Stephenie Meyer 6 страница

He sounded disturbed when he spoke again. “What is frightening you?”

I shuddered slightly. “Mostly...” I hesitated.

“Mostly?” he prompted.

I wasn’t sure why, but I didn’t want to tell him about the child in my recurring nightmare; there was something private about that particular horror. So, instead of giving him the full description, I gave him just one element. Certainly enough to frighten me or anyone else.

“The Volturi,” I whispered.

He hugged me tighter. “They aren’t going to bother us anymore. You’ll be immortal soon, and they’ll have no reason.”

I let him comfort me, feeling a little guilty that he’d misunderstood. The nightmares weren’t like that, exactly. It wasn’t that I was afraid for myself—I was afraid for the boy.

He wasn’t the same boy as that first dream—the vampire child with the bloodred eyes who sat on a pile of dead people I loved. This boy I’d dreamed of four times in the last week was definitely human; his cheeks were flushed and his wide eyes were a soft green. But just like the other child, he shook with fear and desperation as the Volturi closed in on us.

In this dream that was both new and old, I simply had to protect the unknown child. There was no other option. At the same time, I knew that I would fail.

He saw the desolation on my face. “What can I do to help?”

I shook it off. “They’re just dreams, Edward.”

“Do you want me to sing to you? I’ll sing all night if it will keep the bad dreams away.”

“They’re not all bad. Some are nice. So… colorful. Underwater, with the fish and the coral. It all seems like it’s really happening—I don’t know that I’m dreaming. Maybe this island is the problem. It’s really bright here.”

“Do you want to go home?”

“No. No, not yet. Can’t we stay awhile longer?”

“We can stay as long as you want, Bella,” he promised me.

“When does the semester start? I wasn’t paying attention before.”

He sighed. He may have started humming again, too, but I was under before I could be sure.

Later, when I awoke in the dark, it was with shock. The dream had been so very real… so vivid, so sensory.… I gasped aloud, now, disoriented by the dark room. Only a second ago, it seemed, I had been under the brilliant sun.

“Bella?” Edward whispered, his arms tight around me, shaking me gently. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

“Oh,” I gasped again. Just a dream. Not real. To my utter astonishment, tears overflowed from my eyes without warning, gushing down my face.

“Bella!” he said—louder, alarmed now. “What’s wrong?” He wiped the tears from my hot cheeks with cold, frantic fingers, but others followed.

“It was only a dream.” I couldn’t contain the low sob that broke in my voice. The senseless tears were disturbing, but I couldn’t get control of the staggering grief that gripped me. I wanted so badly for the dream to be real.

“It’s okay, love, you’re fine. I’m here.” He rocked me back and forth, a little too fast to soothe. “Did you have another nightmare? It wasn’t real, it wasn’t real.”

“Not a nightmare.” I shook my head, scrubbing the back of my hand against my eyes. “It was a good dream.” My voice broke again.

“Then why are you crying?” he asked, bewildered.

“Because I woke up,” I wailed, wrapping my arms around his neck in a chokehold and sobbing into his throat.

He laughed once at my logic, but the sound was tense with concern.

“Everything’s all right, Bella. Take deep breaths.”

“It was so real,” I cried. “I wanted it to be real.”

“Tell me about it,” he urged. “Maybe that will help.”

“We were on the beach....” I trailed off, pulling back to look with tear-filled eyes at his anxious angel’s face, dim in the darkness. I stared at him broodingly as the unreasonable grief began to ebb.

“And?” he finally prompted.

I blinked the tears out of my eyes, torn. “Oh, Edward...”

“Tell me, Bella,” he pleaded, eyes wild with worry at the pain in my voice.

But I couldn’t. Instead I clutched my arms around his neck again and locked my mouth with his feverishly. It wasn’t desire at all—it was need, acute to the point of pain. His response was instant but quickly followed by his rebuff.

He struggled with me as gently as he could in his surprise, holding me away, grasping my shoulders.

“No, Bella,” he insisted, looking at me as if he was worried that I’d lost my mind.

My arms dropped, defeated, the bizarre tears spilling in a fresh torrent down my face, a new sob rising in my throat. He was right—I must be crazy.

He stared at me with confused, anguished eyes.

“I’m s-s-s-orry,” I mumbled.

But he pulled me to him then, hugging me tightly to his marble chest.

“I can’t, Bella, I can’t!” His moan was agonized.

