Juliet Immortal

  I grab my backpack and Melanie’s cell and consider trying to find something to eat, but then remember the way the hunk of cheese rolled in my belly and dash out the door. There’s a bakery not far from school. Maybe Gemma will want to stop there. We’ll have time; I haven’t kept her waiting for long. Five minutes isn’t unreasonable.

  Unfortunately, she doesn’t seem to agree.

  “What the hell were you thinking, Ree?” Her first words don’t inspire faith in our lasting friendship; neither does the shocked look she shoots me from the driver’s side as I slide into the cool leather seat. Gemma Sloop’s sleek BMW is as luxurious as Ben’s car is plain and worn, and Gemma herself makes me feel shabby in comparison.

  Her rich chocolate-colored hair swings around her shoulders, gleaming even in the gray morning light, the jagged layers emphasizing the lovely planes of her face. A gypsy shirt encrusted with hundreds of stones flutters around her torso, and fitted jeans hug her narrow thighs. Hunks of sapphire too big to be real—but I know they are—sit in her earlobes, and another chunk perches on her right hand, gifts from her father for her sweet sixteen.

  “And wow … no makeup.” She shakes her head. “That’s a choice. One I would recommend not making in the future, FYI. I haven’t seen you look that scary since sixth grade.”

  “I didn’t want to make you wait,” I say, too stunned to be angry. I’d been prepared for Ariel’s mother to be a monster, but not her best friend. This is Gemma, the girl Ariel is so terrified to lose?

  “You could have brought it with you. I have mirrors in the car, Freak.” Her tone is light, teasing, but I know the words would hurt Ariel. Ariel hates that word, freak, the nickname the kids at school gave her in fourth grade, after something awful happened. At recess. Something … The memory is fuzzy, and I can tell Ariel’s tried hard to forget it. All I know is that was the moment she became the Freak, an outcast only another outcast would befriend.

  To look at Gemma, it’s hard to believe she’s an outcast, but she is. Her parents own the largest winery in the area and employ most of the town as factory hands, vineyard workers, tasting-room experts, distributors, and seasonal help. Even if Gemma didn’t dress like the daughter of a millionaire and speak her mind to the point of cruelty, school would be awkward. As it is, she’s ostracized by almost everyone.

  But she doesn’t care. She insisted on staying in public school, even when her grades improved and her parents pressured her to go back to the private school in Los Olivos at the beginning of her freshman year. She’s the type of person who only needs one friend, one follower, and sometimes doesn’t even seem to need that.

  “Whatever.” She shifts into reverse and backs down the drive.

  Rain pounds the roof as we slide from under the carport and spin in a tight circle before zipping down El Camino. The day is gray, colorless. It’s no wonder I overslept. If it weren’t for the nightmares, I’d wish I were still asleep. I’m so tired. I should be filled with Ambassador magic by now, feeling strong enough to take on the world—or at least the Mercenaries. But I don’t. I feel … off, exhausted.

  “I guess your new boyfriend doesn’t care what you look like,” Gemma says, hitting the word boyfriend hard enough to break a rock.

  “What?”

  “Melanie told me,” she says. “I can’t believe you told your mother—who you hate like ass sores—that you were going on a date, but didn’t tell me.”

  “Oh.” The date. That’s why she’s angry. Ariel decided not to tell Gemma until afterward, when she’d hopefully have a real story to tell.

  “ ‘Oh.’ That’s all you have to say? ‘Oh’?”

  “Sorry. I didn’t want to say anything unless we had a good time.”

  “Well, did you?” she asks, a twinkle in her eye. “Who’s the guy? Where did you go? How late did you stay out? Did you finally see a penis in real life? Tell me everything. Immediately.”

  I surprise myself with a blush. “No.” How much to say? I know Ariel won’t want Gemma to know the date was a joke. “It was awful. Dylan’s not—”

  “Dylan, as in Dylan Stroud?” she asks, enthusiasm draining from her tone.

  “Yeah.”

  “You went out with Dylan?” Her lips press together, the bright red of her lipstick making her mouth a crooked slash across her face. “Wasn’t that … awkward?”

  “It was,” I say, not sure why the moment has become strained. “Like I said, it was awful.”

