Many of you expressed the view that you would like me to finish Cygnus, so I certainly will.

Also, maybe I should quickly clarify something. I am not a 'lame' review crazy moron. I don't write just because I want to be praised. I ask people's opinions because it helps shape my writing. Me mentioning that I was writing this story for an audience was not insinuating that I will not continue if people do not review—I was saying that I do not want to disappoint people by quitting the story if there are still those out there who want to see it end. The honest truth is: this isn't the most review-lucrative story ever. If all I cared about was reviews, I wouldn't be bothering to write this story at all.

Sorry for the harangue, especially for those of you who have supported me and given me helpful opinions. But I'm going to get just as annoyed as anyone else when I'm called "lame" and "shallow," particularly if those accusations are unfounded.

This is the next chapter, it's extra long (not even including the author's note). I will try to get another chapter out soon, but because I don't want to screw up the story by posting bad chapters, the updates might take a little longer than usual.

Also: I am removing my previous Author's Note in a day or so.

Enjoy.

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It was strange…coming back to where I started. Well, not exactly where I started. But the first place I had come after leaving that ship, after trying to bury the heartache of the past behind me.

I smiled slightly, and edge of bitter irony clouding my amusement. Dre Marsch's rambling mansion was precisely as I had remembered it. Polished, smooth floors. Marble that gleamed in the moonlight. Priceless statues, rugs, and paintings adorning imposing walls. All perfectly cared for, all in immaculate order.

Everything had changed since then. And yet, simultaneously, nothing had.

I was still the same girl who had first walked through these halls. I still was trying to forget the past, to leave behind the pain that came with it. And yet I was clinging to that past with everything I had. A circle, unbreakable, irresolvable. Ironic.

And yet I was different. I was no longer the uncertain person who struggled to find a handhold in what felt like an impossible situation. I no longer feared for my future; no longer felt I was spinning wildly out of control in a tempest that buffeted me with its chilled winds. And, of course, I no longer hated and feared the Cullens.

I glanced to my right, a genuine smile tugging at my lips as I watched Alice and Jasper walk together down the deserted hallways at a leisurely pace—for them. Their pale hands were intertwined, and something about the way they stared at each other made me feel like I was an intruder on a private moment.

I shivered, returning my attention to my surroundings. The coldness, the uncaring, cruel beauty of this place still made my flesh crawl uncomfortably. Alice caught my involuntary movement, dark eyes concerned.

"Are you okay?" Here voice was soft, the gentle movement of a breeze, but it echoed loudly throughout this crypt.

I shrugged self-consciously, meeting her eyes and Jasper's. "Yes. This place always made me uncomfortable. And I guess being back here is….strange."

Jasper frowned, and I instantly felt more at ease. I flashed a quick glance of gratitude in his direction, but he wasn't looking at me. He ran his free hand through his honeyed hair, lines etched into his forehead. When Jasper spoke, his voice was just as unearthly as his wife's, echoing through these splendid halls like a gruesome fiend. "I can still sense emotions here, even though there is no one else besides us present. They're faint echoes, barely detectable. But," he paused, flashing a piercing glance in my direction, "They're full of fear. And pain."

I could imagine that. The vague, almost silenced screams of disembodied slaves. Doubt and pain seeping through the very stones of the imposing mansion like a black shadow, permeating everything it came in contact with. I shuddered, quickly trying to lighten the topic.

"Remind me again what we're doing here, Alice," I said, my voice teasing, light. It would have been more impressive if it hadn't quavered.

Alice laughed, breaking away from Jasper's grasp and dancing a few steps down the hallway. "We know Dre Marsch is part of the conspiracy, trying to tip the balance of power. He's also a very ardent supporter of the slave trade. Him, and everyone else it seems, are at the docks, looking at the wreckage the ghost," she put a slight emphasis on this word, a smile blooming across her pale, thin face, "has created. Now's the perfect time to cause a little extra destruction that will take a while to recover from. If he has no money, no fortune, no slaves, it doesn't matter what schemes he cooks up. He'll be powerless. And," she added consideringly, "ruining his fortune is more humane than just killing him."

