ily；　I　suppose。

Carlisle　lived　with　them　briefly

in　his　early　years；　in　Italy；　before　he　settled　in　America—do　you　remember

the　story？〃

〃Of　course　I　remember。〃

I　would　never　forget　the　first　time　I'd　gone　to　his　home；　the　huge　white

mansion　buried　deep　in　the　forest

beside　the　river；　or　the　room　where　Carlisle—Edward's　father　in　so　many　real

ways—kept　a　wall　of

paintings　that　illustrated　his　personal　history。　The　most　vivid；　most　wildly

colorful　canvas　there；　the　largest；

was　from　Carlisle's　time　in　Italy。　Of　course　I　remembered　the　calm　quartet　of

men；　each　with　the

exquisite　face　of　a　seraph；　painted　into　the　highest　balcony　overlooking　the

swirling　mayhem　of　color。

Though　the　painting　was　centuries　old；　Carlisle—the　blond　angel—remained

unchanged。　And　I

remembered　the　three　others；　Carlisle's　early　acquaintances。　Edward　had　never

used　the　name　Volturi

for　the　beautiful　trio；　two　black…haired；　one　snow　white。　He'd　called　them

Aro；　Caius；　and　Marcus；

nighttime　patrons　of　the　arts

〃Anyway；　you　don't　irritate　the　Volturi；〃　Edward　went　on；　interrupting　ray

reverie。　〃Not　unless　you　want

to　die—or　whatever　it　is　we　do。〃　His　voice　was　so　calm；　it　made　him　sound

almost　bored　by　the

prospect。

My　anger　turned　to　horror。　I　took　his　marble　face　between　my　hands　and　held　it

very　tightly。

〃You　must　never；　never；　never　think　of　anything　like　that　again！〃　I　said。　〃No

matter　what　might　ever

happen　to　me；　you　are　not　allowed　to　hurt　yourself！〃

〃I'll　never　put　you　in　danger　again；　so　it's　a　moot　point。〃

〃Put　me　in　danger！　I　thought　we'd　established　that　all　th