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The chill of night was biting. It was truly no longer summer. Evidenced by the bitter cold that surpassed every form of clothing he wore and sunk into his very bones. Any sense of warmth seemed just a distant memory, nearly wiped completely by the cold wind that cut through him so completely.
Every instinct told him he should be inside, instead of his ragged breath painting the cold blue night air in a mimicry of smoke. It was much like the chimney of their farm which had been cheerfully billowing. Memories of the warm fireplace he had to leave in order to respond to his brother’s frantic pleas. He had finally gotten the good spot as well, usually reserved for his Grandfather who despite how he creaked and groaned at his old joints could move damn well fast when it came to getting to that armchair that not only was nice and toasty by the fireplace but the one the cat loved to frequent. No matter who sat there, this was where the cat sat. If you wanted quality cat time this was the place to sit.
Fuck he hated the cold. Whoever had dreamt up the cold should surely be hung, drawn and quartered at the very least. The only saving grace was the lack of gnats, midges and the likes. In the Summer months the air was thick and heavy, then you also had those blighters on top of that.
He had been in the middle of a cat cuddle. The offense of him being outside instead of in that chair finally cuddled with the beloved feline was a great one. He cursed the forces that be to have led him here. To be sent on a wild goose, or rather, cow chase in the middle of the crisp Autumn night. With a wind which seemed purposefully trying to freeze his nipples straight off.
He just could not understand how a whole cow could just go missing. Just get up and leave without a trace. Like, naturally, he knew cows had legs and could just walk off but for there to be no hints whatsoever? No hoof prints, no trampled flowerbeds, not even an open gate? She was not a mere calf, and on the rare occurrences where she did get out you would know that she had. Usually she found her way to outside of his bedroom window. To moo mournfully into the night. Or her way into town to trot over the cobbles with all the grace of a drunken man. Knocking over flower pots, all in all leaving chaos in her wake, she was no mere calf after all, darling Betsy. This was abnormal for there to be no trace. He was not fully convinced she was not still in the barn.
It felt so stupid to be searching for a cow that should just be in the barn rather than be curled up with the cat. However his younger brother had insisted to him that Betsy, the prized cow, was missing. He was simply adamant that he was not mistaken and Betsy was not cowering away in the barn. Yes, he had checked everywhere. No, she was definitely not in the barn. His brother was insistent that she was not just in the barn. He was going to be so mad if he braced the cold just for him to return and Betsy was just in the barn, with Romeo in the coveted spot with a purring cat on his lap.
In Romeo’s defense, many of their livestock had fallen prey and have gone missing as of late. Hence the new procedure of being kept in the barn to begin with, that combined with the chill of the colder months sinking its sharp teeth into the nights as of late.
The ones in the field had seen worse fates. Attacked by some kind of wild animal. Left deathly cold, losing so much blood they looked grey and clammy. Romeo had been wildly ill at the sight, and he did not blame him. He supposed it made sense why Romeo was so worried about Betsy after those sights. To have grabbed him so frantically.
It just did not feel the same though. Nothing made sense. The livestock going missing overnight, this was just a risk that came with farming. They had put in precautions to ward off predators. His grandfather had even suspiciously sprinkled out what had looked like salt but smelt like garlic over the fences. Mercutio had thought his old man was going crazy but it had apparently helped.
Betsy going missing was a such a blow because it had been working, they haven’t lost one in a while. Not to mention, that at least with the others there had been evidence. With Betsy it was like she was never there, and she had been kept safe and warm in the barn.
This was proving to be a trying night.
He was going to be mad if it was just Romeo leaving the barn door opening and Betsy had merely wandered off on her own. That this was all him covering his mistake up. That was not like Romeo though. He would not lie. Not to him.
Not when it always had been them versus the world ever since their parents had perished. It had been a night just like this one when they had. Bitterly cold and being so alone.
What was that? Red?
This was the most he had gotten in the hour or so he had been searching for anything really to indicate where Betsy may have gone.
There. Caught on the fence. The oldest part of the fence, truly less of a fence but more of a wall more ancient than the farm itself. No one had been quite able to place when this wall was erected. Older than living memory, even his grandfather just stated it had been there since he was a boy.
Mossy and dense with life. The wall had always been his favourite spot even as a young child. You could find the prettiest beetles there and flowers that seemed to bloom all year round no matter the frost or even snow. It was less of a wall in the traditional thought of bricks that seemed to have come about with the village, it was more akin to rocks piled upon each other with smaller interlocking rounds bound with earth, like nature itself had taken route inside the very wall. It looked impossible for it to stand the test of time but yet it prevailed, ever sturdy and taking the elements far greater than the wooden fences ever had.
