No-Life Kid III

"Rasta maaaan, how's it going?"

It was a good thing he was wearing sunglasses, because Zander's eye roll would've been visible from orbit. “S’all good, Kenny.” He tossed a wave over his shoulder as the senior in the letterman jacket yelled something across the hallway that Zander didn’t bother even paying attention to, not even as the guy’s voice echoed off metal lockers and linoleum floors drenched in industrial cleaner.

Students parted around him in the narrow corridor with that mix of curiosity and deference he found absolutely hilarious. Random kids coming up to him all day, saying things that might've been fractionally offensive if they weren't so honestly, ignorantly nice about it.

One theater kid with paint-stained fingers patted his shoulder with a smile. "Respect for the sushi, man. Real samurai stuff." That had been a little bit weird, sure, but not as odd as the girl from his English class yesterday who had bounced up to him on her toes with a, "Can I touch your hair?"

How do I say no to that without sounding rude? Thankfully, class had started already so he didn’t have to but it didn’t really match up to the girl the day before, some sophomore with braces who was probably still rocking a training bra as she wondered if she "could borrow his butler."

That last one wasn't even offensive, just confusing as hell as a question. How exactly did someone borrow a butler?

Even still… One more 'Rasta man' and I'm breaking an arm... accidentally.

Zander slapped his locker shut and threw his head back in a sigh, already dreading whatever fresh cultural ignorance was heading his way next...

Only to regret it immediately as raw ecstasy crammed itself up his nostrils for a full second before he could stop breathing. Pure sugar mixed with electricity.

"Zander!"

He forced down the instinct to bare his fangs as Jessica rushed up to him, her heartbeat a frantic drum against his senses as she slammed to a stop directly in front of him. The girl moved like she was perpetually running late, dyed blonde hair bouncing with each step, that vanilla-citrus cocktail radiating off her skin strong enough to make his dead heart try to remember how to beat.

"H-hey, Jess."

"Oooh, Jess," she bit her lip and giggled, tossing her head from side to side like she was in a shampoo commercial. "You have a nickname for me already, I totally love that."

Zander couldn't help but blink. I... I just said Jess.

"...yes."

"Sooooo... Zan..."

Don't like that as much.

"Yes?" he parroted, watching how the blue-eyed girl shifted her weight from foot to foot, energy buzzing through her like she'd mainlined espresso.

"You up to anything next month?"

All he could do was blink again. "... month?"

"Yes!" Jessica nodded like she hadn't just asked about plans a full thirty days in advance, which in teenage time was basically asking about the next geological era.

Alright.

"...not particularly, no."

Not unless you counted training his drudges in combat techniques designed for fighting monsters he eventually wanted them facing. Alex is gonna get herself killed honestly. The woman had enthusiasm but something about her new phase of life had killed a bunch of her tactical sense. She keeps going for flashy.

"How about coming up to La Push with us on... uh, March 2nd, I think? It's a Saturday?"

Zander let out a low hum. "Is it a Saturday, or are you asking?"

"No." She blinked, nodding her head only to freeze halfway through. "I mean, yes. I m-mean, yes, it's a Saturday, and I'm not asking you?"

Still sounds like a question, but Jessica's nervous energy was making her words tumble over each other in that particular way that meant she'd been planning this conversation and was now watching it derail in real time.

Zander nodded slowly, letting his grin spread just wide enough to be comforting. "You want to hang out with the weird rich kid?"

Pink flooded Jessica's cheeks as she immediately launched into protest mode. "You're not weird! You're just... mysterious and cool and, like, totally different from everyone else here, which is obviously a good thing because this place is sooo boring usually, and—"

He held up a hand before she could completely spiral into verbal overflow, that grin widening as he watched her force herself to stop talking mid-sentence. Girl’s wound tight as a spring, all nervous energy and caffeine jitters, but there was something honest about her enthusiasm that made it hard to dismiss entirely.

