Juliet Immortal (12 page)

Shouldn’t. Not … 
couldn’t
.

There are so many things Nurse hasn’t told me. Why has she kept me in the dark? Why, if not to hide the fact that the Ambassadors aren’t as pure and wonderful as I’ve been led to believe? What if Romeo is telling the truth? What if …

“They’re using you,” he says, playing to my secret fears. “And lying to you, and you will never,
ever
be free of them if you don’t listen. This is a chance that comes but once in an
afterlife. I can see that you’re curious.” He shakes his head sadly. “It makes me wonder what they’ve told you. Probably that they’re protecting you with your ignorance. Saving you from the big bad wolves.”

He knows. Somehow he knows what the Ambassadors tell their converts and is using that knowledge to manipulate me.

“Get out.” The fact that he’s tempted me—even for a moment—is terrifying.

“Don’t believe their lies. If you make the wrong choice, your next trip to the mist will be your last. You will be trapped there forever, never human again, a prisoner of your own—”

“Get out of my house!”

“This isn’t
your
house,” he says. “No more than anything has been yours in hundreds of years. It may seem like a passing instant, but I
know
how the centuries stretch on, wrapping around you like a snake that refuses to squeeze the life out of you, no matter how you beg.”

I keep my face still, trying not to give any sign that I know exactly what he’s talking about, that the years I’ve spent as an Ambassador haven’t passed as easily as he assumes.

“I know you think I’m a liar, but I promise you: this is our one—”

“Why?” I break. I can’t help myself. I need to know what he knows. “Why now? Why is everything different? Why can’t I contact Nurse in the mirror? Why am I so weak?”

He takes a deep breath and lets out a satisfied sigh. “So your powers are fading too. I thought maybe … But if it’s the same for both of us, this must be the end.” He jumps into the air, landing with a loud clap of his hands. “And to think a part of me still doubted.”

He laughs his usual devilish laugh. I drop the lamp and reach for a knife. The butcher knife with the serrated edge, the one I can imagine swiping through the air to cut the grin from his wretched face.

“Out!” I brace myself, expecting him to come for me. But he doesn’t. He turns and ambles to the front door, a swing in his step I don’t care for. At all.

“We’ll talk again soon. We have some time.” He glances over his shoulder. “But think about what I’ve said, and don’t be surprised if you have an unexpected visitor.”

“You’re not a visitor. You’re a menace.”

“I wasn’t talking about me,” Romeo says, a haunted note in his voice that makes the hairs at the back of my neck stand on end.

Is he having visions too? Of
his
corpse?
Mine?
Both? When I saw myself I wasn’t rotted, but maybe he’s seen something different. I’m dying to ask, but I bite my lip. I can’t trust him. The past few minutes have made that clear. He’s been pumping me for information, prepared to tell whatever lies it takes to get what he needs.

“If you have any questions, you can shoot me an email,” he continues. “My contact information is on the cast sheet.”

I shake my head numbly. He
has
to be joking. He can’t really expect me to send him an
email
. About whether or not I can love him again, or am interested in an eternity apart from the Ambassadors. You don’t
email
someone about something like that. You don’t
email
a fiend who promised to love you, then locked you away in the dark and
murdered
you in cold blood.

But he doesn’t understand. And he’s not joking.

The hand holding the knife falls to my side. “You’re insane. I won’t work with you. Ever.”

“Oh, I think you will. If you don’t”—Romeo’s eyebrows arch—“then I’ll have to do what I’ve been sent here to do. If I’m not free by the end of this shift, I’ll be renegotiating another term of service with the Mercenaries. I’m certain they’ll be more
generous
if I bring a soul to our side while I’m here. It shouldn’t be difficult. The girl is a train wreck. I’ll have her turned against Ben before the week is out.”

My hand clenches around the handle of the knife.

“Eternity, spent away from all those people she hates …” Romeo lingers, his fingers thrumming on the door. “It’s not the worst carrot to dangle.”

“Eternity in a prison of dead flesh,” I say. “Doesn’t sound that tempting.”

“But she won’t know the truth. She’ll believe what I tell her. They always do, especially the young ones.” He’s calm, stating the facts, and I know Gemma well enough to worry he might be right. She loathes Dylan, but Romeo might be able to reach her if he tells the right lies, plays to the right fears.

