That is, if he didn’t freeze to death first.
Romeo pulled his knees up to his chest, his teeth chattering as a burst of howling wind whizzed through the holes in the roof. To distract himself, he closed his eyes and tried to picture what Juliet was doing at that moment. Surprisingly, all that this did was to make him even more upset. Although he had just shared the most spectacular night of his life with Juliet, ever since he crawled out of her window, Romeo could not stop worrying about the initiation rite that Juliet never fully explained. It had his wife so upset, she could barely even speak of it.
And midnight would soon be upon them.
Outside the shack, there were noises—the sound of snapping twigs and tree branches being chopped by a machete. Immediately, Romeo sprang into action, his frigid hands grabbing a parrying dagger from his bootstrap. Once he had it in his grip, he pulled his arm back, preparing to throw the dagger if one of Prince Radu’s rogue soldiers—or worse, an enraged Capulet—stormed through the feeble entrance. The wind was now frenzied, its high-pitched shrieking piercing Romeo’s ears.
This was why he did not hear anyone knocking.
Just as the door flew open, Romeo threw the dagger without even looking at the heavily cloaked intruder. The weapon sailed across the small shanty and planted itself firmly in the assailant’s right arm. The man screamed out angrily and dropped to his knees.
“Damn you, Romeo!”
There was no mistaking the voice.
“Benvolio?” Romeo said.
The man pulled back the hood on his black cloak and revealed his face.
Romeo knelt down next to Benvolio, hanging his head in shame. “Have mercy on me, Cousin. I had no idea it was you.”
“I am not so sure,” Benvolio said, wincing in pain.
Romeo reached out to inspect Benvolio’s arm, but his cousin yanked it away. “Let me have a look at your wound.”
“Have you become a doctor in the hours you’ve been out here?” Benvolio said sarcastically.
“No, but I have mastered the art of street fighting, so I would watch my step if I were you.” Romeo snagged Benvolio by the elbow and yanked his arm toward the bit of moonlight that was peeking through the cracks in the wall planks.
“All of Transylvania knows that now,” Benvolio said, a small hint of pride tingeing his usually brutish tone.
Romeo ignored these words and peered at his cousin’s injured biceps. “Luckily, the blade did not go too far beneath the skin.”
“Well, it seems as though the master street fighter still has more to learn when it comes to his aim and technique,” Benvolio said.
“Hold still while I take this out.” Romeo took the handle of the dagger in his right hand, gripping it tightly.
Benvolio gritted his teeth and clenched both his fists. “Fine, just hurry up.”
Romeo breathed in deeply and pulled the dagger out of Benvolio’s arm in one fast, easy motion. Benvolio grunted loudly and covered the open, bloody wound with his hand.
“Wait, we have to wrap that cut in something,” Romeo said with concern.
“I dare you to find something clean in here, Dr. Montague,” Benvolio retorted.
Romeo reached into his jacket pocket and grasped a bottle of holy water, which Friar Laurence had given him as a small measure of protection before he left Transylvania. He tore off a piece of fabric from the bottom of his shirt and doused it with the water. Then he placed the soaked shred of garment on Benvolio’s upper arm, tying it off in a knot.
“There, that ought to do it,” he said.
Benvolio snarled unhappily. “I guess you’re quite pleased with yourself now, aren’t you?”
Romeo just smirked and said nothing.
“Well I wouldn’t have needed this tourniquet if it wasn’t for your stupidity,” Benvolio chided him.
“Why the hell are you here anyway, Benvolio?” Romeo said with a resigned sigh.
Benvolio got up off the ground and went outside, returning with a large sack, much like the one Mercutio had brought to Capulet Castle a few days prior. Romeo’s heart ached at the thought of his friend and the look on his face when he died.
Benvolio threw the sack on the floor. “I brought you some provisions. Blankets, clothes, food, more weapons, and more holy water, just in case any of the Capulets manage to find you. All of the townspeople contributed these goods, and one of the friars at the monastery told me where I could deliver them.”
