Edge of Twilight (30 page)

“It's in Eric's lab. Go ahead and take him to the library, ‘Fina. I'll get it and bring it right in.”

Nodding, Sarafina pulled Will's arm around her. Amber placed herself on the other side of him, but her mother held up a hand and took that spot for herself, though she couldn't seem to tug her gaze from Amber's swollen middle.

“I'm huge. I know.”

“You're beautiful. Glowing, but you look exhausted, too.” Angelica smiled. “I'm just so shocked. Tam's phone call didn't prepare us for the sight of you.”

“Well, she probably gave you the accurate account at the time. I seem to expanding exponentially.”

Her mother sent her a worried look.

“Edge has forbidden me to think about that,” Amber said.

“About what?”

“What happens if this rapid development continues after he's born. Will he be twenty by this time next year? Will he die of old age before he starts school? What if he can't even survive the birth itself?”

“Amber, stop it,” Will said. And he put more power behind those words than anything he'd said since he'd arrived. He shot her a stern look. “Edge is right. What earthly good can thoughts like those do either of you?”

“None, Will. I know that. But knowing it doesn't stop the questions from echoing constantly in my mind.”

They'd made it nearly to the library. Will moved very slowly and needed to stop every few yards to rest before moving on.

“What do you suppose the big meeting is about?” Angelica asked.

Amber sighed. “It's about Edge. He's vanished and taken Stiles with him.”

Angelica's eyes widened.

“Eric and Roland seem to think Edge decided to have his revenge on Stiles after all. But I know better.” She opened the library door, then stood aside so that Sarafina and Angelica could help Will inside.

“The bastard,” Rhiannon was saying. “If he harms that man before we learn what we need to know I'll—”

“Don't be ridiculous, Princess.” It was Jameson who interrupted her. “You're all being ridiculous. I spent time with the man, more so than any of you did. If he took Stiles out of here, then it was because he thought he knew how to make him talk.”

“I'd like to agree with you, Jamey,” Roland said, his voice sad. “But if making him talk were the lad's goal, he could have done it right here.”

“It's not his fault,” Donovan said. “Don't forget, he had no one to teach him, no one to explain things.”

“That was more than fifty years ago, Donovan. For God's sake, you explained what happened. If he's using that as an excuse—” Dante began.

“I haven't heard him use any excuse at all!” Jameson exploded. “God, you're all tossing around explanations for an evil that doesn't exist in the man. I'm telling you, he's taken Stiles to make him talk.”

“Just what method could he employ elsewhere that he couldn't have employed here?” Eric asked.

Before anyone could answer, Tamara burst into the room. “The Ambrosia-Six!” she cried, a white foam box in her hands. “It's gone!”

“No,” Amber whispered. She clutched Will's arm. “Please, God, not that.”

Will nodded slowly. “Well, I guess that answers your
question,” he said. “As to what method Edge could use to make Stiles talk that he couldn't use here. He's bribing him—with life.”

Jameson closed his eyes. “Will's right. Stiles is the kind of man who craves immortality at any cost. He'd have given anything for that last dose of A-Six. Even if he knew there was a possibility it wouldn't work. Edge likely knew it was the only chance to get the truth out of him.”

“No,” Sarafina whispered. “By
Devel,
no!”

Will pulled her against him, though he had to brace his back against the wall to remain standing. “If Edge can get information that can help Amber and the baby, it's well worth it. I would have done the same.”

She moaned against him, crying openly.

“Don't you hold this against him, Amber Lily,” Willem told her. “Don't you do it. You know I'm not willing to live at your expense—or that child's. You know it. If he hadn't done it, I'd have found a way myself.”

His knees bent a little. Sarafina lifted herself away, clutching him around the waist. She turned to the others. “We need to get him into a bed. He has to rest.”

Nodding, Jameson strode forward, lifting Will easily and carrying him out of the room, with Sarafina right behind.

“I'll go see if they need anything,” Tamara whispered, hurrying away.

“Donovan, you and I should continue to search for Edge until dawn,” Dante said. “You, as his sire, would have the strongest bond to him.”

He was wrong, Amber thought, sinking into a chair. She had the strongest bond to Edge. She'd been right to believe he wouldn't exact vengeance on Stiles at her ex
pense. She'd been right to believe he had only taken the man to try to extract his secrets.

But had she been wrong to trust him? Had he just signed the death sentence of her best friend?

Tears welled in her eyes, and then more came when it felt as if a giant fist closed around her lower back and abdomen. The pressure was intense. She screamed, and thought the entire household probably heard it.

