Romeo Redeemed

by Stacey Jay

  “Yeah.” She takes the bottle but doesn’t drink. “Sometimes I think she’s fine and just ran away to get back at her dad, but sometimes I’m afraid something happened to her.”

  “She’s fine.” I put my arm around her slim shoulders, wishing I could tell her that I have it on Ambassador authority that Gemma and her soul mate, Mike, are safe and deeply, disgustingly in love. “I bet she eloped with some dashing young man and is already halfway to happily-ever-after.”

  “Right.” She takes a long drink and sets the bottle back on the boards between us. “Do you talk like this around your friends?”

  “Like what?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. The vocabulary and the … old-fashioned stuff.”

  “Old-fashioned, huh? Well, I have been reading a lot of poetry lately.”

  Her big eyes get even bigger. “Poetry,” she says, clearly dubious. “Like who?”

  “William Cullen Bryant, Sir Walter Raleigh,” I say, tossing out the first Gothic greats that come to mind. “And Shakespeare, of course. Sonnet 138 is a particular favorite. Therefore I lie with her and she with me, and in our faults by lies we flattered be,” I quote, savoring the words, rather surprised I can remember them. But then, “I’ve always enjoyed the poems written to his Dark Lady.”

  “I love all the sonnets,” she says. “I like Shakespeare’s plays a lot, but I love the sonnets.”

  “Me too.”

  “That’s … hard to believe.”

  “Believe it or not.” I scoot closer as she takes another sip. I suspect I should be trying harder to behave like Dylan, but Dylan is a shallow brute and about as charming as stepping in warm shit. Ariel enjoyed his pretty face, but in order to win her heart, I’ll need more than looks. I’ll need wit and charm—things that will be hard to come by if I stay completely true to Dylan’s personality.

  Besides, Nurse didn’t tell me I had to successfully impersonate Dylan Stroud; she said I had to make Ariel believe in love, and I’ve never been one for going above and beyond the call of duty.

  “Does my enthusiasm for poetry offend?” I ask, though I know damn well I’ve won several romantic bonus points.

  “No! Not at all.” She tries to cover her enthusiasm with another drink, but it’s too late. I grin, and take the bottle when she offers. “I was just thinking about what your friends would say.”

  “My friends are idiots.” I tip the bottle back, surprised by how light it feels. Ariel’s sips must have been gulp-sized. I wonder if I should have warned her that port is stronger than table wine, but decide that a mellow Ariel could work in my favor. The looser she gets, the easier it will be for me to sneak past her defenses. “But you know what I mean. I’m sure Gemma’s fine, and not spending her nights alone.”

  “Maybe.”

  I snort. “We both know she doesn’t have trouble finding company.”

  Ariel’s eyes narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.” I know better than to say a word about Dylan’s personal experiences with Gemma. According to his memories, Dylan and Gemma’s “friends with benefits” relationship is one thing that’s the same in this reality as it was in the other. Ariel, however, has no clue that her best friend used to enjoy slumming with Dylan Stroud on the mattress on his filthy bedroom floor last fall. Best to keep it that way.

  “It was definitely something,” Ariel says.

  I hug her closer. “She has a reputation,” I say gently. “You know that.”

  She turns to me, shrugging off my arm as she moves. “If she were a guy, you’d think that reputation was cool.”

  “I don’t think it’s cool or uncool,” I say, not understanding why she suddenly seems so angry. I smile, hoping to defuse the moment. “I don’t care if Gemma sleeps with sheep. You’re the one I care about.”

  “Why? Because I’m the one you’re betting on?” She stands, swaying on her feet, stumbling and grabbing hold of the slide railing for balance.

  Sweet Dionysus. She can’t be that drunk, can she? But then, she doesn’t weigh much, and confessed to having little experience with alcohol.

  “Ariel, we’ve talked about this,” I coo. “There’s no bet anymore. I promise.” I stand and reach out to steady her, but she knocks my hand away.

  “How did you know I was a virgin, anyway?”

