by H. T. Night
“They know it’s a neutral place. Where do they get the nerve?” Even still, it didn’t take much for me to get irritated but the Capulets were being their usual selves. I had a long history with them. “It doesn’t look like you’re inside the bar anymore,” I said, egging on my friend a tad.
“Exactly,” Ben agreed. “Just out here waiting for them to take it outside.”
The door opened and Ben added, “And by the looks of it, cousin, it appears the pricks in question are coming out right now.”
I stepped over and stood next to my good friend and cousin as the Capulets came out of Kensey’s. Two men came out of the front door dressed for death, wearing long black trench coats with long black hair to match. I recognized them both. The goth boys were Gregory and Samson of the House of Capulet. They were cousins or servants. I didn’t know exactly. I did know they were vampires. Just like many nights before, I took on my role as villain. I had to admit that even though these two jerks deserved it, my heart wasn’t as into it as it had been in times past. But nonetheless, I said, “Look, cousin.” I laughed. “They didn’t even send us the good Capulets. They only sent their servants.” I decided to go with my assumption that they weren’t even blood-related.
Ben looked at me and grinned. “It’s a shame they think so little of us that they send their house dogs to us.”
Both vampires locked eyes on us. They slowly came toward us in a wide motion. Samson stepped forward with Gregory, in unison, and not like random thugs. They were about eight feet apart from one another and ten feet away from us. They were well-trained, they were ready for anything. I wouldn’t have expected anything less from any persons associated with the House of Capulet.
They both were ready to pounce at a moment’s notice, so Benvolio decided to continue to have a little more verbal fun. “Not so easy is it, now that the numbers are even,” Benvolio said.
“It don’t matter to us what the numbers are,” the vampire to the left of me said. Samson was my height, around six feet tall and he weighed about 180. I was a little less than that. “We’re going to take care of business, nonetheless.”
“That’s sounds like my kind of party,” a voice yelled out from behind us. It was Mercutio.
“I’m glad you have no hard feelings, that it’s now three on two,” Mercutio said as he got in a poised werewolf-turning position where he was able to attack on a moment’s notice.
The five of us circled one another in the middle of the street. People were peeking out of the bars and most people were trying to get as far away as they could from the developing altercation: The Mpane="+0">ontagues with Mercutio on one side of the street, and the Capulets on the other.
“What kind of fight do you want?” I asked. I wasn’t feeling this quarrel. I wanted it to be quarrel-free.
“What’s the matter? Did you guys not bring your picks?” Picks are what Capulets called their silver stakes. We called them rapiers. We did nothing the same. We even named the same exact thing something different.
“We have our rapiers,” Mercutio said. “None of you guys worry about that.” Then Mercutio looked at Benvolio and me and asked, “You brought your weapons to our quarrel, right?”
“Of course,” I said, looking at Benvolio. Benvolio looked at me and slowly shook his head.
Great we were now even again. We were 2-2 in the weapons count.
Just as we were about to attack, Tybalt, the toughest and most vile of all Capulets, pulled up in a black Camaro with two of his buddies. Crap! Damn numbers game!
Now we were incredibly outnumbered. It was six on three and only two rapiers for the three of us. That was not good. We were sitting ducks. “Let’s get out of here, boys,” I said to Mercutio and Benvolio.” We knew when we were outmatched.
Then the three of us turned into i would be a bloody, outnumbered mess. We all valued our lives a little more than leaving our dead carcasses out there on the street where they’d be violated and disrespected.
When we turned, or transitioned, Benvolio’s coat was a light brown. He was larger than Mercutio and me and he stood close to eight and a half feet tall. Mercutio was a white wolf and was as sleek as the night. It fit him very well. And…I am a white and gray werewolf. The shades of our coats didn’t matter at the present moment. What mattered was how fast our werewolf legs could run. We needed to outrun a species that had certain vampires that could turn into ravens. They were known as Mani. Mani had the ability to turn into black ravens and could fly about ten times faster than a werewolf could run. The problem is, once they caught up, they were too tiny to take on such a beast. So that is when they turn and then it gets interesting. And by interesting, I mean deadly.
