AN: Just a heads up, my next chapter might be a little delayed. Sorry! Hope you're still enjoying the story!

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION

…

There is one among the guard…

Her name is Chelsea.

She has influence over the emotional ties between people.

She can both loosen and secure these ties.

She could make someone feel bonded to the Volturi, to want to belong, to want to please them. . .

- Edward, Breaking Dawn Chapter 31

…

I wanted to help everyone feel better about Alice being back, so Chelsea and I worked our way, systematically, through the whole fortress, starting with the lowest level, and moving up. That way we'd be sure to run into everyone.

Well, everyone minus two. Demetri, who was already out looking for Caius' son, Theodore. And Heidi, gone to check on the Volturi's private jet. But I was sure I could tell Chelsea to tackle them later.

We went to the sparring room first. The long descent down the ancient, spiral staircase to the lowest floor of the Volturi fortress was made short by our inhuman speed. And the double doors stood right in front of the base of stairs, as huge and imposing as ever.

As soon as Chelsea yanked the iron ring handles, throwing the doors open, it was obvious that the room was empty. She pivoted in place, turning around immediately, seeing no reason to waste time. But I lingered for a moment before I shut the doors, marveling. The towering walls, four stories high, lined red plastic mats, seemed even further apart than before with no one standing between them.

It was only a short walk from there to the library. We crossed the dim, narrow stone corridor in half a second. And then we stood in front of another pair of equally large, though slightly less sturdy, double doors.

Chelsea went in alone—since I wasn't allowed inside—closing the grand, old doors behind her. I stayed behind, in the hallway that linked the two rooms and the catacombs, fidgeting anxiously.

Rather than immediately walking out, Chelsea lingered in the library for a few minutes. So I surmised there must be a few Volturi members in there. Members she was taking her time to use her powers on.

While she did her work, I slowly approached the catacombs. There was no door separating them from the hallway—only a stone arch that led into a wider room, cold and wet like the sewers.

When I stepped inside, I was impressed by how much of the texture of the stone I could feel, even through my boots; once gritty, but worn almost completely smooth by hundreds, if not thousands of years of moisture. The main room of the catacombs was large. But several smaller rooms were tucked away in the corners. I paced through the space, looking down the moist, stone walls, until I found the room I was looking for.

The door was a foot thick, and made entirely of metal. A huge beam of metal as thick around as my arm spanned horizontally across it, acting as a deadbolt. And when I went to lift it, I discovered it was heavy. Despite my new strength, which would allow me to lift a car over my head no problem, I actually had to heave with all my might to lift the bolt.

I gritted my teeth and hefted the beam. Once it was free of the hooks securing it to the wall, I tottered backwards with the beam in my arms. The density of the metal was so extreme it disrupted my balance and threatened to drag me down.

Eager not to get trapped under such a massive, heavy object, I laid the beam on the ground as quickly as I could without breaking the stone floor. Then I approached the door—which I discovered was heavy, too. I had to lean into it in order to push it open.

The metal door groaned loudly as it scraped slowly across the stones. When it finally stood open wide enough for me to slip inside, I shivered. And not because of the cold.

The last time I'd seen this room in Carlisle's memories, a few tall iron candelabras and two lines of old metal cots had been spaced along the walls. Each of the cots had been decorated with dingy, stained sheets. And each had housed a freshly-turned, golden-eyed vampire.

Now, of course, it was empty. Not even a single errant bloodstain on the floor to sever as a reminder. But even thought all physical evidence of their presence was gone, I couldn't help but remember all the newborns who'd once been kept here during Carlisle's experiment.

Especially the half that had died as a result.

Chen. Ting. Kalifa. Yvonne. Zain. Mel.

I studied each of their gorgeous, immortal faces in my mind's eye, startled by how perfectly I could recall them, even when the memories weren't my own. I remembered Yvonne's long nose and striking blonde hair. Chen's strong eyebrows and cheeky smile. Ting's small lips and soft, round face. Zain's strong jaw, and bald head. Kalifa's dreadlocks, and wide forehead. Mel's Grecian nose and curly brown locks.

And even more, I remembered how those same faces had twisted. First with agony. Then with rage. Then with the all-consuming madness of thirst. Before their eyes had turned into obsidian wells. And they'd stopped moving at all, only gazing emptily at the ancient stone ceiling above me.

I felt venom stinging the corners of my eyes. Sure, I hadn't known any of them personally. And Aro had elected not to share their lifetimes' worth of thoughts with me, so I couldn't even claim to know them from that perspective. But their deaths were still an unnecessary tragedy. And I was beginning to understand a bit better why Vera—one of the few survivors—was so bitter towards anything even remotely connected to Carlisle Cullen.

How could she not feel that way? After what she'd seen?

I kept playing the scenes over and over again in my head. It was bad habit I slipped into often—setting my most traumatic, crystalline memories on repeat, so they would play in front of my eyes like a horror movie that wouldn't end. But I couldn't help it. Like all my new reflexes, it was an automatic thing.

Like breathing used to be.

I wasn't sure how long I spent studying the newborns who'd died in my head. Time had no meaning while I was reminiscing. But eventually, I came to my senses. And moved on, leaving the heavy metal door open behind me.

There was another room in the catacombs I wanted to visit. A room I'd only heard about, but never visited myself. At first, I wasn't sure if I would find it. Perhaps after what happened there, it had been destroyed? But eventually, I did locate the room, tucked away in the far corner.

It was roughly the same size as the other room. Although the door was a lot less guarded. Which made a degree of sense. The first room was used as a dungeon of sorts—meant to keep unruly vampires out of the rest of the castle. But this next room did not require such drastic security measures. It was a laboratory, not a prison.

Or… at least, it had been a laboratory.

