Juliet Immortal

says, obviously frustrated with my limited imagination. “All I know is that if they take us before we work this spell, we will go to that mist you’ve only lingered in until now, to that place outside of time where the universe dumps its waste. But the mist will not be a place of forgetting for us. We will be aware of every singlemoment that passes, conscious but bodiless and alone for all eternity.”
    I press my lips together. Yes, that sounds close enough to hell for me.
    “The only way to escape that fate is to take control, to work the spell together and give the specters physical form, not simply psychic—”
    “Have you seen your body? What it has become?”
    He pales, runs a nervous hand through his loose curls. “Yes, well, I suppose wickedness does have its consequences. Hopefully the magic will fix … all that.” I lift a dubious brow, and he does a poor impression of his come-hither smile. “They say love can work miracles.”
    I shake my head again, slowly, knowing that—even if everything he says is true—this is impossible. I can never love him, no matter how much I might fear the hell he describes. Fear can force obedience, but it can never transform a heart. But before I can say a word, laughter interrupts.
    The laugh echoes through the long rows of barrels, drifting up to dance through the rafters of the barn, making us both turn toward the sound. At first I think Gemma has returned, but then it comes again, a rich, carefree giggle that’s eerily familiar. I
know
that laugh. I’ve
felt
it thrum through my chest, tumble out my lips. It’s
my
laughter. Someone has bottled the joy I felt as a girl and it’s pouring into the air, sweeter than the wine I’ve stolen.
    “It’s her … you,” Romeo whispers. He grabs my arm, fingers digging in too hard. “Don’t welcome her, don’t embrace her before we work the spell or she will have you. Hell will have you!”
    More laughter, this time from the opposite direction.Romeo and I stumble in our haste to turn around. My heart pounds, terror thick in my veins.
    I catch a flash of blue and then my old body dances from between a row of barrels. She finds me with her slightly vacant eyes and smiles.
“Love. So close.”
My mouth falls open. It’s me. There’s no doubt. But I’m not as I was; I’m not whole. There is a wound on my chest, blood drips down the front of my dress, and my smile is forced and strange.
    Still, I am tempted to go to her, to take my old hand. Almost … compelled. I would go—despite Romeo’s warning, despite my fear—if Romeo didn’t grab my hand and shout for me to “Run!”
    I see it a second later, the rotted corpse crouched in the darkness behind my body.
“Love.”
The word is a growl—low and feral—that rumbles through the air, a warning we don’t need to hear twice.
    We turn and run, feet pounding faster than the rain pummeling the roof. Faster and faster, lunging to the left and then the right, racing down the rows, too terrified to stop and see how close the thing has gotten. I can hear it scrambling behind us, hands and feet slapping the slick floor, running like a beast, a nightmare.
    Another turn to the left and suddenly, the door is in sight. I sprint for it with everything in me, hitting the metal bar just seconds before Romeo, hurling myself out into the storm. In seconds the rain has plastered my hair to my head, but I don’t stop running until I reach Gemma’s car. I fumble the keys from my pocket with trembling hands.
    Romeo and I scramble inside, slamming the doors behind us. I hit the locks but still hurry to get the keys in the ignition. I won’t feel safe until we are far, far away from the barn.
    I turn the car around and guide it back onto the narrow road, pulling in long, deep breaths and letting them out slowly. I keep the car moving toward the gate at a semi-reasonable speed, only checking the rearview half as many times as I would like. I can’t let fear take over. I have to keep my head, to think of some way to reach the Ambassadors.
    They’ve never hurt me, never punished me, never shown me anything but kindness. I can’t betray them now.
    But what if he’s right? What if—
    “Do you want me to drive?” Romeo asks.
    “No, I’m fine.”
    “You don’t look fine, you look like you’re going to murder that wheel.”
    I glance down, shocked by my white knuckles and the ropes of muscle straining against the backs of my hands. I relax my grip, but my thoughts