Hearts & Spades

Los Angeles, California.
Close to midnight.
April, 2004.

My leg dangles over the edge of the apartment roof as I stare at the city spread out in front of me, full of millions of winking lights. I take a deep breath, the air filled with smog and smoke, food and perfume, and the faintest hint of the ocean. There’s something about big cities that has always been appealing to me. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s so easy to mix in with the tens upon thousands of minorities and majorities. There will always be a crowd to hide in or a group to blend with. You can come up with a ridiculous medical disorder to explain why your eyes are red or black. And if you’re lucky, you can just flat-out say you’re a vampire, and no one will give you a second glance. The weirdness of the world today makes life so much easier.
“Hey kiddo.”
I glance up as Bryony sits next to me, the red streaks in her black hair flashing in the pale moonlight.
“I wish I could get a tattoo,” I frown, poking the skull tattoo adorning the inside of her elbow.
She smiles. “You never know, maybe someday we’ll find a needle and ink that can go through our skin.”
“Yeah, but you’d completely tattoo yourself first.”
“Guilty as charged,” she shrugs.
I laugh and adjust myself on the ledge, another hole ripping in my black skinny jeans at the knees.
“So why are you in yet another one of your moods?”
“Who said I’m in a mood?” I roll my eyes.
“Because you always roll your eyes after you deny something.”
I sit in silence for a moment. “So how many piercings do you have exactly?” I ask, desperate to change the subject.
“Smooth. I have six. Not like you’d remember from the last twenty times you’ve asked that in order to avoid questions.” She whacks me on the shoulder with her palm, knocking me back slightly.
“Well no need for violence,” I scoff, pulling my hair back into a loose ponytail.
“I am violence, child, and you better get your ass up so we can go hunting, because Miles is starting to be a bitch.” Bryony elbows me playfully, then stands up and ties her own hair back into a ponytail
“Fine. Mother.”
“If you were my child…” she trails off. “Let’s just say it wouldn’t be pleasant, now would it?” she grins, jumping over the edge of the building and landing perfectly on the pavement; I follow and use the momentum to roll onto my feet and take off running.

We usually wear a standard black shirt, black shoes, and black coat ensemble, with a hat to hide our facial features and make us harder to recognize. Miles has a sharp black fedora, designer black jeans, and a button-down shirt with a steel grey tuxedo vest and sleek leather jacket, all of that with black Vans. Beccy has her long blonde hair braided over her shoulder, with a loose green rasta cap, and she has the same outfit as Miles but with a black pleated skirt instead. Despite the fact that they look nothing alike and are several years apart, the two are just like twins. Since Bryony can receive life stories by touch, she confided in me that the same homophobic men who nearly killed Beccy are the ones who murdered her gay brother a few months before. Maybe Miles is like Beccy’s replacement brother. I, of all people, know that there are certain stories you should keep to yourself.
Bryony has black skinny jeans and a loose black tank top, with black Doc Martens and- gasp- a black wool coat with two rows of buttons, the hem reaching the middle of her thighs, and a dark red beanie.
I just keep it simple. Black skinny jeans, a black lace camisole, and black converse, with a black hoodie; I can pull the hood down so it’s loose and covers about half my face, which is perfect for hiding and blending into both crowds and the shadows. For now, I just keep my hair under a dark blue beanie.
The outfits were Beccy’s idea; before, we had been casually stealing from thrift markets and Goodwills, looking more like runaways than anything. But once we realized that we could collect money from the nameless people we killed, we could afford clothes that made us look sharp and professional, clothes that actually did make us look like a three-person mafia. Then, when Miles came along, he came up with the idea that we could hire out our services. If you’re a gang leader who needed someone “taken care of”, chances are that we would conveniently appear and offer to dispose of them. Miles would wipe your memory once we’ve been paid and, voila, a clean murder for about 5 grand.

