Without a single shred of fear in her heart or mind, she held up the vial and said, “Romeo, I come! This do I drink to thee!” Then she drank the contents, gulping the liquid down until none was left. There was no wait for the concoction to take effect. Instantly, Juliet’s legs gave out, causing her to fall on the mattress, her arms trapped beneath her weight and her head turned to the side.
Soon, Juliet’s entire body was completely numb. Just as the friar warned, she could not move any of her limbs, nor could she speak a word. But she could hear the sound of the wind banging against the window shutters, and watch the flame of the oil lamp dance like a drunken Gypsy, and count the minutes until she could kiss Romeo’s sweet lips over and over and over again.
As nightfall descended upon Transylvania the following day, the nurse discovered Juliet, sprawled out on her bed with her eyes wide open and her body as limp as the stem of a dying flower. It was almost eighteen hours since Juliet had drunk Friar Laurence’s potion—and the nurse had just broken down the door with a battle-ax after she could not gain entrance to the room and Juliet did not respond to her calls.
“Dear God! No! NO!” the nurse cried out as she collapsed onto the floor, clutching at Juliet’s lifeless legs. “Oh, what terrible thing have you done to yourself, child?!”
Juliet stared out into space and listened as the nurse sobbed uncontrollably. With each gasp for air, the woman kept shouting the word “no,” as if protesting would make Juliet come alive again.
“Please, merciful Lord,” the nurse said through a cascade of tears. “Welcome this wonderful, darling creature into your kingdom. I raised and loved her as if she were my own. How I will miss her!”
As she witnessed her nurse unravel at the sight of her seemingly dead body, a hundred memories of the tender moments they had shared flashed through Juliet’s mind—their summertime walks across the castle’s great lawn; the delicious custard tarts they used to make from scratch; the leather-bound books they read by the fire. She was so touched by the nurse’s intense and all-encompassing grief that she wanted to break through her trance and hug the woman who had made such a long-lasting impression on her.
But it would be several more hours before Juliet could move a finger.
Her hearing, though, was still acute. While the nurse continued to cry, Juliet could make out some sounds coming from the hallway—doors creaking open and the hum of soft, sleepy voices. Soon Lady Capulet entered the room with great alarm. Clearly, she had been awakened by the nurse’s loud wailing. She glided over to the other side of the bed, knelt down, and placed a hand on the crown of her daughter’s head.
“What happened, Nurse? Did Juliet return from her hunt very sick?” Lady Capulet asked as she stroked Juliet’s hair with her quaking fingers.
“My lady, she is gone,” the nurse said, sniffling. “She is gone from us forever!”
Juliet watched as her mother looked deep into her eyes for any sign of life. When she could find none, Lady Capulet brought her quivering hand up to her mouth. Then she buried her face in her daughter’s soft brown locks.
“My sweet, beautiful, precious child!” Lady Capulet’s moans of anguish were muffled by the mattress upon which Juliet lay still. “This cannot be real. You cannot be dead. I won’t believe it!”
Juliet felt a jolt of fear tweak her brain. Could her mother actually sense the truth—that her daughter’s body would awaken from this drug-induced state and eventually live as a human, just as she had days before?
Then again, Juliet had all night and day to wonder what her mother’s reaction would be, and none of the scenes she pictured involved Lady Capulet shedding one tear. But here she was, being cradled and mourned by her mother, the sternest vampire she’d ever known.
As Juliet gazed into her mother’s face, she felt a twinge of pity. With fresh new cracks in her skin, Lady Capulet was growing weaker. Who knew how long it would be before her mother lost a good portion of her supernatural powers. Then again, Juliet was hopeful that in the wake of her death, Lady Capulet would realize that there were more important things in life than superhuman strength and wealth and prestige and vampire supremacy.
The nurse got up from the floor and shuffled over to Lady Capulet, wiping at her eyes and nose. “It hurts me to repeat this, my lady, but it is true. Our Juliet is not of this world any longer.”
Lady Capulet reeled back from the bed, but refused to let go of her daughter, clinging to one of Juliet’s hands. “I never thought my heart could break like this.”
Suddenly a voice boomed from behind Juliet.
“What is going on in here? I could hear all your shrieking from my chambers.”
Juliet recognized the commanding speaker instantly. Her father, Lord Capulet, had finally arrived on the scene.
“The universe has smote us, Husband,” Lady Capulet bellowed. “And taken our only child from us.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Juliet saw her father come close to the bed and glower down at her with a blank expression frozen on his face. His tough facade did not crack like Lady Capulet’s had—not in the slightest.
“No, my lady. Juliet has taken her own life,” Lord Capulet scolded. “She stood by her threats and refused to go through with the initiation. In doing so, she denied her destiny. Death is just in this matter.”
“It is not respectful to speak ill of the dead, my lord,” the nurse blurted out, then bowed her head in submission as Lord Capulet bared his sharp fangs and growled.
“We never should have foisted these burdens upon her,” murmured a distraught Lady Capulet. “She was too young, and too frightened.”
“She was disloyal!” Juliet heard her father shout. “She knew that we needed her to coax Count Paris into an alliance with us. Now we might lose every treasure we have fought for.”
