AUGUST • C.CULLEN

nine

CARLISLE

1921, ASHLAND

Carlisle sits in his office, looking through paperwork from the practice, feeling August's warmth by his side. It's a particularly overcast day, and he's noticed August has been tense for the past week, communing with the trees more often than usual. Edward has as well, and having noticed his adoptive son has taken to August like a fish to water, Carlisle finds his eyes trailing across the young Vampire's form as it sits rigidly in the wicker chair across from him, golden eyes set on the Nymph.

His pen scratches across the paper in front of him despite his lack of focus.

August becomes rigid against Carlisle's arm at the same time that he smells the familiar earthy scent of August's blood, and the Doctor turns his eyes from the forms on his desk to his partner, his heart becoming heavy with worry as he notes August's vacant expression. "Auggie." The Nymph doesn't stir, and his lips pull down into a frown. "Auggie." Carlisle shakes his shoulders, gently cups his cheek. There's still no response. Edward sits upright, leaving his book discarded as he watches the two men with worried eyes.

"What's the matter?"

A tear rolls down August's cheek that mixes with the blood dripping from his nose as he stands. He begins to walk out of Carlisle's office, his eyes clouded over. The two Vampires in the room raise to their feet instantly, Carlisle's desk chair scraping against the hardwood floor and falling with a clatter in his panic. They exchange a look and Carlisle's mind races as he sees the pain in Edward's eyes.

"What did you hear?"

Edward shakes his head. "There's all this... whispering. I think it's the trees. But there's a phrase that was repeated over and over, loud enough for me to understand.." Edward's brow furrows as he meets Carlisle's eyes. "Carlisle, they kept talking about a girl, they said a - a name, uh.. Esme. They kept saying Esme."

Carlisle pales, feeling his heart leap to his throat. He grabs his medical bag from next to his desk, just in case. "We need to follow him."

Edward nods, and the two men follow August out of the front door.

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AUGUST

1921, ASHLAND

August has been feeling hollow for the better part of a week, now, finding himself somber and barely in the mood to leave bed most mornings.

The trees have been talking to him more, too. They have been loud.

So loud.

Even now, as he sits on the floor by Carlisle's desk chair, his stomach twists and dips and the room spins at his slightest movement. The silence in the study is contrasted greatly at the volume of the tree spirits in his mind, his heart aching, ears ringing, as he tries to decipher their screams. Through squinted eyes, he notices Edward's attentive eyes set on him, dark brows furrowed, and he stiffens as, sensing Edward's mental prodding, the tree's volume increases tenfold.

A tickle on his upper lip and the metallic taste of his blood in his mouth sends the world spinning, and then suddenly his vision is completely clear. But he's no longer in Carlisle's small study inside their cozy home, nor in his front garden, tending to the gardenias under the watchful eyes of Edward.

No. Now, August realises, he stands at the edge of the cliffs. A woman stands at his side, a small, still, bundle wrapped tightly in her arms, and the trees wail mournfully.

"Esme!" One cries.

"The poor girl."

"Her daughter! Her poor, poor, baby!"