“Take care, sweet.” Romeo opens the door just as a bolt of lightning rips across the sky. The storm has progressed from threatening to raging, complete with thunder that booms out a warning for all living things to remain hidden away. I wince but don’t close my eyes. I’ve learned the hard way not to take my attention off my former love. Not for a second. “Let me know when you’re ready to move forward. I swear to you, we can have that happiness you’ve given so many lucky people.”

“I’d rather die than make you happy.”

Romeo stills, and an emotion remarkably like grief flits across his face. “I hope you’ll change your mind. Soon.” He inclines his head. “Good-bye, Juliet.”

I grit my teeth and watch him go, refusing to wish him a good anything, even something as small as a farewell.

T
hirty minutes later—after failing to reach Nurse in the mirror yet again—I’m back in the kitchen with a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of milk. Melanie went to the store while I was at school, and the refrigerator is filled with more vaguely edible food. Just looking at the piles of slimy gray lunch meat wrapped in plastic makes me ill, but at least there is milk and fresh bread.

Milk. Bread. Peanut butter.

I chew, examining each taste as it evolves in my mouth. It’s hardly a lavish dinner, but at least I can
taste
it. What would it be like to have that taken away? What would it be like not to feel the chill of the glass in my hand, or smell the wheat and
roasted nuts? What would it be like not to have felt another person’s touch in over seven hundred years?

It is … unimaginable, almost enough to summon a spark of pity.

“He could be lying,” I remind myself, voice soft beneath the patter of the rain.

He could be, but he isn’t. Not about that
.

Maybe not about any of it. The more I turn things over in my head, the more I wonder things that are dangerous to wonder. What does Romeo know? Is there really some magic that can give me back my life? Do I dare to hear him out? Do I dare to consider—

The phone rings, making me jump guiltily. I push my chair back and hurry to grab the phone from the counter. “Hello?”

“Are you alone in the house?” an artificially deep voice asks.

My forehead wrinkles. “Who is this?”

“Are you alone … in the house?”

The voice isn’t Romeo’s, but I don’t have the patience for prank calls. I’m not in the mood for torment from Romeo or anyone else. “I’m hanging up.”

“No! Wait!” Gemma’s tone rises to her normal register. “I’m sorry. I was just joking. I’m on my way to your place. Is your mom there?”

“No, she’s working the night shift,” I say, relief spreading through my chest. Perfect. I need to talk to Gemma, to focus on doing my job, even if I can’t reach Nurse or the other Ambassadors. Gemma’s visit is a sign that it’s time to stop thinking about Romeo.

No good ever came from listening to the snake in the garden.

“Cool,” Gemma says. “You want me to grab some burgers or something? I’d get pizza, but I don’t want to get out of the car. This rain is dampening my will to live.”

I glance at my half-eaten sandwich. I’m still starving. “A cheeseburger would be great. With fries, and a chocolate milk shake. Malted if they have it.”

“Hungry, are we?” Gemma laughs. “I’ll be there in fifteen. Pour me a glass of whatever cheap hooch your mom’s got in the fridge. Chardonnay, not the pinot grigio crap.”

I hang up. Fifteen minutes. It’s just enough time to grab a shower and change out of my wet clothes. If I hurry. I run for the bathroom, gathering a pair of blue flannel pajamas with sheep on them while the water warms. It’s a cool night and likely to get cooler if the rain doesn’t stop.

I rush through my shower, concentrating on the shampoo, conditioner, and soap, clearing my mind, focusing on my job. By the time Gemma pulls into the carport and bursts into the kitchen, I’m calmer than I’ve been all day.

“Where’s my wine, woman?” Gemma booms as she stumbles to the table with a load of brown bags and paper cups. The smell of warm meat and cheese, pickles and onions, drifts through the air, making my mouth water. Cheeseburgers. I’m fairly certain they’re the most wonderful food invented by modern man.

“Hope you don’t mind a plastic cup.” I grab one from the cabinet before reaching into the fridge. “Is Viognier okay? The chardonnay’s not open.”

“Oh yes. Viognier pairs well with anything, dahling,” she drawls. While I pour her drink, Gemma dumps cheeseburgers onto the table and settles into a chair with her sandwich. “I’m starving. That singing and dancing crap works up a fracking
appetite. Which reminds me—” She squeals and turns, grabbing the plastic cup from my hand before I can set it down. “Thank you! Most awesome friend! You snuck out before I could tell you thank you, thank you, a thousand times
thank you
!”