  “Right …” She turns her gaze back to the road. “Well, of course it was. I could have told you it would be if you’d given me the heads-up. He’s Dylan Stroud. He’s a sociopath.”

  “I know. He just seemed so nice at rehearsals.”

  “That’s because he’s pretending to be someone else,” Gemma says, making a valid point. Ariel’s crush on Dylan developed while she was watching him play Tony, the boy who falls in love with the little sister of the leader of the opposing street gang in West Side Story.

  West Side Story, the musical based on Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Which means that—should Romeo decide to continue with the drama club—he’ll be playing himself. I’m sure he’ll find the irony delicious.

  “I mean, don’t you think there’s a reason a gorgeous guy like that doesn’t have a girlfriend?” Gemma asks. “Or even some steady friends with benefits?”

  “Because he’s a jerk.”

  “He’s insane. He and Jason both are, and their band is embarrassingly lame. Dylan can sing, but I swear he looks like he’s having a seizure when he plays guitar.” She turns left and then almost immediately right, taking us into the heart of Solvang’s tourist district, a place Ariel thinks of as Disneyland for grown-ups who like wine.

  The town is built to look like an old-fashioned Danish village, with wine-tasting rooms on every corner, testimony to the region’s growing industry. Gemma’s parents’ tasting room is the largest, taking up two stories of a redbrick building on Mission Drive. We pass it on our right.

  A heavy wooden sign advertising Sloop Vineyards sways in the wind, but Gemma doesn’t slow down to look at it. She’s far less impressed with her family than most of the other Sloops. It’s one of the few things I’m finding likable about her thus far.

  “You should just say no to Stroud,” she says, obviously not ready to let the subject drop. “Crack is a better habit to start than Dylan.”

  “I know. We’re not going to go out again.”

  “Good. He’s not the kind of mistake anyone should repeat.” She reaches over and kicks up the heat. “You want to go get a croissant? I’m starving.”

  “Yes. Please.” Thank god. Food.

  She drives in silence for a moment, before reaching out to poke me in the leg. When she speaks again, her voice is softer. “But you’re okay, right? Your mom said some guy she’d never seen drove you home. I know you, and you wouldn’t get into a car with some strange dude unless—”

  “He’s not strange. She didn’t even meet him.”

  Gemma’s eyebrows shoot into the air. “Oh, so you made a looovvee connection after all, did you? Who is it? Does he go to SHS or the priv-ass school? I can’t believe you weren’t—”

  “No, it’s nothing like that. He’s just a friend.” I hurry to correct her, turning to look out the window as she parks in front of the Windmill Bakery, a larger-than-life re-creation of a windmill with a dark tile roof that gleams black in the rain. “Really, I don’t like anyone like that.”

  “Well, you could. You should,” she says, shutting off the car and reaching into the backseat to grab her purse. “Just not Dylan.”

  “I know. Thanks for worrying about me. I … I’ve missed you,” I say, not wanting to let this opportunity to mend the rift between Ariel and Gemma pass me by. I might not care for her, but Ariel does, and it’s not as if Ariel has friends to spare.

  “Aw, man.” The hard light in Gemma’s eyes fades, and for a second I can see that she cares. Or that she wants to care.

  But there
’s something wrong inside her, too, something damaged that makes her more like Ariel than I guessed at first. Ariel’s memories don’t give me any clue what that something might be, but it makes me feel for Gemma. Makes me smile when she squeezes my hand.

  “I’ve missed you too. I’m sorry, I’ve just …” She sighs, her words trailing off. “There’s been drama. Mostly with my dad, but also with this guy …”

  “A guy? Like … a guy guy?” Ariel’s memories tell me I shouldn’t be surprised. Gemma always has a guy. Or two.

  “Oh yeah. Definitely a guy guy. But it’s a mess.” She rolls her eyes and reaches for her door. I follow her out of the car, hurrying through the downpour and under the awning of the bakery. “We should talk. Catch up,” she says, holding the door open as I dart inside. “I’ll tell you all the shocking details. Want to meet back here for lunch?”

  “Sounds good.” Lunch actually sounds great. So does breakfast. The smell of sugar and fried dough fills my nose, making my stomach growl, reminding me that I’ve yet to eat a meal since I entered this body.