It had merged with the landscape, it was hard to tell where it began at points or whether it was just the woods encroaching with greedy fingers attempting to envelope them. In some parts it felt more hill than actual wall.
Yet his grandparents disliked him being there. Perhaps it was because the pile of old stones marked where their territory ended and the woods began. The woods belonged to nobody but itself. Wild, tangled and twisted, the woods were an untamed area of land unreached by the ever growing sprawl of cobble streets, homes and shops which lined the village. Despite all the new buildings, no one ever made an attempt to encroach into the woods.
The rules of civilisation never seemed to apply to the woods. It had rules unto its own. Rules that seemed to belong to a time ancient and strange, but yet seemed fluid and to change almost daily like the rule makers were flighty creatures. An area of contradictions and chaos. He felt even if he mapped out the trees he would get lost, like the trees themselves could move. The wall felt a weak barrier to the woods.
He could understand why his grandparents were wary. Yet he always felt called to it. It used to be his spot when he was younger, the place to meet with his friend who would never just scale the wall to meet with him. On occasion he reminisced those days, longed with such fervour for a time long passed that he felt ill. Memories of a red headed boy with large eyes that shimmered like mercury. He used to be such a polite creature, always needing to be invited in. Those days were gone and felt foolish to linger upon.
His cold fingers darted for the glints of red amongst the greys and greens.
Fabric. Caught upon a bramble snaking from the wall. Looked as if it had been snagged and torn from a sleeve.
Red. A brilliant scarlet of a hue most people would not be able to afford, not to mention the quality of the textile itself. And then… most tellingly…
A hair.
There was no one in town, likely the whole country, who had hair as red as this. A red that puts even rubies to shame. Like someone had been able to capture the setting sun itself and had spun it into fine hair on a spindle.
There was only one person who had hair such as this. Well, the man's sisters had gotten close, but they couldn't compare. It was like comparing the reddish-brown of terracotta to embers from a fire.
Just past the woods he could see it. The woods cutting across them like a coursing river of green. Perched on the hill overlooking the village, like a gruesome gargoyle was Capp Manor.
Claws buried deep into the cliff marring the greenscape with cold grey stone. Impossibly tall and thin, it felt like it should fall over in a strong wind or get swept away. The harsh grey walls looked as if someone attempted to build a castle based off of stalactites. It suited its owner though, in a manner like how pets mirrored their owners, the spindly cold exterior matched Count Consort expertly.
A man who looked like the personification of a spider, limbs long and stretched. Spindly like he should crack with every movement he made, he would not be surprised if his limbs worked like a spider fuelled only with blood no muscles to speak of. Even Romeo’s shoddy childhood drawings were an accurate portrayal of the man. With mere lines for limbs.
Face drawn in like he had sucked the world’s sourest lemon as a child and never recovered, like his thin excuses of a pair of lips were a vacuum attempting to absorb the rest of his features.
Even his skin appeared a sickly greyish colour when he caught a glance of him, matching the stone walls. He preferred it when the man was confined to the manor, even if his presence was still felt, much like the ghastly shadow that loomed over the village from the manor on the hilltop.
The hair belonged to Tybalt, the grandson to the aforementioned Count Consort. There was no mistaking it. He could never mistake it.
What had he been doing here? Was he still around?
His legs took a mind of their own and before he knew it, despite all warnings to the contrary he was over the wall. Out of their territory and in the woods. Chasing after a spectre.
The trees sheltered him from the cold, or perhaps it was his adrenaline pumping that make the harsh night unnoticeable to him now. He did not even know know where he was running to, to the manor? He was just running, letting instincts lead him further into the woods.
Oh his nonna would kill him if she ever found out. The sheer amount of times she had warn him of this. The amount of times he had ignored her concerns. Usually when Tybalt Capp was involved, but he was electing to ignore that.
He was getting pretty good at ignoring that. It had become almost second habit to just close off all logic and rational thinking when it came to that man.
The trees seemed to part for him, like they were leading him somewhere. The woods seemed to be taking him in a direction and his feet like mice to the pied piper just followed diligently. Despite all chances he ended up in a large clearing and there he was.
He had to take pause, his entire body suddenly feeling like lead. He needed a moment to take in the scene. The world was awash in the shades of night-time, teals and blues, dappled spots of white as the moonlight streamed through the trees. He stuck to the covering the leaves provided him, despite this urgency to find Tybalt. To what? Confront him? Blame him for Betsy’s disappearance. It seemed unimportant at the moment. All that seemed to matter was not disturbing this scene.
