Romeo, however, is allowed to remain on earth, dwelling in the bodies of the dead. Nurse insists the process is unpleasant, but at least he has some version of a life.
I am always alone, pretending to be someone else or lost in a vast emptiness. I miss life. I miss conversation and laughter and shared joy and hurt. I miss dancing and painting. I miss waking up to a day with no evil in it—at least, none that I can see. Most of all, I miss my innocence, my faith that those seeking happiness will find it. I make a decent show of being good, but in reality I’m too bitter to be an admirable Ambassador, too young to feel so hopeless.
I’ve seen centuries pass, but I died when I was fourteen and have spent less than twenty conscious years on earth. He, on the other hand, continues to live and learn, to stave off madness with open ears and long looks into human eyes. He has seven hundred years of skill and experience, and it helps him get closer to destroying me every single time.
Maybe this time. There’s something … off about this shift. It isn’t just that it’s come too soon. It’s … something else … something that makes the white-blond hairs on my left arm stand on end.
“Unhh … damn …” Dylan’s eyes flutter open.
Even in the moonlight shining through the ceiling they look dark, peculiar. There’s something strange about this boy, something warped inside him. I’m not surprised that he played a cruel trick on Ariel, but I’m curious to see what he’ll do next. How will he deal with the fact that she nearly killed them both?
“Ariel?” he asks, his voice slurred. “Are you okay?”
“Ye—yes, I think so.” Maybe he doesn’t remember how the car crashed? If so, I won’t be helping him with his recall. I keep my expression carefully blank. “Are you okay?”
“I think I’m fine. I … think I might be …” His words fade as he leans closer. He’s staring at me. I can feel it, though his chin is tipped down, creating hollows the light through the roof can’t touch.
The roof! I look up, and a sigh of relief escapes my lips. It’s made of glass! Thank goodness. Getting out of this car seems like a better idea with every passing second. If Dylan is this disturbing at eighteen, he’ll be a serial killer by the time he’s twenty.
“We’ll be fine. We just need to get out.” I lift blood-slicked fingers to pry at the latch, ignoring Dylan when he leans even closer.
The sunroof is manually operated. I see that the glass panel can pop out, but the mechanism gives me a bit of trouble. Still, I’ll get it open and there will be plenty of room for us to fit through the hole. Me first, of course.
“I’m sorry, could I—” He exhales, his breath hot on my neck. I fight the urge to shudder. “Could I ask you something?”
He wants to talk. Lovely.
I sigh. “Sure.” I pull on the hinges, then realize I should have been pushing and sigh again.
“Has anyone ever told you your hair looks silver in the moonlight?”
I glance in the rearview mirror. My new hair does look silver, like something from a fairy tale. And the rest of what I can see of myself is equally haunting—shocking, really.
Why does Ariel think herself so repulsive? Huge blue eyes dominate my new face, dwarfing my small nose and thin lips. The scars on my cheek and jaw are visible, but they aren’t as terrible as Ariel thinks. The face looking back at me is attractive, compelling. There’s something about it that makes you want to look twice.
So I do, staring a little too long, giving myself away.
Dylan laughs, his lips suddenly far too close to mine. “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?”
No. It can’t be. We’ve never— He’s never—
“Did you miss me, love?” He kisses me on the cheek, a rough, playful kiss that leaves a bit of wet behind.
Dylan has died after all. And Romeo has found a corpse. It’s my last thought before his hands are around my throat.
THREE
I gasp for air as he shoves me back against the door.
My head hits the window—hard—sending pain jabbing into the backs of my eyes. He’s on top of me in seconds, straddling my waist, pinning me to the seat. My hands fly to my throat, prying at his fingers, but it isn’t easy, not as easy as it should be, as it would be, if I’d had time to heal all the life-threatening damage and connect with my new form.
