Saturday dawned with an unusually clear light, though the Forks sky retained that grayish veil that seemed eternal. I woke up before the alarm went off, driven by a mixture of nervousness and an electric energy that still buzzed beneath my skin. It wasn't just because of the interview with Esme Cullen; it was the feeling that today, finally, the real world and the world I perceived in my drawings and my new abilities were going to collide head-on.
I got up and the first thing I did was organize my materials. I spread my most polished sketches across the bed: anatomical studies, somber landscapes of the Washington forests, and, of course, the detailed portraits of Alice and Jasper. I placed them carefully in my black leather portfolio, making sure every sheet was impeccable. It was my letter of introduction, my professional shield.
I went down to the kitchen and started preparing breakfast. The sound of sizzling bacon and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the house. Shortly after, I heard Charlie's heavy footsteps. He was coming down already in uniform, adjusting his duty belt.
"You're up early, Mael," he commented, surprised to see the table almost ready.
"I have a busy day, Dad," I said, pouring him a steaming cup of coffee. "I'm going to a job interview. Dr. Cullen's wife, Esme, is an architect and designer. Apparently, she saw my drawings and wants to talk to me about a collaboration for her projects."
Charlie stopped halfway to the table, with an expression of genuine surprise that quickly transformed into one of pride.
"With the Cullens? Wow, Mael. That's excellent. Carlisle is a great man, and if his wife has the same eye he does, I'm sure she knows what she's doing. Congratulations, son. It makes me very happy to see that they value your talent."
A small smile, genuine and warm, formed on my face. It wasn't common for Charlie to be so effusive, and hearing his validation gave me a boost of confidence I didn't know I needed.
At that moment, the door to the stairs creaked and Bella appeared. Her hair was a mess, as if she had fought a bird's nest during the night, and she dragged her feet reluctantly.
"To what do I owe the pleasure of this testosterone meeting so early?" she asked hoarsely, heading straight for the coffee maker.
"To the fact that your brother has a job interview," Charlie replied in a triumphant tone.
Bella paused with the cup in her hand, looking at me over her shoulder as I handed her a plate of eggs and toast.
"Oh, really? That's great," she said with a mocking half-smile. "As long as the job isn't being a stripper, because you'd starve to death with those artist arms."
Charlie let out a loud laugh that echoed through the kitchen. I didn't stay behind and arched an eyebrow, pointing at her with the spatula.
"At least I don't slip on thin air, Bella. My balance allows me to keep my clothes on," I retorted, making her laugh too.
"Well, kids, I'm heading out," Charlie said, taking his keys. "Don't kill each other while I'm gone."
"No promises," Bella and I replied in unison—a classic of our dynamic.
When Charlie left, the silence of the house became more intimate. Bella finished her breakfast in silence, but her gaze was fixed on nothingness, processing something. She took her coffee cup and a slice of the chocolate cake I made yesterday.
"Ummm... seriously, Mael, you should seriously consider being a pastry chef. This is divine," she said as she started up the stairs toward her room. "It would help you fund your pencils."
She stopped halfway up the stairs and turned. Her expression was no longer mocking; her eyes were filled with that dense seriousness that only appeared when she talked about him.
"Be careful today, Mael. Seriously. With Edward... there's something weird about him. I don't know what it is, but it's not normal. Keep your eyes open in that house."
I stood alone in the kitchen, dishcloth in hand, the echo of her warning vibrating in the air. I looked at my portfolio on the dining table. Bella didn't know that I already suspected nothing in that family was normal. What she didn't know was that neither was I.
I finished tidying the kitchen with mechanical movements, feeling the blue spark in my mind pulsing softly. I had only a few minutes left before Alice's Porsche appeared in the driveway. I went up to my room, looked in the mirror one last time, and adjusted my jacket.
The phone vibrated in my pocket just as I finished tightening the straps of my portfolio. It was the message from Alice. I felt a flip in my stomach, a mix of adrenaline and that electric anticipation that had become my new constant. I flew down the stairs, the leather of the portfolio thumping rhythmically against my hip, and stepped onto the porch just in time to see the silver Volvo sliding up the driveway with an elegance that made the Forks surroundings look like a low-resolution photograph.
I approached the car and Alice rolled down the window, giving me a smile that could have lit up all of Clallam County.
"Good morning, Alice," I said as I opened the passenger door and settled into the leather seat, which smelled of a new car and an expensive perfume I couldn't quite identify. "You... you look very nice this morning."
I hated myself a little for the slight tremor in my voice and for the heat I felt rising up my neck, tinting my cheeks a telltale red. Alice let out a crystalline giggle, the kind that sounds like wind chimes, and accelerated with astounding smoothness.