As I drew aside the thin, rotting wooden door that separated the room from the rest of the catacombs, I realized that this room, too, had been emptied. A few scrapes and indents in the stone attested to the fact that furniture had once stood here. But all the bookcases and papers and clever little machines that had filled the room almost two hundred years ago were gone.

It wasn't hard to see why. Only the stone a few feet from the door was unscathed. Stretching across the rest of the room like an angry, black scar, were thick, overlapping scorch marks.

I swallowed. And wanted to cry. I knew what had happened here.

But a hand found its way onto my shoulder before venom could start welling in my eyes again. And the sensation was so totally unexpected, that it jarred me out of my grief completely.

In fact, it was so sudden, I jumped.

"Isabella, it's just me," Chelsea said, leaping back herself, and throwing up two defensive hands. Just in case the crazy newborn decided to attack.

I relaxed immediately. Which seemed to put her at ease.

"Let's go," she urged, eyeing the black walls around us with trepidation. Like they scared her.

I nodded. There was no real reason for us to stay here in this room and wallow in grief. So, wordlessly, a moment later, I followed her out of the catacombs.

…

We took the spiral staircase in front of the sparring room to the next floor. There we found a luxuriant hall that looked like a larger version of the receptionist area. The room was warm enough and bright enough to make humans comfortable. The walls were paneled with the same expensive wood. The carpet was soft and lush. Cozy groupings of creamy couches were spread around, next to glossy coffee tables.

It was a little different, however. The couches had accent pillows. The carpet was mottled beige instead of green. An assortment of magazines sat in a neat stack on each table, instead of a vase of flowers. Thick, rectangular stone columns, with gold-trimmed corners supported the long ceiling. Large pots filled with tall, leafy plants, were propped against them. And, at regular intervals, electrically-powered chandeliers hung down, dripping with Swarovski crystal teardrops.

While Chelsea strode into the room with purpose, again I lingered in the door frame, marveling for a few seconds. Then I walked in slowly after her, drinking everything in.

I counted every wood grain. Every minute imperfection in the dangling crystals. Every fiber of the tastefully patterned accent pillows. Every microscopic chip of gold leaf that had fallen off the column edges….

As I padded across the carpet, I noticed the paneling along the walls was interrupted in a few places. Three pairs of gleaming elevator doors, all leading to different parts of the castle, cut into the wainscoting to my right. And, at the end of the hall, was a small wooden door that led out into the area of the fortress that was accessible to the public.

We didn't go through it.

Even though it was the middle of the night, and the lobby beyond was totally empty of humans—I could tell from the lack of clamoring footsteps and beating hearts—there was no reason to go out there. Only Heidi regularly passed through there, when leading our dinner in on a "private tour." And she was gone. So, it was pointless to mill around between the mahogany furniture and stacks of travel brochures when we weren't going to find anyone.

Instead, we paced quickly through the room we were in right now, checking for stray Volturi guards. And when we found none, we moved on.

…

We took one of the elevators up to the next floor. It was small—there was only one room on it, the same size as the hall on the previous floor. But it couldn't have been more different.

Cheap, canned electric lights had been cut into the ceiling, though they were turned off at the moment. The floor was polished hardwood. And there wasn't a column in sight—just a long, wide room, supported by a few thick wooden beams across the ceiling.

The furniture was different too. Dark bookcases lined the creamy walls, filled past overflowing with video games, DVD cases, VHS tapes, cassettes and old film reels. Several large tower speakers were scattered around the room, playing low music, interspersed with voices. And most, strangely, a series of long couches were grouped around the expansive far wall, illuminated by a bright picture cast from a movie projecter mounted on the ceiling.

I blinked once, twice, in shock, as I took in the sight. Aro hadn't told me the Volturi had an entertainment center.

Then, eyeing the bookcases again, I wondered if that omission had been deliberate. Perhaps, until I could manage not to destroy almost everything I touched, I wasn't supposed to be here either?

I tried not to worry about it too much. I wasn't planning on touching anything. While Chelsea walked up behind the long couches, and squinted in concentration, I hung back by the door, watching the projected movie.

It was an old black and white film I didn't recognize. And despite the incessant hiss of the low-quality audio and the haze of scribbly lines that interrupted the picture now and again, the three immortals sitting on the sofa seemed to be enjoying it.

Petra, the lower-ranking guard with ivory skin and freckles, laughed and pointed at one of the characters on screen. He was a tall man with slicked back hair, wearing a black, high-collared cape. And though, I knew I hadn't seen this movie before, I swore he looked familiar.

"This is what humans think we look like?" Petra snorted in Italian.

Kadir, sitting beside her, wearing clothes with arabesque patterns under his Volturi garb, lifted up the hem of his greyish cloak for her to see. "Well, you have to admit, they got the cape sorta right."

Xavier, his sienna skin glowing slightly blue under the glare of the projector, folded his arms and huffed, "Everyone used to wear capes like that. It's not our fault mortals wrongly decided to phase them out."

Another character moved on screen and started speaking then, ushering the three vampires into silence. Or maybe it was Chelsea's powers, being exerted on the backs of their heads?

I couldn't be sure.

But the silence from the three let me hear the new character call the caped man's name. And when I heard it, I went even stiffer than usual.

Dracula.

Of course. Of course, they had to be watching Dracula. It was the quintessential vampire movie.

And that would explain why the man looked familiar. Bela Lugosi's Dracula had been a staple of Halloween decorations as long as I'd been alive. An unforgettable image. The image the rest of the world had of our kind.

I felt something like a smirk creeping onto my face. While Kadir had a point—we in the Volturi almost dressed the part, only exchanging the high collar for a hood—so did Petra. As iconic of an image as Dracula was, he captured absolutely none of the ethereal beauty real vampires had.

I wondered for a moment why that might be. Why every depiction of a vampire I'd seen before I'd met Edward was so visually off-putting, if not down-right ugly. I decided after half a second it was probably because humans couldn't stand to think that monsters could be beautiful.