A sizable lump formed in Romeo’s throat. “I do not deserve their charity.”
“Why not? You avenged Mercutio’s death and slew Tybalt Capulet like a true Montague. Don’t you understand? You are a hero in everyone’s eyes,” Benvolio said while mussing up Romeo’s hair.
Romeo swatted Benvolio’s hand away, then rose to his feet and confronted his cousin. “Everyone’s but my own.”
“Are you saying you have no right to be proud of what you have done?” Benvolio asked incredulously.
“What I have done? I killed a man, Benvolio. How do you expect me to celebrate that?”
Benvolio got within one inch of Romeo’s face, his rough skin turning bright pink. “You killed a monster, Romeo. A hideous, disgusting monster that attacked and killed your closest friend! Why on God’s earth would you feel any remorse?”
“It isn’t that simple!” Romeo barked.
Benvolio laughed in annoyance. “I cannot think of anything simpler than standing up for your kinsmen and friends. That is what brought me here.”
Romeo felt a sharp twinge in his gut. Was he disrespecting his cousin and the memory of Mercutio by feeling guilty about taking Tybalt’s life? The ever-loyal Benvolio certainly seemed to believe so.
But there was so much that Benvolio didn’t know. And there was no way Romeo could tell him, or any other Montague, that he had chosen a Capulet—a vampire—as his wife. It would lead to total anarchy, and God only knew how many more people would die.
“Thank you, Benvolio. I appreciate your help, I really do,” Romeo said, his voice soft and humble.
Benvolio rubbed his arm and smirked. “You certainly have a peculiar way of showing it.”
Romeo could not help but chuckle, even though another bone-chilling gust whipped through the walls of the shack.
“Do my mother and father know about this?” Romeo had a strong feeling that he already knew the answer to this question, but he prayed that Benvolio’s reply would prove him wrong.
“Yes, we were able to get word to them in Serbia,” Benvolio replied.
Romeo ran his hands through his hair and sighed. “What do you think will happen once they return to Transylvania?”
“Well, they will most likely round up the troops and carry out another raid on the Capulets, to avenge you and Mercutio,” said Benvolio.
Apparently, the violence that Romeo had feared would erupt if his family found out about him and Juliet was going to occur anyway.
“We cannot let them do that!” he exclaimed, hitting the wall hard with his fist.
“Why not? None of us truly believed that Radu’s treaty would be able to control the vicious acts of the Capulets. They are beasts, can’t you see that?”
“But when will it stop, Benvolio? How much killing will it take to make either side see that fighting isn’t going to solve anything?” Romeo shouted.
“The killing will stop once vampires like the Capulets are wiped off the face of the earth!” Benvolio roared. “I believe that now more than ever.”
Romeo threw his arms up in defeat. “It is impossible to talk to you, Benvolio. You are so filled with anger and hate that you cannot even think straight.”
“When it comes to the Capulets, yes, I am,” Benvolio admitted. “But I do not feel any shame over that. Mercy is for people, Romeo—people who care for their fellow man. Innocent people who just want to live a simple life. Mercy is not for the enemy.”
Romeo shook his head. He hated to give up on his cousin—and his entire family—but it didn’t look
like he had another choice. The Montagues seemed to want the violence to continue, just as much as the Capulets did. All the more reason for him and Juliet to get out of Transylvania and find a place where they could love each other forever.
“Then I guess there is nothing more for us to say on the matter, is there?”
Benvolio defiantly crossed his arms in front of his chest. “No, there isn’t.”
Romeo was quiet for a moment before engaging his cousin again. “Did the friar happen to tell you how much longer I would have to stay here?”
“I do not know, although I gather it will be for quite some time,” Benvolio stated.
“Why do you say that?” Romeo rubbed his hands together to prevent them from going numb from the cold.
“A two-week quarantine was just issued in this region,” Benvolio explained. “Smallpox is tearing through here like a storm. Absolutely no one is allowed to travel outside of their homes or cross the border. So consider yourself trapped in isolation for a while.”