  In truth, Gemma told Dylan. They’d laughed about how strange Ariel was, and made bets on how old she would be before she got her first kiss, let alone her first anything else. It was that conversation that aroused his interest, made Ariel something he wanted to spoil.

  But of course I can’t tell her that.

  I shrug. “Your lack of a love life is hardly a secret. And I know—”

  “You don’t know. You don’t know me. I could have a whole other life. I could have secrets,” she says, slurring the last word. “I could have dark, scary secrets.”

  “You could,” I agree, amused. She’s glorious when she’s angry, but she’s downright cute when she’s drunk and belligerent. “Do you have dark, scary secrets? I’d love to hear them.”

  She points a wobbly finger at my nose. “Don’t make fun of me.”

  “I’m not. I’m fascinated. Genuinely.” I take a step closer. She trips and nearly tumbles down the slide, but I catch her before she falls and pull her close.

  All the places where a girl is soft and a boy is not press together, and a new awareness crackles in the air between us. I feel it—the spark of genuine attraction—and I know she feels it too. Her lips part, my head spins, and I wonder if maybe I’m drunker than I thought.

  But then again, I shouldn’t be surprised that a pretty girl is affecting me the way pretty girls always did when I was alive. I should be taking advantage of Ariel’s attraction and wine-lowered defenses. As heavenly as the wine tasted slipping down my throat, I know being skin to skin with Ariel, blood rushing as I lose myself in her, will make that heaven pale in comparison. With a little seductive pressure, I could have her, could sate the lust she inspires when her body shifts against mine.

  I tip my head, letting my lips hover near the shell of her ear. “I have dark, scary secrets,” I whisper, the thrill of the dare making my pulse race faster. “Let’s share our secrets, shall we? I’ll show you mine … if you’ll show me yours.”

  She stiffens, and I realize too late that innuendo might have best been avoided.

  “I can’t believe you.” She tries to pull away but stumbles again. “You thought you’d get me drunk and I’d do whatever you wanted!”

  “I didn’t.” At least, not at first.

  “You did!” She pushes at my arms, but I hold her tight.

  “I’m not compelled to get girls inebriated in order to convince them to sleep with me, Ariel. And I would never—”

  “Oh really?” She stops struggling, but I can feel the tension still simmering beneath her skin. “So I guess you’ve had a lot of girls?”

  “I’ve had … a few.” My tone is cautious, but not cautious enough.

  “Then why don’t you go find one of them and—Leave! Me! Alone!” She throws her weight into me, pushing so hard I stagger off the platform, heels scrambling as I tumble down the steps. My arms fly out, catching the handrails halfway down, but it isn’t easy to stop my momentum. My fingers cramp and the muscles in my arms tremble, and I barely avoid a backward swan dive onto the pavement.

  I curse as I finally regain my balance. My heart slams in my chest, the unexpected moment of weakness making my blood race with fear. As a Mercenary, I had superhuman strength and an insidious ability to heal. I know that Ambassador converts aren’t quite as strong, but Juliet held her own in a fight. She was definitely stronger than a normal girl, and even she hadn’t been able to push me around like this.

  A sour taste fills my mouth. That redheaded witch cheated me! Juliet’s nurse sent me here without an Ambassador’s true strength. How will I defend myself? What if I encounter Mercenaries? They’ll see the golden light in my aura and k
now what I’ve become, and once they do, they’ll stop at nothing to destroy me. How am I to fight off an immortal warrior of darkness with this puny human body?

  “Shit!” I kick the metal stair, remembering too late that I have an audience. A very important, very angry audience.

  “I knew you were lying.” Ariel’s voice shakes, and her eyes shine with unshed tears. “I knew it!”

  “No. You don’t understand. I—”

  “I understand perfectly!” she shouts. “And I hate you!”

  “Please.” I hold up my hands in surrender. “Listen, I—”

  “No. I won’t listen. And I’ll never—” She breaks off, eyes focusing on something in the distance. Whatever she sees stuns her motionless, into the hyperalert stillness of rabbits and other animals accustomed to their roles as prey. For a moment she is frozen, and then, just as suddenly, she curls into herself like a leaf set aflame.