After all, that contradicted all of their beliefs.

Chelsea finished her work then. When she stopped staring at the backs of the three immortals' heads like she was trying to telekinetically bend a spoon, they resumed their conversation like nothing had happened. I wasn't even sure they'd noticed she was there, until, just before we left, Petra called out, in English, over her shoulder.

"Hey, Isabella! Want to join us?" she said brightly, before gesturing to the screen. "We're watching the original vampire movie."

Xavier rolled his eyes. "Nosferatu came out before this."

Petra waved a dismissive hand in his direction. "Whatever, you know what I mean."

I looked anxiously between her and Chelsea. A part of me did want to stay. Watching a movie was such a normal thing to do. And I hadn't had a decent, normal thing in my life since Alice and I had left for Volterra.

But the look Chelsea gave me brokered no room for argument. So, reluctantly I shook my head.

"Some other time, maybe," I said.

Petra briefly pouted—an expression that made her look childlike—before she shrugged. "I get it, you're busy right now. But we'd be happy to hang out any time. And—oh!" she exclaimed like something had just occurred to her. "Bring Alice, too! I'm sure she's already seen it, but it'd be fun to have her around."

Kadir and Xavier nodded in assent. And I flickered another uneasy glance between the three vampires in front of the projector and Chelsea. Was this her doing?

I thought that was probably the case. Chelsea didn't say anything to confirm or deny, though. Instead she glowered at me. And I, realizing I must be wasting her precious time, said my goodbyes and ducked out the door.

…

Again, we took the elevator. The next floor up housed the turret room, the receptionist's area, the conference room, and a maze of long, winding hallways that led into a hundred tiny rooms. We stopped by the turret room first, which was empty. Then wound our way through the labyrinth, checking each of the little rooms individually for any stray Volturi guards.

Half of the rooms were filled with what I could only describe as garbage. Perhaps once it had held value to someone. But all of it was so thoroughly broken or otherwise destroyed that I sometimes couldn't even identify what it used to be. Most of the rest housed small collections—artefacts not impressive or rare enough to be housed in the main library. And a few were empty except for a few pieces of furniture—like the room Marcus taught me history in, or the room Aro had changed me in.

We met Santiago, Corin, Yuki, Makenna along the way.

Santiago was organizing a file cabinet full of folders marked with unfamiliar names and dates, and organized into categories by crime: EXPOSURE TO HUMANS, EXCESSIVE CREATION OF NEWBORNS, CREATION OF IMMORTAL CHILD and OTHER THREATS. Corin was hand embroidering, faster than any machine could, a long chain of intricate flowers along the hem of a yellow sundress. Makenna was practicing calligraphy in a room overflowing with felt-tip pens and fancy stationary. And Yuki was pinning a dead spider to a board full of bugs she'd found around the castle.

Chelsea didn't interrupt any of them. In fact, she didn't even speak to them. As soon as she saw each vampire, she squinted at them, willing their relationship with Alice to be better for a few seconds. Then, when she was finished, she would turn around and leave.

I thought it was rude at first. But—although I knew they could hear and see us—the four basically treated us like we weren't even there. Only Corin acknowledged me—handing me a small wad of scrap muslin to test my strength with, as promised.

And I guessed, after I'd pocketed it and left, that this was how it usually went. That Chelsea using her powers among the Volturi was so routine as to be nothing noteworthy.

…

We went through the large golden doors at then end of the main hallway next, into the conference room. Marcus and Caius were nowhere to be seen—the intricately carved wooden thrones atop the stone dais at the end of the room were empty. But Aro was sitting, with one leg crossed over the other, in the center throne. And, to my surprise, Jasper was standing in front of him, his honey-blonde hair glowing orange in the dim candlelight.

He didn't exactly look happy to be there. His shoulders were stiff under his new, near-gray cloak, and his face was pulled tight. But, for whatever reason, he was doing his best not to openly frown.

Maybe he's worried about upsetting Aro?

I couldn't be sure. But while Chelsea drifted across the cinnamon brown stones, between the iron candelabras lining the walls, moving close enough to use her skills, I watched the two men carefully, hoping it might enlighten me.

"Now, Jasper, are you able to give me a demonstration of your abilities now?" Aro asked.

Jasper's lip twitched downwards fractionally, before he schooled it back into place. "Of course, sir."

He bit out each word like it physically wounded him. But Aro either did not notice Jasper's tone, or pretended not to. Instead of being put-off by the younger vampire's unenthusiasm, his aristocratic face lit up, and he clapped his hands with excitement.

"Let's see it, then!"

Jasper narrowed his eyes and switched them nervously back and forth across the room. "On whom do you wish me to use my powers? Bella? Chelsea?" he asked, as his crimson eyes fell on each of us in turn.

Aro shook his head. "Chelsea is merely here to strengthen our ties, isn't that right, Isabella?"

I wasn't sure why he was asking me. Could he know already, what I'd asked her to do? Did information travel that fast? Was it really impossible to hide anything from Aro?

But I nodded anyway. It was truth. Even if Aro had—probably on purpose—not mentioned exactly the ties to whom she was strengthening.

Jasper roiled in discomfort. "She's going to use her power on me?"

Aro turned his eyes toward Chelsea, who was already concentrating on Jasper, like she was trying to lift him in the air with only the force of her mind, then looked back at Jasper. He cocked an eyebrow.

"I believe she already has begun."

"What?" Jasper wheeled around and glared at the light-brown-haired girl. "Did I give you permission to mess around with my feelings?"

The look in Jasper's eyes was so piercing I swore it should have cut straight through her. But Chelsea didn't relent. Her tawny eyebrows remained furrowed in concentration. And her ruby-red eyes locked with his.

Jasper tensed, like he was about to spring. But before he could do anything rash or violent, Aro clicked his tongue in chastisement.