Romeo’s eyes opened wide with alarm. Two weeks before he could get to Juliet? That was absolutely out of the question. If he waited that long, she would certainly think he had deserted her. There was no way he could send Benvolio back with a message either, or anyone else, for that matter. Romeo had no other choice.
“I must go back with you, Benvolio!” he said urgently.
“Are you insane? I barely made it here myself without getting caught by both the Wallachian and Moldovan militias,” Benvolio replied. “You have to stay here.”
“But I need—” Romeo tried to protest, but Benvolio grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him hard.
“Whatever it is that you need in Transylvania is not worth dying for,” his cousin said sternly.
And yet it was. A million times over.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Great Hall was buzzing with prewedding activity when Juliet had returned to the castle at a quarter to ten. As she floated above the freshly mopped floor, she dodged a group of servants who were rearranging all of the furniture in the room to make way for the Capulets’ guests. Large bouquets of red chrysanthemums and yellow lilies were scattered about in crystal vases. Clearly, the Capulets were sparing no expense for the wedding of their only child. Perhaps under other circumstances, Juliet would have been flattered by all of this fuss.
Lady Capulet stood at the top of the staircase, keeping a close eye on the hired help as they wrapped swaths of purple-stained fabric around marble columns.
“Stop, stop. It’s supposed to look elegant, not gaudy!” she shouted.
Juliet ran her fingertips along the wooden banister as she ascended the stairs, rehearsing in her mind the simple script she and the friar had created right before she left the monastery. She hoped that she would be able to convince Lady Capulet that she’d had a change of heart—her future with Romeo depended on that.
Then again, Juliet could not help but feel somewhat selfish for playing this cruel trick on her mother, who was looking just as ill as she had looked this morning. Was it fair for her to choose her life with Romeo over the lives of all the Capulets? If someone had asked Juliet this question an hour ago at the monastery, she would have said yes, but now that she was standing in the commanding presence of her own mother, she was not sure what her answer would be.
Juliet smoothed out her dress and approached Lady Capulet. “Good evening, Mother.”
While Lady Capulet acknowledged Juliet’s presence with a quick nod of her head, she kept her fierce red eyes trained on the commotion in the Great Hall.
“I want to apologize for how I behaved earlier,” Juliet went on, trying the best she could to gain her mother’s forgiveness. “I was incredibly rude, and you deserve so much more respect than that. You and Father have given me everything I could ever want. I should never have turned my back on you.”
Her mother put her hands on her small waist and turned toward Juliet. “So have you truly come to your senses? Or should I expect another tantrum by the time this conversation is through?”
Juliet felt every muscle in her body tense up, but when she put her hand in her skirt pocket and felt the vial of potion in her hand, she was able to contain her emotions.
“I’m sorry, my lady,” Juliet said most humbly. “I finally see how wrong I have been and I do not wish to anger or disappoint you and Father any more than I already have.”
Lady Capulet stood still, the stern look on her slowly eroding face receded.
“Being a Capulet and protecting our heritage is important to me, honestly.” Juliet was practically choking on these false words. Each time she apologized for doing what she knew in her heart was right, or lied about her emotions, she could feel a fierce wave of heat sting her skin from head to toe. But she managed to soldier on by reminding herself that at this time tomorrow, she would be human again and in Romeo’s arms.
“So tonight, I will perform the initiation, and tomorrow I will marry Count Paris,” Juliet proclaimed.
“I am happy you have seen the light.” Lady Capulet took Juliet’s free hand and squeezed it softly in her own.
“I am, too, Mother,” Juliet said, lowering her eyes.
“You have the weapons from your father. Now hurry along. You only have an hour for hunting,” Lady Capulet added matter-of-factly. “Our guards have some suggestions on where to find Romeo Montague, so you should consult with them before you depart. But that is all the help you are allowed. The initiation rite is about embracing your destiny, and you must do it alone.”
“I understand,” Juliet said with a lump the size of a stone lodged in her throat.