“Please,” I said, my plea muffled against his skin. “Please, Edward?”

I couldn’t tell if he was moved by the tears trembling in my voice, or if he was unprepared to deal with the suddenness of my attack, or if his need was simply as unbearable in that moment as my own. But whatever the reason, he pulled my lips back to his, surrendering with a groan.

And we began where my dream had left off.

I stayed very still when I woke up in the morning and tried to keep my breathing even. I was afraid to open my eyes.

I was lying across Edward’s chest, but he was very still and his arms were not wrapped around me. That was a bad sign. I was afraid to admit I was awake and face his anger—no matter whom it was directed at today.

Carefully, I peeked through my eyelashes. He was staring up at the dark ceiling, his arms behind his head. I pulled myself up on my elbow so that I could see his face better. It was smooth, expressionless.

“How much trouble am I in?” I asked in a small voice.

“Heaps,” he said, but turned his head and smirked at me.

I breathed a sigh of relief. “I am sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean… Well, I don’t know exactly what that was last night.” I shook my head at the memory of the irrational tears, the crushing grief.

“You never did tell me what your dream was about.”

“I guess I didn’t—but I sort of showed you what it was about.” I laughed nervously.

“Oh,” he said. His eyes widened, and then he blinked. “Interesting.”

“It was a very good dream,” I murmured. He didn’t comment, so a few seconds later I asked, “Am I forgiven?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

I sat up, planning to examine myself—there didn’t seem to be any feathers, at least. But as I moved, an odd wave of vertigo hit. I swayed and fell back against the pillows.

“Whoa… head rush.”

His arms were around me then. “You slept for a long time. Twelve hours.”

“Twelve?” How strange.

I gave myself a quick once-over while I spoke, trying to be inconspicuous about it. I looked fine. The bruises on my arms were still a week old, yellowing. I stretched experimentally. I felt fine, too. Well, better than fine, actually.

“Is the inventory complete?”

I nodded sheepishly. “The pillows all appear to have survived.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for your, er, nightgown.” He nodded toward the foot of the bed, where several scraps of black lace were strewn across the silk sheets.

“That’s too bad,” I said. “I liked that one.”

“I did, too.”

“Were there any other casualties?” I asked timidly.

“I’ll have to buy Esme a new bed frame,” he confessed, glancing over his shoulder. I followed his gaze and was shocked to see that large chunks of wood had apparently been gouged from the left side of the headboard.

“Hmm.” I frowned. “You’d think I would have heard that.”

“You seem to be extraordinarily unobservant when your attention is otherwise involved.”

“I was a bit absorbed,” I admitted, blushing a deep red.

He touched my burning cheek and sighed. “I’m really going to miss that.”

I stared at his face, searching for any signs of the anger or remorse I feared. He gazed back at me evenly, his expression calm but otherwise unreadable.

“How are you feeling?”

He laughed.

“What?” I demanded.

“You look so guilty—like you’ve committed a crime.”

“I feel guilty,” I muttered.

“So you seduced your all-too-willing husband. That’s not a capital offense.”

He seemed to be teasing.

My cheeks got hotter. “The word seduced implies a certain amount of premeditation.”

“Maybe that was the wrong word,” he allowed.

“You’re not angry?”

He smiled ruefully. “I’m not angry.”

“Why not?”

“Well...” He paused. “I didn’t hurt you, for one thing. It was easier this time, to control myself, to channel the excesses.” His eyes flickered to the damaged frame again. “Maybe because I had a better idea of what to expect.”

A hopeful smile started to spread across my face. “I told you that it was all about practice.”

He rolled his eyes.

My stomach growled, and he laughed. “Breakfast time for the human?” he asked.

“Please,” I said, hopping out of bed. I moved too quickly, though, and had to stagger drunkenly to regain my balance. He caught me before I could stumble into the dresser.

“Are you all right?”

“If I don’t have a better sense of equilibrium in my next life, I’m demanding a refund.”

I cooked this morning, frying up some eggs—too hungry to do anything more elaborate. Impatient, I flipped them onto a plate after just a few minutes.

“Since when do you eat eggs sunny-side up?” he asked.

“Since now.”

“Do you know how many eggs you’ve gone through in the last week?” He pulled the trash bin out from under the sink—it was full of empty blue cartons.

“Weird,” I said after swallowing a scorching bite. “This place is messing with my appetite.” And my dreams, and my already dubious balance. “But I like it here. We’ll probably have to leave soon, though, won’t we, to make it to Dartmouth in time? Wow, I guess we need to find a place to live and stuff, too.”