"Tsk, Tsk, Tsk. There is no need to get violent. Besides," Aro added, "Do you always ask before you use your powers?"

Jasper froze. Then looked bashfully down at his feet, realizing he was being a hypocrite. "Well… no…. But sir, she—!"

"—Is only trying to make your assimilation into our coven smoother," Aro finished for him. "After all, she cannot make you feel anything you do not already, to some degree, feel."

Jasper nodded, reluctantly then. And forced himself to take a deep, calming breath. Then another. And another.

Once Aro seemed satisfied with Jasper's composure, he continued. "Now, as I was saying before, would you be willing to give me a demonstration?"

Jasper didn't miss the double-meaning in Aro's words. "Wait, you want me to use my powers on you, sir?"

Gleefully, Aro nodded.

Jasper shrunk back a few steps, obviously startled by this turn of events. But he tried his best to keep his expression neutral. "I'm not sure that is wise…"

Aro shook his head, his long black hair sailing around him. "Nonsense. I have seen what your powers can do to others. But I want to feel their effects for myself. And it is not as if you have Jane's gift," he pointed out. "I asked her to use it on me once, just out of curiosity…." He shook his head again, chuckling to himself, while Jasper, who had heard what the girl could do, stared on in horror. "…that was an… experience."

Aro laughed to himself, reminiscing fondly for a moment longer, before he came back to earth. "So, you have nothing to fear, dear Jasper. Give me the full range of emotions as powerfully as you can. I want to experience everything, no matter how unpleasant."

Jasper, finally, did allow himself to frown. "There are positive emotions I can make you feel as well." He didn't seem happy that Aro had left those out.

Aro smiled. "Would you be more comfortable if we started with one of those?" he asked genially.

Jasper slowly nodded.

"Then let's begin," Aro urged, making an impatient gesture that reminded me of Caius. Though his face was still the picture of polite grace.

Jasper let out a soft sigh. Then, in seeming compliance, he squared his stance. And looked at Aro with the same intensity Chelsea was looking at him.

I couldn't be sure if it was working right away. Emotional powers weren't exactly visible in and of themselves. But the changes on Aro's face gave it away soon enough.

Aro was already smiling. It started as a small, closed-lipped affair. But after a few seconds, it started to gradually widen. It spread first into the sort of expression one might make for a camera. Then kept spreading, wider and wider, past the point where it was eerie, until it flourished into one of Aro's signature, maniacal grins.

Jasper made him stay like that, beaming, with lips stretched as far apart as they possibly could, for a few seconds. Then, without warning, Aro's head suddenly tilted back and he began to laugh.

I jumped.

It shouldn't have startled me. Again, it started small. A little snort of air, followed by a serious of low chuckles, before it finally blossomed into full-blown laughter. But then, rather than levelling off, it kept going. And that was what disturbed me most. As Jasper increased the intensity of his stare, Aro's laughs got progressively louder and more hysterical, far beyond anything I'd ever heard, until he was doubled over, and cackling like the Wicked Witch of the West.

Again, Jasper sustained Aro at the pinnacle of emotion, for several seconds, perhaps testing if Aro would collapse on the ground and start rolling across the floor laughing. And during that time, I swore everyone in the fortress could hear Aro's raucous laughter bouncing off the high, echoing walls. The sound was deafening.

At last, when Chelsea was about to break her concentration to tell him to cut it out, Jasper seemed satisfied. He nodded, like he was making a mental note. Then suddenly, like flipping a switch, Aro's laughter died.

After the sound cut out, Aro placed a hand on his chest—still heaving with the aftershocks of laughter—and took a moment to compose himself.

"Ah," he sighed. "Such mirth! I have not felt like that in ages!"

Still shaking a little from the force of the humor that hadn't quite left his body yet, Aro made another impatient motion towards Jasper. "Now let's try the opposite!"

Jasper nodded in wordless compliance. Then immediately, Aro's smile melted into a cavernous frown.

There was nothing gradual about it this time. The corners of lips instantly went from tilted slightly upwards, to all the way down. The light in his eyes abruptly died. And, all of sudden, he reminded me of Marcus.

Jasper sustained the emotion at its peak again. And while Aro did his best not to let it affect him, eventually he couldn't help it. His crimson eyes filmed over, the same way Alice's had earlier today. His bottom lip quivered with unreleased sobs. And his fingertips started to shake.

Perhaps, to test his resolve, Jasper kept Aro under the full-force of this negative emotion longer than the previous two positive ones. The seconds ticked by slowly, painfully. And all the while Aro suffered silently, looking like he was enduring the most harrowing sorrow a person could ever feel.

He never did allow himself to cry out. But after a minute, at last, on the verge of breaking down, Aro gritted his teeth and clutched the fabric of his robes over his unbeating heart.

"My, my," he breathed. "That hurts," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Please," he begged. "Give me something positive?"

I sucked in a breath of surprise. I'd never heard Aro sound that desperate before. It sounded like he was dying. And begging Jasper to spare him.

Luckily, Jasper did. As soon as Aro made his supplication, Jasper hit him with a new emotion. And I watched, rapt with fascination, as the gloom dissipated, replaced only by sunny happiness. As Aro's despairing frown stretched back quickly into a warm smile.

"Ah, much better," Aro sighed, pleased, a moment later. "You remind me of my sister."

Jasper released his grip over Aro's emotions immediately. Then he and I both turned to look at Aro, bewildered.

"Your sister?" I asked.

"Ah, did I not mention it?" Aro said, surprised that I had not heard.

I shook my head. And Aro, to me relief, decided to fill me in.

"Before the…" he tapped his chin in thought choosing his words delicately, "Before the… tragedy… Didyme had a gift whose effects were very similar to what I felt just moments ago. She, however, could not control it like young Jasper can," he explained. "Anyone who stepped close enough to her fell under its power."

