by Stacey Jay
“But I am.”
“You’re starting to sound like me,” I say, getting to my feet and crossing to the tank, knowing I shouldn’t drink any more but filling my pink cup to the top anyway. When I turn, Ben is behind me, holding out his green monster. I take it, trying not to notice when our fingers brush together.
“Okay. Then I’m not sorry. Somebody needs to remind Gemma that most of us are living in a different world.”
I fill his cup, searching for the right words. “You always stand up for people?”
“Not all people,” he says, taking his drink, but making no move to return to our spot on the floor. “Just the ones I don’t think can stand up for themselves.”
“I can stand up for myself.” I look up into his eyes, willing him to believe me. He doesn’t have to pity me, or Ariel.
“Yeah, I know.” He moves closer, until I can feel the warmth of him through the T-shirt and sweatpants I threw on for rehearsal. “But you don’t. Why?”
I hold his gaze—and my breath—as he takes a drink of his wine, his throat working the chilled liquid down. He licks his lips, and I fight to swallow.
“I’m not into conflict. And Gemma is my only friend.”
“So you just let her walk all over you? I don’t think that’s really you.” He narrows his eyes, as if he can see through my borrowed skin to my deepest, darkest secret. “I think there’s a fighter in you, Mermaid. I was watching you from offstage today. I wouldn’t ever want you to look at me the way you look at Dylan.”
“I never would,” I whisper. “Unless …”
“Unless what?”
“Unless you break my best friend’s heart.”
Ben’s lips press together, but his gaze doesn’t waver from mine. “I don’t know what she’s told you, but there is nothing going on between me and Gemma. Not in that way. We’re friends. I think maybe she wanted it to be more for a little while, but—”
“But you love her.” What is he saying? Is he out of his mind?
His eyebrows lift. “I do?”
Anxiety tightens my chest. How can he not realize he’s in love? His aura is even rosier than it was the day before. “You know you do.”
“I don’t. I’ve never been in love.” He pauses, considering me too carefully. “Have you?”
“I don’t matter.”
“Really?” He leans into me, until I can smell the wine sweet on his breath.
“Really.” My heart beats faster, slamming in my chest.
“You do matter,” he says, voice soft. “You matter to me.”
THIRTEEN
But I—I’m not—” I stumble over my words and fall into the first question that crosses my mind. “What happened when you were arrested? Why did you hit that guy?”
Ben doesn’t blink. “He was beating up his girlfriend. Right in front of their house, where everybody in the neighborhood could see. No one else came out to stop it, so I did.”
I should have known. He was coming to the rescue, as usual.
“I called the police, but I didn’t think they would get there in time. She was pregnant. I’d seen her at the mailboxes a few times.…” He shakes his head, sadness on his face for this woman he barely knows. “She seemed so excited about the baby, even though her pedazo de mierda boyfriend was the father.” He takes a drink of his wine, letting the silence wrap around us as he swallows. “Is that love, do you think?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious. “Being crazy about someone no matter how much they hurt you?”
“You know it’s not.”
“I don’t,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen it, not the way I imagine. Not even my brother and sister-in-law. He’d never hurt her, but he doesn’t love her the way he should. He doesn’t tell her everything he’s thinking, doesn’t look at her like she’s the best thing that ever happened to him.”
“Ben …” My heart squeezes in my chest, a beautiful ache that makes it even harder to breathe. I want to cup his sad face in my hands and tell him how glad I am that he really is a knight in shining armor, and a romantic, even if he doesn’t know it. I want to tell him he’s special and promise him he’ll find someone who will love him the way he imagines.
But I can’t promise that, not when his soul mate is Gemma. A girl with mood swings that make roller coasters seem tame, a mean streak, and a family biased against him, and who—at the moment—seems more preoccupied with potato chips than his feelings. And not when I’ve seen so many things that have weakened my own faith in love and happily-ever-after.
“They dropped the battery charge and let me off with counseling and twenty hours of community service, but …” He shrugs. “I guess you probably still think I’m a thug or something.”
