THEY EMERGED ONE BY ONE, TWO BY TWO FROM THE FOREST EDGE, ranging a dozen meters apart. The first male into the clearing fell back immediately, allowing the second to take the front, orienting himself around that first male, tall and dark-haired, in a manner that clearly displayed who led the pack, who had the fangs, who shined the shoes, fried the eggs, ate the cabbage, pressed the shirts, wrote and/or deposited the checks, mowed the lawn with his shirt off on Saturday mornings, wearing only tight pants and a big belt buckle over a fat old wiener, the flesh pressed up close against the fabric. The third was a woman; from this distance, all I could see of her was that she was not male.
They closed ranks before continuing cautiously toward Fredward's family, exhibiting the natural respect a troop of predators has as it encounters a larger, unfamiliar group of its own kind.
As they approached, I could see how different they were from the Cullens. Their walk was catlike, a gait that