"Oh, thank you, Mael!" she replied, casting a quick glance at me with her hazel eyes before returning them to the road. "You don't look bad yourself, you have an enviable bone structure for any artist... but, honey, you lack a bit more style. Those clothes are very 'functional,' nothing like what you could be wearing."
And so, without further ado, began what I internally dubbed "Alice Cullen's Fashion Lecture." As the Volvo delved into the depths of the forest, Alice began to explain the importance of textures, how cool colors highlighted my paleness, and why I should get rid of my favorite sweater in favor of something with more "character."
I said nothing. I limited myself to listening to her, completely enthralled. There was something about the way she spoke, the rapid gestures of her small hands, and the passion she put into something as mundane as the drape of a fabric that kept me hypnotized. Her words flowed like a stream of silk, and though my mind screamed at me to pay attention to the road so as not to get lost in the forest, my eyes couldn't pull away from her.
As we moved forward, the forest grew denser, older. The trees looked like giants guarding the entrance to a different world. Alice kept talking about brands, seasonal cuts, and how she planned to give me a radical makeover as soon as she had the chance, but I could only think about how lucky I was to be there, in that luxury cabin, sharing oxygen with someone who seemed to have stepped out of one of my most idealized drawings.
Suddenly, the trees began to thin out, revealing a clearing that didn't appear on any official map. Alice turned the wheel with skill, and in front of us, the mansion appeared.
It wasn't a Gothic mansion or a somber fortress; it was an explosion of glass, light cedar beams, and wide open spaces that seemed to invite the forest into the living room. The light, even on this cloudy day, filtered in from everywhere, eliminating any corner for shadows.
It wasn't a house; it was a masterpiece of glass and wood that defied gravity and common sense, perfectly integrated into nature.
"We're here," Alice announced, turning off the engine. "Esme is waiting for us inside."
Alice, with an enthusiasm that seemed to defy the laws of physics, guided me toward the main entrance. As I crossed the threshold, the scent of the house hit me: it smelled of fresh flowers, polished wood, and something subtly ancient and clean.
"We're here!" Alice announced, her voice ringing with joy in the great hall.
Upon entering the room, I stopped dead. The space was immense, decorated with exquisite taste that blended the modern with the eternal. But what caught my attention was the scene in the center of the room. On a large leather sofa were Emmett and Jasper.
It was the first time I had seen Jasper outside the rigid environment of the high school. There, sitting with a looser posture, he held a video game controller with astounding skill. He no longer had that expression of suffering from invisible pain; he looked relaxed, almost serene, though his eyes remained fixed on the screen with a competitive intensity.
"No way, Emmett! That was a game glitch, I'm telling you!" Jasper exclaimed, and his voice sounded louder, more fluid, filled with a vitality I had never heard in class.
"Admit that I'm better, Jasper. Don't blame the software for your lack of reflexes," Emmett mocked with a booming laugh, bumping his shoulder against Jasper's in a way that would have sent any human to the hospital.
Jasper let out a dry, short laugh—a melody that made my chest vibrate. "Keep dreaming, big guy. Luck won't even save you in the next round."
I stood there like an idiot, portfolio clutched to my side, watching this human and approachable Jasper. He seemed so... real. But I didn't have much time to process it. Alice, noticing my distraction or perhaps my internal butterflies, took my hand. Her fingers were cold, but her touch was firm and decisive.
"Leave them, they're like children when they get on the console," Alice said with a playful gesture. "Come on, Esme is waiting for us upstairs. You don't want the boss to get impatient."
I let myself be led, climbing a floating wooden staircase that seemed suspended in the air. As we went up, I took one last look down. Jasper looked up for a second, his eyes met mine, and he gave me an almost imperceptible nod, but one charged with a calm that made the blue spark in my mind relax instantly.
Alice led me down a bright hallway to a beautifully carved oak door. She knocked twice with a musical rhythm.
"Esme? I've brought the talent," Alice said before opening the door and gently pushing me inside the office.
Esme's studio was a paradise for any artist: blueprints spread out, models of buildings that looked like dreams come true, and a skylight that illuminated every corner. In front of a drafting table, a woman of maternal and serene beauty stood up with a smile that made me feel, for the first time all week, that I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
Esme approached with an elegance that reminded me of a ballet dancer's movements, but with a human warmth that Alice didn't always manage to project. She pointed to a leather seat in front of her desk and, with a gentle gesture, asked permission to open the portfolio.
"Alice has told me wonders about your eye for detail, Mael," Esme said, as her long, pale fingers turned the first page. "But seeing the originals is something completely different."
Silence fell over the office. Only the sound of pages turning and the rain tapping rhythmically against the window could be heard. Esme paused at each sketch, analyzing not just the technique, but the depth of the shadows. When she reached the landscape studies of the Forks forest, she leaned further forward.