"Not that I would have objected," Jasper muttered, catching up with Alice. I eyed him for a moment, speculating. Edward had mentioned that Jasper had been a commander in an army now turned to dust, fighting for a cause that was long forgotten. Though he had come a lot closer to perfecting his self control than he once had (several hundred years will do that, Edward explained) there was still a slight air of savage energy around him. Not like Emmett's eager excitement for conflict, challenge, and destruction. Not like Edward's cool practicality and restraint. And certainly not like Carlisle's aversion to all violence. I understood that Jasper would do anything, anything to protect this family, and more to the point, to protect his wife. He wouldn't even hesitate.

"We'll start on the top story and work our way down. Anything valuable, we destroy. Any plans, contracts, pieces of art. Money is power, in this day and age. No money, no power. No power, no problem." Alice's explanation was succinct, but her voice was enthusiastic. "Though it will be sort of a shame to wreck all of this beauty."

"If we're just here for destruction, why didn't Emmett come?"

Jasper chuckled, a bass line that accompanied Alice's soprano. "Emmett went with Edward to pull that disgusting prison down. I guess he would rather topple an entire tower than smash a few sculptures."

I smiled, thinking of Emmett, then of Edward. I missed him, already. But he had been insistent upon my staying at the abandoned building, safely out of any whisper of danger. Stubborn vampire. I had yielded, none too graciously, when I realized he wasn't budging an inch, and when I realized even the thought of me in danger made him crazy. Of course, then Alice had dragged me along with her and Jasper, cheerfully winking at me and waiting until Edward was far away. She assured me that it would be a piece of cake (an expression I'd never heard of until then), and tapped a delicate finger to her chalky temple. "Nothing will happen. Everyone will be down at the docks, and I'm sure you'd rather come with me and Jasper than wallow in this dump." She cast the room a contemptuous look. "Besides, you're part of the family. Like a sister. And this will be like a family bonding experience. No risk, no danger. Just a little, tamable destruction."

I smiled at the memory, anticipating the night's end. We would be leaving, all of us, to another place. Carlisle assured me it was somewhere up north, where the spread of slavery hadn't reached. We'd have time there to rest, to recuperate. To relax for a while. And I'd have more time with Edward. I mentally shook myself, forbidding my mind from spinning me into another daydream. Besides, I added tartly to myself, then I'll have more time to convince Edward that being human in this era is just too risky. But if I become like him… I smiled to myself. When I had first suggested that Edward change me into a vampire, not too long ago, he had recoiled like I had slapped him. Just like with his insistence that I stay in the building while he and everyone else wrap things up in the town, he wouldn't budge an inch. But on this topic, neither would I.

"Okay," Alice finally said, coming to a graceful stop. "We'll split up. I'll handle the galleries, Isabella, you get the study. Jasper will do the vaults."

I grumbled, happy to be included, yet annoyed at my pitiful human capabilities. "You could probably wreck this entire house in the time it will take me to dismantle one room, Alice," I said.

Alice giggled, shrugging, but didn't deny my statement. Of course not, I thought sourly.

But I entered Dre Marsch's private suite nevertheless, trying to avoid remembering the times I had been here previously. The room where I had hidden and listened in on his whispered conversation with another man was exactly the same. I paused at the threshold, suddenly shy. I felt like if I walked into the room, everything would be the same as it had been the first time I'd walked in. Like Dre Marsch would suddenly appear, out of thin air, to sneer condescendingly at me. I exhaled, annoyed at myself, and walked into the room.

It was a handsome place, with mahogany paneling, beige stucco walls and tasteful oil paintings adorning the walls. Boldly, as if to prove something to myself, I walked to the polished wooden desk and smashed a priceless vase perched to the side of a pile of papers. Shards of glass littered the floor, shining a bright blue in contrast to the earthy colored flooring. I rifled through his papers, jerking when I heard the wrenching squeal of metal being bent. I smiled. Jasper.

