Work Text:
It’s the kind of night where the stars are low and the sky is lined with thin, wandering clouds.
Summer air has thinned down from five or six hours ago, when every breath that came out of Guillermo was thick and burning, and every building wall was seared with a golden hue. Faint music leaks out from the Sassy Cat Club and flows into the streets whenever someone pushes open their front doo— either to welcome their Saturday night fantasy or to stagger toward another weekend hangover.
Guillermo hums and unlocks his phone. He taps open Uber and calls for someone nearby to pick him up— the quicker the better. His phone battery is already in red, and Guillermo is not sure whether it will hold up for the entire ride home. However, with some gin-and-tonic running in his veins working its magic, this small hiccup is nowhere near close to pulling him out of the blithe mood.
“Guillermo take care!” Jeremy giggles and waves at him.
His buddy is slightly buzzed like Guillermo himself, face flushed pink and steps clumsy. He is tucked under another man’s arm—a well-built, long-haired otter who smells of leather and fresh cologne. The man is apparently pleased with his catch of the day, already feeling up Jeremy’s upper arms and shoulders in a not-at-all-subtle manner.
Guillermo waves back to bid them goodbye. His phone buzzes. Nandor is coming to pick you up! – it reads. A dark, bearded man gazes at him from the driver's profile with a wide mirthful grin, a garnet scarf wrapped around the base of his neck. His features are sharp and defined, a strong nose slightly crooked to one side.
Hot, Guillermo decides, in a wolfish kind of way. He allows his mind to linger for a bit longer, until a black Kia pulls up in front of him, the passenger side’s window rolled down.
“Guillermo?”
The driver—Nandor, asks amicably. He rolls his tongue at the dramatically outstretched vowels, and Guillermo can’t tell if he’s being playful or it’s just plain impromptu. Regardless, he nods and pulls open the rear car door, only to find two large duffel bags already sitting inside.
“I uh, I’ll ride in the front?”
“Yes, I am sorry about the seats.” His driver looks back at him and smiles apologetically without offering any further explanation. His speech is slow and clear, with a thick, eccentric accent Guillermo cannot recognize. He shrugs and slides into the passenger seat. The man is slightly paler than what Guillermo has expected. He is wearing a loose Cabana shirt— short-sleeved and unbuttoned at the top, showing off trails of dark hair leading to his chest. His beard is neatly trimmed, long locks pulled back into a ponytail and loosely tied against his crown. Guillermo feels his face growing hotter despite the chilly late-night breeze. Those hands on the steering wheel are so damn massive—this man would be a perfect centerfold for Guillermo’s Top-Ten-Rugged-Beast-of-A-Man Fantasy Catalogue.
“Wild night?” Nandor puts the car back on road, breaking Guillermo away from his wandering thoughts. “You are returning home very early, Guillermo. Hu—people stay out very late after drinking and boogieing and eating tiny burgers in a bar. Have you not had a good time?”
“I was just hanging out with a friend.” Guillermo recalls Jeremy’s cheerful voice. We’ll definitely have the best luck tonight! We’re going to have so much fun! Well, for Jeremy it is true, but Guillermo got zero action the whole time. The choices of conversation openers become surprisingly limited once you’re in between Fortnite and time-sharing a boat. He grumbles. “We do the same thing every month. Likely until either one of us dies.”
His driver’s smile freezes in place, the cordiality in his eyes suddenly drops cold and turns into something wild and strangely gleeful. Guillermo can sense a strain of some sort rapidly building up in his shoulders. This is… weird. Was the death joke too much? He didn’t think a man like Nandor could be so sensitive (but hey, everyone has their own history). The man eases up again after a brief second and glances out the driver side window, nodding along to some non-existent tune. He stretches his fingers on the steering wheel, but something about his body language—maybe the abrupt transitions between being tensed and completely relaxed— does not sit right with Guillermo. Perhaps he’s just paranoid. Not everyone is a potential murderer, he reminds himself.
Even though everyone could be.
“So where are you from? You have a wonderful accent.” Guillermo asks nonchalantly. He is usually not the type to make small talk with Uber drivers— but now he is intrigued, and the alcohol in his tummy is cheering him on.
Nandor blinks at his question. “My home is in Staten Island. You like how people speak there?”
“Ah! Not really! Well, I really shouldn’t be judgy. But I meant where from originally… before you came to New York?” Damnit Guillermo, that just came out so wrong. “I’m being nosy and rude. You don’t have to answer that.”
The man laughs, and the laughter turns into an intense tittering before he answers Guillermo’s question. “You need not apologize. I was born and raised in Bandar Abbas right by the shiny blue sea. Do you know where that is?”