"What, like an aura of happiness?" I asked. That seemed to be what he was describing, anyway.

Aro nodded. "That is one way to put it."

"Why didn't you say anything before?" I asked.

Aro shook his head, his ebony locks rippling with the movement. "I did not intentionally omit that piece of information," he revealed. "I believed you would learn about it through my memories. Though I suppose, on recall, that I did not think of it much, after I discovered it."

That piqued my interest. "Why not?"

Aro shook his head again, this time in mild exasperation with himself. "I always believed that it was… not a very useful power," he admitted sadly, like he regretted thinking as much. "It could not be used in combat or information gathering. So, for millennia, I deemed it unworthy of my concern. I only began to understand its true value after it was gone. Happiness is so rare."

I nodded in comprehension. Even if it wasn't how I saw the world, I understood somewhat, from having seen some of Aro's memories of the past, and seeing how he treated Afton in the present, why he might think that way. Usefulness to the Volturi was the main criterion for value in his mind.

If your power isn't useful, why even have one at all? I could imagine him thinking.

While I mulled that over, I flicked my eyes around the room. Chelsea was still concentrating fiercely on the back of Jasper's head. I guessed his emotions involving Alice were a lot more complicated, so it was taking her longer to work through them than the others. So, in the meantime, while I waited for her to be finished, I let Aro and Jasper get back to it.

They tried anger next. And Jasper did not disappoint. He was able to make Aro spitting mad—like Caius on steroids. His brows were furrowed into such a severe "V" I was worried it would leave permanent marks on his face. And he kept shaking, every muscle vibrating with barely contained rage.

It was a miracle he didn't shout or lunge for Jasper's throat.

When Aro decided he'd had enough of that, Jasper reset him back to happy while they deliberated on the next emotion to try. In the next few minutes, they went through every one I could think of. Fear. Jealousy. Disgust. Joy. Loneliness. Embarrassment. Contentment. Anxiety. Thoughtfulness. Mania. Charity. Reservation. Paranoia. Magnanimity. And a thousand others I could not name.

Between each one, Jasper gave Aro another dose of the happiness that reminded him of his late sister, as a sort of palate cleanser. And, while Aro balanced out, I checked Chelsea's progress. But, every time I looked, she still wasn't finished.

At last, when I thought they'd exhausted everything, Aro said, "There is one last emotion I would like to try." Then his eyelids fell hooded, and his voice dripped with suggestion. "You know the one."

Jasper went stiff as a board and looked like he wanted to turn green. "Absolutely not."

"Oh, come now, there's no need to be embarrassed," Aro urged in a warm, friendly voice before his tone turned suggestive again. "I already know how you have made your mate feel, on occasion."

"That's—!" Jasper roared, before he suddenly seemed to remember who he was talking to. "Private…." he muttered in a small voice, looking down at the stones beneath his feet. "I'm not doing that to you, sir."

Aro pouted. "Not even once?"

Jasper gritted his teeth. "Fine." Then, as if issuing a challenge, he cocked an eyebrow. "But are you sure you'll be able to handle it?"

Aro grinned, almost as widely as Jasper had made him at the beginning of this series of tests. "Do your worst."

I almost expected Jasper to offer one, final protest. If Aro was asking him to do what I thought, then…

But Jasper didn't waste any time. As soon as Aro's taunt reached his ears, he shot a searing glare at the older vampire. And his emotional powers hit Aro like a collision with a semi-truck.

"Oh!" Aro gasped, soft, and floaty. Then, like he was experiencing post-feed ecstasy, his head tilted back, and he could not restrain himself from moaning. "Oh my! Ah!"

While Jasper maintained the force of his powers, Aro visibly writhed with pleasure. Unlike every other emotion, which he'd seemed to be able to have some kind of grip on, no matter how intense it got, he seemed entirely unable to contain himself. He kept moaning, in total abandon. And if we could have blushed, both Aro's and my cheeks would have been flaming.

Aro's eyes rolled back, as if he was seeing stars. "Jasper," he purred in delight.

Jasper leapt backwards, disgusted. And suddenly, it was over.

Aro, who looked like he'd suddenly been hit with a wet blanket, frowned. "Pity, we were just getting to the good part."

"Not going to happen, sir." Jasper was adamant.

Aro shook his head ruefully. "I understand," he allowed, reluctantly. "Still, it is impressive that you are able to invoke such… powerful sensations without even touching someone," he remarked, impressed. "Alice is very lucky."

Jasper balled his hands into tight white fists at his sides and gritted his teeth. "Please, sir," he bit out tersely. "Don't talk to me about… things like that."

He obviously wasn't happy that Aro was prying into the details of his sex life. Let alone trying to talk with him about them. And to be perfectly honest, neither was I.

How embarrassing.

A faint smile graced Aro's lips. "Only if you keep her happy," he promised. "Dear Alice has missed you. And I do so hate to see her unsatisfied."

I ducked my head. Both witnessing Jasper filling Aro with pleasure, and listening to this conversation made me feel like I was trespassing.

But both men simply acted like Chelsea and I weren't there.

Aro looked like he was about to go on. Then Jasper held up his hands, like he was about to plug his ears if Aro said any more.

Aro laughed at Jasper's reaction. Then changed the course of the conversation. "I apologize. I understand those things are very personal," he assured the younger vampire in a sympathetic tone. "But I cannot help what I see. And I will not stand to watch two of my guards to unnecessarily abstain from each other, when I know they both crave communion."

Aro interlaced his fingers together suggestively on the last word. And if I'd been human, I might have fainted from shock.

Was Aro really ordering Jasper to go make love to his mate? Or, at least strongly suggesting that?

It certainly looked like it.

Jasper ducked his head then too, preferring to study the grout lines than look Aro in the eyes. "I'll keep that in mind, sir," he said in a bashful voice. "Now, may I go?"

He fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable. He obviously wanted to leave. But, until Aro gave him the okay, etiquette kept him rooted in place.

Aro pondered that for a moment before waving a hand in the direction of the door. "You may."

Jasper wasted no time scurrying out. And, luckily Chelsea finally appeared to be finished. So, after we both gave Aro a perfunctory acknowledgment, she and I left behind him.

…

We found Marcus and the rest of the guard in their private rooms on the next two floors. While they packed and otherwise prepared for the upcoming trip to Seattle, Chelsea worked her powers on each in turn. Unlike with Jasper, she only had to concentrate for a few seconds while each guard member was in eyeshot to make the change. And I surmised that must mean their relationships with Alice must be less intricate.

Again, most of them didn't even notice we were there. And the few that did notice us did not seem to think anything was remiss with Chelsea doing a little tweaking of their emotional bonds. I guessed again, that most of them were probably used to it.

After we finished checking every private room, we went up to the highest level of the fortress, just to be sure we ran into everyone. Most of the level was part of the castle façade—the outside front we presented to the rest of the world, full of office cubicles and fake paperwork. But before we reached that, there was another, luxuriant hall. And, closest to the elevator, another grouping of tiny rooms, like the ones next to the turret room.

We didn't find any guard members in any of the uppermost rooms. But we did find Titania and Lucretia playing in a little room stuffed with toys. While Chelsea exerted her gift on them, for good measure, I took a cursory look around.

About half of the girls' playthings looked like some attempt had been made to manufacture them to stand up to inhuman play. But all of it looked like it had seen better days. Along with more of the same indented metal blocks I'd seen them play with earlier, they had a huge collection of bent spinning tops, crushed yo-yos, flattened marbles, and a mountain of plush stuffed animals, missing limbs and eyes.

I shuddered as my eyes passed over a particularly mangled doll, which was missing its head and spilling fluffy white stuffing from its severed neck. It reminded me a little too much of my first meal. And I had to look away before the sensation of matted, bloody hair crept back into my fingers.

When Chelsea was finished, she gestured for me to leave. The girls waved their little hands happily at us as we walked out. And while Chelsea didn't give them so much as a backward glance, I waved back.

…

Above that, there was only one more place in the fortress—the tower. A little staircase that started on the highest floor of the castle, went outside, and wound up and around the tall spire. Chelsea and I took it, with her leading the way.

It was a new moon again, and clouds blocked out the stars, rendering the sky featureless and black. But despite the darkness, I could see the stone steps in front of me as clear as day. So when Chelsea threw open the door leading outside, I wasn't nervous, despite my legendary clumsiness, and the treacherousness of the path ahead.

However, as soon as we stepped outside, the wind blasted my skin. It was ice cold—which, luckily no longer hurt—but it was so distracting I nearly lost my balance. And as the frigid air tickled my skin, it carried with it so many smells…

The familiar, chalky smell of brick was everywhere, of course. But I could also smell the grime of the city. The gritty scent of dirt and dust. The metal tang of cars and buses. The sweet and pungent odor of leaking gasoline. And beyond all the city smells, I could smell the distant, dewy grass hills, and the fresh scent of birch trees.

It took all of my concentration to steady myself. Then, rather than risking another whiff, I held my breath, and plodded up the stairs after Chelsea. That way I wouldn't accidentally smell any tantalizing humans milling around in the town below. And, I could focus on making sure I didn't make a wrong step and fall off the side of the tower.

The steps curling around the tower were narrower than I would have liked. And there was no railing. So I guessed this place was never intended to entertain human guests. It was hard enough for me—an immortal—to navigate. So I couldn't imagine Gianna trying to clamber up here in her precarious Louboutin stilettos.

I felt a rush of relief when the door leading into the tower came into sight. Finally, I'll be able to stand on solid ground again.

But just before Chelsea could reach for the handle, she abruptly turned around, and tried to come back down. I wasn't sure what had prompted that action. But her normally emotionless face was suddenly the picture of horror. And I, who stood blocking her path, looked up at the door leading inside with confusion.

"What's wrong?" I asked anxiously.

"Let's go," she whispered urgently, holding a finger to her lips with one hand, and using the other to gesture for me to turn around and go back.

I didn't move. "Why?" I whispered back.

"Just go!" she hissed.

I remained in place. And a moment later, I wished I hadn't.

Behind the door, I heard sounds. Low, moaning sounds, interspersed with a loud, rhythmic striking sound. Like two huge stone boulders were quickly and repeatedly crashing into one another at regular intervals.

It took me half a second to realize what I was listening to. But only half a second. My impeccable hearing was able to pick out the voices quickly—Caius and Athenodora. And I wasn't too naïve to miss what the other noises meant.

I felt my head spin, feeling suddenly sick. Then, just as Chelsea had urged me to do earlier, I turned around, and zipped back down the stairs as fast as I could.

"That's everyone," Chelsea informed me flatly, once we reached the uppermost floor of the castle again. "I cannot promise anything, but I've done my best to improve their relationships with Alice. Now, if you don't need anything else, I'm going to go back to my books."

I nodded, my head still reeling from what I'd heard. "That's fine. Go ahead."

Chelsea let relief wash over her face for a forty-eighth of a second. Then, before I could say anything else, she vanished.

…

I went back to my private room after that. Alice was off somewhere else, probably making more preparations for the upcoming trip, and I didn't want to bother her. So, without anything else to do, I busied myself with the scrap of muslin Corin had given me.

When I pulled the wad out of my jacket pocket and unraveled it, I discovered it was a long, creamy colored, swath of fabric. I fingered the edges tentatively. It was thin enough to be translucent, and it felt remarkably fragile. But I surmised that would make it the perfect thing to test my strength with.

If I could manage not to tear this to shreds, then I could probably safely handle anything.

Maybe I could even touch my computer again.

