Saving Juliet (14 page)

Troy stood beneath the sign with the painted boot. "I think I came out of this shop," he told me. "Yes, I remember coming out of this shop but I don't remember how I got into that shop. Maybe this is the way out. Maybe there's some sort of door or time portal, like in
Star Trek."
Sounded as probable as anything else so we went inside.
While I pretended to want a new pair of shoes, Troy inspected the cobbler's walls. When the cobbler knelt to measure my arches, Troy darted into the back room. He returned, shaking his head.

"Thank you," I told the cobbler, slipping the wooden shoes back on my feet. "I'll have to think about it."

Back outside, Troy splashed fountain water on his face and neck. Then he sat on the fountain's rim. "Tell me about those ashes again."

So I did.

"They came from Shakespeare's quill? So what if we just get another Shakespearean quill? Hey, buddy," he called out to a man. "Is there a quill shop around here?"

"Next door to the cobbler's shop," the man said over his shoulder as he walked by.

Sure enough, right next door. So we entered the shop and were greeted by a thin man with yellow skin and teeth. "Just got some quills in from Egypt," he told us. "Have you ever seen such exquisite feathers?"

"Do you have any Shakespearean quills?" Troy asked.

"Shakespearean? I do not know what you mean."

"You know, William Shakespeare, the playwright." Troy tapped his foot. "Come on, you know. Do you have any of his quills?" I figured this was a lost cause. Shakespeare wrote the
story,
he wasn't a character in it.

"I am not familiar with William Shakespeare. Can I interest you in an ostrich quill?"

"Are there any other quill shops in town?" Troy asked.

The man scowled. "I am the only quill dealer in Verona. But if my quills are not good enough for you, then you shall have to go to Venice."

"Thanks anyway," I said, opening the shop door. "Let's get back to the friar's. It's safer there." We stepped outside, only to catch Tybalt's attention.

"Stop!" he screamed from across the square.

And so the chase continued. We stumbled down another alley and onto a road that ran alongside a river. It was a wide open space, providing zero places to hide. To the right the road narrowed under an archway and turned back into the city. To the left it crossed a bridge. Tybalt rushed into the alley and shouted at us. "Come on," I urged, turning right in the hopes of making a full circle back to the friar's church. Back to Romeo and Benvolio, who would continue to help me, I hoped. But could I persuade them to help Troy as well?

But just like a cheesy Hollywood movie, a couple of peasants chose that moment to push their cart, filled with kindling, down the narrowest part of the road. As they passed under the archway, with only a few inches to spare on either side, the cart got stuck in a rut. I kid you not. I skidded to a stop in those stupid shoes, scanning the road for another exit, but with a building on one side and the river on the other we had to get past the cart.
Trapped.
How were we going to get out of this?

"Excuse me," I begged, dropping to the ground. Maybe I could crawl underneath.

"Let us by," Troy insisted. As I squeezed under the cart, he tried to climb over. Just as I got about halfway through, someone grabbed my dress sash and yanked.

"Where do you think you are going, Montague whore?" Tybalt stood at the other end of my sash. His party mask was tucked into his belt. He pulled me to my feet.

"Hey, let go of her," Troy said, sliding off the cart.

"What have we here?" Tybalt pushed me aside, focusing his venomous gaze on Troy. "We meet again, Montague scum," he hissed, aiming his sword at Troy's chest. What was he talking about?

Troy raised his palms. "See, I don't have a weapon. And I'm not a Montague. There's been some sort of mistake."

"There is no mistake." Tybalt pointed the blade at me. "Her ladyship told me that you cavort with Montagues. I see this is true. That dress is stolen property. Return it at once."

"I'll return it as soon as I can," I assured him. "As a matter of fact, I was just on my way to change my clothes. If you'll just let us go, I'll..."

"Now.
Give it to me now."

"Now?"
What was I supposed to do? Walk around in my underwear? "Please, Tybalt, this is all a terrible misunderstanding."