 

“So, here we are. Just the two of us. Ironic, isn't it? That of all people, I'd be the one with you at the end?” Edge sat in a rickety wooden chair, smoking a cigarette and studying the old man, who lay on the floor, a tarp over him for a blanket. Edge had carried the old bastard on his back until he'd located an abandoned farmhouse. He was using a shed out back. The house would have been too obvious. And hell, he didn't need too much time, anyway. This shouldn't take all that long.

“We both know,” Stiles said slowly, “this isn't the end.”

“Isn't it?”

“You aren't going to let me die.”

Edge shrugged, took a slow drag and blew out the smoke. “I think that depends on you, Stiles. I'd like nothing better than to watch you die. Maybe even help you. But lucky for you, I've found something else to live for, besides vengeance.” He nodded. “And your notes are somewhat…incomplete.”

He pointed to his head, tapped it with a forefinger. “Some things, I keep right here.”

“What sorts of things?”

“The formula, for one.”

“Oh, we've figured out the formula. That Marquand, he's quite the science buff, you know. You're going to
have to do better than that if you want the little present I brought you.” As he said it, Edge drew the vial from his coat pocket, held it close enough to Stiles so the old man could read the label, though he had to squint to focus.

His eyes brightened with hope; he licked his lips. “You'll give it to me?”

Edge nodded. “If you tell me what you know about Amber. And the baby.”

“How do I know you'll keep your end of the bargain?”

Edge shrugged, reached into his pocket, pulled out a syringe, and tore off the cellophane wrapper. He stuck it into the vial, piercing the stopper and drawing all of the fluid up into the hypodermic. “I'll let you hold the needle. How's that?”

He offered it to the man. Frowning, Stiles took it, and immediately turned it toward his arm.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Edge said, and he pinned Stiles's hand to the floor at the wrist. “You can't inject yourself until you've told me what I want to know. I'm not stupid. I let you inject it now, you won't tell me a thing.”

“You may not let me anyway,” he said. “You're far stronger than I am now.”

“I'm also the only chance you have, Stiles. Now, are you going to start talking, or are you going to keep wasting time?”

He frowned, nodded. “Where do you want me to begin?”

“At the beginning,” Edge said. “As in, conception.”

“Ahh.” Stiles nodded. “Well, it's got to be her blood. It has healing properties, you know. Always has had just a hint of that, even as a girl. That was one of the things I learned about her the first time I held her. One of the things I didn't put in my notes.” He shook his head slowly.
“But it was nothing like the degree it possesses now. I believe that when your sperm cells entered her body, they were…healed. Revivified by that slight healing energy she's always possessed. They were brought back to life. She made you fertile again. Probably only with her, though.”

“She is one of a kind,” he muttered.

“What's that?”

“Nothing.” Edge told himself to focus and returned his attention to Stiles. “Her blood chemistry changed once she became pregnant.”

“Yes. I was running tests on her blood the night you all came bursting in on me. It's far more powerful now, but volatile. Unpredictable.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I can't predict how it's going to react to any test. One sample of plasma injected into a rat made it grow to twice its normal size in two hours. Another rat died, and a third gave birth.”

“It was already pregnant?” Edge asked.

“It had been sterilized,” Stiles told him.

Edge frowned. “What are you saying?”

“Sometimes the blood healed, sometimes it caused…inexplicable things to happen. There was no pattern, no rationale. And yet it was obviously the most powerful fluid imaginable. So I made the formula. Ambrosia-Seven. And I…I couldn't resist the allure of so much power.”

“So you injected yourself,” Edge said.

Stiles nodded. “And immediately began to age.”

“You think the A-Six will reverse the process?”

“It's the only thing that might.”

“What if it only stops it?” Edge asked. “Suppose it
only makes you stay as you are, right now, for years and years?”

“That's a chance I'm willing to take.”

Edge shook his head.

“Can I take the injection now?”

“Just one or two more questions, old man. Then you can do whatever you want.”

He nodded. “You want to know about the baby. About what its chances are, what it will be. I don't know those things. I have no way of knowing those things.”

Edge nodded, believing the man for once.

“And what about Amber? Will her blood chemistry return to normal once the baby is born?”

Stiles nodded. “Her mother's did.”

“What?”

“DPI held her mother throughout her pregnancy. Kept close tabs on her. Her blood chemistry was altered drastically during her pregnancy, though not in the same way as Amber's was. We took another sample right after the delivery. And it had returned to prepregnancy condition. I have no reason to believe Amber's won't do the same.”