He sat down next to me. “You can give up the college pretense now—you’ve gotten what you wanted. And we didn’t agree to a deal, so there are no strings attached.”

I snorted. “It wasn’t a pretense, Edward. I don’t spend my free time plotting like some people do. What can we do to wear Bella out today? ” I said in a poor impression of his voice. He laughed, unashamed. “I really do want a little more time being human.” I leaned over to run my hand across his bare chest. “I have not had enough.”

He gave me a dubious look. “For this?” he asked, catching my hand as it moved down his stomach. “Sex was the key all along?” He rolled his eyes. “Why didn’t I think of that?” he muttered sarcastically. “I could have saved myself a lot of arguments.”

I laughed. “Yeah, probably.”

“You are so human,” he said again.

“I know.”

A hint of a smile pulled at his lips. “We’re going to Dartmouth? Really?”

“I’ll probably fail out in one semester.”

“I’ll tutor you.” The smile was wide now. “You’re going to love college.”

“Do you think we can find an apartment this late?”

He grimaced, looking guilty. “Well, we sort of already have a house there. You know, just in case.”

“You bought a house?”

“Real estate is a good investment.”

I raised one eyebrow and then let it go. “So we’re ready, then.”

“I’ll have to see if we can keep your ‘before’ car for a little longer....”

“Yes, heaven forbid I not be protected from tanks.”

He grinned.

“How much longer can we stay?” I asked.

“We’re fine on time. A few more weeks, if you want. And then we can visit Charlie before we go to New Hampshire. We could spend Christmas with Renée....”

His words painted a very happy immediate future, one free of pain for everyone involved. The Jacob-drawer, all but forgotten, rattled, and I amended the thought—for almost everyone.

This wasn’t getting any easier. Now that I’d discovered exactly how good being human could be, it was tempting to let my plans drift. Eighteen or nineteen, nineteen or twenty… Did it really matter? I wouldn’t change so much in a year. And being human with Edward… The choice got trickier every day.

“A few weeks,” I agreed. And then, because there never seemed to be enough time, I added, “So I was thinking—you know what I was saying about practice before?”

He laughed. “Can you hold on to that thought? I hear a boat. The cleaning crew must be here.”

He wanted me to hold on to that thought. So did that mean he was not going to give me any more trouble about practicing? I smiled.

“Let me explain the mess in the white room to Gustavo, and then we can go out. There’s a place in the jungle on the south—”

“I don’t want to go out. I am not hiking all over the island today. I want to stay here and watch a movie.”

He pursed his lips, trying not to laugh at my disgruntled tone. “All right, whatever you’d like. Why don’t you pick one out while I get the door?”

“I didn’t hear a knock.”

He cocked his head to the side, listening. A half second later, a faint, timid rap on the door sounded. He grinned and turned for the hallway.

I wandered over to the shelves under the big TV and started scanning through the titles. It was hard to decide where to begin. They had more DVDs than a rental store.

I could hear Edward’s low, velvet voice as he came back down the hall, conversing fluidly in what I assumed was perfect Portuguese. Another, harsher, human voice answered in the same tongue.

Edward led them into the room, pointing toward the kitchen on his way. The two Brazilians looked incredibly short and dark next to him. One was a round man, the other a slight female, both their faces creased with lines. Edward gestured to me with a proud smile, and I heard my name mixed in with a flurry of unfamiliar words. I flushed a little as I thought of the downy mess in the white room, which they would soon encounter. The little man smiled at me politely.

But the tiny coffee-skinned woman didn’t smile. She stared at me with a mixture of shock, worry, and most of all, wide-eyed fear. Before I could react, Edward motioned for them to follow him toward the chicken coop, and they were gone.

When he reappeared, he was alone. He walked swiftly to my side and wrapped his arms around me.

“What’s with her?” I whispered urgently, remembering her panicked expression.

He shrugged, unperturbed. “Kaure’s part Ticuna Indian. She was raised to be more superstitious—or you could call it more aware—than those who live in the modern world. She suspects what I am, or close enough.” He still didn’t sound worried. “They have their own legends here. The Libishomen —a blood-drinking demon who preys exclusively on beautiful women.” He leered at me.

Beautiful women only? Well, that was kind of flattering.

“She looked terrified,” I said.

“She is—but mostly she’s worried about you.”

“Me?”