The peasants nervously backed away from their cart. Tybalt
lunged
forward and grabbed my sash again, pulling me so close I could see the rims of his bloodshot, after-party eyes. "You will return it to her ladyship and face punishment." His gaze was hypnotic and I couldn't turn away, locked into a paralyzing stare down.

That's when Troy hobbled forward and punched the distracted Tybalt in the face.
Quite a punch, too, because it knocked Tybalt against the wall.
Since he was still gripping my sash, it ripped clean off. "They fight!" the peasants cried, abandoning their cart. Before Tybalt could regain his balance, Troy punched him again. As Tybalt fell to the ground, the sword was knocked from his hand.

"I remember you. You're the guy who stabbed me," Troy yelled. "Who do you think you are? Don't you know that I'm a celebrity?"

Tybalt sat up and ran his hand under his bleeding nose, his eyes welling with hatred. With a grunt, he leaped to his feet and ran full force at Troy, ramming him in the gut. Both lost their balance and tumbled down the riverbank, landing just at the water's edge. Tybalt began to scramble back up the bank but Troy grabbed his foot. "Why'd you stab me?" he cried. "Do you hate my music or something?" How dense could a person get? In Troy Summer's mind, the world revolved around him.
Even an alternate world.

Tybalt kicked Troy's hand free and clambered up the slope. Before he reached the side of the road, I grabbed his sword. It was as heavy as a cast-iron frying pan and I could barely fit my fingers around the hilt. What was I supposed to do with it? I tried to look confident as Tybalt took a few steps toward me. Who was I kidding? I wasn't going to stab anyone.

"Don't let him have it," Troy yelled, reaching the road.

I tried to bluff. "Stay away or
...
or
...
"

Tybalt smiled and grabbed the sword from me as simple as that. I felt like a total failure, but it wasn't like I had ever been trained to use one of those things.

As Tybalt turned on Troy, two men in short red capes ran under the archway, led by the peasants.
The prince's men.
"Hold there!" They started to climb over the cart. Tybalt cursed and took off.

"Troy," I said, rushing to his side. "Montague and Capulet are not supposed to fight. They'll arrest us. We've got to get out of here."

"Stop!" one of the soldiers cried.

Strangely enough, we followed Tybalt back up the alley, the three of us in equal peril. But before we parted ways at the bakery, Tybalt did what every great villain is meant to do
--
he issued a nasty threat. "I could have killed you both." He returned his sword to its scabbard. "Be warned, I shall not show mercy the next time we meet. And there will be a next time. Mark my words."

***

"The game is up."

B
envolio was waiting on the steps of Friar Laurence's church. "Mimi," he said, rushing to my side. "You should not have gone into the streets without a protector."

"I protected her, thank you very much," Troy said, wincing as he limped up the stone steps. He
had
protected me, at the very least from having to walk around in my underwear. Who knows what Tybalt would have done to a half-naked girl? Maybe Troy had even saved my life.

Benvolio placed a hand on my back and guided me into the church, not bothering to hold the door open for Troy. "You must stay inside," he insisted. "Word has spread throughout the city that you are exiled and that Lady Capulet has offered a reward for your arrest. Yet I think I may have a solution."

"What is it?" I asked. Troy pushed the door open and flung himself on one of the benches.

Benvolio continued. "Because you are a Capulet woman, the Capulet family has jurisdiction over you. But if you were to marry a Montague, then your Montague husband would become your master. You would have a legal right to stay in Verona."

"Marry?" Troy blurted.

"Master?"
I choked on the word.

"Yes." Benvolio took my hand and tenderly kissed my fingertips one at a time. Goose bumps popped up all over my arm. "I hope that you will consider this option. In the meantime, I must go and train the Montague guards. It is my duty. But I will return tonight and we can discuss this matter further." Discuss the matter? It's not like I was going to marry a guy I hardly knew
--
especially a guy who might not actually exist. No matter how much I liked it when he kissed my fingers.