“You were there when Amber Lily was born?”

“I was there.”

“Were there any…complications?”

The old man nodded. “Yes. We almost lost her, in fact.”

“Amber Lily or her mother?” Edge asked, leaning forward.

“The mother. It was due to the intense pain of the delivery. Your kind…don't do so well with pain.” He shrugged. “Not that anyone cared about the mother at that point.”

“Of course not. She was just a means to an end to you.”

“If not for us, your precious Amber Lily wouldn't even exist.”

“I think maybe she would. I think maybe fate had more to do with that than you or DPI or anyone else.”

“Fate.” Stiles spat out the word.

Edge lit another smoke, leaned back, releasing Stiles's wrist but remaining close enough to grab it faster than the old man could move it six inches. He knew that Stiles realized it, as well, because he didn't even try. “You have a theory, don't you? About why Amber's body chemistry has changed so drastically? About why her blood suddenly has this volatile healing power?”

Stiles held his gaze, nodded.

“Then you tell me what it is. And don't leave anything out. Then you can have your injection,” he told Stiles.

Stiles nodded, took a breath and kept on talking.

A
mber hugged her belly and sank to her knees as everyone came running.

Everyone, she noted, except Edge.

“God, no. Not yet!” she cried. “Not yet, I still don't know what to do. I still don't know…ahhhh.”

“Easy, baby. Easy now.” Her mother's arms were around her, gentle but strong. “Come on, let's get you up to bed. Tam? Rhiannon?”

“Right here,” Rhiannon said. They helped Amber to her feet, and then her dad was there, picking her up and carrying her, just the way he'd carried Will only moments ago. Not because her mother couldn't have done it herself, but because he was her dad. As he carried her up the stairs, he gazed down at her face. “I wasn't there when you were born,” he said. “It's almost as if I'm getting the chance to make up for that now.”

“It might not be the happy occasion you're hoping for,” she whispered. “Prepare yourself, Dad. I don't know…ahh!”

He picked up the pace, and soon she was in her bed. It felt different, and she realized vaguely that someone had run ahead to line the mattress in something. There
wasn't time to discover what. The contractions came fast, hard. She closed her eyes, focused on Edge in her mind.
It's time,
she thought desperately.
Edge, where are you? I need you!

 

Edge listened to Stiles's theory about what was happening in Amber's body, which had all the earmarks of a madman's delusion—except that it explained everything. And he could think of nothing else that could. So maybe it wasn't so farfetched after all.

And then he heard Amber's call like the cry of a wounded siren, reaching across space to touch him. His body tingled with nervous energy, and he looked at Stiles. “And that's it? That's all you know?”

“That's all I know.” Stiles looked down at the hypodermic he held in his hand. “Are you going to keep your word?”

Edge nodded once.

Stiles moved the needle toward his opposite arm, pressed the tip to his skin, then paused and looked up at Edge, as if surprised Edge had let him get that far. And then his face clouded. “How do I know this isn't a trick? That this is really the Ambrosia-Six?”

Edge shrugged. “How do you know it's not? What's the matter, Stiles, getting cold feet?”

“No. No, this is my only hope. Living on—it's worth any risk.”

“Trust me on this, Stiles, it's not all sunshine. Hell, for me, none of it is.” His pun seemed lost on the old man.

Stiles took a breath, drove the needle into his arm and depressed the plunger. Then he pulled the needle out again and dropped it to the floor. He laid his head back, closed his eyes, waited.

“Do you remember all those years ago?” Edge asked. “The way you killed my family?”

“Family. Hell, Edge, that wasn't a family. It was a street gang.”

“They were family to me.”

“Fledglings. No age, no power. No experience. Almost too dumb to live.”

“I've always wondered, all this time. Why? Why did you do it?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes, staring at Edge. “Does it matter?”

“To me it does.”

“They were street criminals. You all were.”

“That's how we got by. Lifting wallets here and there, stealing what we could, when we got the chance.”

He nodded. “One of your little ‘family' members cornered me in an alley. Took my wallet, took my blood…”

“Yes, Bridget told me about it. But she didn't take your life,” Edge said. “She let you live.” Then he studied the man's face. “Ah, but she terrified you, didn't she? Scared you so badly you pissed yourself.” He tipped his head sideways. “She laughed at you, humiliated you. Showed you to be the coward you truly are.”

Stiles frowned, his attention no longer on Edge's words. “Something's…wrong…”

“So you went back, probably with a gang of your own, since you've never been man enough to do your own dirty work.”