I flipped idly through the papers, the parchment rough against my fingertips. Some were bills, or notices of money owed to the Dre by others. I smiled, tossing everything but the bills into the fire that crackled cheerfully in the hearth. The bills I lay out neatly on his desk, as if in challenge. It was a weak piece of revenge, and rather petty. But it was satisfying.

Alice breezed into the room, short, inky hair ruffled. "Want some help?"

I shrugged, smiling out how quickly she had finished. We worked in companionable silence, two friends, two equals. Of course, she was the only one who could lift paintings twice as large as she was in heavy wooden frames and move so quickly that she blurred. It was strange, working our way from room to room, to be destroying things together. Jasper turned up now and then, watching his wife flit like an angel of destruction from room to room.

Eventually I wandered away, feeling uncomfortable watching Jasper watch Alice. The way he looked at her was so adoring, so devoted, that it seemed he was looking at the most precious thing in the world. And to him, he was.

I strolled idly through the halls, footsteps echoing down the passageways. I didn't know I was really going somewhere until I got there.

The mirror room.

Its cool marble gleamed a ghostly silver in the moonlight. An air of complete, almost oppressing silence, hung over the room like a burial shroud. Like as tomb.

It was from this room that I had fallen to first meet Emmett and Edward. It was from here that my destiny would be linked unbreakably with the man I would come to love. I used to hate this place. Hated the creepy, haunting shadows that crawled across the polished floors like living beasts. Hated the coldness that seemed to embrace anyone who stepped through the wrought iron arch that was the door. Hated the way it was so big, yet so empty, noise swallowed up yet reflected back.

And now, I felt a strange sort of pull to this place. It was purely chance, a trick of fate, that I had met the Cullens. Had I not been in this room, had I not felt the desire to escape from this chilling mausoleum… I might never have met the Cullens, never have met Edward. My life would have stretched before me, dull and lifeless, like a painting bleached of its color, or ink writing left in the rain. Jumbled, lifeless, hopeless.

For the first time I watched my father die, I felt something akin to gratitude tug at my heart. Not because of the horrors of the past, not because of what I had lost. But because though there was much that was taken from me, much was given as well.

I was lost in peaceful, drifting thoughts, speculations. So it took me a while to realize I wasn't alone.

I stumbled as I spun around, uncoordinated as always. But I forgot my balance issues when I realized who was standing in the threshold.

He was leaning on a heavy looking baton that was balanced in the floor, reminding me a crone using a cane for support. Except that canes didn't typically have glints of lethal looking metal protruding from their surfaces. His clothes were sumptuous and extravagant, as always, reeking of affluence. A characteristic sneer distorted his thin lips, lank, dark hair hung over his forehead.

"Well, well, well. This city is just crammed with ghosts tonight." Dre Marsch said, voice sickly sweet.

I froze, breathe caught in my lungs. Alice and Jasper were on the opposite end of the mansion, and I wasn't sure they would hear me if I screamed, and I wasn't sure I dared. They must be very busy, or very busy with each other, and I didn't know if they would notice the Dre's presence. I wondered briefly why Alice hadn't seen this coming before I shoved all other thoughts from my mind but the situation at hand.

Mentally, I calculated how long it would take for Alice and Jasper to get here—if they heard at all. They were toppling ceiling high statues at the moment. That was bound to impair some of their hearing…

And suddenly I was annoyed at myself. I was constantly getting into problems, and I was constantly too weak to solve them, to save myself. I was tired of being the feeble human, the one who needed to be looked after. I was tired of being nothing more than a liability.

Not this time, I vowed to myself, though I didn't yet know how I would handle the situation. Not this time.