“It is customary that we do not see each other again until you are a full-fledged vampire so I will come to your chambers at dusk,” Lady Capulet instructed. “Now go. Your nurse is waiting in your chambers.”
“Thank you,” Juliet replied, curtsying.
“Good luck,” her mother said, her watchful gaze returning to the wedding decorations.
Juliet nodded and smiled, then turned around and floated down the corridor to her chambers. Once she flung open the door, she saw her nurse laying out two garments upon her bed—an off-the-shoulder white silk dupioni gown with double lantern sleeves and shimmering gold fabric along the neckline, and an ivory satin floor-length dress with a silk brocade bodice and several layers of deep pleating in the skirt. Both of them were far superior to the simple housedress she had worn to her wedding with Romeo, and yet to Juliet’s eyes neither of them was as beautiful.
“Welcome home, my lady,” the nurse said without so much as a glance in Juliet’s direction. The oil lamp on the nightstand flickered and cast an eerie shadow on the wall behind her.
“Thank you, Nurse.” Juliet remained in the doorway. A voice in her head was begging her to run from this awkward scene, but she forbade herself from listening to it.
“I hope all went well in the forest earlier.” The nurse took three steps back from Juliet’s bed, and then turned to face the girl she had helped raise. “Is everything as it should be, child?”
Juliet glided toward the nurse, her hands folded in front of her. “I suppose it is. I just told Lady Capulet I will go through with both the initiation and the wedding.”
The nurse approached Juliet and held her arms out for a hug, which Juliet did not refuse. “I am so delighted for you, madam.”
Juliet was so anxious, she was surprised she could even breathe. Although she believed in what she was doing, she hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to lie to the people who were closest to her. After Friar Laurence’s plan had succeeded, would Juliet be able to live with the guilt?
When a vivid picture of Romeo’s face flashed in her mind, she instantly knew the answer to that question.
Yes.
Juliet wiggled out of the nurse’s tight hold and moved toward the window, turning her back to the nurse. “Now leave me be, will you?”
“But what about your wedding dress?”
Juliet peered
over her shoulder and gave the woman a loving look—one that was not fake in the least. She and the nurse did not see eye to eye, but the woman cared for her more than anyone else in the world.
Except for Juliet’s husband, of course.
“I won’t be able to marry Count Paris tomorrow evening if I do not make my first kill in an hour. Please let me go.”
“As you wish.” The nurse picked up a small sewing kit off the ground and smiled. “We’ll decide on the dress tomorrow, once you wake up.”
“Thank you.”
With that, the nurse scurried out of Juliet’s chambers and closed the door behind her.
Stabbing sensations pierced Juliet’s side as she raced to the door and shoved a high-backed chair underneath the knob so that it could not be opened from the outside. Then she looked at the white gowns that were placed on her bedspread so neatly by her nurse. Juliet did think the silk one was stunning and exactly the kind of dress she would have picked out for herself. Her heart fluttered when she thought what Romeo might think if he saw her in it.
Juliet held the dress up to her chest and reached for the hand mirror that was on top of her vanity. But when she placed the looking glass in front of her face, there was no reflection to greet her—just the gold neckline of the gown, hovering in the dim light like a ghost.
Juliet was so horrified that she dropped the mirror on the floor, shattering the glass into jagged little pieces. She stumbled back toward the bed, clutching the dress to her chest. Her head hung low and tears stung her red eyes. The realization that she would never see her reflection again had shaken her to her very core, but when she lifted her head up and noticed that her body no longer cast a shadow, she angrily threw both gowns at the wall and screamed.
Juliet covered her face with her hands, her cheeks feeling hot to the touch. She took a few deep breaths, slowly transforming her anguish into resolve and purpose. She reminded herself that her descent into vampirism—and madness—would end the moment she and Romeo reunited with the friar at the monastery, so she should not delay the plan any longer. After a few cleansing breaths, she dug into her skirt pocket once more and grabbed the vial filled with Friar Laurence’s potion, imagining what the future with Romeo would look like, with herself fully human again.
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