I smile. Gemma’s not so bad when she’s happy. She’s actually … charming, and I can see why Ariel enjoys spending time with her.

“You’re welcome.” I settle in across from her and reach for my burger. “Thanks so much, I was dying for some real food.”

“No, thank
you
. The grease feast was the least I could do after you saved my life.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It
is
a big deal. Especially for you.” Gemma takes a gulp of her wine. “I know you’re probably scared out of your mind, but we’ll go through all the songs tonight and you’ll learn the choreography super fast. You killed at Dance Dance Revolution when we were little, and this isn’t much harder. Hannah has everyone changing lines and running around a lot, but the steps are easy. I wanted to do something harder, but buzzkill Mike said the boys look dumb if the girls’ steps are too complicated. As if anything can make those losers look good.”

“Mike?” I mumble around a mouthful of burger.

“You know, Mr. Stark’s student teacher, the one with all the tats?”

“Oh right.”

“You’d think with all the body art, he’d be cooler,” she says. “But still, he’s kind of hot, right? In a weird sort of way?”

“Gemma, he’s practically a teacher.” I don’t bother to hide my distaste. She’s in love with Ben; she shouldn’t be considering the hotness of other guys. “That’s gross.”

She smiles. “Not as gross as crushing on Mr. Stark. I swear Hannah would lick his shiny bald head if she could.” I make a face and Gemma laughs. “For real. She’s such a kiss-ass. And all her little dancer friends are professionally lame.” She shakes her head and throws a fry back into its box. “People here suck. I can’t wait to graduate.”

“But Ben seems cool,” I say, watching her reaction. “He helped me with the sets today. He said he was going to ask you to go out for coffee after—”

“He did,” she says, suddenly very interested in the bottom of her cup. “We went to the Windmill, but it was closed early, so we just sat in my car and talked. It was … good. I think we understand each other.”

“That’s great!” It’s also a huge relief. Maybe this mission won’t be as hard as I thought. “He’s so nice.”

“He really is. It’s hard to believe he ever—” Gemma breaks off with a guilty look and takes another drink of her wine. “This is pretty good. Your mother’s taste is improving.”

“Hard to believe he ever what?” I ask, waiting for a second before pushing harder. “I thought we were going to talk.”

“Do we have to?” Gemma whines, stuffing more fries in her mouth. “Can’t we just sing about how the Sharks rock and how we’re going to pound Jet face at the school dance? That song is fun. Let’s sing.”

“I’m still eating, and you’re not supposed to sing within thirty minutes of eating.”

“That’s swimming, dork.”

“No, it’s singing, doofus.”

Gemma cocks her head. “Well, well, aren’t we sassy today.”

I swallow and remind myself not to overdo it with the
confidence. I shrug and reach for my milk shake. “My best friend has been holding out on me. It makes me sassy.”

“Understandable.” Gemma sighs as she mops ketchup off her fingers with a napkin. “It’s mostly my dad. He’s been making my life hell. Did you hear that he’s thinking of running for the Senate?”

“No. I haven’t really—”

“Of course you haven’t.” She rolls her eyes. “Who has? Who cares? I mean, the entire government is corrupt anyway. It’s beyond saving. We might as well burn Washington, blow up Fox News, and start over.”

“But your dad doesn’t agree.”

“Of course not. He wants to be a Super-Important Big-Shot Douche, and doesn’t care how miserable he has to make me to do it. He’s gone completely over the edge.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, getting on my Facebook to check for ‘content’ and stealing my cell phone every few days is no longer enough to entertain him,” she says, the bitterness in her voice making me feel for her. “I think he read my diary.”

“What!” I can’t imagine anything more embarrassing than having someone else read your private thoughts. Especially a parent. “That’s repulsive.”

“That’s Bob Sloop,” Gemma says. “Anyway, something he read made him think I was doing drugs. He started looking around and he found some pot, the stuff I got from Niles a few months ago?”

“Niles …” The name doesn’t ring any bells. I don’t think Ariel met him.

“You know? The priv-ass school loser I was dating before Christmas? The one with the breath that smelled like dog
food?” She waves her hand in the air before starting to stuff empty wrappers back into paper bags. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Niles gave me some BC Bud before we broke up, as some kind of Christmas present or something. I had it in one of my old makeup bags and forgot about it. Dad found it and went crazy. I told him I’d only smoked a couple times and it wasn’t a big deal, but he kept freaking out.”