Twilight 2 - New Moon (28 page)

And what about Jacob? Jacob was my best friend; I needed to warn him. If he really was a–I cringed and forced myself to think the word–werewolf (and I knew it was true, I could feel it), then people would be shooting at him! I needed to tell him
and
his friends that people would try to kill them if they went running around like gigantic wolves. I needed to tell them to stop.

They had to stop! Charlie was out there in the woods. Would they care about that? I wondered… Up until now, only strangers had disappeared. Did that mean anything, or was it just chance?

I needed to believe that Jacob, at least, would care about that.
Either way, I had to warn him.
Or… did I?

Jacob was my best friend, but was he a monster, too? A real one? A bad one?
Should
I warn him, if he and his friends were… were
murderers
! If they were out slaughtering innocent hikers in cold blood? If they were truly creatures from a horror movie in every sense, would it be wrong to protect them?

It was inevitable that I would have to compare Jacob and his friends to the Cullens. I wrapped my arms around my chest, fighting the hole, while I thought of them.

I didn't know anything about werewolves, clearly. I would have expected something closer to the movies–big hairy half-men creatures or something–if I'd expected anything at all. So I didn't know what made them hunt, whether hunger or thirst or just a desire to kill. It was hard to judge, not knowing that.

But it couldn't be worse than what the Cullens endured in their quest to be good. I thought of Esme–the tears started when I pictured her kind, lovely face–and how, as motherly and loving as she was, she'd had to hold her nose, all ashamed, and run from me when I was bleeding. It couldn't be harder than that. I thought of Carlisle, the centuries upon centuries that he had struggled to teach himself to ignore blood, so that he could save lives as a doctor. Nothing could be harder than
that
.

The werewolves had chosen a different path.
Now, what should
I
choose?
1 3 . KILLER
IF IT WAS ANYONE BUT JACOB
, I THOUGHT TO MYSELF, shaking my head as I drove down the forest-lined highway to La Push.
I still wasn't sure if I was domg the right thing, but I'd made a compromise with myself.

I couldn't condone what Jacob and his friends, his pack, were doing. I understood now what he'd said last night–that I might not want to see him again–and I could have called him as he'd suggested, but that felt cowardly. I owed him a face-to-face conversation, at least. I would tell him to his face that I couldn't just overlook what was going on. I couldn't be friends with a killer and say nothing, let the killing continue… That would make me a monster, too.

But I couldn't
not
warn him, either. I had to do what I could to protect him. I pulled up to the Blacks' house with my lips pressed together into a hard line. It was bad enough that my best friend was a werewolf. Did he have to be a monster, too? The house was dark, no lights in the windows, but I didn't care if I woke them. My fist thudded against the front door with angry energy; the sound reverberated through the walls. "Come in," I heard Billy call after a minute, and a light flicked on.

I twisted the knob; it was unlocked. Billy was leaning around an open doorway just off the little kitchen, a bathrobe around his shoulders, not in his chair yet. When he saw who it was, his eyes widened briefly, and then his face turned stoic.

"Well, good morning, Bella. What are you doing up so early?"
"Hey, Billy. I need to talk to Jake–where is he?"
"Um… I don't really know," he lied, straight-faced.
"Do you know what Charlie is doing this morning?" I demanded, sick of the stalling. "Should I?"

"He and half the other men in town are all out in the woods with guns, hunting giant wolves."

Billy's expression flickered, and then went blank.
"So I'd like to talk to Jake about that, if you don't mind," I continued.

Billy pursed his thick lips for a long moment. "I'd bet he's still asleep," he finally said, nodding toward the tiny hallway off the front room. "He's out late a lot these days. Kid needs his rest–probably you shouldn't wake him."
"It's my turn," I muttered under my breath as I stalked to the hallway. Billy sighed.

Jacob's tiny closet of a room was the only door in the yard-long hallway. I didn't bother to knock. I threw the door open; it slammed against the wall with a bang.

Jacob–still wearing just the same black cut-off sweats he'd worn last night–was stretched diagonally across the double bed that took up all of his room but a few inches around the edges. Even on a slant, it wasn't long enough; his feet hung off the one end and his head off the other. He was fast asleep, snoring lightly with his mouth hanging open. The sound of the door hadn't even made him twitch.