In the first few hours after a shift, before my supernatural strength returns, I’m often weak. But that’s never worried me. Even with his uncanny ability to hunt me down, I’ve never run into Romeo until at least a day after taking up residence in a new body. It takes that long to discover which souls I’ve been sent to protect, to contact Nurse in a mirror’s smooth reflection and receive my instructions from the Ambassadors.
Then it’s simply a matter of waiting and staying alert. Romeo always makes an appearance. Invariably, he’s summoned to the same place and time as I, to try to win the same souls over to his dark cause. He’ll do his best to persuade one soul mate to sacrifice his or her true love to the powers of hate, destruction, and chaos and become an immortal Mercenary—just as he did the night after we consummated our wedding vows.
I still wonder what they offered him. What treat they dangled, and how long it took for him to realize their promises were lies, that he’d shoved a knife through my heart for nothing. I know he hasn’t received what he was promised. I’ve seen the flicker of regret in his eyes.
Our new eyes meet, and for a moment, I think I see it again, just before he brings his nose to my lips and inhales. “Your breath always smells the same. So sweet.”
“Get off me,” I warn, willing down a wave of nausea. It’s impossible to believe I once dreamt of spending my life worshipping this monster.
Now I dream about killing him so I never have to feel anything ever again.
“I don’t think so. I’d rather stay as I am. This new body is … delicious.” He laughs as he fights to keep his fingers around my throat, to keep choking the life out of Ariel. If he kills her, he’ll kill us both, and he knows it. But he doesn’t care about collateral damage. To him a two-for-one murder will be a special treat. “Seems a shame to finish you so quickly.”
“You’re not going to finish me.”
He won’t. It can’t end here. I want to see him fail another time, another hundred times. Adrenaline dumps into my bloodstream, making my heart race, giving me the strength I need to pry his fingers apart and smash the heel of my hand into his face.
“Mmph.” He groans as I follow the first blow with a punch in the stomach, but I can tell he isn’t hurt. At least, not badly enough. We’re too close for me to put any power behind my movement, even if I were in top form.
I have to get out.
Shoving him to one side, I lunge for the handle of the roof, but he grabs my arm and twists it behind my back. “Bastard!” I scream, surprised at how much it hurts.
“Calling names. Shame. Aren’t we beyond that, sweetness?” With a grunt, he shoves me into the backseat, his knee sharp against my spine. I land on my stomach with my arm still wrenched behind me. Romeo gives my arm another jerk, making me howl.
No. Not like this, not tonight. On impulse, I reach around with my free hand and grab the most sensitive bits of any man—past or present—and twist them. Hard.
Romeo growls and knocks my hand away, then snatches my other wrist and jerks it behind me as well. “I’m going to rip your arms off and eat them. While you watch!” He hauls at my limbs until my muscles and joints scream and things needed to hold my body together threaten to snap.
He’s going to do it, actually rip my arms from my body with his bare hands.
“Is that a taste you acquired in hell?” I ask, my voice high and thin as I fight to focus through the pain, praying that my words will distract him long enough for me to catch a breath, to think of some way out.
“I’ve never been to hell. You know that, love.” His grip eases the slightest bit. “I’ve found eternity enjoyable thus far. Why don’t we go find a
soul for you to steal, and you can learn about life as a Mercenary for yourself?” He leans closer, his cheek pressing tight to mine. “I know you’ve been dying to be together again, though it makes you feel naughty that I get under that lovely skin.”
“You’re mad.”
“Am I?” The torture in my arms is suddenly gone, replaced by the greater torment of Romeo’s lips at my neck, his hands smoothing over my hips. The part of me that recalls how his touch used to make me feel—beautiful and beloved—hums, the hint of bliss making my sick stomach even sicker.
“Get off me!”
“O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright,” he whispers, helping cool the faint shimmer of need.
That horrible play. That contemptible, lying play he helped Shakespeare pen all those hundreds of years ago when he first twisted our story to fit his agenda. It worked far too well. Shakespeare’s enduring tragedy did its part to further the goals of the Mercenaries—glamorizing death, making dying for love seem the most noble act of all, though nothing could be further from the truth. Taking an innocent life—in a misguided attempt to prove love or for any other reason—is a useless waste.