“I'd made some new friends,” Stiles said. “A group called DPI. They'd been trying to recruit me. Leading them to your lair was…sort of my initiation.”

“So you tortured them, and then you killed them. All of them.”

“God, something's wrong!” the old man said.

Edge watched as Stiles's face began to change. It puckered and wrinkled, right before his eyes. He said, “You were right before, Stiles. That wasn't Ambrosia-Six in the vial. It was Ambrosia-Seven.”

“No…”

“'Fraid so.”

Stiles clutched at his throat, twisting and writhing as his face contorted. The pain must have been intense, Edge thought. Good.

The man thrashed, convulsed, as the formula did its work. He aged right before Edge's eyes, rapidly, amazingly.

“Consider this payment in full,” Edge said. “For Bridget and Scottie. For Billy Boy and Ginger. For everything you did to Amber in the past. For all the vampires you've ever tormented, Stiles. It isn't half what you deserve.”

Stiles's eyes widened, bulged, and then suddenly he went still, his face frozen in a terrible grimace. Within seconds, even that faded as his skin crumbled and flaked away, leaving only bones. And those, too, became dust, until all that remained of him was a pile of powder in the vague shape of a human form.

Edge rose and opened the door. A stiff wind blew in, and the dust scattered, swirled. Good. Edge left the door standing wide and sprinted with all his power through the night. Amber needed him, even though she probably hated him right now.

 

“Ah, God, it hurts!” Amber panted, followed her mother's breathing instructions, even while wondering how a vampiress, in whom every sense was magnified a thousand times,
had ever gone through this kind of pain without losing her mind. She clutched her mother's hand.

“It'll be over soon, Amber.”

“I know. If you survived this, I can.”

The men had been banished from the room. Tamara, Rhiannon, Alicia and Angelica surrounded her, Tam at the foot of the bed, Rhiannon pacing.

Alicia said, “Rhiannon, isn't there something you can do?”

“I'm not a doctor,” she said. “Nor have I ever given birth.” Amber detected a hint of regret in her voice when she said it.

“You were a priestess, though. I've read about the priestesses of Isis. You've got…real power. And women came to you when they were ready to give birth.”

Rhiannon came to a stop in her pacing, met Alicia's eyes. “You've been dabbling in the magical arts, haven't you, child?”

“Maybe. A little.”

Rhiannon drew a breath, sighed. “Well, it's true. There was a childbirth ritual that seemed to ease the pain of the women in labor. By the Gods, it was so long ago….” She turned to Angelica, to Amber. “Do you want me to try?”

“Of course,” Angelica said, looking to Amber for confirmation.

“I'll try anything at this point,” she said.

Nodding, Rhiannon climbed into the bed, lifting Amber into a sitting position and sliding in behind her, kneeling. She put a pillow over her thighs, then lowered Amber's back to them, so she lay at an angle. Then she pressed her fingertips to Amber's temples, closed her eyes and began chanting—strange, foreign words that at first
seemed awkward but soon fell into a gentle cadence and rhythm.

Angelica watched Amber's face, a question in her eyes. Amber nodded, because despite her initial doubts, she felt something. A warmth, soothing through her body like liquid heat.

“Tam, get some candles,” Alicia whispered. “Incense, too. Sandalwood, if you have it. I'll dim the lights.”

Within a few moments the room's entire atmosphere had changed. Tamara returned to her position at the foot of the bed, keeping track of Amber's physical progress. Angelica sat in a chair right at Amber's side, holding her hand, coaching her through the breathing. Rhiannon remained where she was, stroking Amber's forehead and temples with her graceful hands, and chanting in that deep, powerful voice. Alicia moved around the room, placing candles and lighting them, then wafting the incense smoke around with smooth, graceful hand motions. Scarfs and veils had been draped over the lights. And Angelica was whispering Hail Mary's at her side.

The door opened, and Sarafina came in. She took in the scene, nodded her approval and joined in, adding her own Gypsy chant to the mix.

“It's time to push,” Tamara said softly. “When the next contraction comes, bear down for a count of ten. All right?”

The contraction came all too soon. Amber bore down. All the women stopped their chanting, praying, songs, and joined in counting, all with one voice. “Ten, nine, eight, seven…” When they reached zero, they each returned to their individual techniques, only to return to the count the next time Amber had to push.

“The head's coming. It's coming, Amber.”

