Mortality

A Clean Break

A house reaches out from the ground, covered in moss, vines, and flowers, with a deep porch that encircles the entire first floor. It's an amalgam of both my expectations and what I never would have imagined. Definitely a century or more old, Victorian in style perhaps at the base of the house. But there are additions, the top two floors no doubt being the biggest, that come straight of the modern era. Smoke rises from a brick chimney, and I can only take that as a sign that at least someone is home.

With the average age of a vampire being Old-As-Shit, any of them should be able to set my arm.

We exit the car, my ears pricking at the sound of a nearby stream. Charlie takes my good hand and we start up the walkway, surrounded by well cared for wildflowers.

"Wow..."

"Yeah, that's about what I said when I first came here."

"It's amazing!" I gawk, keeping my pulsing hand close to my chest. He chuckles.

"C'mon, before someone rushes us." Charlie stops at the door and moves to knock. It slides open to my surprise, Alice Brandon greeting us with wide eyes. "Told ya."

"Oh my God, Bella! I'll get Carlisle, get in here. Emmett, I told you someone got hurt!" She's gone before her sentence finishes, so we let ourselves in.

It's even more spectacular than the exterior. It's bright, open, with books and papers scattered across various surfaces. The seating varies vastly, from truly antique fainting couches to a La-Z-Boy that Charlie no doubt envies. And in the center, a sunken-in meeting place with two half-moon couches and a fire pit. But nothing seems extravagant. Yeah, a little cluttered — I haven't seen so many knickknacks in one space — but it looks collected. And the artwork isn't anything I've seen before. Beautiful, flowing abstracts and florals in bright colors. And the furniture is original vintage, judging by the wear-and-tear, or from an Ikea catalogue.

On the far wall, just beyond a small kitchen, is a massive wall made of glass; melting the forest into the interior of the house, creating the illusion of being in the trees. Along the top of the walls, fairy lights gleam, lanterns hang, and photographs dance in the light air conditioning breeze. This place ... it must look like a dream at night.

A pair appear from the corner of my eye, and my breath is caught. I've seen Carlisle Cullen before, both in person and in dreams, but his youth continues to strike me. He's relaxed, clothing loose and body language hanging. His blonde waves kiss his shoulders, and his lips kiss the cheek of the beautiful woman beside him.

This must be Esme. Her face is older than his, with a divine grace that only an angel could possess. Her skin, dark as night, contrasts with the paleness of Carlisle to a near extreme. On her clothes and face, various colors of paint. And if it's in her hair, I can't tell. The braids tight on her scalp are in every shade of the rainbow.

Carlisle's face, unlike Esme's warm grin, has become severe.

"Isabella, this is unprecedented. What happened?" I bite my lip and look at Charlie, who has tensed visibly. Carlisle looks between the two of us and shakes his head. "Ah well, we'll take care of this, and then discuss the details. Come along, Ms. Swan. My beloved can keep Charlie under control."

Esme giggles. Her voice is light, like wind-chimes. "Of course, darling. It's good to meet you, Bella." Carlisle taps my good hand and nods for me to follow, and we leave the warmth of the family room, and tuck away into a little infirmary hidden just under the stairway. He closes the door and crosses his arms.

"I know Edward said you were clumsy, but if Charlie brought you here, well, I could only assume the worst." His accent grows thicker with every word. He takes down a kit from an upper cabinet — the entire room full of antique and modern medical equipment — and sets it on the worn pine desk. "But at least he isn't here right now ... he would be in a panic if he saw you injured."