Tybalt and the other Capulets ran after us. Vampires had the ability to glide run, which allowed them to move almost as fast as a sprinting werewolf. I turned and saw Tybalt, he had white platinum-blonde hair and had the build of an MMA fighter. He was as tough as they came.
We whipped around 1st Avenue and shot a left at 33rd Street and headed for the subway. As I looked up ahead, I realized we weren’t going to need the safety of a subway. I saw the most beautiful sight, ever. There were at least twenty werewolves running toward us. When they caught up to us, we all stopped and turned to confront Tybalt and the others.
Suddenly, three more black Camaros whipped around the corner and made their way toward us. The vehicles all screeched to stops and about sixteen more vampires rolled out of their Camaros. whiir CamaThis was becoming as serious a scuffle as we had ever had. Here it was…a classic Capulet and Montague showdown. It was vampires and werewolves at their best. Sides separated by immortality and bloodline.
As we faced off, I didn’t feel like this was a showdown that I wanted to have. In my heart, I felt as if I was done with this. I was done with their senseless fighting and quarrels. I know this was going to get real ugly real fast and thank God, I heard the wonderful sirens of the Verona police. Normally, I despise the sound of a siren—sometimes it makes me howl but not in a good way, because it hurts my ears—but tonight, it was great timing.
Six police cars came down the street led by the most famous Town Car in the city of Verona. It was Prince Escalus and his second-in-command, Count Paris. Both were kinsmen of Mercutio. Mercutio always had a cunning way of disappearing whenever the Prince and his piper appeared. We didn’t want to put him on blast to his family, so we had no problem with him inconspicuously walking away.
Prince Escalus stepped out of his Town Car with Paris by his side. Paris, a handsome kid with light brown hair, looked like a model. I hated guys like him. Good looks and a thug.
The Prince had a more worn-down appearance. He cleaned up nice when he had to, but when he patrolled the streets, he didn’t care if he looked rough. His appearance almost gave off the aura of an old-time detective from the 20th century, a hard-boiled beat cop and tough as nails.
With his button-down trench coat, brown slacks, and patent-leather shoes, the Prince walked up and down the area that separated the vampires from the werewolves. He stared at each of us with this superior smirk. “My immortals,” he said.
“We’re not your immortals!” Tybalt yelled back at him. “We are owned by no one. Especially not a wizard.”
“It’s warlock, son,” Prince Escalus said. “Not ‘wizard.’ But I wouldn’t expect a man who has a fifth-grade education to know the difference. May I continue?”
Very nice. The Prince went right after Tybalt. Didn’t give him any wiggle room.
“Of course, Prince,” I yelled out. “Please go on?” The Prince stopped in his tracks, and then he walked over to me. He looked me up and down, and then shook his head. “And you, you think you’re any better with your fleas and bad breath?”
“Some folks like the company of those who attract fleas,” I said, scratching myself for comic effect. Anything to defuse this situation.
“Don’t I know it. My kinsman, Mercutio, has caused me to be a tad more tolerant toward you folks.”
/> “Us folks? Folks? Wow. Okay, great Prince. I hope to see your tolerance continue in this great age of enlightenment.”
“Where is that kinsman of mine? I heard he was here. He knows better than to get involved in one of your family quarrels.”
“This isn’t his quarrel. He knows that,” I said, protecting my friend’s cover. “He is neither Montague nor Capulet.”
“That may be so,” the Prince said, looking me over. “But what’s that phrase? Dogs of a feather flock together?”
“We haven’t seen him,” Benvolio said, jumping in.
“Must we go through this every time?” the Prince said in his higher-than-a-normal man’s voice and with a touch of femininity. The Prince was his own man, that was for sure.
“Men, all I’m going to say is that I’m fed up with this constant quarreling. You need more to fight about other than the fact that this family chose to be of the canine set, and this family prefers a blood cocktail even once in a while.”
