"Another thrilling day in the teenage wasteland," Maze commented as I pulled into the school parking lot.
The morning was typical Forks weather – grey, damp, and uninviting. I noticed immediately that Edward's silver Volvo was absent, and Emmett's jeep was missing as well.
"Interesting," Maze mused. "Pretty boy and muscle man are playing hooky. Wonder what shenanigans they're up to."
First period passed quietly. In Government, Mike Newton seemed unusually subdued, still nursing his embarrassment from the dance invitation rejection.
"Look at him," Maze snickered. "He moves like a wounded puppy."
By lunch, Jessica was practically bouncing with excitement. She slid into the seat next to me, her eyes sparkling.
"Bella!" she burst out. "We're going to La Push tomorrow. The whole gang is going to First Beach!"
I raised an eyebrow. "We?"
"Teenage social migration," Maze commented. "Always fascinating to watch."
"Me, Angela, Mike, Eric – everyone!" Jessica continued. "You should totally come!"
I hesitated. "I'm not big on group outings."
"Understatement of the century," Maze laughed. "We prefer our solitude."
"Oh, come on," Jessica pleaded. "It'll be fun! And the boys will totally keep their distance. Promise!"
"Famous last words," Maze muttered.
"I'll drive myself," I said finally. "And I'm leaving when I want to leave."
Jessica squealed. "Deal!"
"She's way too excited about a beach trip," Maze observed. "In Hell, beach trips involved significantly more fire and dramatically fewer teenagers."
Charlie was cleaning his plate when I brought up the beach trip during dinner. "La Push?" he asked. "That sounds nice. Billy Black's tribe has some great beaches."
"Reservation man's territory," Maze recalled. "Interesting energy there."
"Just a day trip with some school friends," I explained.
Charlie nodded. "Have fun. Be careful."
"Always," Maze said as I prepared for bed. "Though 'careful' means something very different when you have a demon watching your back."
As I drifted off to sleep, Maze's presence was a constant, comforting warmth. Tomorrow would be interesting.
"Beach day," she whispered. "What could possibly go wrong?"
The morning light crept through my bedroom window, soft and grey. Before I could fully wake, Maze's voice cut through my drowsiness.
"Rise and shine, little human," she sang. "Beach day awaits."
I groaned, stretching. "You're way too chipper for this early."
"In Hell, we wake up to torture schedules. This is technically a vacation."
Checking the weather app on my phone confirmed the typical Forks forecast – cloudy with a chance of more clouds. Perfect beach weather, if you're a Pacific Northwest native.
"What should I wear?" I asked, rummaging through my closet.
"Something that says 'I'm here, but don't talk to me,'" Maze suggested. "Your specialty."
I settled on warm layers – a thick sweater, jeans, and a waterproof jacket. Beach trips in Forks were less about sunbathing and more about survival.
"Practical," Maze approved. "Though in my day, we prepared for beaches with full battle armor."
Breakfast was quick – toast and coffee. Charlie had already left for work, leaving a note wishing me fun at the beach.
"Teenage social rituals," Maze mused as I packed a bag. "Fascinating how humans create entire events around sitting near large bodies of water."
I packed essentials: water bottle, extra layers, a book, and first aid kit. Years with Maze meant always being prepared.
"You forgot snacks," she pointed out.
"No, I didn't," I pulled out a bag of trail mix. "Learned from the best."
"Demon survival training has its perks," she said smugly.
As I loaded my truck, Maze's commentary continued. "Keep your senses sharp. Reservation lands always have interesting supernatural undercurrents."
"You say that about everywhere," I laughed.
"Because everywhere DOES have supernatural undercurrents. Humans just don't notice."
The truck roared to life, ready for our beach adventure. Whatever the day might bring, we'd face it together.
First Beach was a stretch of driftwood-strewn beach, grey and windswept. The group from school had already gathered – Mike, Jessica, Angela, and Eric huddled together near some large logs.
"Teenage herd behavior," Maze commented. "Fascinating how they cluster for warmth."