Plus, La Push meant werewolves. And werewolves meant potential entertainment, especially if they were half as territorial as he remembered. That is, if there are any yet.

"Sure, that sounds fun."

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Oh, he's back.

It had been a whole seven days since last Tuesday, and Zander had been half-starting to think ol’ red-blooded Romeo would never show his pale face again. Course, that would've been disappointing as hell; where was the fun if the other main character fucked off to Alaska to hunt elephant seal or whatever they had up there? Does he even like seafood?

The question was answered for him before Zander even stepped through the Biology classroom door. That raw lingering metallic scent hung around like expensive cologne, recent prey still clinging to skin and clothes.

Mountain lion. Zander's grin spread wider as he noted the specific musk. Well, he's got taste, I guess.

Edward Cullen took his seat next to Bella with that particular brand of stiff grace that looked poised to humans but constipated to him. The girl was flustered as all hell, more color in her cheeks than Zander had ever seen as she fumbled with her textbook. 

Makes sense. Edward was probably a lot nicer now than he was a week ago, back when visions of popping her open like a Capri-Sun were hitting him hard. Honey-colored eyes met Zander's across the room, and didn't look away even after Zander finally dropped into his usual seat near the back.

A moment stretched between them, thick as Florida humidity as Edward's brow furrowed with frustration, and Zander felt something, something almost like a tapping against the back of his skull; faint, probing, but somehow muffled.

He raised an eyebrow as something clicked for him. Trying to read my mind, bro?

Failing, more importantly. Sick. I’m telepath proof.

Zander gave a slow, deliberate smirk and raised his hand just as slowly, before tap-tap-tapping at his temple. Edward's jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth, and he snapped his attention back to Bella like she was the most fascinating thing in the room.

When Mr. Xavier started his lecture on blood typing and called for volunteers, half the class suddenly found their shoes very interesting, all too squeamish for a tiny needle prick. 

Zander's hand shot up without hesitation. "I'll do it."

Ignoring Edward’s eyes on him, the dreadheaded teenager performed the task without flinching, making a show of squeezing a single drop of blood onto the test strip. Dark red against white paper, innocent as anything. 

Even still, Edward went completely rigid across the room, nostrils flaring slightly as the scent hit him.

Zander knew why of course. The same reason he couldn’t wash the smell of blood off him was because it wasn’t just on his skin, it was in it, down to whatever counted as his cells. He knew what Alucard was and he knew what he was too, down to the blood; a crimson cocktail carrying ghosts of dozens of others; A-negative from his last meal, AB-positive from the one before that, O-universal from a Miami snack spot owner who kept girl’s bodies in his freezer. Bet that's confusing the hell out of you.

He didn’t need to look at Edward to see him bristle at the slow smile spreading across his face as he walked back.

Lunch was no different.

At least no different than he expected with the Cullen clan.

With Edward back, they all seemed to be getting their hackles up about him, all of a sudden, which… fair.

But still, there were just so many jokes to make.

Zander was mid-bite of his blood-infused roast beef (outdoing yourself, Alex) when Alice Cullen suddenly gasped at her table. Golden eyes went wide and unfocused, staring into nothing like she was watching a movie nobody else could see.

Zander's senses picked up the spike of alarm from Jasper and Edward, the former instinctively reaching for Alice's hand protectively as both Cullens and a Hale looked his way.

Without glancing up, the dark-skinned vampire raised his thermos of "tomato juice" directly toward their table. Well, it was at least half tomato juice, so that counted for something.

Jasper's head snapped toward him, jaw tightening as a wave of protective hostility rolled off the empath like heat off asphalt.

Zander just grinned wider and took another sip. I don’t even know what I did.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

The school day was over and, once again, it was raining. Kind of a given in Forks, unless it was one of those specific sunny days worthy of a humming chorus. Really wouldn't be the Pacific Northwest unless it looked like London, huh?

