my house, to hide in the dark and pretend to sleep while so many were dying. "I went to check Elizabeth and her son first. I'd grown attached—always a dangerous thing to do considering the fragile nature of humans. I could see at once that she'd taken a bad turn. The fever was raging out of control, and her body was too weak to fight anymore. "She didn't look weak, though, when she glared up at me from her cot. "Save him!' she commanded me in the hoarse voice that was all her throat could manage. "I'll do everything in my power,' I promised her, taking her hand. The fever was so high, she probably couldn't even tell how unnaturally cold mine felt. Everything felt cold to her skin. "You must," she insisted, clutching at my hand with enough strength that I wondered if she wouldn't pull through the crisis after all. Her eyes were hard, like stones, like emeralds. 'You must do everything in your power. What others cannot do, that is what you must do for my Edward." "It frightened me. She looked it me with those piercing eyes, and, for one instant, I felt certain that she knew my secret. Then the fever overwhelmed her, and she never regained consciousness. She died within an hour of making her demand. "I'd spent decades considering the idea of creating a companion for myself. Just one other creature who could really know me, rather than what I pretended to be. But I could never justify it to myself—doing what had been done to me. "There Edward lay, dying. It was clear that he had only hours left. Beside him, his mother, her face somehow not yet peaceful, not even in death." Carlisle saw it all again, his memory unblurred by the intervening century. I could see it clearly, too, as he spoke—the despair of the hospital, the overwhelming atmosphere of death. Edward burning with fever, his life slipping away with each tick of the clock… I shuddered again, and forced the picture from my mind. "Elizabeth's words echoed in my head. How could she guess what I could do? Could anyone really want that for her son? "I looked at Edward. Sick as he was, he was still beautiful. There was something pure and good about his face. The kind of face I would have wanted my son to have. "After all those years of indecision, I simply acted on a whim. I wheeled his mother to the morgue first, and then I came back for him. No one noticed that he was still breathing. There weren't enough hands, enough eyes, to keep track of half of what the patients needed. The morgue was empty—of the living, at least. I stole him out the back door, and carried him across the rooftops back to my home. "I wasn't sure what had to be done. I settled for recreating the wounds I'd received myself, so many centuries earlier in London. I felt bad about that later. It was more painful and lingering than necessary. "I wasn't sorry, though. I've never been sorry that I saved Edward." He shook his head, coming back to the present. He smiled at me. "I suppose I should take you home now." "I'll do that," Edward said. He came through the shadowy dining room, walking slowly for him. His face was smooth, unreadable, but there was something wrong with his eyes—something he was trying very hard to hide. I felt a spasm of unease in my stomach. "Carlisle can take me," I said. I looked down at my shirt; the light blue cotton was soaked and spotted with my blood. My right shoulder was covered in thick pink frosting. "I'm fine." Edward's voice was unemotional. "You'll need to change anyway. You'd give Charlie a heart attack the way you look. I'll have Alice get you something." He strode out the kitchen door again. I looked at Carlisle anxiously. "He's very upset." "Yes," Carlisle agreed. "Tonight is exactly the kind of thing that he fears the most. You being put in danger, because of what we are." "It's not his fault." "It's not yours, either." I looked away from his wise, beautiful eyes. I couldn't agree with that. Carlisle offered me his hand and helped me up from the table. I followed him out into the main room. Esme had come back; she was mopping the floor where I'd fallen—with straight bleach from the smell of it. "Esme, let me do that." I could feel that my face was bright red again. "I'm already done." She smiled up at me. "How do you feel?" "I'm fine," I assured her. "Carlisle sews faster than any other doctor I've had." They both chuckled. Alice and Edward came in the back doors. Alice hurried to my side, but Edward hung back, his face indecipherable. "C'mon," Alice said. "I'll get you something less macabre to wear."
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