The encounter with Astrid in Biology class – if one could call an intense, silent stare-down an encounter – had left a distinct imprint on my awareness. It wasn't fear, not exactly. It was more like the sudden realization that another player in this strange game knew I was holding more cards than I was showing. The silent nod she'd given was a loaded piece of punctuation I was still trying to decipher.
Edward, meanwhile, had apparently decided that ignoring Bella was his best strategy. He was present in Biology, a silent, brooding statue radiating misery from the far corner of the room. Bella, in turn, fluctuated between feigned indifference and furtive, confused glances in his direction. It was, to put it mildly, exhausting to observe, even from a distance. My primary concern was ensuring her angst didn't lead to her tripping into oncoming traffic or accidentally stapling her hand to her textbook.
A few days later, I was leaving the local library, a couple of borrowed books on Pacific Northwest folklore under my arm – research, of a sort. The rain had paused, leaving the air smelling of damp earth and pine. As I stepped out onto the sidewalk, a figure detached itself from the shadows of the alleyway beside the building.
Astrid Cullen.
Her silver-white hair seemed to absorb the weak afternoon light, and her golden eyes, vivid even in the gloom, were fixed on me. She wasn't wearing sunglasses. Lucky her.
"Alex Swan," she said, her voice low and smooth, like stones shifting in a riverbed. It held no discernible accent, just a clear, precise cadence.
"Astrid Cullen," I replied, keeping my tone level. My sunglasses, as always, were firmly in place. "Fancy meeting you here. Slumming it with the literary types?"
A faint ghost of a smile touched her lips, gone as quickly as it appeared. "I find libraries… calming. Less noise."
"Can't argue with that," I said. "High school hallways are a sensory assault weapon." I paused. "You waiting for me, or is this a happy coincidence?"
"Perhaps a bit of both," she admitted, taking a step closer. She stopped a respectful few feet away. The subtle chill I associated with her kind was present, along with that faint, almost electric hum. "You intrigue me, Alex Swan."
"I get that a lot," I quipped, shifting the books under my arm. "It's usually the sunglasses. Makes people wonder if I'm incredibly cool or just have a persistent hangover."
Her golden eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger, but in thought. "It's more than the sunglasses. You watch. More intently than others."
"Occupational hazard of being an older brother to someone as… navigationally challenged as Bella," I said, trying for a light deflection. "Someone has to anticipate the potential for disaster."
"Is that all?" she pressed, her gaze unwavering. "You watch us. My family."
I leaned against the brick wall of the library, affecting an air of casual indifference I didn't entirely feel. "You're the new, shiny, mysterious family in a town where the biggest excitement is usually the annual Elk Fest. Of course people watch you. You're practically local celebrities."
"And you're not 'people,' are you?" Astrid stated, not asked. Her voice dropped even lower. "Not entirely."
My internal alarm bells didn't so much ring as play a full orchestral score. This was direct. Far more direct than I'd anticipated. "That's a rather bold assumption, Ms. Cullen. What makes you say that?"
"The way you move, sometimes. Too quick, too quiet for a moment. The way you reacted when Edward… when he first sensed your sister." Her eyes flicked towards the street, then back to me. "You were… aware. More than aware. And your eyes, behind those glasses. I sense they're not the usual shade of brown or blue."
Damn, she's perceptive, I thought. Or maybe Alice had given her a heads-up. "Maybe I just have really good reflexes and a prescription for tinted lenses. Ever think of that?"
Astrid tilted her head. "The scent from the woods behind your house sometimes. After a storm. It's not just deer or raccoon. It's… satisfied. Predatory. But not like us."
My jaw tightened fractionally. She was good. Very good. "You spend a lot of time sniffing around my backyard, Cullen?"
"We spend a lot of time in the forests," she corrected smoothly. "It's difficult not to notice anomalies. And you, Alex Swan, are an anomaly."
I pushed off the wall. Time to turn the tables, or at least muddy the waters. "Speaking of anomalies, you're not exactly standard Cullen issue yourself, are you? The silver hair is a bit of a giveaway. And you don't quite fit the 'sparkly, happy family' vibe as seamlessly as the others."
Her expression didn't change, but I thought I saw a flicker in those golden depths. "We all have our unique attributes."
"Indeed we do," I agreed. "So, what's the point of this little Q&A session, Astrid? You going to report me to the neighborhood watch for being 'not entirely human'?"