  Before I can turn to see what’s frightened her, before I can ask her if she’s all right, she dives for the slide. “Don’t follow me!” She rattles down the metal, hits the ground at the bottom, and sprints for the gate like she’s being chased by the devil himself. I spin, scanning the playground and the street beyond, but there’s nothing, no one. We’re as alone as we were a moment ago.

  I rush down the stairs and across the yard. “Ariel, wait!”

  “Don’t follow me!” she screams again as she races down the dark road. A few houses down, a dog begins to bark and a porch light flickers on across the street. I ignore them both and chase after her. She’s drunk and seeing things, and I can’t afford to risk her getting run over. I need her alive and in love with me. I need her—

  The headlights of a car parked on the street flare to life. I skid to a stop, lifting my arms, squinting in the harsh glare. I didn’t hear a car pull up while Ariel and I were on the playground. Whoever this is must have been sitting here for a while. The car door opens, and I brace myself for an altercation with some concerned citizen who’s seen Ariel running and assumed the worst.

  I drop my arms and affect my most stricken expression. I’ll tell whoever this is that my girlfriend just found out she was pregnant, and that we were fighting over whether she should put the baby up for adoption. I want to keep it, but she says we’re too young. But is there such a thing? I’ll ask. As being too young to love a child?

  The lie is already tickling my lips when the long, willowy silhouette circling the car becomes a person I can see. A person I recognize.

  My jaw clenches. “What are you doing here?”

  “I think I should be asking you that question.” Juliet’s nurse props her hands on her hips.

  I ball my hands into fists, prepared to fight, though I know it will do no good. This woman has incredible magic. She could hurl another ball of light my way and I’d be done for, banished back to my monstrous body. But I won’t go quietly. I won’t make it easy for her. I’ve never made anything easy for anyone.

  “Get in the car,” she says.

  I hesitate, some mad part of me screaming that I should run.

  “Get in the car, Romeo,” she orders again. “Or I will cease to be disappointed and begin to be angry.”

  “But Ariel is—”

  “Ariel is presently beyond your reach. If you’d like that to change, come with me.” She turns and walks back to the car. With one last glance down the road, I follow her. If I hope to win a place among the Ambassadors, I have no choice.

  Taste and touch and newfound feeling aside, I am still a slave and I must obey.

  FIVE

  Ariel

  Im running again, but this time there are no words, no language but the language of fear: the thump-thump-thump of my pulse leaping in my throat, frantic gasps for breath, whimpers that vibrate my ribs as the thing I dread draws closer.

  The stars spin, while below, the night is sharp-edged and terrible. I hurl myself down one dark street and then another and then out through an open field where stiff grass crinkles beneath my shoes. I stagger into a ditch and back out again, then down one row of a newly planted vineyard, stupidly thinking I can outrun my own crazy. But I can’t. The monster is inside me, a product of my sick mind. That’s the truth. No matter what I thought I saw on the playground.

  Ripples in the air … invisible claws tearing holes in the night …

  I must have imagined the ripples. I’m drunk. I’m not thinking clearly. It was a hallucination. A mirage. I’m not being chased; I’m being taken over. I didn’t think I was angry enough to bring on an episode, but obviously I was wrong.

  It’s a night for being wrong, a night where every good thing turns awful.

  I trip over something I can’t see in the moonlight and fall to the ground. I smell dirt and the hint of fertilizer, and then it hits. The cold slams into my back, stabs into my skin like knives carved out of ice. My back arches, and every muscle pulls tight as my body tries to force out the pain, but it’s impossible. The cold is already stealing up my spine on feet made of razor blades, bleeding into my brain, clearing the way for the things that howl and moan.

  Not me. Not me. Not me!

  Something deep inside me cries out, and for a second I wonder even crazier things. What if I really did see those ripples? What if the wine relaxed my defenses and let me spot something I’d never thought to look for before? Maybe the stories about people being possessed are true. Maybe the voices belong to someone else, something else. An evil spirit, or a ghost, or a demon, or—

  The screams rush in like a hurricane hitting shore, drowning out my thoughts. Desperate cries echo off the walls of my mind, sounds of endless sadness that pour into me like a glass of water hurled into a thimble. I overflow and tumble into unconsciousness, taking the misery with me down into the dark.

