romeo remeemed

chapter 12

When I swing into her driveway at six-forty-five, Ariel's already waiting outside, backpack slung over one shoulder. "You're lovely this morning." She is-gauzy white shirt, dark jeans, and long white braids tied with leather at the ends. "Like a very pale Indian princess." She smiles and says "Thank you" as she slides into the passenger seat. "You're early." "Couldn't sleep. I needed to see you again." "I couldn't sleep either." She closes her door, and I pull out of the driveway, aiming Dylan's car toward downtown. "I've been up since two working on a new painting. I think I might actually need coffee for once." "That can be arranged," I say, waiting for her to bring up the subject that must be plaguing her mind. But she doesn't say a word about my cryptic warnings last night. She remarks on the uncommonly beautiful day, reminds me that the homework for English-which I haven't bothered to complete-is due, and asks if I'm ready for the last rehearsal for the spring formal performance after school. "Of course." "Of course," she echoes with a roll of her eyes. "You aren't nervous at all, are you?" "I don't get nervous unless it's a matter of life or death," I say, the words coming out heavier than I intended. Two days. Just two more days. Two, two, two, two. I banish the disturbing mantra with a grin. "Besides, it's a low investment performance. One song-on and off the stage in five minutes-and I'll have the rest of the night to spend with you. We get to wear our own clothes, so I won't even have to change out of costume." I reach out, turning down the heat. It suddenly feels warmer with Ariel in the car. "Which reminds me-I need to go shopping. Up for a trip to the thrift store later this afternoon?" "Sure." "I'm thinking a vintage tuxedo. Something in pastel if we can find it." "Okay," she says with a laugh. "Sounds like fun." And then she takes my hand and holds it all the way into Solvang, and I am ... torn. Is it best to pretend I never hinted that I'm another soul in Dylan's body? The change in Ariel after only a day of undivided romantic attention is remarkable. Maybe continued commonplace, banal romantic pressure will be enough to save my skin. But can I trust "maybe" at a time like this? When less than forty-eight hours remain and hell awaits me if I fail? Or should I follow my instincts and tell Ariel the highly abridged, creatively edited, and largely false version of my sad tale? My gut tells me that Romeo Montague-one of the most famous, most tragic lovers in history-will have a better chance of winning Ariel's heart in the time we have left than Dylan Stroud will. I've used my real identity countless times in the past, to twist the human heart and bend a potential Mercenary convert to my will. It's amazing how quickly an otherwise perfectly rational human being will believe the extraordinary in the name of being part of an epic love story. And the nagging worry remains-what will happen to Ariel when Dylan's soul returns, if I don't tell her some version of my truth? How can the Ambassadors trust that Ariel will continue to believe in love if the person who's touched her heart reverts to his old, nasty ways? Yes, Dylan will retain some of my memories of seducing Ariel-minus the details about the Ambassadors and the Mercenaries-but he won't love her. I'm pretending to care to save my own skin. Why will he believe he was pretending? What story will his sick mind create to fill in the gaps made by having his body inhabited by another person's soul? And will that story destroy Ariel's faith in love's power? Or will her faith stay strong and her light be snuffed out by Mercenaries once she's no longer useful to their cause? Who cares? The Mercenaries might kill her, but at least she'll be free to die a normal death. You can't say the same. Keep your head, or you'll find it filled with rot before the sun rises Saturday morning. "Dylan?" Ariel gives my arm a gentle shake. "Are we going to breakfast?" "Yes," I snap, then realize what I've done and gentle my voice. "Yes. Can't face a day of learning on an empty stomach." "Okay." She sounds cautious, guarded, leaving no doubt she heard the anger in my voice. "Well, you passed the pancake house two blocks ago, so ..." "I thought we'd hit the bakery, have coffee and a chocolate croissant or five. My treat." I pull into a parking spot on the street, only a few doors down from the Windmill Bakery. "No, I want to buy," she says, hesitation in