“I have no idea. Where is it?”
“In Southern Iran, Guillermo. Some people do not like it these days.”
“Wow, crap, I’m so sorry.” Guillermo suddenly feels embarrassed. “Do they give you trouble for that?”
“Maybe they do.” Nandor chuckles. And it’s happening again, the hardly disguised cheeriness, the strain in his shoulders and arms as if Nandor is holding something down. He turns to Guillermo and flashes him a toothy smirk. “But they never last for very long.”
“Thank god.” Guillermo replies sheepishly, a tide of nervous ripples rising from inside his throat. He regrets even bringing up the subject. The truth is— Guillermo’s first accident happened in seventh grade, when Dustin Blackmore shoved Galina Serdiukova for being a dirty red Russkie. The jock tripped over Guillermo’s calf and down a flight of stairs, impaling himself on a wall lamp at a truly astonishing angle. “It’s good that they don’t last long.”
Guillermo glances at his phone one last time before its battery completely dies out. It’s nearly midnight now, but he is only halfway towards his destination. The passenger side window is now rolled up, enclosing him and Nandor in the tiny, isolated space both inches and worlds away from the rapidly disappearing pavement. The effect of gin-and-tonic is starting to wear off, and Guillermo begins to feel the slightest touch of panic creeping up on him— and the feeling only grows stronger by the second, like tiny needles prickling at the back of his neck. He just wants to get home, throw himself into his soft twin bed and brace himself or the incoming morning headache. Please don’t let the hot weird Uber driver be a freak of some sort Please please please.
Nandor makes a clumsy turn at the traffic lights, not noticing the increasingly-bleak look on Guillermo’s face. He flicks on the car stereo and some eerily familiar but medieval sounding flute-and-mandora music pours into Guillermo’s ears, which amazingly does not make him feel any better.
“So, Guillermo, tell me about yourself.” The man casually tucks away a few strands of dark locks. Why does he repeat the name again and again? It sounds way too intimate for a complete stranger.
“Well, you know who I am… It’s Guillermo. You know where I live— the place you’re driving me to.” Guillermo tries to advert the topic. “Is that—Is that a medieval cover of Hips Don’t Lie?”
“Maybe it is.” Nandor’s eyes narrow, sweeping away Guillermo’s attempt at having a normal, impersonal conversation. “Maybe it is not. How about your family then, Guillermo? Why don’t you tell me about your family?”
Guillermo feels a thin film of sweat seeping out from the center of his palms. “Just a stereotypical immigrant family,” he answers quietly.
“Is that so? Have you nothing interesting to say about your bloodline?”
“My bloodline?”
“Yes, of course, your bloodline. It is very popular to test your ancestry these days, Guillermo. You spit out some saliva, send it away to the ether-web, and the people in charge will tell you who your great-great-grandpappy is.” Nandor shoots him a prompting look. “There is always something special for a hu—a person like you. You could be related to George Washington or Elvis! Or Magic Johnson, Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen, Larry Bird...”
“You are just… you are just listing names from the Dream Team now.” Guillermo interrupts cautiously. “I really don’t think I’m related to Larry Bird.”
“Ah, that was just an example.” Nandor wrinkles his nose, seemingly annoyed that Guillermo has hindered his smooth train of thoughts. “As I said, you could be related to anyone, at least a tiny bit. Have you never thought about it, Guillermo? You could even be a great-great-great-grandson of Van Helsing.”
“Van Helsing? The doctor guy who killed Dracula?” Guillermo frowns. “He’s… he’s not like an actual person? I’m pretty sure that’s just a character from a novel or something. You know that he’s not real, right? Like, you know there aren’t actually vampires trying to suck blood?”
“Of course not. That would be so silly, running around biting people’s necks like giant mosquitoes.” An undercurrent of amusement runs beneath Nandor’s otherwise calm voice, as if he’s telling a ludicrous bedtime story to a kid. “But there is more than one way to drain a person, Guillermo. You only need a different kind of bloodlust. You can torture them and sand down their spirits like thin Turkish coffee; you can scare them shitless and hold them by the throat, just to watch the sparks die down in their eyes; or you can swallow them piece by piece, yummy in the tummy. You know, the old-fashioned way.”
Guillermo does not know not to respond. The stillness in the car is nerve-racking, even with the flute tune covering where the chorus of Wyclef Jean would have been.
“Wow. Uh. You really thought about it.” Guillermo silently fingers through his pockets, hoping to find a Swiss knife or something useful, anything— but his pockets are otherwise empty except for the keys, ID and some cash. He would be perfectly screwed if Nandor tries anything. “I think the name is violent crime? Those are actual murders, instead of vampirism?”