“She’s afraid of why I have you here, all alone.” He chuckled darkly and then looked toward the wall of movies. “Oh well, why don’t you choose something for us to watch? That’s an acceptably human thing to do.”

“Yes, I’m sure a movie will convince her that you’re human.” I laughed and clasped my arms securely around his neck, stretching up on my tiptoes. He leaned down so that I could kiss him, and then his arms tightened around me, lifting me off the floor so he didn’t have to bend.

“Movie, schmovie,” I muttered as his lips moved down my throat, twisting my fingers in his bronze hair.

Then I heard a gasp, and he put me down abruptly. Kaure stood frozen in the hallway, feathers in her black hair, a large sack of more feathers in her arms, an expression of horror on her face. She stared at me, her eyes bugging out, as I blushed and looked down. Then she recovered herself and murmured something that, even in an unfamiliar language, was clearly an apology. Edward smiled and answered in a friendly tone. She turned her dark eyes away and continued down the hall.

“She was thinking what I think she was thinking, wasn’t she?” I muttered.

He laughed at my convoluted sentence. “Yes.”

“Here,” I said, reaching out at random and grabbing a movie. “Put this on and we can pretend to watch it.”

It was an old musical with smiling faces and fluffy dresses on the front.

“Very honeymoonish,” Edward approved.

While actors on the screen danced their way through a perky introduction song, I lolled on the sofa, snuggled into Edward’s arms.

“Will we move back into the white room now?” I wondered idly.

“I don’t know.… I’ve already mangled the headboard in the other room beyond repair—maybe if we limit the destruction to one area of the house, Esme might invite us back someday.”

I smiled widely. “So there will be more destruction?”

He laughed at my expression. “I think it might be safer if it’s premeditated, rather than if I wait for you to assault me again.”

“It would only be a matter of time,” I agreed casually, but my pulse was racing in my veins.

“Is there something the matter with your heart?”

“Nope. Healthy as a horse.” I paused. “Did you want to go survey the demolition zone now?”

“Maybe it would be more polite to wait until we’re alone. You may not notice me tearing the furniture apart, but it would probably scare them.”

In truth, I’d already forgotten the people in the other room. “Right. Drat.”

Gustavo and Kaure moved quietly through the house while I waited impatiently for them to finish and tried to pay attention to the happily-ever-after on the screen. I was starting to get sleepy—though, according to Edward, I’d slept half the day—when a rough voice startled me. Edward sat up, keeping me cradled against him, and answered Gustavo in flowing Portuguese. Gustavo nodded and walked quietly toward the front door.

“They’re finished,” Edward told me.

“So that would mean that we’re alone now?”

“How about lunch first?” he suggested.

I bit my lip, torn by the dilemma. I was pretty hungry.

With a smile, he took my hand and led me to the kitchen. He knew my face so well, it didn’t matter that he couldn’t read my mind.

“This is getting out of hand,” I complained when I finally felt full.

“Do you want to swim with the dolphins this afternoon—burn off the calories?” he asked.

“Maybe later. I had another idea for burning calories.”

“And what was that?”

“Well, there’s an awful lot of headboard left—”

But I didn’t finish. He’d already swept me up into his arms, and his lips silenced mine as he carried me with inhuman speed to the blue room.

7. UNEXPECTED

The line of black advanced on me through the shroud-like mist. I could see their dark ruby eyes glinting with desire, lusting for the kill. Their lips pulled back over their sharp, wet teeth—some to snarl, some to smile.

I heard the child behind me whimper, but I couldn’t turn to look at him. Though I was desperate to be sure that he was safe, I could not afford any lapse in focus now.

They ghosted closer, their black robes billowing slightly with the movement. I saw their hands curl into bone-colored claws. They started to drift apart, angling to come at us from all sides. We were surrounded. We were going to die.

And then, like a burst of light from a flash, the whole scene was different. Yet nothing changed—the Volturi still stalked toward us, poised to kill. All that really changed was how the picture looked to me. Suddenly, I was hungry for it. I wanted them to charge. The panic changed to bloodlust as I crouched forward, a smile on my face, and a growl ripped through my bared teeth.

I jolted upright, shocked out of the dream.

The room was black. It was also steamy hot. Sweat matted my hair at the temples and rolled down my throat.

I groped the warm sheets and found them empty.

“Edward?”

Just then, my fingers encountered something smooth and flat and stiff. One sheet of paper, folded in half. I took the note with me and felt my way across the room to the light switch.

