 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 d