"Where's Romeo?" I asked.

"He has returned to Montague House to shut himself into his room. I fear that Rosaline will be the death of him." Benvolio frowned. "Adieu, sweet Mimi. Remember, stay here until I return. Only danger awaits you outside this sanctuary." He pointed a finger at Troy. "Look after her."

"What do you think I've been doing?" They stared at each other with narrowed eyes and clenched jaws. I half expected them to pound their chests.

After Benvolio left I pushed my full weight against the door, trying to shut out the horrible, dangerous Romeo and Juliet world. Then I slid to the floor and yanked off the wooden shoes.

I expected Troy to tease me about Benvolio's marriage proposal. Had it been an actual proposal or just a suggestion? But Troy sat deep in thought. St. Francis stared at me from the end of the aisle. A carved bird perched on his stone hand. Mounds of wax drippings covered the altar. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting blues and greens on blisters that had formed on my big toes. The sanctuary smelled like dust and sweat.
My sweat.
I needed a bath.

"I remember." Troy's voice startled me. "I remember that I couldn't see through all those ashes. They stung my eyes. I tried to follow you outside but the stage door had closed and I couldn't find the knob." He paused, as if downloading the images. "When the ashes cleared, I was standing in that cobbler's shop. I ran through the shop and onto the street but everything had changed. I wandered around trying to find the Wallingford. Then I saw you."

"Yes! You called my name."

"That's right." His words came quicker. "But there were so many people, I couldn't get to you. And then Tybalt pushed me down and stabbed me. He kicked me in the head. I must have passed out." He rubbed the side of his head again.

"That's when Benvolio found you."

"Right.
Benvolio."
His tone soured. "You've got to be careful with that guy. I know his type."

"What type is that?"

"The controlling type."

"Oh, really?"
Like I even cared about his opinion.
"Well, I don't find him one bit controlling. I think he's charming." I folded my arms and smirked.

"Whatever," Troy said, frowning. "Look, we've got to figure out how to get home. I'm supposed to be in the Virgin Islands today. I'm under contract. My producer's going to be pissed." Which brought up the question
--
where did everyone think we had gone?
Both of us missing at the exact same time.
Had my mother called the FBI?
Probably.
I could just see the headlines: Bad-Boy Pop Star Runs Off with Virginal Wallingford Heiress.

Troy ran his hand along the church bench. "I'm sitting in Friar Laurence's church. No one is going to believe it."

Maybe a hundred years from now teleporting into stories will be commonplace. Only a century ago it would have been a stretch to believe that human beings would actually walk on the moon. Or that one day we would bounce music off satellites or play three-dimensional computer-generated games. If you still think I'm making all this up, you should read Troy's autobiography,
Summer Love: Days of Sand, Surf, and Song,
which is due in bookstores next year. He dedicated the last two chapters to this adventure.

"Friar Laurence's church," he repeated, shaking his head in wonder. "So if this is Shakespeare's story, how come everyone's not talking like the play?
Perchance, forsooth, 'tis and 'twas, all that crap?"

"Because I didn't wish myself into Shakespeare's play.
I'm as tired of Shakespeare as you are, Troy. I wished myself
some' where else.
I was desperate to get away from the Wallingford and, thanks to your comment, Verona was on my mind."

"Amazing.
I'm going to talk to my agent about pitching this as a movie. Wouldn't this make a great movie?"

"Depends on the ending," I said worriedly. "How are we going to get back without the charm?"

He shrugged. "Maybe we just need to get to the end of the story. You know, when Romeo and Juliet die. Or maybe we just need to say the last lines. I bet that's all there is to it." He stood and delivered the last lines from Shakespeare's beloved tragedy. "For never was there a story of more woe, than this of Juliet and her Romeo." We waited. I closed my eyes,
then
opened them.