by Stacey Jay
“They aren’t our true forms,” he says. “They are the specters of our souls, come to take us both to that hell you’ve been wishing for me.”
“Hell,” I repeat. The notion doesn’t ring true. “If there is such a place—and you’ve insisted numerous times that there is not—why would I be taken there? What have I done that—”
“You’ve stepped outside the natural order, become a tiny dot of space-time cancer the universe must destroy in order to balance the cosmic equation.”
“The universe as in … god?”
Romeo sighs. “The universe as in the universe, the primal forces of creation. Call it god if you must, but it is a nameless, mindless thing. It doesn’t care about good or bad. All it cares about is balance and order. What the Ambassadors and Mercenaries have done violates that order, but it is we who will pay the price. If the specters—”
“But what are the specters? If the universe is mindless, then who controls them? Why do they—”
“They are parts of ourselves, left over from what we would have been, influenced by what we’ve become, but compelled by primal forces beyond human understanding,” he says, obviously frustrated with my limited imagination. “All I know is that if they take us before we work this spell, we will go to that mist you’ve only lingered in until now, to that place outside of time where the universe dumps its waste. But the mist will not be a place of forgetting for us. We will be aware of every single moment that passes, conscious but bodiless and alone for all eternity.”
I press my lips together. Yes, that sounds close enough to hell for me.
“The only way to escape that fate is to take control, to work the spell together and give the specters physical form, not simply psychic—”
“Have you seen your body? What it has become?”
He pales, runs a nervous hand through his loose curls. “Yes, well, I suppose wickedness does have its consequences. Hopefully the magic will fix … all that.” I lift a dubious brow, and he does a poor impression of his come-hither smile. “They say love can work miracles.”
I shake my head again, slowly, knowing that—even if everything he says is true—this is impossible. I can never love him, no matter how much I might fear the hell he describes. Fear can force obedience, but it can never transform a heart. But before I can say a word, laughter interrupts.
The laugh echoes through the long rows of barrels, drifting up to dance through the rafters of the barn, making us both turn toward the sound. At first I think Gemma has returned, but then it comes again, a rich, carefree giggle that’s eerily familiar. I know that laugh. I’ve felt it thrum through my chest, tumble out my lips. It’s my laughter. Someone has bottled the joy I felt as a girl and it’s pouring into the air, sweeter than the wine I’ve stolen.
“It’s her … you,” Romeo whispers. He grabs my arm, fingers digging in too hard. “Don’t welcome her, don’t embrace her before we work the spell or she will have you. Hell will have you!”
More laughter, this time from the opposite direction. Romeo and I stumble in our haste to turn around. My heart pounds, terror thick in my veins.
I catch a flash of blue and then my old body dances from between a row of barrels. She finds me with her slightly vacant eyes and smiles. “Love. So close.” My mouth falls open. It’s me. There’s no doubt. But I’m not as I was; I’m not whole. There is a wound on my chest, blood drips down the front of my dress, and my smile is forced and strange.
Still, I am tempted to go to her, to take my old hand. Almost … compelled. I would go—despite Romeo’s warning, despite my fear—if Romeo didn’t grab my hand and shout for me to “Run!”
I see it a second later, the rotted corpse crouched in the darkness behind my body. “Love.” The word is a growl—low and feral—that rumbles through the air, a warning we don’t need to hear twice.
We turn and run, feet pounding faster than the rain pummeling the roof. Faster and faster, lunging to the left and then the right, racing down the rows, too terrified to stop and see how close the thing has gotten. I can hear it scrambling behind us, hands and feet slapping the slick floor, running like a beast, a nightmare.
Another turn to the left and suddenly, the door is in sight. I sprint for it with everything in me, hitting the metal bar just seconds before Romeo, hurling myself out into the storm. In seconds the rain has plastered my hair to my head, but I don’t stop running until I reach Gemma’s car. I fumble the keys from my pocket with trembling hands.