Juliet observed her mother’s piercing gaze as she got up to combat Lord Capulet. It was the first time in all her life that she was not scared of that fierce look.
“We should have helped her!” Lady Capulet snapped. “Instead, we ignored all of her pleas for understanding. When she begged us not to force her into marriage, we were self-righteous and unrelenting. When she told us she could not go through with her first kill, we were dismissive and unkind. Now look where that has gotten all of us?”
“There was nothing we could have done about the count. We had to think of our people first!” Lord Capulet yelled. “And there was no way to avoid the initiation. Every vampire must undergo it!”
“What about the purification ritual?” Lady Capulet said, shoving her husband’s shoulders with both her hands.
“I told you, that is a ludicrous myth,” her father replied angrily.
Her mother looked up to the sky, choking back more tears. “Even so, we could have tried it. But we were so concerned with keeping our power.”
Juliet felt as though someone had thrown her body into a fire pit. If both her parents had known all along that there might be a chance—however slim it was—to spare Juliet this cruel fate, and plainly ignored it, how could she ever forgive them?
“And what is wrong with that?” Lord Capulet argued. “Without the use of our powers, we cannot fight off the humans or sufficiently protect one single thing that we have. If everything we’ve acquired is taken from us, we will live forever with that thorn in our pride. And when that happens, the vampire race can blame our daughter and this stunt of hers.”
“Stunt?!” Lady Capulet struck her husband hard across the face. “She is dead!”
Lord Capulet remained unmoved.
“I suppose you better start planning her funeral service while I try to appease Count Paris,” he said coldly.
Then he exited Juliet’s chambers, without shedding a single tear for her.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
As Romeo crawled through the mud in a vast field, just outside the Moldovan border, he prayed that the country’s patrolling soldiers, who were less than five hundred yards away, would not notice him making his esc
ape. He slithered through the rain-soaked blades of grass like a snake, keeping his head down low. All he had to do to slip back into Transylvania was cross this pasture and find the small, rugged, and rarely traveled path that he’d taken to Moldova only a day ago. The dirt road would lead through the valleys of the Carpathian Mountains and, eventually, back to his home village—and his dearest, most precious love.
Romeo’s arms and legs ached from pushing through the soft, wet dirt, his fingers tired of dragging a burlap sack alongside him. But once he saw the end of the field and a collection of tall spruce trees that surrounded the opening of the path, his body felt as fresh as morning dew. As soon as he reached the patch of trees, Romeo quickly ducked behind one and untied the top of the sack. He took off his soiled shirt and pants and put on the new clothes that Benvolio had brought for him. They were a tad baggy on Romeo’s lean frame, but that did not matter. He planned on wearing a long, hooded black cloak, which would hide his highly recognizable face and figure when he arrived in Transylvania.
Before putting on the cloak, Romeo took an oblong glass vial filled with holy water and shoved it into his right trouser pocket. In an angry Capulet mob-related emergency, Romeo would only need a few drops of it to burn their skin and send them running in the other direction. But that was a confrontation he hoped would never happen. There had been enough violence over the past couple of days.
By around nine o’clock that evening, he arrived in Transylvania and went directly to a small neighborhood pub in the center of town. He found a good table in the corner, where he could be alone, and sat down. The hood of his dark cloak hung loosely over his forehead. So far, neither the townspeople nor the prince’s cavalry had recognized him, which was certainly a blessing.
As Romeo sipped on a mug of freshly decanted ale, his eyes scanned the crowd for Juliet’s nurse or Maribel, the servant maid who had helped him, Benvolio, and Mercutio gain access to Capulet Castle on the night of the ball. Romeo knew this pub was usually frequented by the servants at the castle, and he was hoping that at some point, either Maribel or the nurse would come walking through the doors. All he needed was two minutes alone with one of them in order to relay a message to Juliet.
What that message would be, Romeo was still unsure. He and Juliet had promised each other that they would leave Transylvania together and never look back—but what of Juliet’s initiation rite, this act she had been so terrified of committing? Romeo knew that whatever she’d done, he loved her enough to look past it.
Didn’t he?
Romeo took another swig of ale and swallowed hard. He kept his gaze locked on the entrance to the pub and tried to block out negative thoughts. But when the front door creaked open and two of Prince Radu’s soldiers sauntered in, carrying their shields under their arms, his entire body went ice cold. He lowered his head, ducking his chin to his chest, as the two men sat at a table no more than a few feet away from him. The pudgier soldier raised his hand, signaling the barkeep, while the slimmer one glanced around.
“Still looking for Romeo Montague, are you?” the heavy one asked with a hearty chuckle.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be, but I have this odd feeling that he is right under our noses,” the thin one replied.
Romeo nearly spit out his ale.
“The whole cavalry is still on high alert,” said the thin soldier. “He never would come back and risk his neck.”
“It’s too bad. The boy is going to miss out on the big celebration,” the heavy one replied.
The thin solider seemed annoyed. “I wasn’t notified of any celebration.”
“I’m assuming there will be one, once word travels from Capulet Castle to the Montague homestead.”