Not that he'd ever been to the still-United Kingdom this life. No family to drag him off on trips or make him do things he didn't want to. Weird as it was, he almost missed that more than everything else from his first go-around the universe. Having people who gave enough of a damn to be annoying about your whereabouts.

Maybe I should take a trip. Start my own little Hellsing, huh?

The thought lingered longer than he expected before he pushed it away. But I'm no Alucard. Not yet, at least, and he knew it. Maybe a few thousand souls and I'll get close. He snorted as he looked up into the gray sky, unbothered as thick raindrops splattered his face and glasses. The air, heavy with wet earth and exhaust fumes, painted everything in that dull gray wash of teenage mundanity, and Zander had no idea why he enjoyed it so much.

After a little over a year of this unlife, year of blood and secrets and constant thrumming power under his skin, the sheer boredom of a place like Forks was a novelty. Almost like listening to elevator music after a death metal concert; you didn't love it, but you appreciated the quiet for the quiet.

He leaned against the damp brick of the main building and let out a soft sigh, breath visible in the cold air. Blue eyes flickered sideways behind his sunglasses as he noticed Edward Cullen watching him instead of keeping his gaze on Bella as the girl headed toward her ancient red truck. Keep your eyes on the prize, man.

His own gaze drifted, as it always did, toward Jessica Stanley. Girl had her head tilted in that way that made a perfect line of her throat visible, blonde hair catching what little light filtered through the clouds. Scent of her blood, that impossible mix of vanilla and electricity, was still a bitch and a half to deal with after a week of classes together.

Once again, he forced his lungs to still, cutting off air intake entirely. A whole week of making sure I'm not downwind and she always pops out of nowhere when I stop paying attention.

That's when the sound cut through the gray noise.

It wasn't the screech of sports car brakes, but the high, pathetic whine of cheap tires losing their argument with physics. A shitty blue van, the kind soccer moms drove before they upgraded to SUVs, sliding sideways across the parking lot like it was on ice instead of wet asphalt.

Zander's eyes tracked its clumsy, unstoppable trajectory; a ton and a half of steel and plastic becoming a battering ram with Tyler Crowley behind the wheel, face twisted in panic as he fought to control his death machine.

Bella could only stand there, wide-eyed deer in headlights as the vehicle swung directly toward her. The girl was frozen, brown eyes huge, backpack sliding off her shoulder to hit wet pavement.

The world slowed as his blue-eyed gaze flicked over to Edward Cullen, standing near his polished silver Volvo a good fifty feet away from the action. Let's see it.

Cullen moved.

The thing about the way Zander moved when he actually pushed it, it was an act of violation more than anything. Almost a rebellion against physics, because he was super-natural, and the world fought him for it every time. The ground would splinter under him with the first kick-off, air trying to crash around him in sonic booms; all of it a messy, brutal show of force that announced exactly what he was to anyone fast enough to pay attention.

This was... not that.

Zander watched as Cullen flowed into motion between one heartbeat and the next, going from solid to seamless near-intangible blur. Someone took a cheetah, stood it on two legs, and gave it superpowers; no wasted movement, no collateral damage, just pure efficiency wrapped in impossible speed.

Huh.

The blur resolved back into boy-shape just as it reached the van, as his palm made contact with the vehicle's side a fraction of a second before it would have turned Bella Swan into the world’s whiniest street pizza. 

Zander could see muscles in Cullen's back bunch and lock, feet digging into asphalt as he physically absorbed and redirected the momentum of a moving vehicle in a near instant, the whole thing clean enough that only one person here would ever question what they'd just witnessed.

Professional work.

He pushed himself off the wall, the quiet rhythm of his fake heartbeat still thrumming steady in his chest. In seconds, he walked past Edward and Bella as chaos erupted around them; people screaming and shouting, confused and scared, cell phones already coming out to call 911.

