New Moon - Stephenie Meyer [147]
She laughed—the sound sparkled with delight like a baby’s cooing.
“Welcome back, Edward,” Alec greeted him. “You seem in a better mood.”
“Marginally,” Edward agreed in a flat voice. I glanced at Edward’s hard face, and wondered how his mood could have been darker before.
Alec chuckled, and examined me as I clung to Edward’s side. “And this is the cause of all the trouble?” he asked, skeptical.
Edward only smiled, his expression contemptuous. Then he froze.
“Dibs,” Felix called casually from behind.
Edward turned, a low snarl building deep in his chest. Felix smiled—his hand was raised, palm up; he curled his fingers twice, inviting Edward forward.
Alice touched Edward’s arm. “Patience,” she cautioned him.
They exchanged a long glance, and I wished I could hear what she was telling him. I figured that it was something to do with not attacking Felix, because Edward took a deep breath and turned back to Alec.
“Aro will be so pleased to see you again,” Alec said, as if nothing had passed.
“Let’s not keep him waiting,” Jane suggested.
Edward nodded once.
Alec and Jane, holding hands, led the way down yet another wide, ornate hall—would there ever be an end?
They ignored the doors at the end of the hall—doors entirely sheathed in gold—stopping halfway down the hall and sliding aside a piece of the paneling to expose a plain wooden door. It wasn’t locked. Alec held it open for Jane.
I wanted to groan when Edward pulled me through to the other side of the door. It was the same ancient stone as the square, the alley, and the sewers. And it was dark and cold again.
The stone antechamber was not large. It opened quickly into a brighter, cavernous room, perfectly round like a huge castle turret...which was probably exactly what it was. Two stories up, long window slits threw thin rectangles of bright sunlight onto the stone floor below. There were no artificial lights. The only furniture in the room were several massive wooden chairs, like thrones, that were spaced unevenly, flush with the curving stone walls. In the very center of the circle, in a slight depression, was another drain. I wondered if they used it as an exit, like the hole in the street.
The room was not empty. A handful of people were convened in seemingly relaxed conversation. The murmur of low, smooth voices was a gentle hum in the air. As I watched, a pair of pale women in summer dresses paused in a patch of light, and, like prisms, their skin threw the light in rainbow sparkles against the sienna walls.
The exquisite faces all turned toward our party as we entered the room. Most of the immortals were dressed in inconspicuous pants and shirts—things that wouldn’t stick out at all on the streets below. But the man who spoke first wore one of the long robes. It was pitch-black, and brushed against the floor. For a moment, I thought his long, jet-black hair was the hood of his cloak.
“Jane, dear one, you’ve returned!” he cried in evident delight. His voice was just a soft sighing.
He drifted forward, and the movement flowed with such surreal grace that I gawked, my mouth hanging open. Even Alice, whose every motion looked like dancing, could not compare.
I was only more astonished as he floated closer and I could see his face. It was not like the unnaturally attractive faces that surrounded him (for he did not approach us alone; the entire group converged around him, some following, and some walking ahead of him with the alert manner of bodyguards). I couldn’t decide if his face was beautiful or not. I suppose the features were perfect. But he was as different from the vampires beside him as they were from me. His skin was translucently white, like onionskin, and it looked just as delicate—it stood in shocking contrast to the long black hair that framed his face. I felt a strange, horrifying urge to touch his cheek, to see if it was softer than Edward’s or Alice’s, or if it was powdery, like chalk. His eyes were red, the same as the others around him, but the color was