I felt trapped, my back pressed against the mirror. Cornered. Slowly I inched away, moving in a circle so I stood nearer to the center of the room. Almost subconsciously, the Dre matched my movements, keeping me directly across from him the entire time. No more than twenty feet separated us. I could see the gleam of his bared teeth, the water splashes that stained his clothes.

"I think it's time we talked about your associates, and I know you have some. How else could have you escaped from prison, eluded the Guard? And I think that you know something about this ghost that's been plaguing the city. And I also think that you're going to tell me." His voice was low, sneering. He addressed me coldly, but with an air of condescending dismissal that reminded me of how people talk to dogs. Anger flashed through me, hot then cold.

I could see the scene, replayed backwards in the great mirror that dominated the room—the Dre's back, my frightened face. The great expanse of the room stretched behind me, unearthly white marble with swirls of the deepest black. It seemed to extend into an eternity. Too far for me to run without tripping. Maybe too far for Alice and Jasper to hear. I knew they, as vampires, had superhuman hearing, but I didn't know the exact extent. And I wasn't about to gamble my life on something like that.

Looking back at the mirror, reflecting shadows and light, I suddenly knew what to do. The Dre was leaning causally against the mirror now, placing him a perfect position. But I needed something to throw… I swallowed nothing, my mouth dry, as I realized I was going to have to lie to get what I wanted.

"I'm not talking about anything while you have that," I pointed to his weapon. My voice shook convincingly. If only it was due to my considerable talent as an actress.

"You aren't in any position to make demands. But I suppose I'll humor you, if that will expedite the process. I have a schedule to keep, after all." He didn't see any threat in me. He knew he was physically larger, stronger. He knew he could subdue me, if need be, even if I had his weapon. And he was right.

The Dre rolled his weapon, metal chinking unpleasantly against the smooth floor, and it slowed to a halt a yard and a half from my feet.

"Now that we're all more comfortable," he sneered the word, thin lips curling, "it's time to talk."

"I don't know anything."

"Let's keep this civil, shall we? There's no need for violence. And there's no reason to protect whom you undoubtedly believe to be your friends. You're alone."

I ground my teeth together. I needed time—enough time to reach the weapon, taking into account my miserable coordination. I needed him to drop his guard.

My mouth popped open into an 'O' of surprise when I remembered what Edward had done, what he had told me.

I told that despicable, monstrous man something that I knew would surprise him, something that would lower his guard.

He had created a distraction so the man who had captured me would lower his defenses, if even only for a few moments. Of course, I couldn't rival Edward for his acting abilities, or speed, but if Dre Marsch was relaxed enough that he couldn't stop me, only for a few seconds, then it might be enough.

I wasn't so angry, so cold, and simultaneously so scared that I couldn't see the irony of the situation.

It would be funny, later. If there was a later.

What would startle the jaded Dre into complacence for a few moments?

"The Cullens are at the center of a major crime syndicate that has already seized control of several cities before this one," I babbled. My voice shook. I stumbled over the words, desperate to think of something, anything, that was so surprising it would cause the Dre pause, and yet not so ludicrous that he wouldn't believe it. "They report to a higher-up agent."

The Dre's muddy brown eyes narrowed, but his posture was still tense, alert. Ready to span the space between us within a few seconds. Too ready. Several seconds ticked by. I wiped my sweating palms on the smoothly woven skirt I wore, praying that he didn't think I was lying.

The atmosphere was so tense, it felt like the strain was palpable. Like it would snap at the slightest touch. I tried to regulate my sporadic breathing, staring at the pearly floor to ground myself.

Silence.

I wanted to scream, just to relieve the tension. But I was sure the moment I did, the Dre would attack me. And he would win. And Alice and Jasper might not even hear.

"Who is this agent? Who's in control?" I almost toppled over in relief when the man finally asked, buying my story.

"Isn't it obvious?" I asked, voice bordering on the edge of hysteria.

The Dre snarled, not accustomed to being toyed with. "Tell me. Tell me who it is."

"It's me."

