by Stacey Jay
“Ree? Ariel?”
Except the part about loving me. That’s still a lie. The way I should have known it was from the start.
Romeo came here to trick me, and as soon as he realizes he has failed, he’ll kill me like he did the first time. I’ve seen it, felt it, known what it’s like to have a bullet push through my forehead and lodge in my brain. I watched his face light up with satisfaction as he fired the gun. He enjoyed it. I could see it in his eyes. The Ambassador in Mrs. Sloop’s body showed me everything. She took me by the hand and sent visions of Romeo’s reign of terror dancing through my mind, saving me from becoming one of his victims a second time.
She showed me all the people he murdered, countless men and women he won over with clever lies, only to turn them into murderers and monsters—like him. He’s still a Mercenary, though a cursed one. He pissed off his boss, and if he doesn’t find a girl to love him and sacrifice her to the Mercenary cause, he’ll become one of the lost souls that scream in my head. He’s been seducing me for the slaughter. But unfortunately for him, Juliet’s Ambassador reached me in time.
Now I will be the one to take revenge. For myself, for Juliet, and for all the people whose hearts and souls and lives Romeo has ripped apart.
“You’d better start talking, Ree,” Gemma says, her voice trembling. I glance up, registering the shimmer in her brown eyes. She’s about to cry. I made myself cry for him, to make my lies more convincing, but I won’t cry for real ever again. I’m too full of hate to feel anything else. “If you don’t, I’m going to call your mom,” she warns.
“That can’t happen,” I mumble in a flat, hollow tone. I sound empty, though I’m so filled with rage, I feel like I’ll bubble over any second. “That would ruin everything.”
“I don’t care. What’s wrong with you? You’re scaring me.”
“I’m … sorry.” I sit up straighter, trying to focus through the haze of fury. But it’s so hard. Every time I blink, images of my grandpa’s gun flicker behind my eyes. For the hundredth time I wish I hadn’t hidden it in the cafeteria. I wish I could go home and get it right now, the sooner to take care of my problem and spare myself the agony of pretending, and the torture of enduring Romeo’s touch, his kiss.
His kiss. The fury spikes again, and I’m possessed by the urge to rip his lips from his lying face, dangle them in front of him while he screams. But I can’t. I have to wait for the gun. I’m not certain I’m strong enough to get the job done any other way.
Gemma reaches for her pocket. “Okay, Ariel. I—”
My hand whips out to grab her wrist, stopping her from pulling out her phone. “I’m fine,” I say, forcing myself to pull it together. “It was just hard talking to your mom. After everything you told me … It was hard to even look at her.”
Gemma sighs. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you. I’ve been thinking about it since we got back from the school, and—”
“No, I’m glad you did.” I grab the Coke and take a long, sharp, sugary sip, enjoying the way it burns in my throat. “I’m glad I know the truth. About everything. I’m sick of pretty lies. And ugly lies.”
“And moderately attractive lies with nice smiles,” she says, but her joke falls flat. I’m not in a joking mood. Her eyes meet mine and flicker away. “Okay. Well then, let’s see what we’ve got.” She reaches for the plastic bag and peels open the crumpled top.
“It’s all there, right?”
“Yeah, I think so,” she says, digging through the rings and bracelets and tightly wrapped rolls of twenty-dollar bills. “Let me see if Mom took anything.”
I was so out of it by the time I went to get Gemma’s things that I can barely remember dumping the box into the white Albertsons bag the Ambassador pressed into my hands. Her hands were shaking by that point too. It was hard for her to show me all those horrible things, and even harder to show me the boy.
She had him tied up in the barn. Like an animal. But that’s what he is. A dumb animal with a pretty face, one Romeo will wear again as soon as he kills me. My death will pay his way into the beautiful body of my boy on the hill. Just like Juliet’s death paid for his immortality.
“Monster.”
“What?” Gemma asks, glancing up from the jewelry she’s laid out on the table.