  Romeo

  We drive in silence, up into the mountains, leaving the vineyards behind. Past a lake and forests of gnarled oak trees, onto a narrow dirt road that winds up through acres of abandoned pasture. It’s a road to nowhere, the perfect place to dump a body.

  I would know. I’ve disposed of my share.

  It feels as if we’ve been driving for hours, but I’m certain it’s been much less. Maybe fifteen minutes, a half hour. It’s hard to keep a hold on time. I keep seeing my ruined corpse, keep remembering the smell and the feel of my body rotting all around me. It was worse than hell. No creature should be forced to live through its own decomposition.

  Not even a fiend like me.

  “I don’t understand,” I say when I can’t bear the silence a second longer. “I thought I was making a good start.”

  “By getting the girl so drunk she could barely walk?” The Ambassador’s voice is glacial.

  “I didn’t intend to get her drunk. I thought the wine might help her relax.”

  “Altered states of consciousness aren’t safe for Ariel. You’ve opened her to a great deal of pain, and lost what ground you might have gained.”

  “Exactly how troubled is she?” I wait for an answer that doesn’t come, and finally begin to feel something other than fear. “If she’s that delicately balanced, I should have been warned. It’s hardly my fault that—”

  The Ambassador slams on the brakes. My body pitches forward, but her hand flashes out before my head hits the windshield. She clutches my shirt and pulls me to her, into a cloud of vanilla perfume. It’s a pleasant smell, but terrifying all the same. She might smell mortal—homey, even—but this woman is a supernatural creature of incredible strength. I can feel it in the way she lifts me from my seat with a crook of her elbow.

  “Listen to me, and listen well,” she whispers. “If you fail to win Ariel’s heart and guide her onto the path of peace, it will be no one’s fault but your own. You will have failed the world and made me a fool in the eyes of my fellows. If that comes to pass, I will be very, very displeased.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “And I will return you to your soul specter. Immediately,” she says. “Don’t think I will
be softhearted and spare you that horror, because I will not.” She pulls me closer, until her breath kisses my cheek. It’s warm, but I fight the urge to shiver. “You poisoned Juliet’s mind against me. I lost an Ambassador ready to ascend to the next level of service, and a girl I cared for. Despite my vows to harm no creature, I will not be troubled by your suffering, Romeo. I will enjoy it.”

  I cast my eyes down. I didn’t poison Juliet’s mind. I told the truth for once in my sorry existence, and I don’t regret it. Juliet is free in death as she never was when bound to this woman’s cause.

  But I don’t dare contradict the Ambassador. My desire to avoid suffering is greater than my need to tell any more truth. The promise of heaven is strong, but the threat of hell is always stronger.

  “I understand,” I say. “I will not fail you. Or shame you.” I pause, weighing my next words. In the end I decide I must speak. If I’m killed because she has left me vulnerable, the job she’s so eager for me to do will go just as undone. “But it won’t be easy without an Ambassador’s true strength.”

  “You don’t require supernatural strength; you require supernatural charm.” She tosses me into my seat with a flick of her wrist. “Your success with Juliet led me to believe you still possess that in abundance.”

  It was truth, not charm, that convinced Juliet to listen to me about the Ambassadors and Mercenaries, but Juliet’s nurse isn’t keen on truths that don’t align with her opinions. I incline my head, letting her believe she’s won the point, before adding, “But charm won’t protect me if I’m attacked by Mercenaries.”

  “There are few dark ones in this valley.” She returns her hands to the wheel and steps on the gas, guiding the car farther down the road. “And there are no Mercenaries at the school, where you’ll be spending most of your time.”

  “Even a few is too many. If they see what I’ve become, they’ll destroy me,” I say, watching anxiously as she turns left onto a “road” that isn’t much more than a pair of grooves in the high grass.