Tyler was conscious but shaken, an airbag deflated across his lap, blinking like he couldn't quite process what had happened. Bella was on the ground next to her truck, Edward crouched beside her; both of them staring at each other as if communicating mentally.

"Almost a little late on that one, Eddie," Zander whispered as he passed, voice pitched low enough that only vampire hearing would catch it.

Golden eyes snapped toward him, and Zander barely held back a snort as he kept walking toward his waiting ride. Can’t believe I was worried about these guys figuring me out. He shook his head from side to side, letting out a low whistle of air. This is hilarious.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Rain struck the Cullen living room windows in irregular patterns, the sound filling spaces between breaths. Rosalie sat motionless on the cream sofa, her right hand held at eye level, fingers splayed as she examined each nail with the focus of a jeweler inspecting diamonds. Her left hand rested on her knee, thumb pressing into the fabric of her designer jeans in a slow, repetitive motion.

Emmett occupied the opposite end of the same sofa, a car magazine balanced on one thigh. His eyes tracked across the pages without pause, though his fingers hadn't turned a page in three minutes. The magazine's spine bent slightly under his grip.

Alice perched on the sofa's arm nearest the window, feet tucked beneath her, spine curved forward. Her gaze fixed on a spot on the hardwood floor where the grain formed a small knot. Her fingers drummed against her knee in an uneven rhythm—three taps, pause, five taps, pause, two taps.

Jasper stood beside the unlit fireplace, his back to the mantle. His weight distributed evenly between both feet, arms crossed loosely over his chest. His eyes moved between family members in measured sweeps, lingering longest on Alice.

Carlisle and Esme occupied the loveseat perpendicular to the main sofa. Carlisle's hand rested on Esme's knee, his thumb still. Esme's shoulders formed a straight line despite the cushioned back available behind her. Her hands lay folded in her lap, right thumb pressing into left palm.

The front door opened and closed. Footsteps crossed the entryway—quick, uneven. Edward appeared in the doorway, water droplets still clinging to his bronze hair. His jaw worked as if chewing something invisible. He stepped into the room, then stopped, weight shifting from foot to foot.

Carlisle's head turned toward him, chin lifting slightly. "Edward." A pause stretched between the words. "You're home. How was your run?"

Edward's hand rose to his hair, fingers pushing through the damp strands. "It was fine, Carlisle but..." His gaze moved to Jasper, held for two seconds, shifted to Alice, Emmett, then Rosalie. His hand dropped. "He was there. In biology. You were right about him. He's... different."

Esme's hands tightened against each other. "Different?" The word came out with careful pronunciation, each syllable distinct. Her head tilted forward. "How?"

Edward's shoulders pulled back and his right hand gestured outward, a sharp motion. "For one, he sat through the entire lesson as if it weren't the most boring drivel on the planet."

Emmett's magazine lowered to his lap as the corners of his mouth lifted, creasing his cheeks with a full smile. "Told you he wasn't gonna skip. This guy... he doesn't miss a thing." He shifted forward, elbows finding his knees. "Saw him in the hall Monday, moves like a cat. No, faster. Like a... a really fast cat."

Rosalie's nail inspection continued without interruption as her voice emerged smooth, each word precisely formed. "It's unnatural. The way he moves. The way he looks. Even the way he breathes." Her thumb pressed harder into her jeans. "It's... too human. And the way the other students fawn over him is nauseating."

Emmett's head swiveled toward her. "Really? Being too human's the unnatural thing now, Rosey?"

Rosalie's hand stilled. Her chin lifted two degrees. "Explain the blue eyes, Emmett."

Edward's feet carried him three steps left, four steps right. His hand returned to his hair, fingers dragging from forehead to crown. "It's not his face or his eyes, Rosalie, it's his mind. I tried. I spent the entire hour trying to get a single thought, a whisper. There's noxthing." He stopped mid-pace, facing the window. "It isn't a block, not like the Swan girl's. It's... loud. It's like listening to pure, deafening static. There's simply nothing to find to be read. Even after the parking lot incident..."