His mouth felt so dry that his tongue stuck to his lips, his ragged breaths catching on the cold air. Like the very air from his lungs was just as frozen in the moment as he was.
Tybalt was right in the middle of the clearing, painted in the moonlight. Looking ethereal.
His red hair seemed to glow amongst the dim night of the world, as vivid as blood in snow. The moonlight emitting a halo, illuminating the strands of hair like they were embers from a dying fire. Mercutio could have fallen to his knees, he was like a scene from the stained glass that adorned the small chapel in the village. An opulent beauty.
Tybalt’s pale face was turned up towards the sky, evidently he had not noticed the intrusion. Encased in starlight, looking all as if he had been made from the very starlight itself. Catching on his eyelashes like snowflakes. Tybalt’s eyes made the moon itself pale in comparison.
His breath caught, it did not feel real. Despite it all he did not feel like he was going to find him. Let alone in a scene like this. He felt like a sinner just bearing witness to Tybalt in this moment. Like just looking would sully him. Quite suddenly, he was deathly aware of the grime that covered him, the dirt beneath his fingernails and on his knees. He was unclean.
He must have breathed too hard and the spell was broken, just as quickly as it had befallen.
Tybalt’s head snapped towards him violently, eyes sharper than steel. He seemed shocked to see him. Their eyes met, and Tybalt’s face twisted into a scowl, far from the serene look that had been on his face previously.
His lips felt too dry to speak. Still hooked on the vision.
Tybalt had no such qualms.
“Mercutio.” He spat with all the sweetness of a coiled cobra, looking at Mercutio with a look of disdain he had clearly inherited from the shrivelled old prune that was his excuse of a grandfather.
He perhaps would have looked upon him more favourably if he had been excrement upon his shoe.
The bewitchment had most certainly passed now.
Mercutio closed the gap between them, grasping hold of Tybalt's wrist in order to confirm his suspicions. He took note of the torn red sleeve of Tybalt's jacket. Which matched the piece he had found on the wall exactly. He had been there. This piece of evidence combined with the hair made it too obvious.
“Do not touch me, you verminous wretch.” Tybalt snatched his hand away as if Mercutio’s touch had burnt him. Venom dripping from his tongue.
“Where the fuck is Betsy?” Mercutio demanded. This spun Tybalt for a loop as evidenced by how he mouth fell agape. Tybalt, as always, was quick though. Lips drawn thin, deathly white in apparent anger. Tybalt had always been quicker than him, quicker to draw his weapon, quicker to bite harsh words, quicker to pull away and deny any form of closeness they once had.
“Who the fuck is Betsy?” Tybalt's voice reached such decibels in his disbelieving screech that it disturbed some birds from the nearby trees. They burst from the branches in squawks of outrage at being disrupted so.
“The fucking cow you most likely devoured you freak of nature.” Mercutio stated glowering at Tybalt's cheeks that seemed aflushed. Taking note of his pronounced canines. It was evident to Mercutio that he had eaten well recently. Tybalt suffered from a gauntness of the face but yet he looked almost not as if his cheeks were carved from marble at this moment. For it to coincide with Betsy’s disappearance seemed too great a coincidence.
“Okay. Halt in your nonsense. What the ever flying fuck do you speak of?” Tybalt was an excellent actor, looking flummoxed. His neat red eyebrows so furrowed they were practically touching. You would think he truly had no idea what Mercutio was going on about.
“Betsy. About yea high. Big brown eyes with the the thickest of eyelashes. Most mild and demure little thing, the kindest soul. Dark curls protrudin from the forehead.” Mercutio explained with all the patience he could muster. Growing frustrated with Tybalt, he can see the tear in his sleeve as clear as day. More so now that Tybalt had closed the distance between them again in his annoyance.
“I thought your brother was called Romeo. I most certainly would not put my mouth anywhere near that boy. What are these implications? Mercutio, your wit has failed you yet again. You miserable mongrel.” Frustration marred Tybalt’s features.
“In what way would you think I am describing Romeo, no.” Mercutio looked at Tybalt with bewildered disgust. “Betsy, Betsy.”
“I know not of the creature of which you speak.” Tybalt answered curtly. The red haired man looked down his nose at him. Always looking down on him with all the swagger of a pompous turkey. Creating yet more distance to put between them.
“A fucking cow. Black and white, goes moo.”
“Has one lost their mind? Do you know what it is that you speak? Your brain, what little you may have, is truly addled.”
“You ate my cow.” Mercutio responded adamantly. Tybalt gawked at him.