The outside of the note was addressed to Mrs. Cullen.

I’m hoping you won’t wake and notice my absence, but, if you should, I’ll be back very soon. I’ve just gone to the mainland to hunt. Go back to sleep and I’ll be here when you wake again. I love you.

I sighed. We’d been here about two weeks now, so I should have been expecting that he would have to leave, but I hadn’t been thinking about time. We seemed to exist outside of time here, just drifting along in a perfect state.

I wiped the sweat off my forehead. I felt absolutely wide awake, though the clock on the dresser said it was after one. I knew I would never be able to sleep as hot and sticky as I felt. Not to mention the fact that if I shut off the light and closed my eyes, I was sure to see those prowling black figures in my head.

I got up and wandered aimlessly through the dark house, flipping on lights. It felt so big and empty without Edward there. Different.

I ended up in the kitchen and decided that maybe comfort food was what I needed.

I poked around in the fridge until I found all the ingredients for fried chicken. The popping and sizzling of the chicken in the pan was a nice, homey sound; I felt less nervous while it filled the silence.

It smelled so good that I started eating it right out of the pan, burning my tongue in the process. By the fifth or sixth bite, though, it had cooled enough for me to taste it. My chewing slowed. Was there something off about the flavor? I checked the meat, and it was white all the way through, but I wondered if it was completely done. I took another experimental bite; I chewed twice. Ugh—definitely bad. I jumped up to spit it into the sink. Suddenly, the chicken-and-oil smell was revolting. I took the whole plate and shook it into the garbage, then opened the windows to chase away the scent. A coolish breeze had picked up outside. It felt good on my skin.

I was abruptly exhausted, but I didn’t want to go back to the hot room. So I opened more windows in the TV room and lay on the couch right beneath them. I turned on the same movie we’d watched the other day and quickly fell asleep to the bright opening song.

When I opened my eyes again, the sun was halfway up the sky, but it was not the light that woke me. Cool arms were around me, pulling me against him. At the same time, a sudden pain twisted in my stomach, almost like the aftershock of catching a punch in the gut.

“I’m sorry,” Edward was murmuring as he wiped a wintry hand across my clammy forehead. “So much for thoroughness. I didn’t think about how hot you would be with me gone. I’ll have an air conditioner installed before I leave again.”

I couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying. “Excuse me!” I gasped, struggling to get free of his arms.

He dropped his hold automatically. “Bella?”

I streaked for the bathroom with my hand clamped over my mouth. I felt so horrible that I didn’t even care—at first—that he was with me while I crouched over the toilet and was violently sick.

“Bella? What’s wrong?”

I couldn’t answer yet. He held me anxiously, keeping my hair out of my face, waiting till I could breathe again.

“Damn rancid chicken,” I moaned.

“Are you all right?” His voice was strained.

“Fine,” I panted. “It’s just food poisoning. You don’t need to see this. Go away.”

“Not likely, Bella.”

“Go away,” I moaned again, struggling to get up so I could rinse my mouth out. He helped me gently, ignoring the weak shoves I aimed at him.

After my mouth was clean, he carried me to the bed and sat me down carefully, supporting me with his arms.

“Food poisoning?”

“Yeah,” I croaked. “I made some chicken last night. It tasted off, so I threw it out. But I ate a few bites first.”

He put a cold hand on my forehead. It felt nice. “How do you feel now?”

I thought about that for a moment. The nausea had passed as suddenly as it had come, and I felt like I did any other morning. “Pretty normal. A little hungry, actually.”

He made me wait an hour and keep down a big glass of water before he fried me some eggs. I felt perfectly normal, just a little tired from being up in the middle of the night. He put on CNN—we’d been so out of touch, world war three could have broken out and we wouldn’t have known—and I lounged drowsily across his lap.

I got bored with the news and twisted around to kiss him. Just like this morning, a sharp pain hit my stomach when I moved. I lurched away from him, my hand tight over my mouth. I knew I’d never make it to the bathroom this time, so I ran to the kitchen sink.

He held my hair again.

“Maybe we should go back to Rio, see a doctor,” he suggested anxiously when I was rinsing my mouth afterward.

I shook my head and edged toward the hallway. Doctors meant needles. “I’ll be fine right after I brush my teeth.”

When my mouth tasted better, I searched through my suitcase for the little first-aid kit Alice had packed for me, full of human things like bandages and painkillers and—my object now—Pepto-Bismol. Maybe I could settle my stomach and calm Edward down.