But what about a not-so-innocent life? Why can’t I kill this abomination? Why is my easily justified vengeance forbidden by the Ambassadors? Killing me was bad enough; that Romeo made certain the world has remembered a false version of our tragedy for hundreds of years adds heinous insult to unforgivable injury.
But he knows that. The monster.
Time to make use of my free arms.
“It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night like a—”
Romeo’s words end in a groan as I shift my legs, leveraging my feet against the seat and shoving us both backward. His spine collides with the dash with a satisfying thud. I’m getting stronger, perhaps strong enough to bypass figuring out how to work the roof’s latch altogether.
I reach back, grab handfuls of Romeo’s sweater as I bend double and shift my feet again, pushing against the center console, driving his skull into the rectangle of glass above our heads. The roof fractures with a crack that’s muffled by the crunch of bone.
My heart lurches as I drop Romeo, leaving him sprawled across the driver’s seat, and turn my attention to the broken glass. I haven’t killed him—he’s still conscious and moaning—but I’ve hurt him more than I intended. The smell of fresh blood spilling onto the upholstery makes bile rise in my throat as I punch through the roof, scattering blunt pieces of glass before pulling myself through the hole I’ve made. By the time I make it out onto the hood and down to the ground below, I’m trembling.
But I don’t pause to look at Romeo’s new face through the driver’s window before turning and scrambling up the side of the ravine. Romeo can heal even greater damage than I can; it’s one of the Mercenaries’ greatest gifts. He brings dead tissue back to life, for god’s sake. The only hope I’d have of killing him—were I allowed to do so—would be to rip his heart from his chest, and then he might still be able to escape to another dead body. Head trauma is nothing. By the time I reach the road above, he’ll be whole, free of the car, and hot on my heels.
My already short nails break and my palms tear as I claw my way up the side of the ravine, grabbing onto whatever my hands happen upon in the dark. The moon slips behind a cloud, and I’m climbing blind, the blackness thick and close, the heavy smell of an impending storm filling the air, making the great outdoors seem not much better than the wreck I’ve just escaped.
The smothering night threatens to steal what remains of my composure. I never did enjoy small, tight places. I like them even less after waking in a crypt and lying surrounded by stone for over a day before Romeo and his knife came to fetch me.
I suck in a deep breath. The sickeningly sweet smell of milkweed rushes into my lungs. It makes me cough, but the chill air is a mercy. I’m not trapped. I’m free and putting Romeo behind me with every upward lurch.
A car rushes past on the road above, close enough to vibrate in my ears. I’m nearly there! I’ll wave someone down and ask for a ride back to Ariel’s house. Hitchhiking has always held its dangers, but that hasn’t broken me of the habit. Despite the awful things I’ve seen, I believe there are decent people in the world. Or people better than the boy cursing me as he crawls from the wreck below. At least most of those driving by won’t want to cut off my arms and eat them. While I watch.
I push the image of Romeo’s grinning mouth—flesh in his teeth, blood dripping down his chin—from my mind. No matter what body I inhabit, my vivid imagination always comes back to haunt me.
“I see you, love … all that silver hair.” The words are soft grunts, but I can hear them. He’s closing in, sending rocks skittering down the ravine in his wake.
A rusted taste floods into my mouth, and I force my thin arms and legs to move faster. Ariel could use some meat on her bones. And muscle. And food in her belly. Why didn’t she eat more before she left the house? My stomach cramps and my arms shake with effort. Healing the worst of Ariel’s wounds from the crash and fighting Romeo are taking their toll.
“Slow down, sweetness. Let me get my hands around your ankle and we’ll see if you can fly.” He laughs, but the sound is strained. He’s having trouble now that he’s reached the portion of the ravine that rises straight up without a slant.