“Nothing.” I open my mouth wide and close it again, trying to banish some of the tension from my jaw. I feel like I could chew the diamonds in Gemma’s hands in half.
I breathe slowly in and out through my nose. It’s going to be okay. The Ambassador is going to hide Romeo’s body in the school cafeteria freezer later this afternoon. It will be there, drugged with her magic, tied up and waiting for me. When the time is right, I’ll grab it and grab my gun and put an end to Romeo the way the Ambassador told me to. He’ll never barter another girl’s life for his again.
“It’s all here.” Gemma sweeps everything back into the bag with a sigh. “Thank you so much. You have no idea what a load off this is.”
“No problem. I was happy to help.”
She looks up with a wicked grin. “Me too. I can’t wait to see Dylan’s face tonight.”
Right. “I wanted to talk to you about that.” This is what I came for. I need to get it done so that Romeo and I can go get ready for the dance. So that I can kill him the way I told him I was going to kill him, and see his stupid lying face when he realizes I beat him at his own game. “I don’t want you to come tonight.”
“What?” Gemma laughs and pokes the back of my hand with one finger. “Are you crazy? There’s no way I’m missing this.”
“No. It’s too dangerous. Someone will see you and call your parents. They’re still pretending you’re missing. Your mom didn’t—”
“Pfft!” She waves a hand, dismissing my concern. “No one will see me. I’ll wear Mike’s black hoodie and hide in the curtains backstage until the big moment.”
“But—”
“Ree, seriously. When that video starts, everyone will be too distracted to notice little old me,” she continues. “I’ll slip out, watch Dylan crash and burn, and escape out the back door into the night. Mike will be waiting in the parking lot. We’re leaving for Seattle right after. I’ve got it all planned.”
She’s got plans. But I have plans too. “No. You have to go. Now. As soon as Mike gets back.”
She shakes her head, confusion in her eyes. “Ariel … what’s up? I thought—”
“I don’t want you to get hurt. If you stay here, your life is in danger.”
She stills. “What?”
“Dylan’s an even worse person than we thought,” I say, telling the lie I prepared, knowing she won’t believe there are Mercenaries out to invade the bodies of the people I love. “I found out some other things about him today.”
“What kind of things?”
“I can’t tell you. I don’t want to put you in any more danger than I have already,” I say. “I couldn’t forgive myself if I was the reason you were killed.”
“Holy shit.” Gemma’s voice shakes. “Are you serious?”
“Completely serious. You have to leave. And don’t ever come back.”
“But what about you? If Dylan’s dangerous, then—”
“Don’t worry. I’m going to take care of him.”
Her eyes narrow for a moment before widening in comprehension. “Ariel Dragland … You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”
“I can’t say any more. Don’t ask me any more questions.”
“No, no, no,” she says, jumping up to pace the small patch of flowered carpet next to the table. “This is not okay. I know what we talked about today with my uncle and stuff, but if Dylan has done something worth killing him for, you have to go to the police. If you do something—”
“Gemma, stop!” She flinches at the intensity in my tone. “I’m not telling you anything else. We already went into the cafeteria together. If I get caught, it’s best if you haven’t done anything else that could make people think of you a
s an accessory.”
“An accessory …” She licks her lips, lets out a long breath.
“Ariel, I—”
“Go, Gemma.” I stand, facing her head-on. “Promise me you’ll leave as soon as Mike gets back.”
“No,” she whispers. “You’ll ruin your life.”
“My life is already ruined.”
“No, it’s not, Ariel.” She reaches out, fingers brushing my elbow, hesitant, cautious, as if she’s afraid even a friendly touch will make me explode. “You may feel like that now, but I promise you Dylan isn’t worth—”
“Shut up,” I snap.
“Okay, fine.” She pulls her cell phone from her pocket, but I snatch it away and hurl it across the room, gratified when I hear it crack into pieces. “What the—”
“You don’t understand,” I say. “You’ll never understand, so don’t talk to me like I’m the one who’s stupid.”