“No, you’re … good.” I reach out, unable to resist the urge to touch him. I scratch a bit of white paint off his arm, fingers lingering on his warm skin. His hand whispers along my cheek. My lips part and the smallest sound escapes, a barely audible betrayal of the way his touch makes me feel.
“Good enough for you to tell me the truth?” he asks.
For a moment, I think he means the real truth—my truth, not Ariel’s—and something inside me thrills at the idea. To tell Ben my real name, my real thoughts, the real things “I Never” and the things that I have …
I want him to know me. Even though it’s impossible. Dangerous.
“Why were you so upset yesterday?” he asks. “Was it because of Dylan?”
Dylan. The spark inside me dies. It always comes back to Romeo, to the miserable half-life he condemned us both to so long ago. I shake my head, trying to hold my sadness in, to bury it deep. “No. It was just a bad day.”
“Please, tell me the truth,” Ben whispers. “It’s been driving me crazy. Every time I see Dylan in class he gives me this sick smile.” His jaw clenches, and for a moment I see violence shimmer beneath his skin, see the face of the boy who broke a man’s nose with his fists. “It’s like he’s got some kind of horrible secret.”
“Who’s got secrets?” Gemma asks.
Ben and I turn to find her standing a few feet away, watching us. I’m suddenly very aware that Ben’s hand still hovers near my cheek. We shouldn’t be standing so close, he shouldn’t be touching me, I shouldn’t be so conscious of his heat, his smell, his energy threading into mine.
Shouldn’t. Shouldn’t. Shouldn’t. I’m breaking all the rules, even the ones I’ve sworn never to break. Whether he’s ready to admit it or not, Ben is in love with Gemma. But that doesn’t mean he can’t find another girl tempting, the same way countless women have been tempted from their true loves by Romeo. With a look. A touch. A soft word.
No, you’re … good.
Panic floods through me, burning away the rush I felt at Ben’s touch. I duck my head, setting my cup on the edge of the vat as I slip away just in time, just seconds before another silhouette appears in the darkness behind Gemma.
“Ooo, I love secrets.” Romeo ambles out into the light. I brace myself, waiting for Gemma to ask him what the hell he’s doing here, to demand that he leave. Instead, she reaches into her bag, grabs a chip, and pops it into her mouth.
“Dylan snuck through the gate again,” she says around a mouthful, as if this isn’t a big deal, as if she didn’t spend the entire car ride yesterday telling me that Dylan should be avoided at all costs. “Since he was already lurking by the door like a freak, I told him he might as well get a drink.”
Romeo smiles and I feel Ben prickle beside me in response. “That’s me. A freak for wine and secrets.” His eyes shift to Ben, and when he speaks there’s a challenge in his voice. “So come on, Benjamin. Tell all. ¡Cuéntame todo el chisme!”
“Since when do you speak Spanish?” Gemma turns to Dylan, lifting an eyebrow.
“Since when are you two friends?” I ask, unable to help myself. This can’t be happening. Gemma hates Dylan, and that’s the way it should stay!
“We’re not. He just comes over on the rare occasion when I don’t want to drink a
lone.” Gemma’s eyes meet mine, but the girl I sang and danced with last night, the girl I’ve laughed with all afternoon, is gone. She’s cold, guarded, and obviously angry.
Probably because she saw that loaded moment between Ben and me.
But that moment doesn’t change the fact that she’s lied to me—to Ariel—about her relationship with Dylan. Or the fact that she’s invited him to join us when she knows my date with him was a horrible experience. She’s thoughtless at best, mean-spirited and selfish at worst, and I want so much better for Ben. I want a generous, funny, sensitive girl who will treasure his love as her most priceless possession.
But I have Gemma. And I have to make this work or Romeo will win and someone will die.
But how to fix this? How? When Ben doesn’t think he’s in love, Gemma is angry and welcoming Romeo in her front door, and I’ve done nothing but put temptation in Ben’s path that never should have been there. How to reverse the damage I’ve done? How to—
“That’s Ariel’s cup,” Ben says as Romeo reaches the wine tank and grabs my discarded pink monster.
