I wished there was something safe for me to think about. I couldn't allow myself to consider the horrors we were headed toward, or, more horrific yet, the chance that we might fail-not if I wanted to keep from screaming aloud.
I couldn't anticipate anything, either. Maybe, if I were very, very, very lucky, I would somehow be able to save Edward. But I wasn't so stupid as to think that saving him would mean that I could stay with him. I was no different, no more special than I'd been before. There would be no new reason for him to want me now. Seeing him and losing him again . . .
I fought back against the pain. This was the price I had to pay to save his life. I would pay it.
They showed a movie, and my neighbor got headphones. Sometimes I watched the figures moving across the little screen, but I couldn't even tell if the movie was supposed to be a romance or a horror film.
After an eternity, the plane began to descend toward New York City. Alice remained in her trance. I dithered, reaching out to touch her, only to pull my hand back again. This happened a dozen times before the plane touched town with a jarring impact.
"Alice," I finally said. "Alice, we have to go."
I touched her arm.
Her eyes came open very slowly. She shook her head from side to side for a moment.
"Anything new?" I asked in a low voice, conscious of the man listening on the other side of me.
"Not exactly," she breathed in a voice I could barely catch. "He's getting closer. He's deciding how he's going to ask."
We had to run for our connection, but that was good-better than having to wait. As soon as the plane was in the air, Alice closed her eyes and slid back into the same stupor as before. I waited as patiently as I could. When it was dark again, I opened the window to stare out into the flat black that was no better than the window shade.
I was grateful that I'd had so many months' practice with controlling my thoughts. Instead of dwelling on the terrifying possibilities that, no matter what Alice said, I did not intend to survive, I concentrated on lesser problems. Like, what was I going to say to Charlie if I got back? That was a thorny enough problem to occupy several hours. And Jacob? He'd promised to wait for me, but did that promise still apply? Would I end up home alone in Forks, with no one at all? Maybe I didn't want to survive, no matter what happened.
It felt like seconds later when Alice shook my shoulder-I hadn't realized I'd fallen asleep.
"Bella," she hissed, her voice a little too loud in the darkened cabin full of sleeping humans.
I wasn't disoriented-I hadn't been out long enough for that.
"What's wrong?"
Alice's eyes gleamed in the dim light of a reading lamp in the row behind us.
"It's not wrong." She smiled fiercely. "It's right. They're deliberating, but they've decided to tell him no."
"The Volturi?" I muttered, groggy.
"Of course, Bella, keep up. I can see what they're going to say."
"Tell me."
An attendant tiptoed down the aisle to us. "Can I get you ladies a pillow?" His hushed whisper was a rebuke to our comparatively loud conversation.
"No, thank you." Alice beamed at up at him, her smile shockingly lovely. The attendant's expression was dazed as he turned and stumbled his way back.
"Tell me," I breathed almost silently.
She whispered into my ear. "They're interested in him-they think his talent could be useful. They're going to offer him a place with them."
"What will he say?"
"I can't see that yet, but I'll bet it's colorful." She grinned again. "This is the first good news-the first break. They're intrigued; they truly don't want to destroy him-'wasteful,' that's the word Aro will use-and that may be enough to force him to get creative. The longer he spends on his plans, the better for us."
It wasn't enough to make me hopeful, to make me feel the relief she obviously felt. There were still so many ways that we could be too late. And if I didn't get through the walls into the Volturi city, I wouldn't be able to stop Alice from dragging me back home.
"Alice?"
"What?"
"I'm confused. How are you seeing this so clearly? And then other times, you see things far away-things that don't happen?"
Her eyes tightened. I wondered if she guessed what I was thinking of.
"It's clear because it's immediate and close, and I'm really concentrating. The faraway things that come on their own-those are just glimpses, faint maybes. Plus, I see my kind more easily than yours. Edward is even easier because I'm so attuned to him."
"You see me sometimes," I reminded her.
She shook her head. "Not as clearly."
I sighed. "I really wish you could have been right about me. In the beginning, when you first saw things about me, before we even met . . ."