Twilight (10 page)

“If that’s what it takes,” Paul said in a sickeningly sweet voice. “You see, I’d do anything—anything it takes—to make sure Jesse dies peacefully in his sleep at a ripe old age, so that he never, ever has need of a mediator.”

The colors in the courtyard—the red roof tiles along the Mission, the pink hibiscus blossoms, the deep green of the palm fronds—spun dizzyingly around me as his words sunk in. I tasted something awful rising in my throat.

“Why are you doing this?” I stared up at him in horror. “You must know it will never work. Getting rid of Jesse won’t make me care about you.
I don’t like you in that way
.”

“Don’t you?” Paul asked with a smile that was as cold as his gaze. “Funny, I could have sworn, the last time we kissed, that you did. At least a little. Enough, anyway—”

His voice trailed off suggestively… but just what he was suggesting, I couldn’t imagine.

“Enough for what?” I demanded.

“Enough,” Paul said, “that you’re thinking about transferring my soul out of my body and throwing Jesse’s in here instead.”

“Don’t bother denying it,” Paul said as I stared up at him in utter shock. “I know that’s what you’ve been planning ever since I first made the mistake of telling you about it.” The heat from the hand he’d placed on my arm seemed to singe my skin. “My saving Jesse’s life is more a preemptive strike than anything else. Because the truth is, I kind of like my body. I don’t really want to give it up for him.”

My mouth was moving—I know it was, because Paul seemed to be waiting for some kind of reply.

Only I couldn’t make a sound. I was
that
stunned.

Because it finally made sense, now. That accusation Paul had hurled at me the other day in his kitchen. That his plans for Jesse were a lot more humane than what I’d had planned for Paul. Because he was planning on saving Jesse, whereas I, apparently, am planning on killing Paul.

Except, of course, that I’m not.

But that didn’t seem to matter to him.

“It’s okay,” Paul assured me. “I mean, it’s kind of flattering in a way, really. That you think I’m hot enough to put your boyfriend’s soul into. It proves that, whatever you say, you do like me, a little. Or at least that you like making out with me.”

“That is so”—I found my voice at last. Unfortunately, it came out shrill as a banshee’s. I didn’t care, though. All I cared about was proving to him how very, very wrong he was—“so untrue! How could you even—what could have given you the idea that I—”

“Oh, come on, Suze,” Paul said. “Admit it. With me, it’s the real thing. Don’t tell me that when you’re with Jesse, you aren’t thinking about the fact that, cozy as things might get between the two of you, it’s all an illusion. That isn’t
really
his heart you hear beating in his chest. His skin isn’t
really
warm. Because he doesn’t
have
skin. It’s all in your head…. Not like this,” he added, gently stroking my armwith his thumb.

Until I wrenched my arm away, that is, and fell back a step. He looked taken aback, but held up both hands to indicate he wouldn’t touch me again. “Whoa, okay, Suze. Sorry. But you can’t deny it’s true that, when we kiss, you don’t exactly fight me off. At least, not right away—”

I felt my cheeks flame. I was so embarrassed. I couldn’t believe he was bringing this up here, at
school
, of all places….

…especially considering that Jesse? Yeah, this was his new stomping ground. He was undoubtedly around somewhere nearby.

But I couldn’t deny what Paul was saying. I mean, I could, but I’d be lying.

“Of course I like it when you kiss me,” I said, though I practically had to cough out every word, they stuck in my throat so badly. “You’re a good kisser and you know it.” What else could I say? It was true. “But that doesn’t mean I like
you
.”

Which was also true.

But it didn’t seem to bother Paul.

“Proving my point,” he said smugly, “that you want my body, but with Jesse’s soul in it.”

“I think what happened to Jesse was horrible,” I said slowly, referring to the murder. “And okay, there pretty much isn’t anything I wouldn’t do if I thought it would bring him back to life.
But not that
.”

“Why not?” Paul asked with a shrug. “I mean, what’s stopping you? As you’ve pointed out numerous times, I’m a reprehensible human being with no redeeming qualities… except for my kissing abilities, apparently. So why not just give my soul a yank and let the all-perfect Jesse have a second chance at life?”