Esme's posture shifted forward, closing the distance between herself and Edward by six inches. Her voice maintained its melodic quality while dropping in volume. "Nothing at all, dear? Not even surface thoughts?"

Edward turned from the window as both hands formed tight fists. "Nothing. Then, during the blood-typing experiment, he volunteered. Immediately. He pricked his finger and smiled." His voice caught on the last word, pitch rising. "Smiled, Carlisle. He looked right at me. He knew I was watching. He wanted me to smell it."

Carlisle's thumb began moving against Esme's knee in small circles. He leaned forward, weight shifting to his forearms. "And the scent?" Each word emerged with deliberate spacing. "You said it was... unusual?"

"It was O-negative. But beneath that... it was wrong. It was... layered." Edward's hands opened, fingers spreading as if grasping for description. "It smelled of him, but it smelled of hundreds of other people, too. Like…” He grasped for a word for a second before it finally left his mouth, “like echoes."

The room's occupants froze at once; Emmett's smile flattened, Alice's drumming slowed to a stop, and Jasper's crossed arms tightened.

Alice's words tumbled out in rapid succession, pitch climbing with each phrase. "H... he doesn't have a future. Or... or at least not one I can see clearly. I've been trying for days, ever since he arrived. When I look for him, it's just..." Her head shook twice, quick movements that spoke of her current frazzled state. "It's not a hole but it might as well be one, because it changes literally every other instant when I focus on him. I see the school, I see the town... and then there's a him-shaped patch of half-fragmented nothing right in the middle of it all."

Esme's brow pulled together, barely a wrinkle forming on her perfect face. "Nothing? What does that mean?"

Rosalie's examination of her nails ceased as her hands lowered to her lap with controlled precision. "It means he's a problem. One we didn't ask for and don't need."

Emmett straightened, the magazine sliding to the floor with a soft thud. "It's more than a problem, Rose. Last week, the Weber girl dropped her tray. Thing was halfway to the floor; I'm talkin' a full-on yard sale of tater tots and milk; and blue-eyes crossed ten feet and caught the whole thing. One hand. Didn't spill a drop and none of them realized they never saw him move."

"He's not silent to me." Jasper's voice cut through the room. 

Six heads turned toward him as Alice's body rotated on the sofa arm, feet finding the floor as she neared her beloved.

"The school is a storm. Every day. Jealousy, frustration, desire... It's all a constant noise. I can feel it all. But him..." Jasper's arms uncrossed, as Alice wrapped her arms around him, his chin resting in the nape of her neck. Even still, his voice barely changed tone. "He's almost a patch of white noise in the middle of it all. He's there and I feel something but I can't pick out that something. Not anger, not happiness, not boredom. It's like a hundred different voices whispering low at once around him."

Esme's hands separated, right hand gesturing outward. "But Emmett, you said he helped Angela. Edward, you said he eats lunch. Actually eats. He doesn't sound like one of us and he certainly doesn't sound..." Her voice trailed off, volume decreasing until the final word barely carried.

Carlisle's head moved in a slow nod. His fingers stilled against Esme's knee. "The evidence is profoundly contradictory. He presents as human yet possesses abilities that rival our own." His silence stretched a good three seconds, a near eternity as fast as their minds worked. "This is... a puzzle."

Jasper almost frowned but his expression stayed calm as Alice’s arms tightened around his body. "And 'unknown' is never safe. He's powerful, he's hiding it in plain sight, and we have absolutely no idea what he wants."

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

“I want mini-missiles in my guns,” Zander announced proudly as he watched his Renfield tinker away at his workstation that night, currently in the middle of maintenance for the oversized Desert Eagles the former soldier had modified.

“Mini-missiles, you say?” Walter answered back.

“Mini-missiles.”

“Sir…” the old man turned to look at him, “what do you mean by that?”