I was very still, remembering how pointedly Edward had demonstrated the same concept for me in the meadow.
She smiled a wide, ominous smile. “We have another fairly superfluous weapon. We’re also venomous,” she said, her teeth glistening. “The venom doesn’t kill — it’s merely incapacitating. It works slowly, spreading through the bloodstream, so that, once bitten, our prey is in too much physical pain to escape us. Mostly superfluous, as I said. If we’re that close, the prey doesn’t escape. Of course, there are always exceptions. Carlisle, for example.”
“So . . . if the venom is left to spread . . . ,” I murmured.
“It takes a few days for the transformation to be complete, depending on how much venom is in the bloodstream, how close the venom enters to the heart. As long as the heart keeps beating, the poison spreads, healing, changing the body as it moves through it. Eventually the heart stops, and the conversion is finished. But all that time, every minute of it, a victim would be wishing for death.”
I shivered.
“It’s not pleasant, you see.”
“Edward said that it was very hard to do . . . I don’t quite understand,” I said.
“We’re also like sharks in a way. Once we taste the blood, or even smell it for that matter, it becomes very hard to keep from feeding. Sometimes impossible. So you see, to actually bite someone, to taste the blood, it would begin the frenzy. It’s difficult on both sides — the bloodlust on the one hand, the awful pain on the other.”
“Why do you think you don’t remember?”
“I don’t know. For everyone else, the pain of transformation is the sharpest memory they have of their human life. I remember nothing of being human.” Her voice was wistful.
We lay silently, wrapped in our individual meditations.
The seconds ticked by, and I had almost forgotten her presence, I was so enveloped in my thoughts.
Then, without any warning, Alice leaped from the bed, landing lightly on her feet. My head jerked up as I stared at her, startled.
“Something’s changed.” Her voice was urgent, and she wasn’t talking to me anymore.
She reached the door at the same time Jasper did. He had obviously heard our conversation and her sudden exclamation. He put his hands on her shoulders and guided her back to the bed, sitting her on the edge.
“What do you see?” he asked intently, staring into her eyes. Her eyes were focused on something very far away. I sat close to her, leaning in to catch her low, quick voice.
“I see a room. It’s long, and there are mirrors everywhere. The floor is wooden. He’s in the room, and he’s waiting. There’s gold . . . a gold stripe across the mirrors.”
“Where is the room?”
“I don’t know. Something is missing — another decision hasn’t been made yet.”
“How much time?”
“It’s soon. He’ll be in the mirror room today, or maybe tomorrow. It all depends. He’s waiting for something. And he’s in the dark now.”
Jasper’s voice was calm, methodical, as he questioned her in a practiced way. “What is he doing?”
“He’s watching TV . . . no, he’s running a VCR, in the dark, in another place.”
“Can you see where he is?”
“No, it’s too dark.”
“And the mirror room, what else is there?”
“Just the mirrors, and the gold. It’s a band, around the room. And there’s a black table with a big stereo, and a TV. He’s touching the VCR there, but he doesn’t watch the way he does in the dark room. This is the room where he waits.” Her eyes drifted, then focused on Jasper’s face.
“There’s nothing else?”
She shook her head. They looked at each other, motionless.
“What does it mean?” I asked.
Neither of them answered for a moment, then Jasper looked at me.
“It means the tracker’s plans have changed. He’s made a decision that will lead him to the mirror room, and the dark room.”
“But we don’t know where those rooms are?”
“No.”
“But we do know that he won’t be in the mountains north of Washington, being hunted. He’ll elude them.” Alice’s voice was bleak.
“Should we call?” I asked. They traded a serious look, undecided.
And the phone rang.
Alice was across the room before I could lift my head to look at it.
She pushed a button and held the phone to her ear, but she didn’t speak first.
“Carlisle,” she breathed. She didn’t seem surprised or relieved, the way I felt.
“Yes,” she said, glancing at me. She listened for a long moment.