“Forgive me, are you fucking with me right now? What delusion has overcome you now? How did one come to this conclusion? Does one not hear oneself? You are a fool, Mercutio.”
“I know you ate my fucking cow.”
“Pray tell, what possessed you to fall into this derangement? How little wit you hold to
think I would even have interest in this… cow? Do you realise what you are accusing me of?” Closer still Tybalt drew in long sweeps, frustration marring his features. They were practically nose to nose at this point.
“Why else were you there then? You cannot lie to me and tell me that you weren't, Tybalt. I see your sleeve. You cannot lie to me.” An expression other than bewilderment and anger finally took hold. Mercutio could not place it, such an expression seemed so foreign on Tybalt. It was swiftly replaced with an expression he was used to, obstinance.
“You petulant creature, tell me, how do you expect me to eat a whole cow. What wild imagination you have.” Tybalt turned his head away from him with a sneer. His fangs glinting under the moonlight.
“You're a vampire.” Mercutio spat out. Tybalt took a moment to pause at this.
Then he took yet another moment.
And then a third.
“No, I'm fucking not.” He finally managed out.
Mercutio snorted in disbelief. How miniscule did he consider his intelligence?
“You are.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“I am not.”
“You are and I can prove it!”
“Oh really and how is that? Vampires are mere stories to stop idiotic whelks like you coming into the woods at night. Apparently you do not heed any words spoken to you because look where you are now.” Mercutio could not believe the audacity of Tybalt's words. Did he honestly believe that Mercutio would fall for such trickery when it was blatant what he was. Normal human beings did not have silver eyes that glowed in the dim for one.
“Pot kettle black. You're also here, buddy. If I'm a fool, you're just as much one of them.”
“Says the one who not only believes in the existence of vampires, claims I am one.”
“But you are.” Mercutio protested. Tybalt gave him a truly withering look, if looks could kill he'd be dead twice over. Probably his cat too by mere association from the sheer venom in his voice.
“You claimed you could prove it. Go on then.”
Mercutio reached into his jacket and pulled out a knife. The blade glinted. Tybalt blanched.
“What the fuck. Care tell, what are you going to do with that?” Tybalt was evidently attempting to sound nonchalant but his voice wavered. Eying the knife warily. “That's silver. Why do you even have that?”
Mercutio looked at him. “Admit you're a vampire.”
“Or what? You'll stab me? What's that going to prove dipshit? I don't know if you know this, but vampire or human that shit is going to harm me regardless. Spoiler alert asshole, knives hurt.”
“It's not for you.” Mercutio rolled his eyes. Tybalt began to nod as if in apparent understanding before he stopped. Looking at Mercutio with sudden fear in his eyes.
“What the fuck do you mean it's not for me?”
Mercutio responded by neatly slicing his arm drawing blood. The irresistible life nectar that any vampire couldn't resist. The instincts would take over and Tybalt would have to admit he was a vampire.
He had some regrets. It was in fact a silver knife and it stung like a bitch. It was sharp enough he should have not really noticed it but the silver counteracted that. Like he had just injected fire into his very veins through it.
He had a decent amount of regrets. He had not thought it would hurt quite this much. He felt as weak and shaky as if he was recovering from a bad illness. It might have had the desired effect that he wanted though, Tybalt was on him so fast.
“What the fuck do you think you're doing you maniac? Give me that fucking knife. Why did you even have a knife? Were you going to fucking stab me? You were going to try and kill me because you think I ate Margaret weren't you? What the hell.” Tybalt's words were angry and harsh but his expression was a difficult one to place fully. He almost looked concerned at some points.
“Who the fuck is Margaret?” Mercutio snapped. Mercutio was beginning to think that maybe he had been a little rash in his actions, or maybe he should have used a different weapon of choice. It was like the knife had salt inbuilt into it for an extra sting.
“Your fucking cow! The one you've been crying and blubbering about since you showed.”
“Her name was fucking Betsy!”
“I never touched your fucking cow! She probably just fell off a fucking cliff. Cows do that. Stop waving that thing around, you're going to hurt yourself again.” Tybalt yelled in frustration, he dove for Mercutio to finally relinquish him of the blade. Like always he was fast. Faster than Mercutio.
“Fuck. Why do you even have a silver knife.” Tybalt hissed as he tried to wrestle it away from Mercutio who had a stubborn grip upon it. Mercutio had the best view in the house of Tybalt's eyes right now.
Silver eyes not belaying rage, instead looking wild and scared like he was a child again. Mercutio had always been weak to silver. His fingers lost their grip on the knife and Tybalt snatched it and held it away. Cursing a little as his skin made contact with it, he promptly threw it away from him.