She blinks. Then blinks again. Then starts for the door.
I dart in front of her, blocking the exit with my body. “You can’t go out there.”
“Yes, I can,” she says softly. “I’m going to the front office and I’m calling your mom.”
“No.”
“Yes. You don’t know what you’re—”
She reaches for the door, but I knock her hand away. “He’s out there! In the car.”
She shakes her head. “Who?”
“Dylan.”
“Why?” She lifts her hands, fingers splayed in the air above her. “What the hell are you doing?”
“It doesn’t matter. I just can’t let him see you. Especially upset.”
Gemma drives a hand through her hair. “I’m not upset, Ree. I am freaked. Out. Really fucking freaked out.” She swallows, and I can see the fear in the way her throat works. She’s afraid. Of me.
“Don’t be.” My lips tremble. I bite them to make them stop. I didn’t want things to end this way with Gemma. “Please,” I beg, praying she’ll listen to me even as I edge to the left, closer to the bureau shoved into the corner and the lamp on top of it. “Calling my mom isn’t going to help anything. If you really want to help, do what I asked. Leave with Mike and be safe and happy. You’re my best friend. You’re the only real friend I’ve ever—”
“And you’re mine,” she says, tears shining in her eyes. “Don’t you know that? I meant what I said this morning, Ree. I love you, and I’m not going to let you do something I know you’ll regret.”
“I won’t regret it.”
“Yes, you will,” she says, with that stubborn look on her face, the one that lets me know she won’t be backing down. That I have no choice. “But I’m going to make sure you don’t have to.” She starts toward the door, and I go for the lamp. The cord rips from the base as I lift it over my head and bring it down.
Hard. Harder than I meant to.
Gemma moans and crumples to the floor and lies there. Still. Not moving. Not talking. Not blinking. I drop the lamp and slap shaking hands over my mouth to muffle the cry that tries to escape my lips.
I kneel down next to her. There’s a lot of blood, rushing from her temple, cutting a winding trail down her cheek. But she’s breathing—soft, shallow breaths that grow more even the longer I crouch next to her listening. Finally I feel brave enough to put two tentative fingers to her throat and feel her pulse. Slow and steady. Rhythmic. She’s going to be fine. Unconscious for a while—which is what I was hoping would happen—but fine.
“Thank god,” I whisper, hand shaking as I pull it from her skin. I hurry to the bathroom and grab a few towels. One I position gently beneath Gemma’s head. The other I roll into a log and lay over her wound. It soaks up some of the blood, but not all. Some still runs down her face, drips off her cheekbone, making tiny red splatter marks on the towel beneath her. But it’s slowing down. She’s going to be okay.
“She’ll be fine,” I assure myself as I arrange her crooked arms and legs to make her as comfortable as possible.
I had to do this. It’s the only way to make sure Gemma’s safe. If she’s unconscious, she can’t call my mom. And if she’s scared of me, she won’t dare come to the dance. She’ll leave and get on with her life, and I won’t take anyone down with me. I already mailed my mom a long letter, explaining that I have to leave forever but that I love her and want her to be happy. I wish there was time to leave Gemma a letter, but there’s not. I’ve already been in here longer than the ten minutes Romeo and I agreed upon. Pretty soon he’ll come looking for me, and I can’t let him see Gemma on the floor.
I settle for a quick note on some hotel stationery I find on the bureau. I’m sorry. Go and be happy. You deserve it. Love, Ree. P.S. Don’t ever look back.
I tuck the note into her softly curled fingers, and whisper, “Good-bye.” I stand up, run my hands through my hair, shake my arms until I feel a little calmer, and plaster a peaceful smile on my face.
And then I walk out the door, into the sunlight, through the haze of hatred toward the monster I loved.
The monster I’m going to kill before the night is through.
TWENTY-THREE
Romeo
I stand in the shadows outside the storage-room-turned-coat-check with my hands clasped tight, listening to one of the other show-choir members croon about luck being a lady, while I wait for my unlucky love.