Tybalt stepped up and yelled, “You have it all wrong, Prince Escalus. Trust me when I tell you I hate each of them for more than the reason they howl at the moon. I hate their existence. Yes, I hate them for being werewolves, but I hate them more just because they were born at all.”
Benvolio looked at me and said, “That guy doesn’t mess around.”
I’d say that I think Tybalt had enough hate in his heart to rival everyone else’s combined. His hate went back many years. He had seen and been a part of a lot of ugly stuff, back in the day. Tybalt must have been over 100 years old in human years. His body was still a rugged eighteen-year-old teen in his prime. But Tybalt wore his heart on his sleeve. Much like our very own Mercutio. It was actually pretty good that Mercutio had slipped out, otherwise, he and Tybalt would be having a scream off. But then again, we still had Benvolio.
“It’s simple,” he called out. “They hate us and we hate them. We don’t need much more of a reason than that.”
I yelled out in agreement in support of my cousin’s words, but I knew I was an imposter. Internally, I knew this hate mentality was no longer an option for me. All of this hate was on the surface. I hated it. I hated the hate that had been in my heart for so long. Hate was an exhausting emotion. It dragged me down. It kept me from experiencing joy. I looked at all of the vampire men who stood before and felt no hate for any of them.
The Prince found a Dumpster that had a lid on it and had Paris help him on top of it. He stood on top of this dark green Dumpster and finished his speech as if he was running for office. He was already the most powerful man in Verona, I really didn’t understand why he cared to get on a soapbox to make a point. I highly doubted that any of his caring came out of the price of empathy. “Men of Verona,” he said. “For that is what we all are. Yes, we have chosen different paths and different expressions in our immortality or lack thereof. But, the one thing each of us has in common is that we all are men. And as men, I am asking, man-to-man, for peace.”
No one responded for a brief moment and then Benvolio called out, “Ain’t going to happen, Chief! Ain’t nobody here who wants to be the first one to wuss out.”
Then everyone on both sides laughed. It was true.
“Why not? What good does it do you to hate each other so much?”
“The two easiest emotions to have, Prince,” Tybalt said, “are love and hate. We decided to not waste love on them, so we chose hate.”
“Trust me,” Benvolio yelled, “We choose to hate you right back.”
“Very good then, let’s just agree to hate one another,” Tybalt said. “See, Prince, we can agree on something.”
“Well, let’s agree that you two go back to your separate sides of the city and call it an evening.”
Both sides settled into a long stare down and then I felt it was time for me to speak up. “All right, let’s go, guys,” I said. “We will do this another time.” My guys nodded and followed me out of the area.
Tybalt yelled something like they were doing the same thing. I didn’t respond and neither did any of the guys I was with.
I knew this wouldn’t be the last time we met. The amazing part was, this scuffle wasn’t even the most exciting thing that happened to me tonight. Who was that girl on the subway? I needed to find out. I had a feeling…that she was my destiny.
Chapter Six
The following week, I was working at my job over near the subway by Bowling Green near Liberty Island. I worked for Friar Laurence. Friar was one of these guys who didn’t take any sides. He was very liberal about the paranormal world. Friar had a lot of wiidesdom and confidence for someone who was merely a human. If someone was only a human, it was looked down upon. It’s like… choose a side already. Those humans are usually pacifists.
The belief was at some time or another, every man and every woman needed to make a choice. That choice defined him in Verona. People around here knew you didn’t have to be a Montague to get Montague treatment. All you had to be was a werewolf. I guess it’s all the same on the other side.
I worked off of Whitehall Street near the Hudson River. It was an old-school butcher shop where we cut and sold the meat in the same location.
It was a nice job for a werewolf. But the past couple of days, I couldn’t do anything but think about that girl from the subway. Who was she? I had no idea how to run into her again.
I was in the back of the butcher shop, trying to come up with a way to see her again. I was cutting and slicing meat and wrapping them according to weight. There was a lot of meat in the shop, and werewolves love meat. I preferred it raw, right off the actual bone. I couldn’t imagine liking meat like that when I was still human, but now, that was all I could stomach. Dairy and werewolves didn’t mix. Dairy might as well be a silver stake for all I cared. They both got me to hunch over.