Romeo and I scramble inside, slamming the doors behind us. I hit the locks but still hurry to get the keys in the ignition. I won’t feel safe until we are far, far away from the barn.
I turn the car around and guide it back onto the narrow road, pulling in long, deep breaths and letting them out slowly. I keep the car moving toward the gate at a semi-reasonable speed, only checking the rearview half as many times as I would like. I can’t let fear take over. I have to keep my head, to think of some way to reach the Ambassadors.
They’ve never hurt me, never punished me, never shown me anything but kindness. I can’t betray them now.
But what if he’s right? What if—
“Do you want me to drive?” Romeo asks.
“No, I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine, you look like you’re going to murder that wheel.”
I glance down, shocked by my white knuckles and the ropes of muscle straining against the backs of my hands. I relax my grip, but my thoughts only race faster as I punch the remote to open the gate and guide us back toward Solvang. Using that much strength, I should have broken the wheel, but I didn’t, a reminder of my uncommon weakness.
Romeo is right. I’m different, we’re different, and he may be my only chance at a tomorrow. But do I dare? Do I dare reach out to the enemy for help? Do I dare even ask him more about this spell?
“Are you ready now?” Romeo asks, as haunted as I’ve ever heard him. Even more than on the day he killed my cousin and learned he would be exiled from our home forever. “We can do this. Tonight.”
He killed my cousin. He killed me. And over the centuries he’s wrecked the lives and hearts of so many people. I cannot forget that. I cannot. He is a liar and a fiend and a monster.
“I know you hate me,” he says. “But please … think on this tonight. Sleep and see if you can dream of a life where I am not your enemy, where I am the man who loves you. You heard the specters. We must love each other, or we are doomed.”
I laugh, a choked, desperate sound that makes me bite my lip.
“Leave me here,” Romeo says, motioning to an empty produce stand at the edge of town. I pull in to the parking lot but don’t turn off the car, don’t look over at Romeo. Just driving him to safety feels wrong; how could it ever feel right to join forces with him in magic? “I’ll walk home.”
I nod. “You do that.”
He sighs. “You have to try, Juliet, or it will be the death of us both. I’ll give you a day to think,” he says, catching my eye. “One day, without my interference with you or our young lovers. One day for you to spend in contemplation, as a show of my good faith. And then we act, before it’s too late.”
One day. It’s more than he’s ever given me before, but I already know it won’t be enough. I will never love him or trust him, certainly not in twenty-four hours, but maybe … just maybe …
“One day.”
Romeo beams as if I’ve handed him his life. “You won’t regret this, Juliet. You are still the light in my darkness, the only beauty I’ve—”
“Stop.”
He laughs. “A man has to try.”
“You’re not a man.”
“But I could be again. Believe it.” He clasps my hand, holds on even when I try to pull away. “I do. I believe.” I meet his mad eyes and for a moment I see the spark of something human there. “Think, we could still make the story true, find our happiness. Even after death.”
“Please, just go.”
“Good-bye, my lo
ve, parting is such sweet sorrow, that I must say—”
“Leave,” I say, then force myself to soften my voice. “Give me the day and I’ll try. I promise.”
“It’s all that I ask.” He slips out into the rain and heads across the parking lot with a slow, seductive stroll, oblivious to the cold and wet. I watch him go, and think maybe I should feel guilty for lying. But I don’t.
I pull out without a backward glance, wheels spinning in my mind. If he keeps his word, I have twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours to help Ben and Gemma finish the business of falling in love and put them safely beyond Romeo’s reach. And when they are finished, we will be finished. Perhaps the Ambassadors will send me to the mist, or perhaps my old body will drag me there never to return. Either way, it will be over.
Maybe before sundown tomorrow.
FOURTEEN
The next morning I sit in the coffee shop, clutching a mug of tea and trying not to panic.
It looks like Gemma isn’t going to show. I don’t know why I’m surprised. She was so angry last night. I should have known that the text she sent me at two in the morning—promising she’d meet me at the bakery at seven—was simply to get me to stop calling.
