
She came closer--reached out, eyes gleaming--almost covetously--













"As if she could run from you, Edward," I said, because somebody had to.

"It's true. He really is very dangerous. He nearly deplushinated a polar bear a few months back."


"Why don't you show her?" I said, really starting to enjoy myself. "Show her your insect-catching mucilage."

"Your--" I wiggled some spirit fingers at him. This is, of course, the international gesture for "sparkle."


So together they went back to my room, where he helped her climb up to the file cabinet (she did nearly fall about seven times, but allowed him to catch her by the elbow now that she knew he was a sexxxy vaaaampiiiiiiire); he sprang effortlessly to the hatbox on top of the printer (Bella gasped; behind us, I heard activity on The Shelf proper cease). I went with them because there was no way I was going to miss this.

That was my cue, I guess--I yanked up the blinds.
"Oh, you have got to be KIDDING ME."
The one day we need sunshine? It's pissing down rain.
"Look, it's okay--we'll--we'll..." And finally my depression came in handy: "Hey! The full spectrum lamp! I mean, it's supposed to be a sunlight substitute, surely that'll work--?"

I switched on the lamp.
Maybe it was just my imagination, but I thought I heard an echo of windchimes.
(Back on The Shelf, the Middle-earth crowd gave him an appreciative golf clap.)








He drew back but she leaped forward, grabbing his coat again--perhaps she thought she would test the Shirtless Hypothesis for herself--then fell flat on her face as he ducked right out of her arms with his supersparklespeed and fled. She rolled over onto her back, heedless of the faceful of cabinet metal she'd just eaten, and sighed dreamily, "Oh, he's so athletic."
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