His face was peaceful with (deep sleep, all the angry lines smoothed out. There were circles under his eyes that I hadn't noticed before. Despite his ridiculous size, he looked very young now, and very weary. Pity shook me.

I stepped back out, and shut the door quietly behind me. Billy stared with curious, guarded eyes as I walked slowly back into the front room. "I think I'll let him get some rest."

Billy nodded, and then we gazed at each other for a minute. I was dying to ask him about his part in this.

What did he think of what his son had become? But I knew how he'd supported Sam from the very beginning, and so I supposed the murders must not bother him. How he justified that to himself I couldn't imagine.

I could see many questions for me in his dark eyes, but he didn't voice them either. "Look," I said, breaking the loud silence. "I'll be down at the beach for a while. When he wakes up, tell him I'm waiting for him, okay?"

"Sure, sure," Billy agreed.
I wondered if he really would. Well, if he didn't, I'd tried, right?

I drove down to First Beach and parked in the empty dirt lot. It was still dark–the gloomy predawn of a cloudy day–and when I cut the headlights it was hard to see. I had to let my eyes adjust before I could find the path that led through the tall hedge of weeds. It was colder here, with the wind whipping off the black water, and I shoved my hands deep into the pockets of my winter jacket. At least the rain had stopped.

I paced down the beach toward the north seawall. I couldn't see St. James or the other islands, just the vague shape of the water's edge. I picked my way carefully across the rocks, watching out for driftwood that might trip me.
I found what I was looking for before I realized I was looking for it. It materialized out of the gloom when it was just a few feet away: a long bone-white driftwood tree stranded deep on the rocks. The roots twisted up at the seaward end, like a hundred brittle tentacles. I couldn't be sure that it was the same tree where Jacob and I had had our first conversation–a conversation that had begun so many different, tangled threads of my life–but it seemed to be in about the same place I sat down where I'd sat before, and stared out across the invisible sea.

Seeing Jacob like that–innocent and vulnerable in sleep–had stolen all my revulsion, dissolved all my anger. I still couldn't turn a blind sye to what was happening, like Billy seemed to, but I couldn't condemn Jacob for it either. Love didn't work that way, I decided. Once you cared about a person, it was impossible to be logical about them anymore. Jacob was my friend whether he killed people or not. And I didn't know what I was going to do about that.

When I pictured him sleeping so peacefully, I felt an overpowering urge to
protect
him. Completely illogical.
Illogical or not, I brooded over the memory his peaceful face, trying to come up with some answer, some way to shelter him, while the sky slowly turned gray.
"Hi, Bella."

Jacob's voice came from the darkness and made me jump. It was soft, almost shy, but I'd been expecting some forewarning from the noisy rocks, and so it still startled me. I could see his silhouette against the coming sunrise–it looked enormous.

"Jake?"
He stood several paces away, shifting his weight from foot to foot anxiously. "Billy told me you came by–didn't take you very long, did it? I knew you could figure it out." "Yeah, I remember the right story now," I whispered.

It was quiet for a long moment and, though it was still too dark to see well, my skin prickled as if his eyes were searching my face. There must have been enough light for him to read my expression, because when he spoke again, his voice was suddenly acidic.

"You could have just called," he said harshly.
I nodded. "I know."

Jacob started pacing along the rocks. If I listened very hard, I could just hear the gentle brush of his feet on the rocks behind the sound of the waves. The rocks had clattered like castanets for me.
"Why did you come?" he demanded, not halting his angry stride.

"I thought it would be better face-to-face." He snorted. "Oh, much better." "Jacob, I have to warn you–" "About the rangers and the hunters? Don't worry about it. We already know."

"Don't worry about it?" I demanded in disbelief. "Jake, they've got guns! They're setting traps and offering rewards and–"
"We can take care of ourselves," he growled, still pacing. "They're not going to catch anything. They're only making it more difficult–they'll start disappearing soon enough, too."

"Jake!" I hissed. "What? It's just a fact."