“Ah, yes, murder, the popular modern nickname. They are the same thing, Guillermo,” Nandor replies with confidence.
Guillermo clenches his hands on either side of the passenger seat, heart thundering in his chest. “So you’re saying vampires exist, and it wouldn’t be a surprise if someone… slays them. Like Van Helsing.”
“Yes, vampire slayers.” Nandor winces. “The party-poopers.”
Guillermo can’t help but steal a glimpse at the man’s cuspids— they are sharp and slightly lengthened like one would expect, but still not fangs. Lord, why would he even contemplate the thought that his driver might be an actual blood-sucking, cape-wearing mystical creature? And why does the thought of that excite him and make his spine shudder?
Nandor might as well be a real vampire. Guillermo swallows. He has the look already. The brow ridge, the copper-brown eyes that push towards pitch black, the full but firm lips and dark silky beard— regal is the word he is looking for. Regal, classic, monarchal, as in he can see this exact face from a 15th century miniature painting fitted between a gold background and chainmail armor, and be completely unsurprised. Guillermo blames these mental images all on the few drinks he had, even though he now barely feels the fuzzy burn. Guillermo realizes that he’s been staring at Nandor for way too long, but the other man does not seem to mind at all.
They drive through another block, and the buildings start to look familiar. Guillermo is close to home, maybe less than a few minutes away, and his driver decides to break the silence yet again. “Have you met a vampire before, Guillermo?”
“No.” Yes, if terrible people are what Nandor means. “I haven’t.” You are lying and he knows it. “I rarely get into that sort of scenes.” How about your sister’s ex-husband then, Guillermo, the one who slipped on your laundry and lost all his teeth? How about the creep with the baseball cap just last month, who set fire to himself after being blinded by the smoke from your vape, seconds after Topher passed into your hand —literally the first time you ever touched a juul. How ‘rarely’ is that?
“You said you never met a vampire—in New York city. It is the Land of Vampires. The Witches’ Melting Pot.”
“Are those real things people say about New York City?”
“Ah, that depends on who you’re asking.” Nandor taps his finger on the steering wheel, “But either way, I do not believe you at all.”
The tavern music switches to another similar tune (Guillermo is seventy percent sure it’s a cover of Macarena, out of everything else in the world), and Nandor’s face brightens up with childlike avidity.
“I try not to put myself among dangerous people,” Guillermo mumbles. Yet you are a danger to them all— accidentally— but still.
A tide of relief washes over Guillermo when he finally spots the top of his apartment complex. This whole ride has gotten too intense and cryptic even for a Saturday night, and he cannot wait to get away from Mister Sexy Vampire Man. “You can drop me off at the 7-eleven right there at the corner, I can get home on my own.”
“The time is too late, Guillermo, there might be bad people around here.” Nandor whispers. He sounds like silk and tarnished silver.
“It’s fine. I can handle myself.”
“What makes you feel that way? Based on past experiences?”
“What?” Guillermo’s jaw drops open.
“Did you handle yourself well when you burned the Baron alive?”
Their car drives right past by the 7-eleven. Nandor grins triumphantly, not even considering stopping. Guillermo can feel his blood turning into ice. How does he know? What does he know? Why would he care? And who the hell is the Baron? “Just stop the car. Stop the car!”
“Hey! It is fine. You need not to worry, and do not be so dramatic, okay? See, you are home! We’re right outside your building now.”
Guillermo pushes his upper body straight against the front window, pressing down the urge to make a run right at this moment. “Who are you?” He asks shakily. “And what do you want?”
“Aw. Are you not going to invite me inside? I know you were looking at me, Guillermo. I thought we were heading towards that direction, and I would not oppose it.”
“Who,” Guillermo grits down his teeth, “Who, the hell, are you?”
“I am Nandor, your Uber driver, Guillermo. Humans really do have terrible memories.” Nandor stops the car and turns around to face Guillermo, pupils glowing with wild excitement. “Are you really not going to invite me inside, vampire slayer?”
Guillermo pulls at the door handle erratically, but the hinges are firmly locked in place and do not move a little no matter how hard he pulls. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Nandor, and I’m not afraid of you.” He tries his best to sound intimidating. “And you will let me go right this moment, or we will have a problem.”
“You are not that terrible at hypnosis for a regular human man, Guillermo, so do not give up hope.” Nandor smiles. “However, there is still room for practice, because it is not entirely working on me yet.”
His driver practically springs out of his seat, hovering over Guillermo like a winging owl examining his nightly prey. His face is only inches away, so close that Guillermo can feel his hot breaths hitting the bridge of his nose, smooth and tingling like desert jets. He doesn’t dare to move. With the corners of his eyes, Guillermo desperately looks for any potential make-shift weapons within his reach. But the effort is utterly fruitless— the only thing lethal enough as far as he can see is the man’s biceps and his broad, brick-like shoulders. Nandor could probably crush Guillermo like a human soda can if he really tries to.
