I already had my story memorized and corroborated. “I don’t care. I want to be there when Jacob wakes up.”

“You need to think of Charlie now. You’ve had a long day — sorry, I know that doesn’t begin to cover it — but that doesn’t mean that you can shirk your responsibilities.” Her voice was serious, almost chiding. “It’s more important now than ever that Charlie stays safely in the dark. Play your role first, Bella, and then you can do what you want second. Part of being a Cullen is being meticulously responsible.”

Of course she was right. And if not for this same reason — a reason that was more powerful than all my fear and pain and guilt — Carlisle would never have been able to talk me into leaving Jacob’s side, unconscious or not.

“Go home,” Alice ordered. “Talk to Charlie. Flesh out your alibi. Keep him safe.”

I stood, and the blood flowed down to my feet, stinging like the pricks of a thousand needles. I’d been sitting still for a long time.

“That dress is adorable on you,” Alice cooed.

“Huh? Oh. Er — thanks again for the clothes,” I mumbled out of courtesy rather than real gratitude.

“You need the evidence,” Alice said, her eyes innocent and wide. “What’s a shopping trip without a new outfit? It’s very flattering, if I do say so myself.”

I blinked, unable to remember what she’d dressed me in. I couldn’t keep my thoughts from skittering away every few seconds, insects running from the light. . . .

“Jacob is fine, Bella,” Alice said, easily interpreting my preoccupation. “There’s no hurry. If you realized how much extra morphine Carlisle had to give him — what with his temperature burning it off so quickly — you would know that he’s going to be out for a while.”

At least he wasn’t in any pain. Not yet.

“Is there anything you want to talk about before you leave?” Alice asked sympathetically. “You must be more than a little traumatized.”

I knew what she was curious about. But I had other questions.

“Will I be like that?” I asked her, my voice subdued. “Like that girl Bree in the meadow?”

There were many things I needed to think of, but I couldn’t seem to get her out of my head, the newborn whose other life was now — abruptly — over. Her face, twisted with desire for my blood, lingered behind my eyelids.

Alice stroked my arm. “Everyone is different. But something like that, yes.”

I was very still, trying to imagine.

“It passes,” she promised.

“How soon?”

She shrugged. “A few years, maybe less. It might be different for you. I’ve never seen anyone go through this who’s chosen it beforehand. It should be interesting to see how that affects you.”

“Interesting,” I repeated.

“We’ll keep you out of trouble.”

“I know that. I trust you.” My voice was monotone, dead.

Alice’s forehead puckered. “If you’re worried about Carlisle and Edward, I’m sure they’ll be fine. I believe Sam is beginning to trust us . . . well, to trust Carlisle, at least. It’s a good thing, too. I imagine the atmosphere got a little tense when Carlisle had to rebreak the fractures —”

“Please, Alice.”

“Sorry.”