“That’s okay. I’ve already got Ariel’s germs.” Romeo winks at me and takes a long, slow pull from the glass and I have my answer.
If Ariel is with Dylan, Ben will turn his attention back to Gemma where it belongs. And if Romeo is busy with me—working on that spell he’s so desperate to cast—he won’t have time to spend with Gemma, to get her drunk and spin tales of how wonderful immortality can be if she’ll only sacrifice Ben to the Mercenary cause.
The decision is made, even though the thought of what I’m about to do makes my flesh crawl. “Yeah. You probably do have my germs.” I cross to Romeo, stopping only inches from where he’s slouched against the wine tank. “But let’s make sure. Just in case.”
For a second, Romeo is thrown, his unshakable confidence wavering in the wake of my unexpected response. I try to enjoy that small victory as I wrap my fingers around the back of his neck and pull him to me, meeting his cold lips with mine. His mouth curves into a smile for a moment before he tosses his cup to the floor, wraps his arms tight around my waist, and kisses me like the world is ending and this is the last, breathless magic either of us will ever know.
His hands roam over the curve of my hip and his tongue slips between my teeth. I do my best not to gag, to pretend I’m enjoying this, to ignore the fact that being this close to Romeo makes me want to scream. To ignore the fact that Ben is watching, and that his soft sound of disgust makes me want to cry. For me. For him. For what can never, ever be.
“Well, well. There’s a secret.” Gemma sounds almost as repulsed as I feel. I pull my mouth from Romeo’s, shifting my eyes to her, though I stay in Romeo’s arms. “I think I’m going to go now. Ben, you coming?”
“Definitely. I’m definitely coming.”
I turn to look at him, and it’s all I can do not to burst into tears. The mixture of pain and disappointment, anger and despair, on his face cuts a hole in my heart deeper than the one Romeo put there with his knife. Ben looks so completely betrayed that I want to beg him to stay, confess that the kiss meant nothing and that I never would have touched Dylan if it weren’t the only way to save Ben’s life, a life that is impossibly precious to me after only two days.
But I can’t say any of those things. Instead, I press closer to Romeo, twining an arm around his waist. This is what’s best for Ben. Now he can write me off and turn his attention back to Gemma.
“Cool,” Gemma says. “We can go hang out in the stables. I’ll borrow the trainer’s truck to take you home later.” She digs into her pocket for her car keys and throws them at my and Romeo’s feet. “You two can take my car out the back gate. I’ll come back and erase the gate security tape after you’re gone.”
I meet her eyes, and the anger there makes me flinch. I didn’t expect my kissing Dylan to make her even angrier. Her relationship with Ben is my top priority, but I don’t want to ruin things between her and Ariel. “Wait, Gemma,” I say. “Don’t be mad. We wanted to tell you, but—”
She holds up a hand. “I don’t want to talk about this now. Okay? Will you just go? You can park the car in front of the Windmill tomorrow morning. I’ll get my mom to drop me off there before she goes to work.” She turns and reaches a hand out to Ben. He takes it and holds on, following her through the discarded monster cups littering the concrete, making my spirits rise and my stomach plummet at the same time. I ignore my stomach. This is what has to happen. I have no other choice.
I stay in Romeo’s arms until Ben and Gemma disappear down one shadowed row, then put my hands on his chest and shove. He lets me go with a laugh. “I guess this means you’ve changed your mind about loving me.”
“Hardly.” I grab the keys from the ground. “But I won’t let you win this one.”
“Then you must give me your love. If you want them both to live, if you want to live yourself, there is no other option.”
I ignore him, gathering the cups from the ground. “What’s going on with you and Gemma? With Dylan and Gemma?”
He waves his finger back and forth and makes a tsking sound. “No, no. No more scratching your back until you’ve scratched mine.”
“When have you ever scratched my back?”
“Well …”
I hold up a hand. “Don’t. Just … don’t.”