  I lead the way across the red and white tiles to the counter, scanning the pastries in the brightly lit glass, searching for something that will stick with me through the morning.

  And then I turn back to Gemma and I forget about food, forget about my long night, forget my exhaustion and fear, lost in the rosy glow surrounding her chest. It was too dark in the car, but in the glaring fluorescents there’s no missing it. Her aura is stained such a vibrant pink it makes the bright blues and purples of her shirt look dull in comparison.

  Seeing the auras of soul mates is one of my Ambassador-given gifts, a way to know when first love has become forever love. The energy of soul mates on the cusp is usually some shade of pink—light or dark, depending on how certain their feelings. Once my soul mates’ auras both glow deep red, nothing can destroy their bond, not Mercenary interference, not the hardships of life, not even death. When that happens, my job is complete and I return to the mist with a victory for my side.

  But I’ve never found a soul mate on my own. I’ve always needed Nurse’s help.

  Yet here she is, Ariel’s best friend, one of the lovers I’ve been sent to protect.

  A spark of hope flares to life inside me. Maybe that’s why Nurse didn’t come to me last night. Maybe she knows that Ariel is already intimately connected to one of the soul mates I’ve come for, maybe—

  “Ariel. Wake up.” Gemma snaps her fingers in front of my face. “What do you want? Nancy’s waiting.”

  “Don’t rush her, Gemma. I’ve got time, and school doesn’t start for twenty minutes.” The woman behind the counter—an older woman with finely wrinkled skin and a long gray braid coiled around her head so that it looks like a crown—smiles. “How about an egg and cheese croissant, Ariel? You look like you could use some protein.”

  I smile. I remember Nancy now. Ariel has a soft spot for her, and her croissants. “Yes, please. That sounds great.”

  “And a coffee for her too,” Gemma adds. “She needs it.”

  Ariel doesn’t drink coffee, but I don’t disagree. It’s definitely time to wake up. Gemma is the girl I’ve come for, and the sooner I figure out the identity of this mystery guy she’s seeing—and why their relationship is “a mess”—the closer I’ll be to accomplishing what I’ve been sent here to do.

  “Dude.” As we step to the side to wait for our order, Gemma gives the burned side of my face a long, hard look. “Your face really does look awful today. Maybe we should ditch homeroom and go back to your house for your makeup.”

  I bite my lip, refusing to give in to anger. Gemma’s my job, and Ariel’s friend. I’m not required to like her. Still, I can’t help but wonder—not for the first time—why people like Gemma are lucky enough to get soul mates. It seems like it should be a privilege reserved for people who suck less.

  “I mean, seriously,” she continues, tapping one finger against her chin. “Your mom said she was going back to sleep so—”

  She breaks off, eyes going wide. Her ringed hand whips out to grab my arm. “Oh my god. There he is. That’s him. The guy.”

  My other soul mate, delivered faster than my breakfast. The thought nearly makes me smile. I try to turn to get a look at him, but Gemma squeezes my arm until I flinch. “Don’t turn around! He might still be pissed.”

  “Why is he—”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugs, lowers her voice. “He said I was confusing and left in the middle of dinner to go drive around and think or something. He’s like a girl. I swear.”

  Confusing. Drive around. Think.

  A horrible suspicion curls in my gut, killing my hunger. A part of me knows who I’m going to see, even before I turn around.

  “Crap. He’s seen us. He’s coming over.” She drops my arm. “Don’t be weird, okay?”

  Don’t be weird. How can I not be weird when I know … I know …

  I turn and my eyes meet his, and that feeling of connection sizzles through the air between us, just like it did last night. But now I know the connection isn’t just unwise or impossible, it’s forbidden. I see the rosy glow burning through his red and black striped sweater and there is no room for doubt.

  Ben is the other soul mate I’ve been sent to protect.

  EIGHT

  I want to run and hide. I want to jump over the counter and cower down behind the pastries with my arms over my head. I don’t want to stand and watch and try to smile as Gemma flings herself at Ben, surprising him with a kiss on the cheek.