her tone. "You got dinner the other night and everything yesterday." I wave her concern away and jump out to open her door. "I scored a couple twenties from my dad." I take her arm and help her out of the car. "I'm a rich man." "Won't you need that later?" she asks, dragging her feet as we step onto the sidewalk. "For the thrift store?" "No worries. I've got everything under control." I do. I won't let fear or worry or anything else divert me from my course. I must catch this girl any way I can, the way a spider catches a fly. And the spider doesn't let concern for the fly divert it from its course; the spider does what it must to survive. "Wait," Ariel says, stopping abruptly at the entrance to the bakery, pulling her arm from mine. "I can't." "Why? What-" "I just can't. I told you yesterday I didn't want to come here." She backs away as the door behind me opens with a tinkling sound. I glance over my shoulder, and see precisely what has my fly so terribly upset. "Aw, man! No way. I already spent that sixty bucks." The loud male voice is followed by a chorus of louder, meaner male laughter. "You suck, Stroud." Three lanky boys and a shorter, more solid boy with spiked black hair and a cruel smirk emerge from the bakery. They prowl across the sidewalk, jackals smelling easy prey. I stop, frozen in place as I meet the pitiless eyes of the shortest boy. Jason Kim. Memories of the way he laughed as he tortured me for betraying Mercenary secrets rush inside me, filling my mouth with the taste of blood and fear. My maker, Friar Lawrence, inhabited this boy's body during my first go-round in this time. It was his fault I was forced to kill Juliet and her new love. He left me no choice, and then he left me no way out, banishing me to my soul specter, condemning me to more misery and horror. My fists ball, and something inside me curls into a poisonous knot. What if it's him again? What if he's still lurking in Jason's body? Will he know me? And if he does, what will he do? Will he take me now, banish me to my specter, and steal away my second chance and Ariel's future? If it is him, he will try to turn her. And if he can't turn her, he will kill her, and I will be helpless to prevent him. Helpless, a dog snapping at the ankles of those who hold the power. I decide right then that I must tell Ariel whatever it takes to keep her safe. I must make her believe my lies before anyone else can hurt her with theirs. My lies will protect her. Theirs will steal her immortal soul and make her a monster. Like me. "Why didn't you call me yesterday, dude? I thought the Freak cut your junk off or something." Jason's voice is higher than I remember, and his grin makes check marks in his plump cheeks. Soft cheeks, with no memory of what it feels like to have an ancient evil working the muscles beneath. And his eyes ... They're cruel, but not malevolent. My maker isn't in that body. It's not the friar; it's just a boy. I take a deep breath, coming back to myself enough to realize Ariel is no longer by my side. "Five hundred dollars, bro," Jason continues. "That's pretty sweet. Once everyone pays up, we can get those new amps." He reaches a hand out for Dylan to clasp in victory. I stare at his white palm and thick fingers-thinking I'd like to cut them off-and then turn my back on him. He doesn't matter. Ariel matters. I find her already a block down the street, blond braids swinging as she retreats. I'd been pleased that she'd pulled her hair back this morning, and eliminated the shield she hides behind. But seeing her now-hunched and broken and seething in pain-I am pleased at nothing. Damn Jason and the other boys. Damn Dylan. Damn myself. "Ariel, wait!" My cry is echoed by the mocking voices of Jason's three minions, pathetic shadows with names like Craig and Tanner and Brodie, names that mean nothing to me. But they mean something to Ariel. I can see it in her expression when she turns, in the mix of fear and despair and anger pulling at her face. These boys have treated her as subhuman fodder for their own amusement. They're the ones who never let her forget that she's damaged, who have told again and again the story of her scars and the day she wet herself on the playground, until she became a living urban legend that the stupid children laugh at and the smarter children fear. They have locked her in an invisible cage with a warning not to feed the Freak, and she hates them for it. She hates them and fears them, and is denied even the