It was nearing the end of my shift, and I was sneaking some raw veal in the back. I liked to make myself a veal and chicken sandwich. I placed a chicken patty in between two pieces of veal. It’s a meat dream. I called it a dreamwich.
“Hey, Romey!” That is what Friar Laurence called me. “You’re not eating up all C="+="+0"> thaof my inventory again? Are you, son?”
“Sorry, Friar, I was starving.”
“You’re always starving. I don’t see any ribs showing.”
“And you have enough meat to feed all of Verona back here.”
“Not if you keep wolfing it down. No pun intended.” Friar Laurence gave me one of his classic winks that was paternal in nature.
“Did you need something, Friar? I’m on my break.”
“Your two friends are out front. They are dressed up for what looks like a costume party.”
“Really?” I asked. I didn’t know about a costume party.
“Unless Benvolio is now living his life as a transvestite prostitute, and Mercutio now thinks he’s a baby… then I’d say they are in costume.”
“I have got to see this.” I stepped out of the back and made my way to the front area of the butcher shop. I looked by the cash register and just laughed out loud. Benvolio was wearing a tight miniskirt, with an even tighter red top. His triple-D breasts were a sight to behold. And good old Mercutio was wearing a diaper with no shirt nor shoes. He just had a giant bib with the lettering ‘My daddy can turn your daddy into a frog.’
“Oh my God. Look at you two,” I said, laughing out loud.
“Hey Romeo,” Benvolio yelled out. “We tried calling you, but it goes straight to voicemail.” Then he puckered his lips and blew a kiss at me. He was the ugliest ‘girl’ I had ever seen.
“I coul CI cze=dn’t find my phone before I came down to work. It’s obviously out of juice,” I said.
“Just like the owner of the phone,” Benvolio said and grabbed my crotch.
“Easy there, lady. Not on the first date,” I joked. “Keep your paws to yourself.”
“Who are you kidding!” Then Benvolio pulled on them in a way that wasn’t too friendly. It damn well hurt.
/> “Hey!” I said. “No more.”
Then he whispered in my ear very creepily, “Put some liquor in you, and you’ll be begging for it.”
In all his creepiness, I needed to put Benvolio in his place. “Have you seen yourself in the mirror, Ben...you look about as sexy as a gorilla in a nightgown.”
“I know what you like,” Benvolio said winking at me.
“When are you off?” Mercutio said completely done with the nonsense.
“In a half hour,” I answered.
“When you’re done, meet us at Central Park at our spot. We’ll pound some tequila and then we’ll head down to…get this…Yankee Stadium?”
I looked at Benvolio and said, “Is he kidding?”
“Nope,” Ben said. “It gets better.”
“Okay, the Bronx? Why there?” I asked.
“Let’s just say there is going to be the party of the century,” Mercutio said adjusting the pin in his diaper.
“Really? The party of the century. How so?”
“The Prince and Paris are throwing it. They planned it and kept it from the two families until the last day, so the families didn’t have a lot of time to plan an attack on each other at the party. He thinks if it’s thrown together at the last s Cat e last dayecond, there might be a sense of brotherhood celebrating a spontaneous party for some reason.”
“He has seen way too many beer commercials,” I said. “He seriously thinks getting the two families inside Yankee Stadium for the party of the century is going to somehow bring harmony to two families that have hated each other since the beginning of time?”
“It came together kind of quick,” Benvolio said. “It’s going to be one for the ages.”
“And it’s a costume party?” I asked.
“What do you think?” Benvolio said dreamily into my eyes. Damn, he was creepy.
“I need a costume,” I said, breaking the awkwardness.
“I’m sure I can conjure up a spell at the right time if you can’t put something together,” Mercutio said. “If all else fails, put on some white makeup and come as a disgusting vampire. Because this party is for everyone.”