I flicked a glance toward the untouched boxes of my things Alice had brought here from Forks, which I'd relegated to the far corner. The smell of my human-self had dissipated, so they weren't intolerable to stand next to anymore. But I still hadn't opened them for fear of breaking anything. And I hoped Alice had come up with a good excuse for Charlie. She's said when she'd first hauled them in that I could contact him again. But, even if I was a remarkably fast learner, it would probably be months before I could trust myself not to smash my laptop keyboard in.

I focused my eyes back on the fabric in my hands again. Then gave the very corner of one end a tiny, experimental tug.

The fabric tore almost completely in half. And I swore, loudly.

Okay, softer than that.

I tried again with a different corner. This time, I exerted only the tiniest amount of pressure, like I was trying to caress a butterfly's wing. And the fabric only frayed a little.

I sighed. That's better, I thought, examining the much smaller tear. But still not soft enough.

I kept practicing for the better part of an hour, trying to figure out just how much strength would tear the fabric into ribbons, and how much would allow me to tug, but keep the fabric intact. I wasn't having much success with the latter—it was so easy to rip the fabric. But I was getting a sense, from how long each tear I was making turned out to be, of how to moderate my strength a little.

I was interrupted after a while, however, by a sudden blare of loud, tasteless music. It was coming from the room directly below me. And having just gone through each and every room in the Volturi fortress, not too long ago, I could pinpoint exactly which guard member that room belonged to.

Afton.

I grimaced. Normally, I would have been tempted to go down there and tell him to turn it down. Since almost everyone in the fortress had super-hearing, I couldn't be the only one bothered by that godawful noise. And it wasn't like, as an immortal, he needed to have it that loud anyway—the lowest setting on his CD player would have been plenty loud enough.

But there was one thing holding me back. Chelsea.

I still wasn't sure I'd made the right choice, by enlisting her to smooth out everyone's relationships with Alice. She clearly didn't like the girl herself. And I had no way whatsoever to verify for myself that she'd strengthened those ties and not loosened them.

But, despite my uncertainties about where her loyalties lied, the one thing I did know, was that I didn't want to get on her bad side. And antagonizing her mate was a good way to do just that.

So, instead of confronting him, I sighed, dropped my mostly shredded piece of muslin, letting it flutter onto the carpet, and put my fingers in my ears. They drowned out the bulk of the noise—for which I was grateful. But despite my best efforts, some of it still reached me.

It was muffled and garbled, like it was coming from underwater. But the sound was still unbearably loud. Like a train engine chugging past, or a fighter jet taking off right in front of me. And my new, highly sensitive ears rattled with discomfort.

The music blared, obnoxious and discordant for a few painful seconds longer. Then, when I was just about to change my mind and bother Afton anyway, I heard a sudden crash, which prompted me to wrench my fingers out of my ears. Followed by a string of angry cuss words coming from Afton.

"Keep that foul noise you call 'music' down!" Caius roared, his voice echoing through the floor beneath me.

"You broke my CD player!" Afton protested, equally loud.

"Be grateful I did not break anything else," Caius hissed, a bit quieter now, but with no less steel. "I am sure, with the handsome funds my brother bestows upon you and your mate each month, that you can afford another one. You will not, however, be able to afford another head."

"Is that a threat?" Afton asked.

Caius didn't say anything. But I could imagine the look on his face. It was mind-bogglingly stupid question. Of course, that was a threat.

After an awkward beat of silence, Afton answered with a threat of his own. "Chelsea will hear about this!" he whined.

It was a pathetic comeback. I could almost hear Caius rolling his eyes.

"And what will she do? he said in a low, cold voice, almost inaudible through the stone floor.

Afton didn't seem to know the answer to that. I imagined he was standing there helplessly, looking like a total fool. Or maybe even cowering against one of his room's walls.

"Nothing?" Caius challenged after a moment.

But again, Afton didn't speak. I only heard a faint whimper from him after that. And I was starting to get the sense that he didn't have any kind of backbone. That, when he was faced with a conflict, he didn't know how to do anything other than hide behind a more powerful person.

That certainly seemed to be how he handled most interpersonal conflicts—by hiding behind Chelsea. And I imagined, if he wasn't always forced into direct combat in the sparring room, he'd use the same tactic there. When left to his own devices, he floundered in the fighting department.

I frowned.

"That's what I thought," Caius huffed, annoyed.

And suddenly I felt like I understood his irritation. In a coven that relied on everyone's individual strengths, I could see why Afton's habit of using Chelsea as a sort of shield was frustrating.

During my training in the sparring room, I'd learned that everyone had to be able to fight for themselves in a battle. The Volturi had a few members with defensive powers, that could intercede if necessary, but on the whole, they were stronger on the offensive. So, if any one member refused to pull their own weight—if they tried to hide behind someone else, or avoid the fight altogether—that could jeopardize the whole operation.

And, in the case of the upcoming battle with the newborns in Seattle, it might even cost lives.

Caius left Afton's room then, slamming the door shut behind him. The sound jarred me out of my thoughts momentarily. But as it echoed through the floor beneath my feet, the vibrations absorbing into the carpet, I quickly refocused.

There was no loud music to distract me after that. But I didn't pick up my scrap of muslin off the floor again. Instead, I reviewed all of Afton's matches in the red-plastic-coated room again. Searching. Scrutinizing. Suspecting. And when I was finished, I stared at the far wall of my bedroom in horror.

Every other member of the guard, no matter how low they ranked, had won at least a couple of matches during my time here. But the same couldn't be said of Afton. In the entire month I'd seen him train with the others in the sparring room, I'd never seen him win once.

He'd lost to every opponent. Every time. Without fail.

And that made me worry.

Will he survive the upcoming fight?

I didn't think it was likely. I was a better fighter than him now. And he'd had a lot more training.

