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Harvest Moon

Summary:
It seems that danger is as constant as the clouds of Forks, hanging over the Cullens, just waiting to rain. It always seems to come when times seem the happiest. With it now pouring down upon them with full force, driving a wedge in the tight-knit family, will the Cullens be able to maintain their bonds and triumph once again? Renesmee's P.o.V. REVIEWS are greatly appreciated!! =]
Love it or Hate it, just RATE it! **SORRY FOR THE HIATUS EVERYONE...I'M IN MY SECOND TO LAST SEMESTER IN COLLEGE AND IT'S BEEN TAKING UP A LOT OF MY TIME! I WILL UPDATE ASAP.**


Notes:


12. Thunder

Rating 5/5   Word Count 1199   Review this Chapter

The impact of the word was staggering. Though our clandestine world’s version of a political regime was meant to act solely as a regulatory entity, I had long understood them to be the villains. For my family, they were the ones behind horror stories that were far worse than those in common mythology.

My mother, though statuesque and luminescent, went rigid at my father’s side, her face unreadable.

"What do they want, Alice? What can we possibly have done now?" Grandfather Carlisle looked around the house, searching for some conspicuous malady that would warrant the approaching storm.

"It’s unclear," Aunt Alice touched her temple, willing visions that simply wouldn’t come.

"Sorry," Jacob and I said simultaneously. We rose to leave to help clear her range of sight, but my mother spoke instead before either of us could take a step.

"They want Gavin."

We all turned to stare at her. Her gaze was unfocused.

Aunt Alice looked dumbstruck. "Bella, are you...having a vision?"

"No, no. I’ve just been having these dreams lately—Flickers of images really."

She corrected herself before my father could remind her of her nocturnally challenged nature.

"Flickers?" Grandfather Carlisle leaned forward on his knees, inclining his head in curiosity. All of us still stared at my mother, waiting for her to explain her grim prophecy.

"I've been having them for weeks now..." she caressed my father’s concerned face. "I just didn’t know what they meant, and I didn’t want to worry anyone. They're just like the dreams I used to have as a human--so vivid. I can’t help but try to decode them." She sat up, stiff as a board, but looked down at her twiddling thumbs. "They want him. Aro wants him."

"But how could they possibly know of him?" I objected, my conflicting emotions of disbelief and fear making my voice more high-pitched than normal.

"Yeah, I mean, don’t they think they killed off all the newborn leeches?" Jacob piped.

"I hardly believe their arrival would have anything to do with him being a newborn," my father looked intense, resting his chin on a tight fist. "Something must have provoked them. They don’t just come on a whim."

"Remember who you are speaking of, son. To Aro, a whim is more than enough reason to tear families apart or even to take lives." I couldn't fight the flashback that accompanied my grandfather's grave tone. I remembered the pale Denali sister who had been ripped to shreds in the baseball clearing six years ago. "What more to acquire a prized rarity?"

My father nodded gravely.

"But how could they know he is a Magnet?" I wondered, even though I felt foolish questioning the Volturi’s omniscience.

"There is another theory about Magnets, actually," my father began. He gazed deeply into my mother’s eyes for a fragment of a second before continuing. "Shields are particularly sensitive to Magnets, some findings suggest. While some Shields can suffer greatly under the force of a Magnet in spite of their shielding abilities, others are overwhelmingly powerful over Magnets. There are even reports of some shields that are able to completely strip Magnets of their polarity."

“Like a demagnetized credit card?” Aunt Alice chimed.

“Sure, Alice, kind of like that,” my father smirked.

My mother looked as if she would throw up.

"Bella? Love, are you alright? Is it another...er...flicker?" My father knelt in front of her, taking her face in his hands.

She giggled feebly. "No, I suppose I’m just so used to being grief-stricken at times like these." She bowed to bury her face into my father’s shoulder, then sat up, wearing a weary smile that didn’t touch her eyes.

"It appears I’m going to have to get used to fussing over this new gift of yours." He touched his forehead to hers. "Carlisle, is this normal? A gift arising later in one’s transformation?

"Yes, dormant gifts are quite common actually. Sometimes, it takes longer because the individual takes quite some time to recognize and grow acquainted with his or her abilities but—oh, honestly, what is it you two are going on about?" Grandfather Carlisle’s demanding voice startled me. He was looking at Uncle Emmett and Aunt Rose, who looked completely abashed at having been called out.

They exchanged glances before Uncle Emmett spoke. "Well, w-w-we were just saying that...we might’ve had a small, teeny, tiny, microscopic—" he emphasized each syllable, clearly stalling.

"No. Tell me you didn’t..." my father rose and gazed incredulously at him.

"Lapse in judgement," Uncle Emmett finished.

"What do you mean?" Grandfather Carlisle gazed between the faces of Aunt Rose and Uncle Emmett, then at my father, waiting for him to spill their unspoken thoughts.

"Let them tell you," my father crossed his arms and shook his head.

We all stared at Uncle Emmett and Aunt Rose now.

"Well, last week, when we took him to the Midwest to hunt, he was out of our sight for a couple days," Aunt Rose ducked sheepishly, but spoke steadily under Grandfather Carlisle’s stern, expectant gaze. "We tried to trail him, thinking he might accidentally cross paths with a human and not be able to control his thirst. But his scent was everywhere. In fact, it was like he had run tracks around us to purposely confuse us. We were furious at first, but then he turned up, all copper-eyed, going on about us needing to ‘trust him’ more," Aunt Rose explained.

Grandfather Carlisle made a visor over his brow and sighed heavily. "After all I told you about needing to be vigilant with this boy, you let him out of your sight? And this is just coming up now?"

"Well, we figured if he had done anything gruesome, it’d come up in the papers, but we never saw anything out of the ordinary, so—" Uncle Emmett reasoned.

"It’s not just his thirst that might’ve gotten him into trouble, Emmett. Have you thought of that? What if he had been seen? What if a Shield had detected him? What if he had run into the misfits of our kind? What if—" my father threw accusatory hypotheticals at him.

"Since when do you care so much, Edward? You’re the one who doesn’t even like the kid!"

"The boy is a trail of breadcrumbs leading right to us!" my father roared.

"Enough." Grandfather’s tone was calm but absolute. He gazed into Uncle Emmett and Aunt Rose’s identically apologetic faces. "What’s done is done. No matter what happens now, we stand behind him and we stand together." He eyed my father’s stubborn frown. "We protect Gavin and ourselves. Let them come. We will always be ready."

"So will we," Jacob interjected. As if in agreement, a chorus of howls erupted from the distant forest.

"When?" Grandfather Carlisle turned to Aunt Alice now, whose fingers were knotted in Uncle Jasper’s.

"I saw them in the clearing under dark gray clouds...it was misty with fog and there was thunder rumbling." She shot a glance out the window behind Grandfather Carlisle’s head at the darkening sky. "On the way back from our hunt in the North, there was a wind current pushing a cold front our way. I’d guess we have about...four days."

The soft tap of wind-blown branches against the kitchen window was amplified in our stunned silence and I jumped, squeezing Jacob’s hand tightly.

Four days.