Juliet Immortal

the wretchedness it will bring, the writhing of my soul inside my stone prison. Pain is so much easier to recall than pleasure. I can’t remember pleasure anymore, don’t know if I’m capable of taking joy in anything, even if the specters make their predicted appearance, even if the spell works, even if—someday very,
very
soon—I can feel again, taste again,
live
again.
    But if anyone can summon goodness inside me, it is her. My love, my enemy, my other half, my Juliet. Perhaps she can coax the knots from my soul, melt my frozen heart, banish my demons. Perhaps I will wake the morning after the spell that frees us and no longer delight in the suffering of others, no longer take pleasure in pain.
    “And then we shall share true love’s kiss, and live happily ever after.” The words make me laugh. And laugh and laugh.
    I laugh all the way to the edge of town, to the row of brittle, peeling houses where my new body lives. I laugh through the dented door, into a dingy room I can guess smells of smoke andsadness and death. I laugh when a man’s voice yells from the room down the hall, threatening to “beat my ass” if I don’t “shut the hell up.”
    I know the man will make good on his threat when he finds that his son has destroyed his car. I know Dylan’s father will be relieved when I leave this shell and his son’s corpse is all that remains. These thoughts make me laugh as well.
    I laugh into my new room, where posters of other angry young men glare down at me from the walls. I laugh at this body’s pathetic dreams of becoming a rock star, of becoming famous and making everyone “sorry.” His dad for his loose fists, his mother for leaving, the entire stupid world sorry for daring to make him work for the things he desires.
    I treasure his death, a warm stone in my fist, a bright, sparkling thing that keeps me smiling through yet another long, sleepless night. The two-hundred-thousandth such night or more. I’ve lost count. I could work the numbers, but I don’t. There’s no reason, not when the end is so very near.
    Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will find her and teach her and she will love me and fear me and she will never be the same.
    And neither, perhaps, will I.

SEVEN
    I’ m so cold I know I’ll never be warm again. My fingers press against the heat gushing from my chest—pushing, clinging—as if I can hold my life inside me with trembling hands. But my hands aren’t much larger than a child’s. I didn’t realize I was so small, so foolish
.
    Not until now, until it’s too late to make a difference
.
    Too late
.
    “It’s not too late, Juliet.” Nurse leans over me, cupping my face in her dry, papery hands. “If you want to live, I can help. I know you still have love in your heart.”
    Do I? Do I have love in my heart? Can I hold anything inside me when I’ve been cut open and all my stupid little-girl dreams are spilling
out onto the floor? I look into her soft gray eyes and say nothing. I don’t know what to say. I’m
not
sure, not sure enough to promise, sure enough to
swear.
    But then the cold grows even colder and fear rises, a tide that will drown me if I hesitate a moment more. I raise my hand. I repeat the words she whispers, taking the oath, committing myself to the Ambassadors. I don’t want to die. I want to live. I want to prove that my hands aren’t so small. To prove I can fight
.
    The final words of the spell burn through my veins, making me cry out, scalding my soul from my human flesh. Nurse urges me to sleep, to rest until I’m needed, but I fight to keep my eyes open. I fail. My lids close, and behind them there is only the mist. And it is cold and endless and my body is gone. Nurse warned me it would be like this, but I didn’t understand. I didn’t dream …
    I realize I am nothing and scream, panic racing through my formless being, banishing hope in a great wave of—
    “
Wake up. Wake up
, niña.”
I awake to find … Ben. He lies beside me, hair rumpled from sleep, arms holding me tight, banishing the nightmare. With gentle hands he wipes the tears from my cheeks. “It’s all right. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” His lips are warm against my forehead, sealing the promise with skin upon skin
.
    Relief floods through me, gratitude so profound it makes me shake. It’s all been an awful dream. I sigh against his chest, finally protected, finally whole. “I love you.”
    “I love you too, sweet.” The lips on my forehead grow hot … sticky.