Ariel insisted on wearing her mother’s long, black coat over her gown. She even took it into her bedroom when she got ready so I wouldn’t get a glimpse of the dress until we were at the dance, until she stepped out into the disco-ball-speckled darkness in all her glory. I appreciate her flare for the dramatic, but standing here, waiting for a flash of white, imagining how beautiful she’ll be, is only making me more miserable.
I feel like a groom waiting for his bride, but soon I’ll be gone and Ariel will live on to love someone else.
Or she’ll die before she gets the chance. Thanks to you.
I trap my cheek flesh between my teeth and bite down, until the pain is sufficiently distracting. Dwelling on my mistakes won’t do Ariel any good. I’ve already warned her—at length and in great detail—about the kind of people who will come for her after I’m gone, and what they’ll do if they catch her. I’ve helped her plot her escape, and shared every survival tip learned in years of stealing the bodies of the dead. All I can do is hope that I’ve prepared her … as well as anyone can be prepared for supernatural evil.
“Nice tux, Stroud.” The redheaded boy laughs as he pulls his date onto the dance floor.
“It’s vintage.” I force a smile as I scan the cafeteria.
On the far side of the press of bodies swaying in the dark, the stage is lit up in soft blue and white. Behind the girl giving her bluesy rendition of “Luck Be a Lady,” pictures of the senior class flash on a screen suspended above Ariel’s backdrops—giant paisley shapes painted with intricate patterns like henna on the back of an Indian woman’s hand. They’re beautiful. It seems a shame that soon all eyes will be staring at Dylan Stroud making a fool of himself, instead of her lovely work.
I’m beyond human embarrassment—have been for centuries—but I’d prefer to spend my last few hours with Ariel undisturbed by the drama my striptease will no doubt cause. I want to hold her in the darkness, with the silver stars hung from the ceiling twinkling around us, and pretend this is our eternity, where we will always be no farther than a breath away.
Breath. She steps through the door, and I have none.
She is … unspeakably beautiful. Her hair, a shade darker than the dress, falls around her shoulders, each silky curl kissing a bit of bare skin. The thin straps emphasize the elegant architecture of her bones, and the bodice clings tight to her curves before blooming into layers of chiffon that cascade all the way to her feet. The white rose corsage she wears—a cheap thing we picked up at a grocery store on the way—completes the picture, its wilted bloom suddenly magnificent because it sits on her wrist.
She is a goddess, and for the first time
in hundreds of years I remember what it feels like to be humbled by beauty. I am unworthy, imperfect, corrupt and full of holes, but when she looks at me, I am something better, something more.
“Good?” she asks, a shy note in her voice that makes me smile.
I shake my head, at a loss for the words to tell her how perfect she is.
“You? Speechless?” She laughs as her eyes drop to the floor.
“Dance with me.”
She looks up through her lashes, smile fading. “I’ve never danced with anyone before. Ever. I realized while I was in the coat check … Gemma and I used to play DanceDance Revolution when we were little, but—”
“Don’t worry.” I hold out my hand. “I’ll lead.”
“Don’t you have to get ready to sing?”
“Not yet. I need to touch you.” By the time we dropped off Gemma’s things and drove back to Ariel’s house, her mother was home. There wasn’t a message from the school, so Ariel was allowed out, but the loss of our last chance to be alone felt like a death in the family.
It’s already nine o’clock. By the time we dance, I sing, and we hit the punch bowl, it will be ten and the dance will nearly be over. Then I’ll have to take Ariel to the bus station and come back to the woods behind the school to confront the Ambassador. Maybe I’ll be able to convince her to let me stay here in my old body. Maybe she’ll have my specter with her and I’ll be able to make contact and take the decision out of her hands. If so, I plan to follow Ariel to Las Vegas, drag my rotted corpse across the desert if that’s what it takes, and do my best to protect her.
But if I fail, at least she’ll be away from here, on the run, making it more difficult for the Mercenaries to find her.
I suppose. I hope.
