“I am Huilen,” the woman announced in clear but strangely accented English. As she continued, it was apparent she had prepared herself to tell this story, that she had practiced. It flowed like a well-known nursery rhyme. “A century and a half ago, I lived with my people, the Mapuche. My sister was Pire. Our parents named her after the snow on the mountains because of her fair skin. And she was very beautiful—too beautiful. She came to me one day in secret and told me of the angel that found her in the woods, that visited her by night. I warned her.” Huilen shook her head mournfully. “As if the bruises on her skin were not warning enough. I knew it was the Libishomen of our legends, but she would not listen. She was bewitched.

“She told me when she was sure her dark angel’s child was growing inside her. I didn’t try to discourage her from her plan to run away—I knew even our father and mother would agree that the child must be destroyed, Pire with it. I went with her into the deepest parts of the forest. She searched for her demon angel but found nothing. I cared for her, hunted for her when her strength failed. She ate the animals raw, drinking their blood. I needed no more confirmation of what she carried in her womb. I hoped to save her life before I killed the monster.

“But she loved the child inside her. She called him Nahuel, after the jungle cat, when he grew strong and broke her bones—and loved him still.

“I could not save her. The child ripped his way free of her, and she died quickly, begging all the while that I would care for her Nahuel. Her dying wish—and I agreed.

“He bit me, though, when I tried to lift him from her body. I crawled away into the jungle to die. I didn’t get far—the pain was too much. But he found me; the newborn child struggled through the underbrush to my side and waited for me. When the pain ended, he was curled against my side, sleeping.

“I cared for him until he was able to hunt for himself. We hunted the villages around our forest, staying to ourselves. We have never come so far from our home, but Nahuel wished to see the child here.”

Huilen bowed her head when she was finished and moved back so she was partially hidden behind Kachiri.

Aro’s lips were pursed. He stared at the dark-skinned youth.

“Nahuel, you are one hundred and fifty years old?” he questioned.

“Give or take a decade,” he answered in a clear, beautifully warm voice. His accent was barely noticeable. “We don’t keep track.”

“And you reached maturity at what age?”

“About seven years after my birth, more or less, I was full grown.”

“You have not changed since then?”

Nahuel shrugged. “Not that I’ve noticed.”

I felt a shudder tremble through Jacob’s body. I didn’t want to think about this yet. I would wait till the danger was past and I could concentrate.

“And your diet?” Aro pressed, seeming interested in spite of himself.

“Mostly blood, but some human food, too. I can survive on either.”

“You were able to create an immortal?” As Aro gestured to Huilen, his voice was abruptly intense. I refocused on my shield; perhaps he was seeking a new excuse.

“Yes, but none of the rest can.”

A shocked murmur ran through all three groups.

Aro’s eyebrows shot up. “The rest?”

“My sisters.” Nahuel shrugged again.

Aro stared wildly for a moment before composing his face.

“Perhaps you would tell us the rest of your story, for there seems to be more.”

Nahuel frowned.

“My father came looking for me a few years after my mother’s death.” His handsome face distorted slightly. “He was pleased to find me.” Nahuel’s tone suggested the feeling was not mutual. “He had two daughters, but no sons. He expected me to join him, as my sisters had.

“He was surprised I was not alone. My sisters are not venomous, but whether that’s due to gender or a random chance… who knows? I already had my family with Huilen, and I was not interested”—he twisted the word—“in making a change. I see him from time to time. I have a new sister; she reached maturity about ten years back.”

“Your father’s name?” Caius asked through gritted teeth.

“Joham,” Nahuel answered. “He considers himself a scientist. He thinks he’s creating a new super-race.” He made no attempt to disguise the disgust in his tone.

Caius looked at me. “Your daughter, is she venomous?” he demanded harshly.

“No,” I responded. Nahuel’s head snapped up at Aro’s question, and his teak eyes turned to bore into my face.

Caius looked to Aro for confirmation, but Aro was absorbed in his own thoughts. He pursed his lips and stared at Carlisle, and then Edward, and at last his eyes rested on me.

Caius growled. “We take care of the aberration here, and then follow it south,” he urged Aro.

Aro stared into my eyes for a long, tense moment. I had no idea what he was searching for, or what he found, but after he had measured me for that moment, something in his face changed, a faint shift in the set of his mouth and eyes, and I knew that Aro had made his decision.

“Brother,” he said softly to Caius. “There appears to be no danger. This is an unusual development, but I see no threat. These half-vampire children are much like us, it appears.”

“Is that your vote?” Caius demanded.

“It is.”

Caius scowled. “And this Joham? This immortal so fond of experimentation?”

“Perhaps we should speak with him,” Aro agreed.

“Stop Joham if you will,” Nahuel said flatly. “But leave my sisters be. They are innocent.”

Aro nodded, his expression solemn. And then he turned back to his guard with a warm smile.

“Dear ones,” he called. “We do not fight today.”

The guard nodded in unison and straightened out of their ready positions. The mist dissipated swiftly, but I held my shield in place. Maybe this was another trick.

I analyzed their expressions as Aro turned back to us. His face was as benign as ever, but unlike before, I sensed a strange blankness behind the façade. As if his scheming was over. Caius was clearly incensed, but his rage was turned inward now; he was resigned. Marcus looked… bored; there really was no other word for it. The guard was impassive and disciplined again; there were no individuals among them, just the whole. They were in formation, ready to depart. The Volturi witnesses were still wary; one after another, they departed, scattering into the woods. As their numbers dwindled, the remaining sped up. Soon they were all gone.

Aro held his hands out to us, almost apologetic. Behind him, the larger part of the guard, along with Caius, Marcus, and the silent, mysterious wives, were already drifting quickly away, their formation precise once again. Only the three that seemed to be his personal guardians lingered with him.

“I’m so glad this could be resolved without violence,” he said sweetly. “My friend, Carlisle—how pleased I am to call you friend again! I hope there are no hard feelings. I know you understand the strict burden that our duty places on our shoulders.”

“Leave in peace, Aro,” Carlisle said stiffly. “Please remember that we still have our anonymity to protect here, and keep your guard from hunting in this region.”

“Of course, Carlisle,” Aro assured him. “I am sorry to earn your disapproval, my dear friend. Perhaps, in time, you will forgive me.”

“Perhaps, in time, if you prove a friend to us again.”

Aro bowed his head, the picture of remorse, and drifted backward for a moment before he turned around. We watched in silence as the last four Volturi disappeared into the trees.

It was very quiet. I did not drop my shield.

“Is it really over?” I whispered to Edward.

His smile was huge. “Yes. They’ve given up. Like all bullies, they’re cowards underneath the swagger.” He chuckled.

Alice laughed with him. “Seriously, people. They’re not coming back. Everybody can relax now.”