“I was only going to say that I helped you now, by sending that boy running back to Gemma’s arms. I think he was starting to take an interest in someone else, in spite of these.” He reaches for the scarred side of my face, but I step away. He smiles, an eager smile, as if anticipating some excellent game. “I like them, myself. Ugliness only makes beauty more striking. Don’t you think?”
“Ariel isn’t ugly. And I don’t care what you like.”
He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. Soon you’ll have your own body back.” He fiddles with the spigot, sending little bursts of wine to splatter onto the ground. “There’s another way I’ve scratched your back. I discovered the spell, our way out.”
“Stop that.”
Romeo grins, flips the spigot to the on position, and walks away. I sigh as I turn it off and tuck the cups back under the steel tank. There’s nothing left to keep my hands busy. I have to talk to him. At least enough to ensure he’ll leave Ben and Gemma alone. “This is Mercenary magic?” I ask, trying to sound vaguely interested while I warn myself not to be drawn in.
“It is old magic,” he says. “Original magic, before the Mercenaries and Ambassadors decided which side they were on. Back when they were the very best of friends.” His look becomes a leer. “Some of them were even lovers.”
I roll my eyes. He’s mad. This delusional story proves it. The Ambassadors and Mercenaries are bitter enemies.
As are you and Romeo, but once upon a time …
It’s as if Romeo can hear my thoughts and knows the second weakness creeps into my mind. He sucks in a breath and begins his tale, words swift and sure. “Thousands of years ago, a group of ancients sought a way to escape the cycle of life and death. They were mystics of great power, and devised a spell that would grant their souls eternal life in the realms running parallel to the earth’s reality, that would make them gods with worshippers bound to them by their magic. But the spell called for balance. For light and dark, good and evil.
“One half of the ancients took the power of goodness as the energy that would maintain their souls throughout the ages. The other half chose the evil of man as their fuel. They spilled each other’s blood to work the spell, gambling their mortal lives in the quest for eternity. The magic worked, but not exactly as they’d thought.”
He pauses, licking a bit of wine from his fingers with a strange smile.
“As the ages passed, the dark ones thrived on human wickedness. After a time, they were no longer consigned to their alternate realm, but lived forever on earth, poisoning humanity, bloating themselves on the evil they helped create, turning against the Ambassadors. For centuries, t
he light suffered, losing power, until they were forced to share their converts with death itself, to send them to the mist when they weren’t needed. You are one of those souls, trapped between life and death, never to be blessed with either. We are both slaves, forced into the worship of gods not of our choosing.”
I cross my arms, shivering though the barn is warm and dry. Romeo looks on expectantly, as if waiting for my thanks for his outpouring. “So the Ambassadors are … vampires? Who feed on goodness? That’s what you want me to believe?”
“You must believe,” he says. “They use the good deeds of their converts to fuel their own eternity in their golden kingdom, never telling those converts that the evil they fight is one the Ambassadors helped create. Or that there is a way out of their service.”
I shake my head. I don’t want to believe him—god, I don’t—but a part of me does. A part of me believes. Nurse’s own words confirm every one of Romeo’s. I have been forbidden to kill Romeo because murder “feeds the Mercenary cause.” Feeds. Maybe literally feeds these magicians sustained by evil instead of good.
Anger and sadness and the familiar sting of betrayal surge inside me. Still, a voice within urges me to remember that Romeo is a liar out to help no one but himself. He requires my cooperation for this spell. That’s the only reason he’s bothering with this talk. Otherwise, he’d simply take what he wants, the way he always has.
“But their magic can’t last forever. They can only hold their converts for so long,” Romeo continues. “When the initial magic fades, they must either renew their converts’ vows … or let the others take us.”
“The others?” The air suddenly feels colder.
“You’ve seen them,” he whispers. “I know you have.”
I could lie. I could continue to deny everything, but I don’t see what purpose it would serve. And Romeo is genuinely frightened. This man who has lived amid violence and death for centuries is spooked, and I need to know why.
“I’ve seen them. You and … myself,” I say. “But how is that possible? Our bodies have been dead for—”