The barkeep appeared and placed two small shots of liquor in front of the soldiers. Romeo took this opportunity to move over to the far end of the bench he was sitting on so he could listen more intently to the men. It seemed as though their conversation was about to become very interesting. He did not want to miss a minute of it—perhaps they had information that might help him set up a rendezvous with Juliet.
“What happened at the castle?” the thin soldier said as he drank.
“I had to transport Count Paris there just before sunset—in a horse-drawn carriage and coffin no less!” the heavy soldier said, shuddering at the thought of it. “Apparently, that is how he must travel when the sun is out.”
The thin soldier guffawed. “That is quite possibly the most absurd thing I have ever heard.”
“Hold on to your bootstraps. There is more,” the heavy soldier teased.
Romeo leaned in a little farther, trying not to be too conspicuous. He had never heard of this Count Paris before, but it sounded as though he was a vampire of great importance, if the prince’s men were involved with him.
“Apparently, the count was set to marry Lord Capulet’s daughter tonight,” the heavy soldier went on. “In a grandiose ceremony, fit for the highest ranks of royalty.”
All of a sudden Romeo’s head felt as though someone were pounding on it with the end of a quarterstaff. There had to be some mistake. Juliet was already his wife! How could she possibly be marrying another? Then again, what if this was the initiation rite she was condemned to perform? That could explain how reluctant and afraid she was to tell him about it. Romeo rubbed at his temples and tried to compose himself.
“However, the bride never made it to the altar,” the soldier added.
Romeo put a hand on his chest and let out a cleansing sigh of relief.
“Was it a case of wedding-day jitters?” the thin soldier asked. “Or did she run into the arms of another one of her kind?”
“Neither,” the heavy one answered. “She was found dead in her chambers by her nurse—from suicide, the guards said. They just held her funeral and soon she will be laid in a tomb within the Capulet family crypt.”
Romeo swore that he felt the blood in his veins turn to fire and his flesh burn right off of his bones.
“I hope Count Paris does not take it personally,” the thin one said, laughing.
Romeo’s ears were ringing so loudly he could not hear the two soldiers talk anymore. His eyesight was so blurred with tears that he could barely stagger over to the front door. Why would Juliet do this to herself, when they both had so much to live for? Romeo could not make any sense of it, and now that his love was dead, he never would be able to.
Once he exited the pub, Romeo lunged at the first person he saw on the street—a blond-haired boy around the same age as he.
“Do you know where I can find an apothecary?” he said, his voice rife with agony. If he could not share his life with Juliet on earth, then he would find another way to be with her.
“On the far north end of the forest, opposite the monastery,” the boy answered.
Romeo bowed his head in thanks.
“I heard his stock is limited, sir, since the change in our regime,” the boy added politely.
Romeo looked up and watched two birds, whistling and frolicking together in the clear blue sky.
“A spot of poison is all I need.”
Romeo arrived at the Transylvania cemetery shortly after visiting the apothecary on the north end of the forest. When he finally came upon the Capulet crypt—an ornate structure made of stone and brick, with two large steeples and painted icons of vampires hovering over the front door—his hand instinctively went for the vial of poison stored inside his left trouser pocket.
Although he was grieving over the death of Juliet, Romeo also felt strangely exhilarated as he rolled the smooth glass container between his fingers. He knew ingesting the contents would at first render him unconscious and then slow down his heart until it stopped beating. But once he was rid of his physical self, his spiritual self would be free to go in search of the soul of his fairest love, to the ends of eternity and back again.
But before he could do that, Romeo wanted to reunite with Juliet’s body and say good-bye. With his eyes stinging and his throat sore, h
e placed a hand on the brass door handle of the crypt and pulled it open. Behind the door lurked an ugly demon, hovering in the air with his arms crossed in front of his chest. Romeo stared into his eyes, which were the color of blood, and carefully backed away from him.
“Only family is allowed in here,” the vampire said, floating toward Romeo with great speed.
Without thinking, Romeo said, “I am family.”
“You hardly look like it,” the vampire said as he circled around Romeo like a bird of prey. “What is your name?”
“Romeo,” he answered.
“Ah, Romeo Montague, I have heard a lot about you,” the vampire replied. “Prince Radu will be very unhappy to learn you have totally disregarded his sentence.”
“Just let me pass,” Romeo barked.
“For what purpose?” the vampire prodded.
Romeo’s hands balled up into fists, and he pulled back his hood. “I have come here to mourn, not to answer to you,” he said.
The vampire let out a low, menacing growl. “I believe there is a mass grave for Montagues at the bottom of the castle moat. Perhaps I could show you.”
“The only place you will show me to is Juliet Capulet’s tomb.”
“You will not get within one hundred yards of my bride-to-be,” the vampire hissed. “I will make sure of that.”
Suddenly Romeo’s legs felt like they were made of stone. “Count Paris, I presume” was all he could bring himself to say.
“If you do not leave now, you won’t live to see tomorrow,” the count said. “Prince Radu is a dear friend of mine, and I’m sure he will believe me if I tell him your demise was the result of self-defense.”
Romeo laughed in the count’s face. Since he already planned to die, the vampire’s threats were meaningless.
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