pleasure of unleashing her anger because of the screaming things that will be summoned by her rage. It is ... hell. They've put her through hell. And I hate them for it. Hate. And it feels wonderful-sharp and hot and blissfully uncomplicated. This is what I know. Tender feelings and concern are foreign emotions I can't manage. But I know exactly what to do with hate. I spin with my fist raised at the perfect angle, my centuries as a dealer in violence and bloodshed serving me well. I catch the redheaded Craig in the jaw with a satisfying thud, and the boy in the green flannel shirt-Tanner or Brodie, I don't care enough to search Dylan's memories to figure out which-above his left ear. The second boy howls in pain, and someone on the other side of the street cries out for us to stop, but I barely notice. This is perfect, magical. The darkness that was my constant companion in my Mercenary life surges to the surface, a friend I welcome with open arms and tight fists. I rush forward, punching the third boy twice in the back as he runs away, thud, thud-right above the kidneys, where I know it hurts like hell. He falls to the ground-groaning, writhing-and I spin to look for Jason with a smile on my face. This will be a pleasure, a skin-bruising, teeth-smashing pleasure. It takes only a moment to find him. He has lacked the sense to run down the street. Instead, he's cowering in the doorway of a closed toy shop a few storefronts away, whimpering, maybe even-"Tell me you aren't crying!" I shout as I stalk down the sidewalk. I catch Ariel's eyes for a moment-see the faint curve of her lips and the straightness of her spine-and a rush of satisfaction lifts me even higher. I've pleased her, defended her. She'll love me now, save me. She'll have to! "You should be ashamed of yourself," I growl. "You pathetic excuse for a-" A hand grabs my elbow. I spin with a clenched fist, expecting to find that one of the other boys has come back for more. Instead, I see ... a ghost. My arm falls to my side and my face goes slack. No, not a ghost. He's alive. His fingers are warm, his eyes flash with anger, and I can hear him draw breath before he tells me to "Back off, man." "Benvolio?" I croak, disbelief tightening my throat. How can this be? How? My cousin died hundreds of years ago. But despite the modern clothes he wears-jeans and a black T-shirt-there is no doubt this is Benvolio, not some twenty-first-century look-alike. I know my cousin. I grew up with this boy, spent fifteen years of my life with him as my closest friend. He releases my arm with a cautious flick of his wrist. "Do I know you?" "It's me. Romeo," I whisper. "Benvolio, I-" "Ben," he says. "Just ... Ben." "Ben." "Ben Luna." No. No, this can't ... This isn't ... "I started school here last week." He casts a glance over my shoulder. "I have gym with that guy." I turn to see Jason scuttling across the street, taking advantage of my distraction to escape his beating. I think I should be angry. I think I should follow him. I think I should make sure Ariel's okay. But all I can do is shift my gaze back to Benvolio, and watch his lips move, and fight the wave of panic surging inside me. "I get why you'd want to pound his face, but none of those guys were doing anything to you," he says. "And my brother's going to be here in a few minutes to meet me for coffee. He's a cop, so ..." He shrugs. "I figured you'd rather avoid getting arrested." "Yes. I would. Thank you ... Ben." Not Ben. Benvolio. This is my cousin, not the boy who fell in love with Juliet. He lacks the morose sincerity that made me want to stab Benjamin Luna in the gut a few dozen times-just to give him something to be so goddamned tragic about. This is Benvolio. From his soul to his skin to the way he props his hands on his hips in a vaguely menacing fashion. But he seems to believe he's Benjamin Luna. What does that mean? What the hell does it mean? And where is the real Ben? "No problem," he says. "What was your name again?" "Dylan." His eyes narrow, and I see my savvy cousin peeking out, suddenly suspicious. "That's not what you said the first time." I never could fool Benvolio. I can't fool him now, though he's obviously fooled himself. Or someone has fooled him. Someone or something. The Ambassador sent me back in time to a different reality. Perhaps some supernatural force has sent Benvolio forward in time? But why? To what purpose? If Benvolio were here to hurt me, he would hurt me. Right here, right now. Benvolio