I’m going to make it to the road first. Now I just have to find someone willing to stop and help. I’m a harmless-looking young girl with one side of her head covered in blood. Chances are good that I’ll—
“Wait!” I scream, dragging myself up and over onto the edge of the road just as a truck zooms past. I jump to my feet and vault over the damaged guardrail, waving my arms, but the pickup doesn’t slow.
Taillights fade into the distance, leaving laughter floating on the cold wind rushing through the canyon. Most likely kids from school heading to the beach party where Dylan planned to take Ariel. I could run after them, hope they come to a stop sign sooner or later or—
Something large crashes down into the ravine, but it isn’t Romeo. A rock, maybe? An animal? Definitely not him. I can hear his breath coming in swift pants as he continues to labor up the side, intent on reaching me before I find help.
I spin in the opposite direction from where the truck disappeared and run. Romeo’s new body is big, strong, and has longer legs than mine. I can’t afford to head to the beach. According to Ariel’s memories, the road in that direction is deserted. I’ll be better off running toward civilization and a chance of finding someone out at ten o’clock on a school night. It’s mid-March, not prime wine-tasting or tourist season, and the nearest town, the village of Los Olivos, is quiet this time of year. But surely a restaurant or something will be open.
“The world is a vampire, sent to drain …,” Romeo is singing, bits of a song that was popular the last time we were on earth. It’s a disturbing song about vampires and rats, and the way Romeo sings it makes it even more terrifying, a choirboy confessing a murder. He always has a lovely voice, no matter what body he inhabits. Just as I always have sweet breath. Evidently.
I run faster, feet pounding along the broken asphalt, breath crystalline in the air. Romeo is out of the ravine and on the move. He continues to sing as he runs, filling the night with his haunting voice, making me feel as if he’s already caught me with every note that pricks at my ears.
But he hasn’t. He won’t.
I see the lights of the town ahead. I’m going to make it. It’s a mile, at most. I’ll head for the first open business and throw myself into a crowd. Romeo won’t attack me in front of witnesses. Despite his strength, bars can hold him, and the western lawmen of recent centuries haven’t hesitated to punish men for abusing their women. Not like in the earlier days, when it was legal for a man to beat his wife, legal for him to throw her into the streets to starve, legal for him to—
“O dear mistress mine, mistress mine, your eyes like stars, your lips like wine,” he sings, switching to a song from our child
hood, in English instead of Italian.
We always speak in the language of the new bodies, assimilating speech as fully as memories, but I can recall the way the words sounded in our native tongue. Back when he sang beneath my window, when the sound of his voice filled me with joy and expectation.
Now there is nothing but terror.
He’s going to catch me. He’s too fast. I’m tired, weak, not—
The headlights spin onto the road from a dozen feet ahead, hope in the darkness.
I race forward, screaming for help, waving my arms, willing the person inside the vehicle to hear me, see me, and stop before it’s too late. One second passes … then two … three; the car is pulling away and taking hope with it when suddenly, the brake lights burn red.
With a sob of relief, I sprint the remaining distance to the car, throw open the passenger door, and fling myself inside without bothering to see who’s behind the wheel. The identity of the driver is immaterial.
The devil himself would be preferable company.
FOUR
“What the he—”
“Hurry! Drive!” I slam the door shut behind me, cutting off the driver, a boy not much older than Ariel, from what I can see in the darkness. I quickly take in tanned skin, wavy hair to his shoulders, a thick necklace, and a faded T-shirt hugging arms too thin to belong to a grown man.
Good. Better to get help from someone younger, less likely to ask questions.
“Please drive. Anywhere. Just go!” I fumble for the locks, smash down the button on the passenger’s door, then reach over to hit the boy’s lock, my shoulder brushing his as I fall back into my seat. “Please!”
We have to go. Locks won’t deter Romeo for long. Neither will one witness, not if he thinks he can get away with murder. I’ve seen him kill before—men, women, children, anyone who gets in his way. He has no moral objections, no compassion or pity.