"You have a fascinating way of capturing the structure of nature," she commented, pointing to a drawing of intertwined roots. "You don't just draw what you see; you draw what is underneath. Architecture, in essence, is that: understanding how a structure interacts with its environment."
Finally, she closed the portfolio and looked me directly in the eyes. Her gaze was kind, but I felt she could see right through my nerves.
"Mael, I am currently working on the remodeling of a historic property on the coast and the design of a new annex for a private library. I need someone who can do the perspective sketches and ornamental details by hand. Computer programs are precise, but they lack the 'life' that your strokes have."
I swallowed hard. She didn't beat around the bush.
"I want to offer you a formal collaboration contract. It won't be a nine-to-five office job; that would be a waste of your talent. The idea is for you to come to the mansion two or three times a week, when your classes allow. I need us to work here, in my studio, so we can coordinate the designs in real time."
My heart skipped a beat. My mind did the math immediately: two or three days a week in that house, surrounded by that atmosphere and, of course, near Jasper and Alice.
"Do you accept?" she asked with an encouraging smile. "Of course, you will receive professional compensation commensurate with your work. We consider your time and skill to be very valuable for this project."
"Yes... yes, of course. I accept," I replied, trying not to let my voice sound too enthusiastic, even though inside, the blue "spark" seemed to be celebrating.
"Excellent. Alice, dear, could you show Mael the rest of the upstairs while I prepare some initial documents?" Esme asked.
Alice didn't need to be told twice. She took my hand again and practically dragged me out of the office, leading me to the library.
The Cullen library was a dream for any seeker of knowledge. The walls, paneled in dark wood, rose to a high ceiling, covered from top to bottom with thousands of volumes that smelled of old leather, parchment paper, and wisdom accumulated over centuries. But my attention didn't stay on the spines of the books; it stayed on the figure occupying an oak table near the window.
Jasper was there, alone, submerged in absolute concentration in front of an ebony and ivory chessboard. He looked majestic, with the gray Forks light outlining his perfect features as he held a knight between his long fingers.
"Well, Mael, I suppose you already know Jasper," Alice said, breaking the silence with her crystalline voice. "Oh, do you need something to drink?"
"Just a little water is fine," I replied, trying not to seem too intimidated by the atmosphere of the place.
"Ok, I'll bring it right away. Jasper, I'm leaving him with you for a moment," she announced with a knowing look before disappearing down the hall with that speed of hers that always left me blinking.
I stood there, a bit awkward, watching Jasper move a black piece against his own set of whites. He seemed to be analyzing ten moves ahead, debating against himself in a silent war.
"Can I play with you?" I asked, breaking the ice. My voice sounded more confident than I expected; perhaps it was the residual confidence from getting the job.
Jasper looked up. His golden eyes swept over me from top to bottom, not with hostility, but with intense curiosity, almost as if he were measuring the temperature of my soul.
"You can," he responded in his Southern drawl, slow and deep. "But you're going to lose."
I felt a small challenge burn in my chest. That quiet arrogance was strangely attractive to me.
"I highly doubt it," I replied with a smirk as I sat down across from him.
I started organizing the white pieces on my side. Touching the cold ivory, I felt my mind focus in a new way. It was as if the mental agility I had developed with my psychic "training" transferred to the board. Jasper made the first move, a classic King's Pawn opening, and I responded immediately, without hesitation.
The game became a duel of silences and glances. Jasper played with an aggressive and clean strategy, typical of someone who has studied military tactics for decades. But I didn't stay behind; my ability to see "patterns," the same one I used for my drawings and for projecting my force fields, allowed me to anticipate his traps. Every time he tried to block my path, I found a blind spot in his defense.
At one point, Jasper paused, hand suspended over his rook, and looked at me with an arched eyebrow. I could feel that his surprise wasn't just about the game; it was as if he were detecting that different "vibration" in me.
"You have an... interesting mind, Mael Swan," he murmured.
At that moment, Alice returned with a carved glass filled with ice-cold water. She set it in front of me with extreme gentleness and sat to the side, resting her chin in her hand. She had a half-smile on her face, as if she were watching a movie whose ending she already knew but was still enjoying.
"Wow, Jasper," she said mockingly. "It seems you've finally found someone who isn't intimidated by your sergeant face."
"He's good," Jasper admitted, finally moving his rook. "Very good."
I took a sip of water, feeling the cold go down my throat as I moved my bishop, putting his king in a compromised position. The atmosphere in the library was electric, yet strangely peaceful. Being there, between the two of them, playing chess while waiting for Esme, made me feel like being in that place, with them, was exactly where I was meant to be.