is nothing if not straightforward and to the point. So perhaps there is no point. Perhaps this is simply a strange, cosmic coincidence. I force a laugh. "I mistook you for someone else, a friend I did theater with last summer. He played Benvolio. I played Romeo." "Yeah?" He knows I'm lying. "What play was that?" "The one with Romeo in it," I say, losing my patience. "Romeo and Juliet?" He acknowledges my smart-ass tone with a lifted brow. "Never heard of it." "You've never heard of Romeo and Juliet? Do you live under a rock?" I sense movement out of the corner of my eye. It's Ariel creeping cautiously to my side. Shit. I'd practically forgotten her, a mistake I can't afford, no matter how mind-bending it is to have a conversation with my cousin six hundred and something years after he should have turned to dust. I smile, and wrap an arm around her waist. "You okay?" she asks. "Perfect. You?" She nods and shoots Ben a nervous look. My arm tightens, pulling her closer, wanting there to be no doubt in Ben/Benvolio's mind that we are together. The other Ben Luna definitely had a thing for willowy blondes-this one in particular. "Ariel, this is Ben. Ben, Ariel." "Nice to meet you," he says with a warmth that makes me want to smash in his toothy smile. That's not Ben Luna's smile; that is Benvolio's smile, the one that would have won him more than a few hearts when we were young if he hadn't been too honorable to tamper with a girl's virtue. "Ben was telling me he's never heard of Romeo and Juliet." I drop a kiss on top of Ariel's head, marking her as mine. "Oh." She sounds distracted, tense. Probably wanting to talk about the fight, to thank me for defending her. "What's that? A band?" "A play," Benvolio says. "Don't feel bad. I didn't know what it was either." Didn't know what it was either. What the ... Suspicion, sick and insidious, churns in my gut and I wonder ... And then I wonder some more.... And then I know I have to make it to a library. Immediately. "So sorry, Ben, but we have to go. Pressing business at the school library," I say, pulling Ariel back toward the car. "Okay." His gaze shifts between Ariel and me, as if trying to judge if she's a willing companion or a captive. I barely resist the urge to bare my teeth and hiss at him. Instead I grin and say "See you around" before turning back to Ariel. "I'm sorry. I know I promised you coffee and breakfast, but I-" "It's okay." She pulls her hand from mine, crossing her arms as we walk. "I'm not hungry anymore." I pause by her door, forcing myself not to rush her into the car. She seems upset, and I can't afford to lose any ground. "Why? Did I do something wrong?" I hang my head, trying to look properly ashamed. "I'm sorry if I scared you. I couldn't control myself. I wanted them to know they aren't allowed to hurt you anymore." "I wasn't scared. I ... loved it." She looks up, her wide, anxious eyes meeting mine. "I loved watching you hit them. I was sad when that other guy stopped you." She swallows, then adds in a horrified whisper, "I wanted you to make Jason Kim bleed. A lot." I blink, surprised. And pleased, though I know I shouldn't be. I'm supposed to be turning Ariel away from her dark side, not indulging her taste for bloodshed. But then, I didn't really believe she had one. She seems so good to me. At least, most of the time. When she isn't trying to commit murder/suicide by driving a car off the road or proclaiming her undying hatred. "It's okay." I draw her close, tucking her beneath my chin. "I think it's normal to feel that way about someone who's hurt you." "Is it?" I sigh. "Well, maybe not normal. But ... I understand." "I know you do." She rests her cheek on my chest, and lets out a long breath. "Thank you." My arms tighten. "Don't thank me. I'm ... sorry." She tilts her head back. "What for?" "I don't know. I ..." I can't meet her eyes. I look over her head and scowl. Ben is still standing there, watching us though he pretends to watch the street. I pull away and reach for the car door. "Let's go. We'll talk in the car. I don't need an audience." "Me either. There's something weird about that guy," she whispers as she slips into the car, bringing an unexpected smile to my face. Ah, Ariel. Some might say she has poor taste, but I can't help but be flattered. Take that, knight in shining armor. This lady prefers the knave. I give Benvolio my nastiest smirk as I pull the car out and drive away, bound for the book that will put my fears to rest.