My voice was pale with revulsion. "How can you… feel that way? You know these people. Charlie's out there!" The thought made my stomach twist.
He came to an abrupt stop. "What more can we do?" he retorted.
The sun turned the clouds a slivery pink above us. I could see his expression now; it was angry, frustrated, betrayed.
"Could you… well, try to
not
be a… werewolf?" I suggested in a whisper.
He threw his hands up in the air. "Like I have a choice about it!" he shouted. "And how would that help anything, if you're worried about people disappearing?"
"I don't understand you."
He glared at me, his eyes narrowing and his mouth twisting into a snarl. "You know what makes me so mad I could just spit?"
I flinched away from his hostile expression. He seemed to be waiting for an answer, so I shook my head.
"You're such a hypocrite, Bella–there you sit,
terrified
of me! How is that fair?" His hands shook with anger.
"
Hypocrite
? How does being afraid of a monster make me a hypocrite?"
"Ugh!" he groaned, pressing his trembling fists to his temples and squeezing his eyes shut. "Would you listen to yourself?"
"What?"

He took two steps toward me, leaning over me and glaring with fury. "Well, I'm so sorry that I can't be the
right
kind of monster for you, Bella. I guess I'm just not as great as a bloodsucker, am I?"

I jumped to my feet and glared back. "No, you're not!" I shouted. "It's not what you
are
, stupid, it's what you
do
!"
"What's that supposed to mean?" He roared, his entire frame quivering with rage. I was taken entirely by surprise when Edward's voice cautioned me. "Be very careful, Bella," his velvet voice warned. "Don't push him too far. You need to calm him down."

Even the voice in my head was making no sense today. I listened to him, though. I would do anything for that voice.

"Jacob," I pleaded, making my tone soft and even. "Is it really necessary to
kill
people, Jacob? Isn't there some other way? I mean, if vampires can find a way to survive without murdering people, couldn't you give it a try, too?"

He straightened up with a jerk, like my words had sent an electric shock through him. His eyebrows shot up and his eyes stared wide.

"Killing people?" he demanded. "What did you think we were talking about?"

He wasn't trembling anymore. He looked at me with half-hopeful disbelief
. "I
thought we were talking about your disgust for werewolves."

"No, Jake, no. It's not that you're a… wolf. That's fine," I promised him, and I knew as I said the words that I meant them. I really didn't care if he turned into a big wolf–he was still Jacob. "If you could just find a way not to hurt people… that's all that upsets me. These ate innocent people, Jake, people like Charlie, and I can't just look the other way while you–"

"Is that all? Really?" he interrupted me, a smile breaking across his face. "You're just scared because I'm a murderer? That's the only reason?"

"Isn't that reason enough?" He started to laugh. "Jacob Black, this is
so
not funny!" "Sure, sure," he agreed, still chortling. He took one long stride and caught me in another vice-tight bear hug.

"You really, honestly don't mind that I morph into a giant dog?" he asked, his voice joyful in my ear.

"No," I gasped. "Can't–breathe–Jake!" He let me go, but took both my hands. "I'm not a killer, Bella." I studied his face, and it was clear that this was the truth. Relief pulsed through me. "Really?" I asked. "Really," he promised solemnly.

I threw my arms around him. It reminded me of that first day with the motorcycles–he was bigger, though, and I felt even more like a child now.

Like that other time, he stroked my hair. "Sorry I called you a hypocrite," he apologized. "Sorry I called you a murderer." He laughed.

I thought of something then, and pulled away from him so that I could see his face. My eyebrows furrowed in anxiety. "What about Sam? And the others?"
He shook his head, smiling like a huge burden had been removed from his shoulders. "Of course not. Don't you remember what we call ourselves?"

The memory was clear–I'd just been thinking of that very day. "Protectors?" "Exactly." "But I don't understand. What's happening in the woods? The missing hikers, the blood?"

His face was serious, worried at once. "We're trying to do our job, Bella. We're trying to protect them, but we're always just a little too late."
"Protect them from what? Is there really a bear out there, too?" "Bella, honey, we only protect people from one thing–our one enemy. It's the reason we exist–because they do."
I stared at him blankly for one second before I understood. Then the blood drained from my face and a thin, wordless cry of horror broke through my lips.