“You're an idiot. What are you trying to even do? Why would you do that? What did you expect to happen?”
“For you to see blood and reveal your true vampire nature?” Mercutio said a little sheepishly. Tybalt looked dreadfully unamused. Tybalt turned his gaze to the cut and paused and just tore the rest of his sleeve off. This was not going how Mercutio expected. Inwardly he was panicking a fair amount at the sudden reveal of skin. Why was Tybalt just taking his clothes off? Tybalt apparently saw Mercutio’s panic on his face and gave such a weary sigh. He gestured to Mercutio’s bleeding arm then mimed wrapping the cloth around his own arm.
“To stem the blood flow. That shit better not get infected. Go wash it off in that stream and come back here. Fucking idiot.” Tybalt had an aversion to running water Mercutio remembered. Even as a child he had always sat on the riverbanks just watching as Mercutio frolicked in the water, never getting close. Always a safe distance away.
Mercutio obediently did so.
Soon he was just knelt in the middle of the blades of grass wondering how they had even got to this point. Tybalt knelt right beside him with a strong grip on his arm, holding it steady as he just angrily bandaged Mercutio’s arm using his own sleeve he had ripped from his shirt.
Mercutio could count every eyelash Tybalt had from this close. His main focus was on Tybalt’s hands, long lithe fingers deceptively strong which held him.
Some of Mercutio’s blood got on those aforementioned fingers as he wrapped what remained of his sleeve around Mercutio’s arm. Mercutio watched as Tybalt absentmindedly just licked the crimson liquid from his fingers.
Mercutio stared at him.
“You just fucking drank my blood, didn't you.” Apparently it had worked albeit not in the way he had been expecting. Tybalt startled apparently only just realising what he did.
“No I didn't.” Tybalt said curtly with all the petulance of a young child.
“I just watched you!”
“You're delusional.” Tybalt scoffed, diligently finishing off the makeshift bandage. Pulling it perhaps a little bit too tight at the end, likely out of spite. Mercutio hissed a little at it.
“Prove it. Spit in my mouth.” Tybalt had cleaned his fingers expertly, not a speck of blood on them. Which was suspicious in itself with how readily Mercutio was bleeding. He hadn’t meant to cut quite as deep as he had. Tybalt was right with one thing. Knives did hurt.
His theory was Tybalt would still have the lingering taste of blood in his mouth. If he tasted the telltale coppery taste then Tybalt had most certainly drank his blood. He knew the man had regardless but it would only cement it.
“What the fuck.” Tybalt stared at him as if he had grown a second head. Mercutio did not know what was so hard to understand about his request.
“Spit in my mouth.” He repeated calmly.
“I'M NOT GOING TO SPIT IN YOUR FUCKING MOUTH.” Tybalt spluttered in outrage. He was clutching onto the pendant that hung around his neck with white knuckles. Whether it was as a prayer to a higher power or as a way to hold himself back, Mercutio couldn't tell.
“Admit you just drank my blood just now then. Or just spit in my mouth, you fucking coward.” Mercutio felt that these were reasonable requests. Tybalt didn't respond, just stared at him, so Mercutio continued.
“You drank my blood, you killed Betsy and you're a fucking vampire.” Mercutio stated.
“None of those things apply to me.” Tybalt had finally found his voice, obstinate till the end.
“Just spit in my mouth.”
“Fine. Fine. You win. I'm a vampire. Are you happy now? Does it please you to know of my cursed existence?”
“I knew it! And you ate Betsy!”
“I did not eat your cow. I don't even know how you came to this conclusion. Mercutio, I say this with all the kindness within my non beating heart. What is wrong with you?"
“Betsy was missing, I found evidence of you being there. It seemed a logical conclusion.”
Tybalt clasped his fingers together over the bridge of his nose and exhaled loudly. This was a particularly poignant move seeing as he did not need to breathe. He had purposefully taken a breath for that.
“You astound me. How have you lived this long? Have you tried just smelling her out or something? Isn't Gertrude like your grandfather's favourite? Have you asked him if he's seen him?”
“Her name is Betsy. And no. Romeo wanted us to find her before he returned exactly because of that.”
“Returned from where?”
“The shed near the silos. One of the cows were in labour and…”
Mercutio paused. He gave Tybalt a wide smile where his top lop was covering his teeth. Cheeks ruddy with embarrassment. “Oh.”
Tybalt was not amused in the slightest. “Oh.” He repeated, not a hint of laughter in his eyes.
“I think I know where Betsy is.”
“I hate you.”