  She presses against him, his arm goes around her waist, and something inside me screams like it’s been set on fire. The embrace lasts less than a second before Ben pulls away, but the damage is done. He belongs to someone, to a girl I have to make sure he stays with forever.

  It is unbearable. Intolerable. It’s … my job.

  These two are my job, and if I don’t do it, one of them will die. In over thirty shifts, I’ve never seen two soul mates part peaceably. Either they commit to each other or one of them commits murder and becomes a Mercenary. That’s the way it goes. Every. Single. Time.

  There is no hope for me and Ben. But then, there never was.

  “Hey, what’s up?” Ben looks from me to Gemma and back again, shifts on his feet, shoves his hands into his pockets, as if he feels uncomfortable. Maybe he does. Maybe he’s worried I’ll tell Gemma that he nearly kissed me last night. Maybe he’s afraid I’m about to ruin his relationship with the girl he loves.

  Loves. He loves her. Whatever happened in the car last night was a fluke, a misstep. Or maybe only my imagination. Maybe Ben never intended to kiss me, maybe I took everything the wrong way.

  “Things go okay with your mom last night?” he asks, as if he couldn’t care less if Gemma knows we were alone together. Did I really imagine it? That connection so strong I dreamt about waking up in his arms?

  “Yeah. Thanks.” I nod, try to smile, show him I’m happy he’s with my best friend.

  “What?” Gemma spins, and her hair flies out to flick Ben in the face, making him flinch. “How do you two—”

  “We met last night,” Ben says. “Ariel carjacked me, and I gave her a ride home.”

  Gemma’s eyebrows arch. “Really? So you’re the one … Cool …” She trails off with a knowing nod. “So I guess I don’t have to do the ‘Ben, my special friend, Ariel, my best friend,’ thing.”

  “Special friend.” Ben is Gemma’s special friend, her soul mate. Even seeing them standing there glowing like twin sunsets, I find it hard to wrap my mind around that all-important truth. Gemma is a pain with about as much empathy as a snake. And Ben is … Ben.

  “Order up!” Nancy chirps from behind us.

  “Thank god.” Gemma moves past me to the counter. “I need coffee.”

  Ben and I face each other, and it’s there again, that feeling that we both know this isn’t how things are supposed to be. He takes a step toward me that I mirror with a step back. He stops, pins me wi
th those fathomless brown eyes that see so much more than they should.

  “I thought you didn’t have many friends,” he says.

  “I don’t. Just Gemma. We’ve been friends since we were little.” I force a smile. “It’s so great about you. And her. It’s time she found a nice guy.”

  He cocks his head to the side and opens his mouth to speak, but Gemma beats him to it, sliding in between us, holding a cup out to Ben. “Here. You can have Ariel’s coffee.”

  He shakes his head. “No. I don’t want to take her drink.”

  “Take it, she doesn’t care. Do you, Ariel?”

  “No,” Ben says. “I can just—”

  “Take it,” Gemma insists. “Ariel doesn’t even like coffee, and I paid for it.”

  Ben’s look grows dark. He crosses his arms, refuses to touch the coffee Gemma still clutches in her hand. “I don’t want it, Gemma. And I’d like it if you’d listen when I talk. Every time I talk.” He turns back to me before I can hide the shock on my face. “See you later, Ariel.” And then he walks out of the bakery, leaving us staring after him in stunned silence.

  “What was that about?” Gemma finally asks.

  I don’t know, but this isn’t the way I like to see soul mates talking to each other. Not only is this job going to be miserable, it’s going to be hard work getting Ben and Gemma back on the right track. “Do you think he’s still mad about last night?” I ask. “About your fight?”

  “I think something crawled up his butt and died is what I think.”

  “But what did you fight about?” I need to know what’s gone wrong before I can help make it better. “Maybe he—”

  “Screw him. Here, take this.” She holds the coffee out to me. I take it, and she pulls the bag containing our breakfast out from under her arm. “Let’s eat in the car. I need to go to my locker before homeroom.”

  I follow her out into the rain, praying I’ll have another chance to pump her for information on the way to school. She might act like she doesn’t care, but she has to be upset that she and Ben are fighting. But Gemma keeps her mouth full of food, and when we pull into the student parking lot I’m no closer to discovering what happened last night.