“Well about time!” Miles complains loudly as we arrive back at the hotel, his black fedora tilted slightly.
“What’s up with the hat?” I frown. “It’s crooked.”
“You’re just jealous,” he scoffs, readjusting it for what must be the 5th time today.
“Miles, darling, you’re not the mafia,” Beccy says gently, pulling the hat off.
“Hey.” He snatches it back. “I’m not trying to be the mafia. This is high fashion.”
“Wow, Miles, you have truly out-gayed yourself,” I laugh.
“We technically are the mafia,” Bryony points out, reclining on the smooth leather chaise. I lock the door behind me and close the curtains, then listen on both walls.
“And, as the mafia, we have business to discuss,” I nod, signaling that our neighbors are sound asleep and not listening in. It’s 1 in the morning, so I’m not expecting room service or housekeeping to show up anytime soon.
“Whatever you say, boss,” Beccy shrugs, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor.
I shake my head- it’s so weird, being the leader of the group- and switch the TV on, keeping the volume low so it won’t wake the neighbors, but high enough to cover our voices. Being paranoid is what’s kept us undiscovered, after all.
“We have a client,” I say simply. “I think, however, we need to reexamine our policy.”
“Why?” Miles asks, crossing his arms.
“Because our client wishes for us to kill his 15 year old daughter and her 17 year old boyfriend. Our client is a high member of a local gang, and his daughter’s boyfriend is part of a rival gang.” I sigh dramatically. “How Romeo and Juliet. I told him for now that we will consider his offer of twenty grand,” I pause, to let the figure sink in, “but I have a plan that gets us our money and keeps the target alive.”
“Well are you gonna tell us or what?” Bryony asks impatiently. “Come on, I’m always in the mood for a good scam.”
“Isn’t it obvious? We kill two other people of roughly the same size and shape, torch their bodies beyond recognition, but claim that the bodies are of Romeo and Juliet. Our client won’t blink an eye, the lovebirds will be safe, and we have twenty grand, all warm and lovely in our pockets.”
“This is new. You actually want to help someone instead of harm them,” Miles snickers.
I shrug. “I’m a sucker for love stories. Discussion over.”

Cullen residence.
Kitchen.
Forks, Washington.
2008.