I walked over, setting my bag down near the group. Mike immediately started talking about the cold, Jessica laughing at everything he said.
"Oh, this is painful to watch," Maze groaned. "I've seen more sophisticated mating rituals in the seventh circle of Hell."
A group of Quileute teenagers sat further down the beach. One of them – a boy about fifteen – kept looking over. When our eyes met, he waved.
"Interesting," Maze mused. "He has a unique energy."
"Bella!" Jacob Black approached, grinning. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"Hey, Jacob," I smiled. "How are you?"
"oh yeah, the boy who fixed your truck," Maze recalled. "Billy's son. Good with his hands."
Jacob suggested a walk, and I agreed, grateful for an escape from the group's dynamics.
"So how've you been?" he asked as we walked along the rocky beach.
"Small talk," Maze whispered. "Humans and their ritualistic communication."
We talked about school, about Forks, about nothing and everything. Jacob was easy to talk to – genuinely interested, without the awkward tension of my school peers.
"He's different," Maze observed. "More… grounded. Interesting energy around him."
As we walked, Jacob told me stories about the reservation, about tribal legends. I listened, fascinated.
"Pay attention," Maze warned. "Legends often have more truth than humans realize."
Unbeknownst to Jacob, Maze was analyzing every word, every subtle energy around us. Just another day protecting her human.
"So," I said casually, "do you know anything about the Cullens?"
Jacob's expression darkened slightly. "The Cullens? They don't come here."
"Interesting reaction," Maze noted. "Something more than typical teenage drama."
"My dad doesn't like them," Jacob continued. "He says they're not… good for the community."
"Why not?" I pressed.
Jacob hesitated, then seemed to make a decision. "Want to hear a tribal story?"
"Oh, more legends," Maze perked up. "These are always interesting."
"My great-grandfather made a treaty with their family a long time ago," Jacob began. "A treaty that kept them from our lands. They're… different."
"Different how?" Maze's mental voice was sharp with curiosity.
"The old stories talk about the Cold Ones," Jacob said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Supernatural beings who are cold to the touch, who don't age, who drink blood to survive."
I felt Maze go completely still in my mind.
"Vampires?" Maze's voice was genuinely confused. "I've been around for 300 thousand years, and I've never heard of such creatures. When I last walked the Earth, humans were barely organized into tribes. These… Cold Ones are completely new to me."
"You sound surprised," I thought back.
"Surprised doesn't begin to cover it," she said. "In my time on Earth, supernatural beings were different," Maze mused. "Demons, spirits, celestials… these 'Cold Ones' must have emerged during my time in Hell. I wonder why wonder Lucifer never mentioned them."
Her curiosity was palpable. "Tell me more about what the boy is saying. These legends might be the first real information I've heard about them."
Jacob continued his story, unaware that a demon from the depths of Hell was listening with intense fascination, hearing about a type of supernatural being entirely unknown to her vast experience.
By the time I got home, the day's conversations were swirling in my mind. Charlie was still at work, the house quiet except for the soft patter of rain against the windows.
"Time to investigate," Maze said, her curiosity still peaked from Jacob's stories.
I booted up my ancient computer, waiting for the slow dial-up connection to establish. Google was still a relatively new concept, but it would have to do.
"Primitive research methods," Maze commented. "In Hell, we just tortured information out of spirits."
My searches were frustrating. Generic vampire legends, nothing specific to the Pacific Northwest. But then, a small link caught my eye – a used bookstore in Port Angeles that specialized in local historical texts.
"Olympic Peninsula Rare Books," I read aloud.
"Field trip?" Maze suggested. "Road trip to find more information?"
The store's website mentioned a collection of Native American tribal histories and local folklore. Exactly what we needed.
"I'm intrigued by these 'Cold Ones,'" Maze mused. "A supernatural being I've never encountered in thousands of years? That doesn't happen often."
I made a mental note. Next weekend, I'd drive to Port Angeles and see what I could find.
"Research mission accepted," Maze declared. "Let the supernatural investigation begin."