The truth was, I really was innocent of what he was accusing me. It had never once occurred to me to do what he was insisting I’d been plotting for some time to do. Oh, okay, maybe I’d considered it in passing every now and then. But I’d always instantly dismissed the idea.

But now—perhaps because he was goading me into it— a part of me actually seemed to perk up and go
Why not?
Paul
didn’t
deserve all the great things he had. He didn’t even appreciate them! He stole from people less fortunate than he was, he didn’t treat his family with anything like respect, and he certainly hadn’t been very nice to me… or to Jesse.

Why
couldn’t
I send Paul off to the great unknown, and let Jesse have Paul’s body… and his life? Jesse deserved a second chance, and he’d certainly be a better Paul Slater than Paul had ever been….

Of course, Jesse wouldn’t like it. He would definitely think it was wrong to rob Paul of the life that was rightfully his, just so he could have a chance to live again.

And it
would
be weird, looking into Paul’s blue eyes and knowing Jesse was looking out of them.

But it wouldn’t
really
be like I was killing Paul. His body would still be alive. And his soul would be… well, right where Jesse’s was now, aimlessly wandering the earth, with no idea what was going to happen to him next.

But then sanity returned, cold and dampening as the water burbling in the fountain in the center of the Mission’s courtyard. And I heard myself answering Paul’s question—
So why not just give my soul a yank and let the all-perfect Jesse have a second chance at life?
—every bit as coolly as he’d asked it.

“Um,” I said sarcastically, “because that would be
murder
, maybe?”

Some muscles in Paul’s jaw tightened. “Justifiable homicide at best,” he said. “And we both know I wouldn’t really be dead. And I would deserve it, wouldn’t I? For my sins?”

“Maybe so,” I said, feeling the way I usually did after long session with my kickboxing exercise video. You know, the endorphins rushing in. Because I really had, in a way, just had a major workout. This one just happened to be an emotional one. “But the fact is, I’m not the one to judge.”

“Why not?” Paul asked. “You don’t seem to have a problem when it comes to judging
me.”

But he wasn’t going to get me with that one. “Your grandfather warned me once that when he’d realized all the things we mediators could do, he’d made the mistake of thinking he was God,” I told him. “And look where that got him. I won’t be making the same mistake.”

Paul just blinked at me. I really think he’d believed I’d meant to do it. The soul transference thing, I mean. Now that I’d taken all the wind out of his sails, he seemed… well, as stunned as I’d been earlier.

“So you see,” I said while I still had the advantage, “your whole going-back-through-time-to-save-Jesse scheme? It’s kind of pointless. Because for one thing, you can’t travel back through time unless the person you’re going back to see actually wants your help… which Jesse most definitely does not. And, for another, I was never going to steal your body and give it to Jesse, Paul. But, you know, you can keep on flattering yourself that I was, if it makes you happy.”

I shouldn’t, I realized a moment too late, have been quite so flippant. At least not then. Because when I attempted to stroll by him after that last remark—even giving my hair a toss to show my disdain for him—something inside him seemed to snap. Next thing I knew, his hand had shot out and caught my arm in a grip that hurt.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he snarled. “You’re not getting away that easily—”

But he was wrong. Because the very next second, Paul’s hand had been pried off me and his arm was bent behind his back in what looked to be a pretty painful position.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you,” Jesse asked, in a semi-amused voice, “that a gentleman never lays a hand on a lady?”

Which I thought was kind of funny, considering where Jesse had had
his
hand the last time I’d seen him. But I thought it better to let that slide.

“Jesse,” I said. “I’m okay. You can let him go.”

But Jesse didn’t loosen his grip. If anyone had happened to walk by, they’d have seen Paul bent over at a peculiar angle, his face white with pain. Because of course, only he and I could see the ghost who had hold of him.

“I wasn’t gonna do anything to her,” Paul insisted in a strangled voice. “I swear!”