I jump over the banister, skipping the stairs completely as I land in the hallway to the kitchen.
“What did you expect, coffins and dungeons and moats?” I hear Edward ask Bella.
“No. Not the moats,” she admits. I scoff and roll my eyes. She can’t be serious.
“I told them not to do this…” I hear Edward complain, and I roll my eyes again. If eye rolling was an Olympic sport, I’d take the gold.
“Is she even Italian?” Rosalie snaps, tapping her foot impatiently.
“Her name’s Bella,” Emmett shrugs.
I snatch my wallet out of his pocket and sit on the counter, examining the contents. “Hm. Surprisingly, you didn’t take anything this time.”
“How’d you know that I took it?” he grins.
“Please. I’m not that stupid,” I scoff, tucking it in the back pocket of my simple black skinny jeans and messing with the buttons of the white vest I have over a black shirt. The outfit reminds me of my gang, and I briefly wonder if we’re still meeting up this weekend then push the thought out of my head. The last thing I need is for Alice to have a vision or for Edward to dig through my mind (again.), so I always have to be careful with my thoughts. Paranoia will always be my best friend.
“I’m sure she’ll love it, no matter what,” Carlisle smiles, and I take a deep breath as the familiar scent of Italy fills the air.
“It’s really authentic,” I offer, trying to ignore the confused glances that Emmett and Rosalie exchange with each other.
I haven’t exactly been truthful with my entire “family.” The only two people I told my full story to are Carlisle and Esme; everyone else only knows that I was a nomad and I was turned in the 50’s.
“Woah, get a whiff of that,” Rosalie blinks.
“Here comes the human,” I mutter, messing with the stacks of bracelets on my wrists, but my comment goes unnoticed as Bella and Edward walk in.
Esme walks over, smiling. “Bella, we’re making Italiano for you.”
“Oh…” Bella smiles, and I take note of the fact that it’s an uncomfortable one.
“Bella, this is Esme, my ‘mother’ for all intensive purposes,” Edward introduces.
“Bonjourno,” Bella nods. I resist the urge not to laugh; hearing Italian makes me react in different ways.
“Given, it’s an excuse to use the kitchen for the first time,” Carlisle chuckles.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Esme continues.
“Oh, absolutely-“ Bella starts to say, before Edward cuts her off. “She already ate.”
The sound of breaking glass fills the kitchen as Rosalie crushes the glass bowl in her hands.
“God, Rose, take a pill…” I scoff.
“Perfect,” she snaps, ignoring my comment completely, although I do get an elbow in the ribs and a muffled laugh from Emmett.
“It’s just I know, I know you that you guys don’t eat so…” Bella starts a frenzied apology, but Esme simply nods.
“Of course. That’s very considerate of you,” she smiles, shooting a glance at Rosalie.
“Just ignore Rosalie, I do,” Edward mutters to Bella, and I bite back a laugh, earning another elbow from Emmett as he stands by Rosalie.
“Yeah, let’s just keep pretending that this isn’t dangerous for all of us!” Rosalie says angrily.
“I would never tell anybody anything,” Bella says, shaking her head.
“She knows that,” Carlisle nods, glancing at Rosalie.
I feel like part of the background as the conversation continues in front of me, filling in the blanks but quickly pushing the thoughts out of my head just as soon as they appear. The last thing I need is everyone knowing I was in the Volturi. Being a murderous nomad isn’t quite as bad.
“Well the problem is, you two have come public now so…”
“Emmett,” Esme cuts him off, her voice full of a silent warning.
“No, she should know,” Rosalie says, crossing her arms. “The entire family will be implicated if this ends badly.”
I know exactly where this is leading, so I quietly slip out of the kitchen and up the stairs to my room, taking them three at a time.
Which is harder, keeping a secret and fighting back the reactions that come when it’s mentioned or telling the secret but facing the looks of pity everyone gives you?

~~~~~~~
Bella’s POV

“Graduation caps?” I question as we walk up the stairs.
“Yeah. It’s a… private joke,” Edward laughs to himself. “We move a lot.”
“That’s… kinda miserable. I mean… repeating high school over and over.”
“Sure, but the younger we start out in a new place, the longer we can stay there,” he explains, and we continue onto the landing.
Crashing piano music comes out of a slightly open doorway; it sounds angry and heartbroken, miserable and sad, then it quiets down as a high, clear voice begins to sing.
“Let’s not pretend like you’re alone tonight, I know she’s there and you’re probably hanging out and making eyes, while across the room she stares. I’ll bet she gets the nerve to walk the floor, and ask my guy to dance… He’ll say yes…”
I stop and listen, taking a step forward.
“That’s not a good idea…” Edward trails off.
I glance in through the opening. The walls are covered with black paint, with an elaborate white floral design. Within view I can see three guitars, two electric and one acoustic, that sit on polished silver stands, with a full drum kit shoved in the corner and two keyboards right next to each other. One wall is made entirely of glass, and bookshelves partially block half of it, filled to the brim with CDs. Another bookshelf, partially blocked from view by the door, is stuffed with books and covered with random words in silver sharpie.
Ivory sits at the black keyboard, her fingers dancing across the keys as she radiates with concentration.
“Because these words were never easier for me to say, or him to second guess, but I guess that I can live without you, but without I’ll be miserable at best.”
Edward gently takes my arm, his eyes urging me to leave, but I can’t; I’m mesmerized by the music, as it practically jumps around me, filling the air with all the silent emotion Ivory keeps in her eyes.
“You’re all that I hoped to find, in every single way. And everything I would give, is everything you couldn’t take. Because nothing feels like home, you’re a thousand miles away, and the hardest part of living is just taking breaths to say. I know I’m good for something, I just haven’t found it yet, but I need it so…”
The flowers on the walls seem to rustle in a breeze I can’t feel as she continues, and I get the feeling that there’s more to her than everyone knows, that there’s something she refuses to tell everyone.
“Let’s not pretend like you’re alone tonight, I know she’s there and you’re probably hanging out and making eyes, while across the room she stares. I’ll bet she gets the nerve to walk the floor, and ask my guy to dance… He’ll say yes… Because these words were never easier for me to say, or him to second guess, but I guess that I can live without you, but without I’ll be miserable at best.”
She taps the keys harder, with more urgency, almost as if she’s releasing a silent rage. I’ve never been so scared yet amazed in my life.
“And this’ll be the first time in a week that I’ll talk to you and I can’t speak. It’s been three whole days since I’ve had sleep, cause I dream of her lips on your cheek. I got the point that I should leave you alone, but we both know that I’m not that strong and I miss-”
The piano stops abruptly, but she doesn’t turn to look.
“You know I hate when you do that,” she says quietly, her head tilted down slightly; she’s obviously addressing Edward because I’ve never heard her before.
“You’re really good,” I say, before I can think.
I can hear the small smile in her voice. “Thanks.”
“The room isn’t soundproofed if you leave the door open,” Edward comments dryly.
“Well maybe I left the door open,” she snaps, turning to face us. “If I’m bothering you so much, then you can just close it.”
Edward’s face is unreadable as he pulls me away and leads me to his room. I hear the door slam loudly and maybe- just maybe- I hear Ivory’s dry sob and know for sure that there’s been real heartbreak in her past. She didn’t pull that song out of nowhere.

But what I can’t get out of my mind are her eyes. Unlike the rest of the Cullens, who have pure gold eyes, hers are almost reddish and bloodshot, as if she’s been crying.
I doubt that’s the reason.

~~~~~~

Ivory’s POV

I slide open the long thin drawer of my desk, gently pushing aside trays of pencils and erasers until I get to a slender black velvet box. It creaks slightly as I lift the lid, and I bite back the venom tears rising in my eyes.
The silver Volturi necklace winks up at me, shining in the dull sunlight. I slowly pull it out, holding it on my fingers by the chain. I haven’t taken this out of the box in years.
“Without you, I’ll be miserable at best,” I whisper softly to myself, then scoff. “What an understatement.”