But before I found the Pepto, I happened across something else that Alice had packed for me. I picked up the small blue box and stared at it in my hand for a long moment, forgetting everything else.

Then I started counting in my head. Once. Twice. Again.

The knock startled me; the little box fell back into the suitcase.

“Are you well?” Edward asked through the door. “Did you get sick again?”

“Yes and no,” I said, but my voice sounded strangled.

“Bella? Can I please come in?” Worriedly now.

“O… kay?”

He came in and appraised my position, sitting cross-legged on the floor by the suitcase, and my expression, blank and staring. He sat next to me, his hand going to my forehead at once.

“What’s wrong?”

“How many days has it been since the wedding?” I whispered.

“Seventeen,” he answered automatically. “Bella, what is it?”

I was counting again. I held up a finger, cautioning him to wait, and mouthed the numbers to myself. I’d been wrong about the days before. We’d been here longer than I’d thought. I started over again.

“Bella!” he whispered urgently. “I’m losing my mind over here.”

I tried to swallow. It didn’t work. So I reached into the suitcase and fumbled around until I found the little blue box of tampons again. I held them up silently.

He stared at me in confusion. “What? Are you trying to pass this illness off as PMS?”

“No,” I managed to choke out. “No, Edward. I’m trying to tell you that my period is five days late.”

His facial expression didn’t change. It was like I hadn’t spoken.

“I don’t think I have food poisoning,” I added.

He didn’t respond. He had turned into a sculpture.

“The dreams,” I mumbled to myself in a flat voice. “Sleeping so much. The crying. All that food. Oh. Oh. Oh. ”

Edward’s stare seemed glassy, as if he couldn’t see me anymore.

Reflexively, almost involuntarily, my hand dropped to my stomach.

“Oh!” I squeaked again.

I lurched to my feet, slipping out of Edward’s unmoving hands. I’d never changed out of the little silk shorts and camisole I’d worn to bed. I yanked the blue fabric out of the way and stared at my stomach.

“Impossible,” I whispered.

I had absolutely no experience with pregnancy or babies or any part of that world, but I wasn’t an idiot. I’d seen enough movies and TV shows to know that this wasn’t how it worked. I was only five days late. If I was pregnant, my body wouldn’t even have registered that fact. I would not have morning sickness. I would not have changed my eating or sleeping habits.

And I most definitely would not have a small but defined bump sticking out between my hips.

I twisted my torso back and forth, examining it from every angle, as if it would disappear in exactly the right light. I ran my fingers over the subtle bulge, surprised by how rock hard it felt under my skin.

“Impossible,” I said again, because, bulge or no bulge, period or no period (and there was definitely no period, though I’d never been late a day in my life), there was no way I could be pregnant. The only person I’d ever had sex with was a vampire, for crying out loud.

A vampire who was still frozen on the floor with no sign of ever moving again.

So there had to be some other explanation, then. Something wrong with me. A strange South American disease with all the signs of pregnancy, only accelerated…

And then I remembered something—a morning of internet research that seemed a lifetime ago now. Sitting at the old desk in my room at Charlie’s house with gray light glowing dully through the window, staring at my ancient, wheezing computer, reading avidly through a web-site called “Vampires A–Z.” It had been less than twenty-four hours since Jacob Black, trying to entertain me with the Quileute legends he didn’t believe in yet, had told me that Edward was a vampire. I’d scanned anxiously through the first entries on the site, which was dedicated to vampire myths around the world. The Filipino Danag, the Hebrew Estrie, the Romanian Varacolaci, the Italian Stregoni benefici (a legend actually based on my new father-in-law’s early exploits with the Volturi, not that I’d known anything about that at the time)… I’d paid less and less attention as the stories had grown more and more implausible. I only remembered vague bits of the later entries. They mostly seemed like excuses dreamed up to explain things like infant mortality rates—and infidelity. No, honey, I’m not having an affair! That sexy woman you saw sneaking out of the house was an evil succubus. I’m lucky I escaped with my life! (Of course, with what I knew now about Tanya and her sisters, I suspected that some of those excuses had been nothing but fact.) There had been one for the ladies, too. How can you accuse me of cheating on you—just because you’ve come home from a two-year sea voyage and I’m pregnant? It was the incubus. He hypnotized me with his mystical vampire powers. …

Дата добавления: 2015-10-30