Jesse looked at me for confirmation of this.

“Did he hurt you, Susannah?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I’m all right,” I said.

Jesse held on to Paul for a second or two longer—just, I think, to prove he could—then he let go, so suddenly that Paul lost his balance and fell to his hands and knees, onto the stone slabs that made up the floor of the breezeway.

“You didn’t have to call
him
,” Paul said to me, with wounded dignity.

“I didn’t.” I was telling the truth, too.

“She didn’t have to,” Jesse said, going to lean against one of the breezeway’s support pillars. He folded his arms across his chest and looked at Paul dispassionately as he climbed to his feet and brushed himself off.

“What’d you, sense a disturbance in the Force, or something?” Paul asked testily.

“Something like that.” Jesse looked from Paul to me and then back again. “Is there anything going on here that I should know about?”

“No,” I said quickly. Too quickly, maybe, since one of Jesse’s eyebrows—the one with the scar through it—went up inquisitively.

Paul, to my fury, burst out into scornful laughing.

“Oh yeah,” he said. “You two have a
great
relationship. It’s really great how
honest
you are with each other.”

Jesse narrowed his dark eyes in Paul’s direction. That seemed to cause some of his laughter to dry up, without Jesse even having to say a word.

Then Jesse turned his penetrating gaze on me.

“It’s nothing,” I blurted, feeling a little panicky all of a sudden. “Paul was just… he was thinking of doing something to you. But he changed his mind. Didn’t you, Paul?”

“Not really,” Paul said. “Hey, I have an idea. Let’s ask
Jesse
what he’d want, shall we? Say, Jesse, how would feel if I told you I could—”

“No,” I interrupted with a gasp. Suddenly, it was getting very difficult to breathe. “Paul, really, that’s not necessary. Jesse won’t—”

“Now, Suze,” Paul said as if he were speaking to a three-year-old. “Let’s allow Jesse to decide. Jesse, what if I told you that in addition to all the many other wonderful things that we mediators can do, it turned out we can also travel through time? And that I had generously offered to travel back to your time—the night you died, I mean—and save your life. What would you say to that?”

Jesse’s dark gaze didn’t leave Paul’s face, nor did his expression waver from cold disdain. Not even for a second.

“I would say that you’re a liar” was Jesse’s preternaturally calm response.

“See, I thought you might say that.” Paul had the smooth patter and the self-confidence of a traveling salesman giving his spiel. “But I’m here to tell you it’s the absolute truth. Think about it, Jesse. You didn’t have to die that night. I can go back through time and warn you. Well, you won’t know me, of course, but I think if I tell you—the past you—that I’m from the future and that you’re going to die if you don’t do what I tell you, you’ll believe me.”

“Do you?” Jesse asked in the same deadly calm voice. “Because I don’t.”

That stumped Paul for a second or two, during which my breathing became easy again. My heart swelled with affection for the man leaning against the stone pillar beside me. I shouldn’t have worried about hiding this from Jesse. Jesse would never choose life over me. Never. He loves me too much.

Or so I thought, before Paul started his patter once again.

“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying here.” Paul shook his head. “I’m talking about giving you back your
life
, Jesse. None of this wandering around in a sort of half-life for a hundred and fifty years, watching the people you love grow older and die, one by one. No way. You’ll
live
. To a ripe old age, if I can, you know, get rid of that Diego guy who killed you. I mean, how can you say no to an offer like that?”

“Like this,” Jesse said tonelessly. “No.”

Yes!
I thought, flushing with joy.
Yes!

Paul blinked. Once. Twice.

Then he said, his voice devoid of the friendliness that had been in it moments before, “Don’t be an idiot. I’m offering you a chance to live again.
Live
. What are you going to do, hang around here for the rest of eternity? Are you going to watch
her
get old”—he thrust a finger at me—“and eventually turn to dust like you did with your family? Don’t you remember how that felt? You want to go through all that again? You want her to sacrifice having a normal life—marriage, kids, grandkids—just to be with you, when you can’t even support her, can’t even—”