Juliet Immortal

at the ceiling, doubt creeping in beneath the rhythm of the rain.
    What if Romeo’s right? What if this is your last shift? What if the next time you go to the mist you never come back? Or what if there’s something worse than the mist … something unknown …?
    I close my eyes and pull the covers over my head, trying not to worry, determined not to dream.

TWELVE
    G et down, you two! Under the blanket!” Gemma hisses from the front seat as we pull up to the imposing back gate of the Sloop home the next afternoon.
    The family compound is so large we can’t even
see
the mansion from here. We’d have to drive miles to get to the house on the hill, through rolling vineyards and stands of fruit trees wilting in the never-ending rain. It’s beginning to feel like the world will be swept away. Or at least Central California.
    “Do we really have to do this?” Ben eyes the ratty Navajo blanket Gemma throws into the backseat. “I didn’t hide under a blanket last time.”
    I shoot Gemma a questioning look that she avoids. So shehasn’t told him that she’s been forbidden to see him. I don’t know whether that’s a good sign or bad one.
    “Last time we weren’t invading my father’s turf,” she says. “If anyone notices we’ve been in the cellars, I don’t want my dad to find out you two were here this afternoon.”
    “A camera records everyone who comes through the gate,” I say, forcing a smile as I lift the edge of the blanket. “Gemma’s dad is kind of crazy about trespassers.”
    Ben lifts an eyebrow. “Okay, but if he’s going to get so pissed, then—”
    “He won’t get pissed because we won’t get caught,” Gemma says.
    “But—”
    “Ben, are you going to play super-secret spy nicely? Or am I going to have to pull this car over and show you my ninja moves?”
    “Don’t make her show you the ninja moves.” I try to keep the moment light. “They’re scary, and I think my singing has traumatized everyone enough for one day.”
    Gemma snorts in agreement.
    My voice didn’t improve much during rehearsal this afternoon. Mr. Stark gave away most of my singing lines and urged me to talk my way through my one unavoidable solo. Thankfully, my feet proved nimbler than my tongue. I remembered all the choreography Gemma taught me, and put such passion into the fight scene with Tony that even Hannah agreed I’d make a decent Bernadette. At least for one night.
    Of course, Romeo relished the opportunity to stab me with a prop knife and watch me pretend to die on the floor at his feet. Despite last night’s insistence that he wants my love and forgiveness, I didn’t miss the spark in his eye as he thrust hisplastic weapon. A part of him—maybe a large part—still thrills to think of spilling my blood. It’s something I’d be wise to remember next time he comes sniffing around, wanting to “work together.”
    “I think you did a great job, Mermaid,” Ben says. “Considering it was your first rehearsal.”
    “No, I didn’t. I can’t sing.”
    Ben smiles. “You can. Just not as well as you paint.”
    I smile back. “Very diplomatic.”
    “Maybe Ben should run for Senate instead of my dad. Or maybe he’s as tone-deaf as you are, Ree.”
    I poke my head over the seat and stick my tongue out at her, earning a laugh. Gemma reaches over, ruffling my hair. Things have been better between us today. I actually find myself starting to like her. A little.
    Too bad that doesn’t make it any easier to imagine Ben spending his life with her. I just want … more for him.
    “Now get under the blanket, Benjamin,” Gemma says. “Or you don’t get any wine.”
    “I don’t even like wine.”
    “You don’t
know
if you like wine. You’ve never had wine.”
    “I have, I—”
    “Boone’s Farm doesn’t count, Luna. Under the blanket.”
    “Gemma, I—”
    Gemma makes a low “huuuaaaah” sound that I think is supposed to be a ninja cry and karate-chops the air near Ben’s face.
    Ben laughs. “
Dios mio
. Fine, crazy woman.” He rolls his eyes but finally pulls the blanket up. Together we scoot down onto the floor behind the front seats as Gemma pulls up to the wrought-iron gate with the swirled
S
in the center and punches in the family’s entry code.
    Beneath the blanket, the air grows warm and filled with the smell of Ben. Even after a long day, he smells amazing. Like the ocean—salty and sweet at the same time—something vaguely food-ish that I can’t put my finger on,