The Dre stood, face thunderstruck. I didn't know whether he believed me or not, whether he realized I was bluffing. But he was shocked, he had relaxed his attention. That lapse in concentration should be enough. I hoped.

I sprung forward, grasping for the handle of the Dre's discarded baton. It was long, half as long as I, and polished a sinister black. Metal spikes protruded from its smoothed surface like sharpened claws.

It was heavy, very heavy. For a split second, I felt terror fill my body as I realized I might not be able to throw it far enough.

The handle was cold against my hand. But it felt too polished, too smooth. I felt repulsed even touching it.

My muscles strained, screaming from the harsh effort after being abused for so long. I swung around, feeling the smooth floor beneath me and praying I wouldn't trip the whole time, using my momentum to throw the cumbersome weapon.

The physical action was over so quickly I hardly remembered it. Like someone else had done it, and told me the story. Like something done in a dream.

But watching the lethal weapon arch through the air, heading in the direction of the Dre, seemed to last an eternity.

Maybe I didn't throw it hard enough. It might fall short. And if it does… I mentally calculated my chances of escaping, which were zero. And the chance that I could defend myself against the noble in a physical confrontation. Also zero.

The club seemed to pause for a moment in midair, metal protrusions gleaming queerly, before continuing on its path.

It struck the mirror, a few feet up and to the side of the Dre's head.

It was dead silent for an instant.

Wildly, I wondered whether my plan would even work.

Cracks spread across the surface of the immense mirror, spreading out like sinister spider webs.

Dead silent.

Then the entire structure groaned and broke into hundreds of shards, some large, some small, all catching the light of the shining moon. Just like with the weapon I had thrown, they seemed to hang suspended for a split second, as if defying the laws of gravity.

They fell towards the ground, smashing against the floor with a sound that seemed to jar the entire room. The sound of shattering glass was trapped in my ears, reverberating.

I looked away for a moment, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

The sound eventually faded. But something else lingered. Something wet, something repulsive.

I knew the smell even from here.

Blood.

I finally forced myself to look, and as soon as I had, wished I had walked away without ever seeing the gruesome sight.

Some of the immense shards had fallen uselessly to the floor, and shattered further into millions of pieces. But some had fallen on the man so conveniently positioned just below the mirror. Sharpened fragments had pierced the skin, and now rested, implanted deeply into the flesh, still glittering in the weak light.

There was so much blood. Bright, bright red.

I knew without closer examination that Dre Marsch was dead.

Numbly, I realized I had killed someone. But then I was engulfed in a wave of nausea, both from the grisly sight and the smell of blood, that was too powerful to fight off.

My stomach rolled, my insides feeling like overcooked vegetables.

And I was violently ill, all over the floor.

I finally looked up, arms wrapped around my stomach. I could see from my peripheral vision the seeping of the red across stone. It reached out to embrace the room with its sinister touch, unwilling to concede anything, even in death.

My mouth tasted disgusting, and yet simultaneously like ashes as I began to comprehend the fact that I had murdered someone. It was self defense, assuredly. But I was directly responsible for someone's death. I felt guilty, enormously so.

The man I killed probably deserved it. There was no doubt in my mind that he wouldn't have had a second thought about killing me. But still…

I bleakly wondered if this was how Edward felt, after he had killed someone.

Even knowing that the person had deserved it didn't absolve me of the crime. It didn't wash away the blood that was now on my hands.

I remembered Alice's cryptic mutterings about darkness, about shattered glass, about blood.

She had seen this. She just didn't know what she had been seeing.

I sat down, legs feeling week, and looked pointedly away from the carnage.

This room was truly a mausoleum, now.

And the fixture I had always hated had served to be instrumental in saving my life.

Another irony.

Alice and Jasper surely would have heard the sound of the wreckage. They would be here soon…

I thought about Alice's vision again. Blood and glass.

Somehow, despite everything, I smiled. It must have been a pale mockery of true mirth. But a smile nevertheless.

Never bet against Alice.

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