I check the clock. Seven-thirty.
I try to tell myself it’s okay, I can talk to her at school, but it makes me sick to waste a second of my day without Romeo. The pancake ball I ate churns in my stomach, a rock that refuses to be digested. It tastes different than Ariel remembers. At least, I think it does. Ariel’s memories are thready today, a fog I can’t see through, a scent I can’t name. I’m too full of my own worries and fears, the Juliet inside me crowding out the girl I’m pretending to be.
My dreams were horrific again last night. Corpses come to life, blood on a blue dress, and the cold, immovable walls of the tomb where I once screamed for help until blood ran down my parched throat. And then … the mist, nothing but the mist, stretching on forever.
Forever.
What if Romeo’s right? What if I’m a fool for spending one of my last days on earth attending to Ambassador business?
I glance up, bite my lip. Seven-thirty-three.
I can practically hear the clock tick from across the room. The bakery is unusually quiet. Far fewer customers come to claim their morning fare, and those who do sit in strained silence. It’s almost as if the world at large can feel that two lives hang in the balance.
My eyes slide to where Nancy would usually be standing behind the counter. Instead, Nancy’s daughter—a strong-faced woman with wiry black and gray hair pulled into a long braid—plucks bear claws from the case and delivers coffee into the hands of teachers, students, and shopkeepers. She looks sad, worried, as if she’s having a hard time managing the few customers even with another woman I don’t recognize helping her. Probably best if I give her one less person to worry about.
Just when I’ve given up and begun to gather my things, the bell above the door tinkles and Gemma shoves her way inside. She finds me in the corner booth and shoots me a glare that could melt bones as my jaw drops in shock.
Her aura is on fire this morning, burning a bright, strong red. Her time alone with Ben last night accomplished more than I’d hoped.
One soul mate down; one to go.
Ben must not be ready yet, or I wouldn’t be sitting here. The moment both auras catch flame, I’m always pulled back to the mist. Unless …
If I see Ben today and his aura has changed as well, then I’ll know there’s no going back. I’ll have to decide: join Romeo or let the specter of my soul take me. I know I should be afraid for my future, but all I can think about is Ben and how it kills me to think of him glowing the cherry-red-of-no-return for Gemma. For anyone except …
No. I won’t think it. I won’t.
“Hey.” I force a smile, pushing my worries from my mind as Gemma stalks toward me. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
She stops next to the booth but doesn’t sit down. She stands, arms crossed, looking down at me, making me squirm. “Yeah. I could tell. I just don’t know what you’re so happy about. Everyone else is totally freaked.”
“Why?”
“Have you not turned on a television or computer in the past fifteen hours?” She rolls her eyes. “Wow, you must have been hot for Dylan last night not to—”
“I wasn’t with Dylan last night, Gemma,” I say. “And I want to explain what—”
“Nancy is missing,” Gemma says, dismissing my explanation with an impatient wave before I can make it. “It’s all over Facebook.”
The thought throws me. “Missing?”
“Like officially a missing person, reported to the police, on the nightly news, would be coming to an Amber Alert near you if they did that for old people.”
“Oh no.” Her poor daughter; no wonder she looks so upset. “That’s awful.”
“Well, it’s been an awful few days.” Gemma’s scowl deepens. “I can’t believe you and Dylan … I mean, I expect lies from him, but I thought you were different. I thought that innocent act was real.”
“Gemma, please,” I say, keeping my tone gentle. “What about everything you said to me in the car? About staying away from Dylan? Wasn’t that a lie?”
“That wasn’t a lie. That was good advice.” She looks out the rain-streaked glass next to my booth. It’s another horrible, rainy, miserable day, and I’m beginning to think I’ll never see the sun again. “But you’re right, I guess. I’ve lied. You’ve lied. There’s no one you can trust.” Gemma’s brightly stained lips droop at the edges. “I should have learned that a long time ago.”
