Juliet Immortal

He brings dead tissue back to life, for god’s sake. The only hope I’d have of killing him—were I allowed to do so—would be to rip his heart from his chest, and then he might
still
be able to escape to another dead body. Head trauma is nothing. By the time I reach the road above, he’ll be whole, free of the car, and hot on my heels.
    My already short nails break and my palms tear as I clawmy way up the side of the ravine, grabbing onto whatever my hands happen upon in the dark. The moon slips behind a cloud, and I’m climbing blind, the blackness thick and close, the heavy smell of an impending storm filling the air, making the great outdoors seem not much better than the wreck I’ve just escaped.
    The smothering night threatens to steal what remains of my composure. I never did enjoy small, tight places. I like them even less after waking in a crypt and lying surrounded by stone for over a day before Romeo and his knife came to fetch me.
    I suck in a deep breath. The sickeningly sweet smell of milkweed rushes into my lungs. It makes me cough, but the chill air is a mercy. I’m not trapped. I’m free and putting Romeo behind me with every upward lurch.
    A car rushes past on the road above, close enough to vibrate in my ears. I’m nearly there! I’ll wave someone down and ask for a ride back to Ariel’s house. Hitchhiking has always held its dangers, but that hasn’t broken me of the habit. Despite the awful things I’ve seen, I believe there are decent people in the world. Or people better than the boy cursing me as he crawls from the wreck below. At least most of those driving by won’t want to cut off my arms and eat them. While I watch.
    I push the image of Romeo’s grinning mouth—flesh in his teeth, blood dripping down his chin—from my mind. No matter what body I inhabit, my vivid imagination always comes back to haunt me.
    “I see you, love … all that silver hair.” The words are soft grunts, but I can hear them. He’s closing in, sending rocks skittering down the ravine in his wake.
    A rusted taste floods into my mouth, and I force my thin arms and legs to move faster. Ariel could use some meat on her bones. And muscle. And food in her belly. Why didn’t she eat more before she left the house? My stomach cramps and my arms shake with effort. Healing the worst of Ariel’s wounds from the crash and fighting Romeo are taking their toll.
    “Slow down, sweetness. Let me get my hands around your ankle and we’ll see if you can fly.” He laughs, but the sound is strained. He’s having trouble now that he’s reached the portion of the ravine that rises straight up without a slant.
    I’m going to make it to the road first. Now I just have to find someone willing to stop and help. I’m a harmless-looking young girl with one side of her head covered in blood. Chances are good that I’ll—
    “Wait!” I scream, dragging myself up and over onto the edge of the road just as a truck zooms past. I jump to my feet and vault over the damaged guardrail, waving my arms, but the pickup doesn’t slow.
    Taillights fade into the distance, leaving laughter floating on the cold wind rushing through the canyon. Most likely kids from school heading to the beach party where Dylan planned to take Ariel. I could run after them, hope they come to a stop sign sooner or later or—
    Something large crashes down into the ravine, but it isn’t Romeo. A rock, maybe? An animal? Definitely not him. I can hear his breath coming in swift pants as he continues to labor up the side, intent on reaching me before I find help.
    I spin in the opposite direction from where the truck disappeared and run. Romeo’s new body is big, strong, and has longer legs than mine. I can’t afford to head to the beach. According to Ariel’s memories, the road in that direction isdeserted. I’ll be better off running toward civilization and a chance of finding someone out at ten o’clock on a school night. It’s mid-March, not prime wine-tasting or tourist season, and the nearest town, the village of Los Olivos, is quiet this time of year. But surely a restaurant or something will be open.
    “The world is a vampire, sent to drain …,” Romeo is singing, bits of a song that was popular the last time we were on earth. It’s a disturbing song about vampires and rats, and the way Romeo sings it makes it even more terrifying, a choirboy confessing a murder. He always has a lovely voice, no matter what body he inhabits. Just