But then I remembered a few other things about those matches. Like how nonplussed about his repeated losses Afton seemed to be. Or how sometimes it didn't even look like he was trying all that hard to begin with. He certainly surrendered quicker than anyone else.

And I wondered for a horrible minute, if that could actually be true. Could Afton really not care?

It didn't make sense for him not to. In just two short months we could be facing the most devastating army of vampires the world had ever seen. Even seasoned fighters like Caius were frightened by the scale that Alice predicted.

So why did Afton seem so… apathetic? I thought, remembering his expression the last time I'd seen him defeated. He has to care about improving his fighting skills, right? Or else he'll die!

Then another thought occurred to me.

Unless… he isn't planning on fighting at all?

I decided right away I was being absurd. He wouldn't have a choice. Aro would make him fight. The army Alice saw in her visions was massive. And we would need all available fighters to take them out.

But maybe he won't have to fight the newborns, my mind went on, chasing the dark notion down a dangerous path, if he's secretly on the other side…

I nipped that thought in the bud before it was fully formed. There was absolutely no way Afton was the mastermind behind the plot to destroy the Volturi. Not only did he spectacularly fail Aro's interrogation, but Corin was right. He was, to put it bluntly, a moron.

But I was having a hard time making sense of his behavior in a different scenario.

I couldn't imagine that anyone—incompetent at fighting or not—wouldn't want to improve their skills if they knew a big battle was coming. Everyone else, despite hundreds of years of training, was constantly evaluating their weaknesses and trying to tackle them. But Afton, suspiciously, didn't seem to be in any hurry to get better. And I couldn't help but think that there was a reason for that.

What if it isn't him, my brain posited next, but Chelsea is the mastermind?

I stopped short. That actually made more sense than I liked.

If that were the case, she wouldn't make Afton fight. After all, she wouldn't want her mate getting hurt. And the newborns would be more than enough to take us down.

My head spun, making me feel dizzy.

I had no proof. Absolutely none. And there was a significant likelihood that I was simply being paranoid. But the more I thought about it, the more all the pieces fit.

Aro hadn't interrogated her, so there was still a chance that she was guilty. Perhaps, if she'd been someone else, I could be confident that Aro would have caught something in the many, many times he'd touched her hands since 1948. But Chelsea had been around Aro the longest. So even if she couldn't read minds, she would have the best sense, through trial and error, of what she could slip past his notice. And there was a high likelihood that she'd also mastered the same art as Jane—of making her mind go blank when she wanted to set in motion her dastardly plans.

She certainly was smart enough. I knew that much.

Then there was the issue of Marcus. But that was easily dealt with, too. Chelsea had an emotional ability that I realized could, potentially, allow her to mess with the perceptions of his gift. And if there were any mistakes in her emotional manipulation, she could, like the bright line that still connected him to his mate, chalk it up as simply another one of his gift's egregious flaws.

Alice was a bit harder to circumvent. But Chelsea would have been around when Alice was first inducted, and all throughout her service to the Volturi. Which would have given her ample opportunity to play with the blind spots in Alice's visions as well. If she was the culprit, she probably started testing her limits with small, innocuous decisions—things that wouldn't matter if Alice saw her doing. Then, when she was confident that she could avoid being seen clearly, she could move on to making her real plans.

And it wasn't just that she was capable of dodging everyone's powers. I realized, the more I thought it through, that if Chelsea was the culprit, it made sense of the uncertain motive Alice had seen. Chelsea probably had hundreds, if not thousands-of-years-worth of resentment toward Aro—things that would make her, on her angrier days, want to destroy him and his organization. But she also probably had a lot of good memories too. And I doubted Alice's visions of calamity were helping her be firm in her convictions.

Extinction was rather a lot more than she'd bargained for, I imagined.

And it even made sense of Chelsea's sudden animosity towards me. She'd seemed nice enough, when Aro had instructed her to loosen my bonds to Edward. But once she learned that I was the one from Alice's visions—the one who was supposed to throw a wrench in her dastardly plans, she had started glaring at me.

All this time, I'd chalked it up to a petty disagreement over rank. But it could, very well, go far deeper than that….

The only thing it didn't explain was how the newborn army was being created in Seattle if Chelsea wasn't there. But Alice had said that wasn't necessary. The dominos had already been set to fall. So, the culprit didn't have to stand around and watch.

She could be right here, under our noses, pretending to be our ally.

My whole frame shook with anger. And I was about to bolt out the door and tell Aro. But just as my hand curled around the doorknob, the metal crumpling in my haste, Alice opened it from the other side.

Eyes wide with shock, I let go of the handle and stood back, letting her come in. "Alice, what's up?"

"Theodore will be arriving in three hours," she blurted out suddenly.

I cocked an eyebrow. "And?"

Three hours was a little early to go congregate in the conference room. So, I suspected she had some other reason for telling me this.

"When he comes, we can learn who touched the chain Jasper brought," Alice explained further, in a rapid, clipped voice.

I blinked, once, confused. I still didn't understand what Alice was getting at.

Alice, realizing she was going to have to spell it out for me, sighed. "I know what you're planning to say to Aro, but save it. That chain has come into contact with our culprit. So, if we learn who stole the chain from our contractors and it's not her…."

Oh, I get it now.

"…Then I'll have strained the relationship between Aro and Chelsea, and possibly jeopardized the entire institution of the Volturi for nothing."

Alice nodded. "Exactly."

"And if it is her?" I challenged. "If Chelsea is the one who stole the chain?"

Alice shuddered, disturbed by the thought. "Then I guess you can say 'I told you so' while Aro and Caius tear her apart and set her on fire, and the rest of us worry about how we'll get along without her."

I grimaced. That was a cold comfort. But Alice wasn't wrong.

If I was right—and I truly believed I was, even if I hated the idea—there would be little solace in having that information verified. There would only be a sea of betrayed faces. The pungent aroma of gasoline and smoke. And the sound of crackling flames.