"I'm curious," she said simply. "In a world with beings like my family, the existence of other… variations… is not entirely unexpected. Just rare. And usually, they don't attend Forks High School or act as bodyguards for clumsy human girls."
"Bella's not that clumsy," I defended, a genuine note of brotherly indignation creeping in. "She just has an antagonistic relationship with gravity. And I'm not her bodyguard. I'm her brother. There's a difference."
"Is there?" Astrid murmured, her gaze thoughtful. "Protectiveness can take many forms." She paused, then said, "My family is… cautious. They haven't sensed what I have. Or if Alice has, she hasn't shared the specifics. Perhaps she doesn't understand them."
"And you do?"
"I have a… broader perspective on possibilities," she said cryptically. "Carlisle has encountered many things in his long existence. But nothing quite like what I suspect you are."
"And what do you suspect I am?" I challenged, keeping my voice even. My hand, hidden in my jacket pocket, curled into a fist. I could feel the faint thrum of my own power, a coiled readiness.
"Something old," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Something that drinks, but isn't driven mad by thirst in the same way. Something that walks in the sun without… consequences." She looked pointedly at my sunglasses. "Or perhaps with different ones."
I let out a slow breath. She wasn't accusing, not exactly. She was… hypothesizing. And getting uncomfortably close to the truth. "You have a vivid imagination, Astrid."
"Perhaps," she conceded. "Consider this a professional courtesy, then. Some of my family, particularly Edward when it comes to your sister, can be… volatile. Unpredictable. If you are what I think you are, and your intentions are to protect her, then our goals may align. Or they may catastrophically collide."
"Is that a threat?" My tone hardened slightly.
"A statement of fact," she replied, her gaze unwavering. "My family protects its own. And Edward considers Bella… under his protection, however misguidedly and erratically he's currently demonstrating it."
"She doesn't need his protection," I stated flatly. "Especially not when his idea of 'protection' involves staring at her like she's a particularly appetising meal he's trying not to eat, then running away like a scalded cat."
A corner of Astrid's mouth twitched. "His methods are… unorthodox. He's struggling."
"We're all struggling with something, Cullen." I pushed away from the wall. "Look, I appreciate the… heads-up, or whatever this was. But Bella's my sister. I look out for her. It's what brothers do. What I am or am not beyond that is my business."
"Fair enough," Astrid said, inclining her head slightly. "But know this, Alex Swan: I see more than you think. And in a town this small, secrets have a way of coming to light." She then turned and melted back into the alley's shadows as silently as she had appeared, leaving me with the lingering scent of winter air and a head full of uneasy thoughts.
"Well, that was… illuminating," I muttered to myself once she was gone, my usual sarcasm feeling a little strained. She hadn't named me, hadn't accused me outright of being a vampire, but she knew. Or at least, she had a damn good idea. And she wasn't scared. Intrigued, yes. Cautious, perhaps. But not scared. That made her more dangerous, or at least, more unpredictable, than any of the other Cullens.
Later that evening, Bella cornered me in the kitchen. Charlie was out on a late shift. She was clutching a glass of water like a lifeline, her knuckles white.
"Alex, I need to talk to you," she said, her voice tight.
"What's up, Bells? Did Mike Newton finally confess his undying love via interpretive dance?" I was trying to keep things light, but her expression was genuinely distressed.
"It's Edward," she said, predictably. "He… he talked to me today."
"Ah," I said, leaning against the counter. "And let me guess, it was a whirlwind of coherent conversation and charming social graces?"
She scowled. "No. It was… weird. He was weird. He told me we shouldn't be friends. That it would be better if I didn't associate with him."
"Self-awareness. Impressive for a teenager," I commented. "So? Problem solved, right? He stays away, you don't have to deal with the creepy staring. Everyone wins."
"But… why?" Bella almost wailed. "What did I do? He acts like I'm… like I'm toxic or something!"
I sighed. My poor, naive sister. So desperate for answers, so blind to the glaringly obvious supernatural neon sign flashing above Edward's head. "Bella, listen. Some people are just… complicated. Edward Cullen and his entire family are practically the dictionary definition of 'complicated.' Maybe he's got stuff going on you don't know about. Maybe he's just a moody jerk."
"But he saved me," she blurted out, then clamped her hand over her mouth as if she'd revealed a state secret.
My senses sharpened. "Saved you? Saved you from what?" Alex Swan's memories didn't have this information. This was new. This was after my 'arrival.'