The bedroom door burst open suddenly. Amber looked
up and saw Edge standing there, his eyes wide, sweeping her, the women around her, and then focusing on the place where a new life was struggling to emerge from her body.

“Oh, God,” he whispered. He looked as if he might be about to faint.

Panting, breathless, coated in sweat, Amber said, “Where the hell is Stiles?”

“He's dust.”

Pant, pant, pant breathe. “Then—then you did it? You killed him?”

“Not exactly. Jesus, Alby, all this can wait.”

“No, it can't! Ahh!”

“Push now, push.” The women all began counting, and Edge came farther into the room, taking the spot at Amber's side, on the opposite side of the bed from her mother.

They reached zero, and Amber collapsed back onto Rhiannon's lap, panting. When she could breathe enough to talk, she said, “Tell me what happened, Edge. Where's the A-Six? What did you do with Stiles?”

He nodded, holding her hand, drawing it to his lips to kiss it, then speaking. “The Ambrosia-Six is still safely in Eric's lab. Just in an unlabeled vial.”

Sarafina's song broke off abruptly. “You didn't give it to Stiles?”

“I'd planned to, but I knew Amber would never forgive me. It occurred to me I might be able to fool Stiles, so I told him I would, but what I gave him in exchange for his information was the Seven, not the Six.”

Sarafina closed her eyes. “Thank the Gods,” she whispered. “I have to—”

“Go,” Amber told her. “Get it and inject Will. Do it now.”

Nodding, Sarafina ran from the room as Edge called out after her, telling her where to find the precious elixir.

“What did Stiles tell you?” Amber demanded.

Edge shook his head, as if to clear it. “That your blood has always had healing properties. He discovered it when he held you captive the first time. That it somehow revivified my useless sperm cells, making them viable again. And that the conception of the baby caused a chemical reaction in you that will likely be reversed as soon as our child is born.”

She gulped in air, nodded. “What about the baby?”

“He didn't know. Amber, he had some wild theories, but he just didn't know. I don't…”

“Ah, God!” She bore down again with the contraction.

Tamara leaned over her from below. “A little more, a little more, that's it! The head is out!”

The next contraction came with barely a heartbeat in between. Amber pushed again, and she felt the sudden whoosh of relief. A moment later Tamara was rising, a towel-wrapped bundle in her arms. Amber clutched Edge's hand hard, staring, whispering, “Please, please…”

And then the bundle wriggled. A soft, hoarse cry, muffled, gurgly, came from within it. Tamara lowered the baby into Amber's arms. She held her son, staring down at his pink, white-smeared face, his bright, open eyes, sobbing. “He's alive. God, Edge, he's alive.”

“Not only alive, but big and strong,” Tamara said, smiling.

Amber sighed. “The dream was wrong.”

“Dream?” her mother asked.

Then Amber felt it, another mind-bending contraction. She cried out and pushed the baby toward his father. Edge
took his son, holding him gently, gazing down at his tiny face with rapture on his own.

“Hey, J.W. Good to finally see you.” His words were mere whispers.

“Oh, God, what's happening?” Amber cried.

Edge looked up, his face suddenly worried.

Tamara, at the foot of the bed, looked up at the two of them. “There's another baby,” she said.

 

Edge felt his knees go weak. Angelica rose to her feet, leaning over the bed, reaching out. “I'll take him. It's going to be all right. Come here, little one.”

Edge let her take the child from his arms. She left the room with the baby, and all his attention returned to Amber and the events unfolding before his eyes. He couldn't bear to see her in so much pain. Racked by so much fear. He was confused—if there were two babies, why had he heard only one voice?

Amber pushed, the women chanted and counted, and Edge held on to Amber, telling her softly that it would all be okay, but he had no idea if he believed the words he spoke to her. He only knew she needed to hear them.

Angelica returned. She'd lined what looked like the drawer of an ornate dresser in thick blankets. She'd cleaned and dressed the baby boy, wrapped him in one of the blue receiving blankets and laid him inside. She placed the makeshift cradle on a stand to await the second child, then gathered the wriggling baby from it and returned to the bedside to hold him, cooing softly.

Amber let her body go limp. “God, I can't. I can't push anymore. I can't…”

Angelica leaned closer, and Amber touched her newborn son's hand. Edge watched as the baby wrapped his
tiny fist around Amber's forefinger. And suddenly she seemed stronger. Able to go on.

She pushed when told, panted in between. Her face was red, her hair sweat-soaked. She was utterly exhausted, and Edge felt it. He felt everything, the pain, the tiredness, but above it all, the fear.