She’s wearing fuchsia lipstick today, with a bright fuchsia sundress that falls all the way to the floor and a black shrug sweater with scraps of gauze whirling off in every direction. She’s as bright and vibrant as ever, while Ariel is forgettable in another pink and brown sweater. Stripes this time. Ariel seems to have a dozen versions of the same sweater, equally plain and uninspired. She and Gemma are so different. It’s amazing they’ve stayed friends for as long as they have.
But they have, and it doesn’t matter what I think. I can’t let Ariel lose this friendship. I could be gone by the end of the day.
“Gemma, please.” I scoot to the edge of the booth and stand up, facing her. “I’ve never lied to you. I just wasn’t thinking.”
“No, you were,” she says. “You were thinking I wouldn’t like what you had to say.”
“And you did the same thing,” I say. “Can’t we just forgive each other and—”
“I know I’ve done the same thing,” Gemma says, anger creeping into her voice. “And I should have kept doing it.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, confused by her words, her obvious anger. She’s glowing with love; shouldn’t she be … happier? Kinder?
“I should never have introduced you to Ben.”
My lips part. How can she say that? When all I’ve done is try to help her and Ben get closer together?
And replayed every word he said a thousand times in your head.
“I’m not stupid, Ariel.”
And held the memory of each time he touched you so tight to your chest you could barely breathe.
Gemma’s mouth curves into a humorless smile. “It’s tragically obvious.”
And secretly thought Ben might be better off … with you.
“I know you have a crush on him.”
“I do not.” It’s the truth. I have something much worse than a crush. I have sinful, traitorous, forbidden feelings. Feelings I’ve only had once before, seven hundred years ago when I fell in love for the first time. For what I’d assumed would be the last time …
God, can I really be … Can I …
I haven’t dared to think about that, but now, there’s no denying that it feels true. The thought of Ben burning red for Gemma makes me want to die. Why would that be unless … Unless …
I shake my head, dizzy with the unspeakable possibility. “No. Ben is just a friend. I’m with Dylan. You
saw that yourself last night.”
“Making out with Dylan means nothing. Less than nothing.” She curses beneath her breath. “I mean, how stupid do you think I am? I can see what you’re trying to do and it’s pathetic.”
“What?”
She pauses, surveying me through narrowed eyes. “You heard me … you’re pathetic.”
I barely resist the urge to tell her to go to hell. “That’s mean, Gemma.”
“You know what’s mean? Playing with other people’s toys. Don’t think I can’t see you working Ben, trying to make him jealous.” Her tone lilts up and down, each word more mocking than the last. “To make him so worried about poor Ariel that he needs to spend more time by your side, protecting you from your big, bad, abusive boyfriend. He told me about Dylan smashing in his window, and how you had some sort of fainting attack in the theater and he had to hold you.” She laughs, the nastiest laugh I’ve ever heard. “I mean, really, Ariel … that’s just … You should be embarrassed. When have you ever fainted? Ever?”
“Gemma, I don’t know—”
“But Ben isn’t interested in protecting you, and Dylan doesn’t love you or whatever you’re imagining,” she says, hitching her purse over her shoulder. “He doesn’t love anyone, and you’re not capable of playing this kind of game. So quit trying to steal my life! It was a stupid life, even when it was mine.”
Now I’m completely baffled. Gemma isn’t making sense, and it’s harder than ever to stomach that this cruel person is the girl Ben loves. Still, I fight for control, to keep my goal in mind, to remember that I’m doing this for Ben, to protect him. “Gemma, I’m not playing games. I promise. I just want—”
“Save it, Ariel.” She backs away, shaking her head in disgust. “But you need to stop embarrassing yourself. Ben’s not interested, and everyone knows Dylan only slept with you because of that bet.”
Her words hit my chest, knocking the wind out of me. People know about the bet? Romeo told people Dylan and Ariel … I haven’t heard a whisper of gossip at school, but then, how would I? When no one talks to Ariel except Gemma and Ben? And now they won’t talk to her either. She’ll come back to this body miserable and alone and shamed and it’s all my fault.