Bella hesitated, then the words tumbled out. "In the parking lot. Tyler Crowley's van… it almost hit me. It was skidding. And Edward… he was across the lot, Alex. There was no way he could have gotten to me. But he did. He was just… there. And he pushed the van. With his hand." Her eyes were wide, her voice a mixture of awe and terror. "There was a dent in the van, shaped like his shoulder. And his hand. But he wasn't hurt. How is that possible?"
I kept my expression neutral, but internally, my mind was racing. So, Edward had already had his heroic moment. And Bella, despite her general obliviousness, wasn't stupid. She knew something was deeply wrong with that picture.
"Are you sure that's what you saw, Bells?" I asked, my voice carefully calm. "You weren't, you know, in shock? Maybe it just seemed like he pushed it."
"No!" she insisted. "I saw it. And then he told me not to tell anyone, that I must have hit my head. He tried to gaslight me!"
"Charming fellow," I muttered. So, he was already trying to cover his tracks, badly. "Okay. Let's say, for the sake of argument, that you saw what you think you saw. That Edward Cullen has… unusual strength." I watched her face. "What do you think that means?"
"I don't know!" she said, frustrated. "That's why I'm talking to you! You're… you're smart. You notice things. What could he be?"
This was my chance. I could steer her, plant seeds of doubt, or… "Bella," I said, meeting her gaze, my sunglasses reflecting her worried face. "Forks is a strange town. There are old stories, local legends. Things that don't quite fit into the normal world."
Her eyes widened slightly. "Like what?"
"Like things that are stronger than humans, faster. Things that don't get hurt easily." I paused. "You said he was cold, right? When he touched you?" She'd mentioned this detail in passing earlier in the week after a minor bump in the hallway.
She nodded slowly. "Yeah. Like ice."
"And his eyes? They change color, don't they?" This was a classic Meyerism, but also something Alex Swan might have picked up on from school gossip.
"I… I think so," she whispered. "Sometimes they're black, like when he was really angry at me. Other times, like today, they were… lighter. Golden."
"Interesting," I murmured. "Look, Bells, I'm not going to tell you what to think. But if someone tells you to stay away, especially someone who can apparently stop a speeding van with his bare hands and then tries to convince you you're crazy… maybe you should listen. At least be careful. Very careful."
"But I want to know why," she insisted, stubbornness flaring. "I want to know what he is."
"Curiosity killed the cat, sis," I warned gently. "And satisfaction might bring it back, but it'll probably be a very traumatised, possibly undead cat. Just… be smart about this. Don't go poking hornet nests."
She chewed on her lip, looking slightly less frantic but no less determined. "Okay. I'll be careful."
"Good." I hesitated, then decided to push a little further, thinking of Astrid's cryptic warning. "And it's not just Edward. His whole family… they're different. All of them. Including the quiet silver-haired one."
Bella frowned. "Astrid? What about her?"
"Just… keep your distance from all of them for a bit, okay? Until you, and maybe I, can figure out what exactly we're dealing with here." I was subtly including myself in the investigation, making it a shared endeavour. Maybe that would give her a sense of security, or at least make her feel less alone in her confusion.
"You think they're dangerous?" she asked, her voice small.
"I think anything that can play dodge ball with a Chevy van and walk away unscathed is potentially dangerous, yeah," I said dryly. "Just… be aware. And talk to me if anything else weird happens. Anything at all."
"Okay, Alex. Thanks." She looked a little more settled, though the cogs were clearly still turning in her head.
After she went up to her room, I let out a long, silent breath. The pieces were moving on the board. Edward was making his clumsy overtures and equally clumsy retreats. Bella was hooked, her curiosity thoroughly piqued. And Astrid Cullen was watching, an unknown quantity with an unsettlingly accurate read on me.
I walked to the window, looking out at the dark, rain-slicked street. My reflection stared back, the crimson glow of my eyes faintly visible even through the sunglasses in the dim kitchen light. Astrid had said my goals and her family's might align, or catastrophically collide. Given Edward's current trajectory and Bella's determination, collision seemed increasingly likely.
And I, Alex Swan, folklore vampire with a penchant for sarcasm and a very specific set of skills, was right in the middle of it. Fantastic. At least it wasn't boring. My only regret was that my folklore knowledge didn't come with a user manual for dealing with sparkling, angsty Cold Ones and their enigmatic, silver-haired siblings. This was going to require some serious improvisation.