Juliet Immortal

straight line but knowing I have to make it across the room. I have to touch her, press my hands against the mirror and pull her through the glass. I have to—
    “Ariel?” I hear Ben come through the door behind me, but I don’t stop. I can’t. I can’t lose sight of her, not for a second. No matter how dizzy I am. “Ariel, what are—” Ben breaks off as his arms wrap around my waist, holding me upright when my knees buckle. “What’s wrong?”
    I fist my hands in his sweater, willing the world to steady, but it doesn’t. It reels like a child’s toy set to spin on the floor,whirling so fast I squeeze my eyes closed to shut out the blurring colors. But still my head feels wrong, my skin too small, my lips numb, my fingers cramped, cold.
    Perhaps I’m dying. Perhaps that brief vision of my old self was a sign that death—real death—has come for me at last.
    “Hey, you’ve gotta calm down. Just try to breathe slower,” Ben says, his voice soft in my ear. “I think you’re hyperventilating.”
    Hyperventilating. The idea makes my chest hitch. I can’t be doing this to myself, having some fit of vapors like the ones my cousin Rossa had every time she was lifted onto a horse. I’m not that type of girl. I don’t lose control; I don’t faint in the face of fear or danger.
    I pull in a deeper breath and let it out, forcing all the air from my lungs before I draw another. Slowly—breath by breath—the spinning sensation fades, the warmth returns to the fingers clawed in Ben’s sweater. Still, I leave them there as I glance at the mirror, knowing I’ll need something to cling to if I see myself again.
    I don’t. There is only a tall, slim boy with dark hair holding an even slimmer girl with white hair and skin nearly as pale. The wide eyes that look back at me are still shocked, haunted. But they are blue eyes, not brown.
    “Better?” Ben meets my eyes in the reflection, as if he knows it will be easier than talking face to face. I nod the slightest bit. Too much movement threatens to send the world spinning again.
    “Do you want to go to the office? See if the school nurse is still here?” He shifts his arms, letting them drape about my waist in a way that’s surprisingly familiar. The feeling that I’vetouched him before rushes back, and the words of the girl in the mirror ring in my ears.
Love now
.
    Love. As if I’m capable of loving anyone. Now or anytime in the future. I must be losing my mind, finally giving in to—
    “Ariel?” Ben’s arms tighten around me. “I can come with you.”
    “No. I’m okay.” I know I should step back, but I can’t seem to get my hands to release his sweater.
    Was it really a hallucination? Or is this some new Ambassador magic? And if so, why would I see myself? There is no “me” anymore. I died so long ago my bones must have turned to dust by now.
    “You don’t seem okay. Are you sure you don’t want to talk? About … anything?”
    I shake my head again. “No.”
    “Okay.” His eyes leave the mirror as he turns to me. “But if you ever want to … I know you don’t know me very well, but you can trust me. I can keep a secret.”
    The words make me shiver. And step away. There is no one I can trust with my secrets. No one.
    “Hey, you want to get out of here?” he asks. “We can clean up the paints and go get a coffee or something. We can text Gemma and see if she wants to meet us when rehearsal is over.”
    A coffee is probably the last thing I need, but it sounds good. Safe. Warm. And Gemma will come join us, and maybe I can make something out of this mess of a day. I nod. “That sounds great. I …”
    I forget what I’d planned to say, forget everything but the cold rush of fear. Romeo stands in the doorway, watching Benand me with narrowed eyes. But it isn’t Romeo who makes my hand fly to my mouth, stifling the scream rising in my throat. It’s the
thing
behind him. A few feet beyond the rectangle of dressing-room light, crouched in the backstage darkness, is a monster, a creature from nightmares with a skeletal body, leathered skin, and two inhuman eyes drowning in creeping white. The curls that fall over its forehead are the same as the ones that earned Romeo strange looks in the halls today. Exactly the same.
    It is Romeo. The
real
Romeo. But rotten. Wrong. A corpse come to life.
    Before I can think of what to do, the thing vanishes, snapped away without a trace but for a whisper of decay that drifts through the