“What on earth do you want?” He almost starts to cry. “I have nothing on me. I work customer service for god’s sake. Please just leave me alone. If I did you wrong somehow, I really don’t mean it, and I apologize—”
“This is nothing personal, Guillermo. You are a slayer, and I am a vampire. It has to go this way.” Nandor shrugs. “See? It is right there in the name.”
“I am not any type of slayer, Nandor, I promise you. I’m really just a person with crazy bad luck. The fire thing from last month was an accident. A vaping accident.”
“I am relieved to know that the Baron had a glorious death. But the Vampiric Council is not amused. They are not happy he died by the hand of a de la Cruz, one with drops of the Van Helsing guy’s blood in his vein.” Nandor’s voice is almost imperceptible. “You should really invite me in, Guillermo. I just cleaned out the car last week and this is really not a good time to make another mess. Plus, I have not put on my head-ripping gloves yet.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” Guillermo replies slowly. Whoever this man is, he is definitely not sane, and Guillermo does not have the emotional or mental capacity to think about whatever the Vampiric Council or head-ripping-gloves are right now.
“Huh?”
“People have bad luck around me. I can’t control it,” Guillermo steadies his breathing and looks straight into Nandor’s eyes, “And people like you get hurt.”
He grabs onto Nandor’s upper arm abruptly and pulls himself up. In the brief moment of stillness due to his killer’s surprise, Guillermo bites down into Nandor’s exposed shoulder as deep as he can. The man yells out in pain, and the metallic taste of blood blossoms on Guillermo’s tongue. It’s warm, burning and cloying, with a thin sharpened edge. Nandor’s wrists jerk away from Guillermo’s sides and up toward Guillermo’s neck, but Guillermo manages to catch his fingers with his own, and somehow, miraculously, pulls away the car keys from his palm and lets them drop to his feet. He stomps down in a frenzy and two short beeps come from under the seats, following a light click at the car windows.
His killer growls. Guillermo loosens his mouth and lunges his whole body towards the now unlocked door, until he falls and rolls onto the hard brick pavement. Nandor’s blood is still dripping down his lips and chin, but Guillermo can’t think about anything else except to run, run, to get home and lock the door. He scrambles to get up and hurtles towards his apartment building, head ringing with high-pitched buzzes, still struggling to process the string of events. Guillermo jabs at the elevator button like his life depends on it— which is likely the truth— and from the corner of his eyes, he sees a bloodied figure dashing closer and closer at an alarming speed. The last footsteps from Nandor feel like merely inches away, but Guillermo is riding up—higher and higher, praying that Nandor does not know which unit he lives in. But in all honesty, Guillermo already knows the answer.
His door is already half open, likely broken into after he left for the Sassy Cats Club. Guillermo squeezes inside and slams it shut, even though the voice in his head is telling him Nandor is coming. If he has already picked the lock once, he can do it again. Guillermo turns around and looks for anything he can use— something hard but not too sharp, since the most mundane objects can become lethal in Guillermo’s hands once the universe decides so.
His eyes settle on a three-feet-tall shiny metal figurine delineating Buddy Jesus, who’s winking and playfully shooting the viewer a finger gun— the last birthday gift from his friend Tanya, likely dredged up from her neighborhood Goodwill. Guillermo grabs the statue by the shins and it anchors in his hands with lead-like weight. He latches himself against the wall right next to the apartment entrance, trying not to breathe too loud.
Now he waits.
There is rattling behind the door. Guillermo, the voice is marked by childlike keenness, I am still waiting for the invitation. But he is not waiting very patiently— because the lock suddenly springs open with a sharp clink and Guillermo can see one black loafer stepping inside, followed by Nandor’s upper body. His killer turns his head—and by pure dumb luck, the kind of luck Guillermo is surprisingly used to—in the opposite direction of Guillermo.
He swings his arms.
The blunt end of Buddy Jesus delivers a mighty, furious kiss to the back of Nandor’s skull. With a dull thump, the taunting man slips off his heels like a tumbler doll, long dark hair flooding forth in front of his face. His head swings around in slow motion, and Guillermo can swear his heart immediately ceases beating—but the man just blinks at him slackly, a mixture of surprise and confusion on his face.
“You look wonderful tonight. There is blood on your chin.” Nandor’s eyes are wet and glassy. “Are you alright?”
“What?” Guillermo’s voice is getting too high-pitched.
“Haletan khoob ast?” The man giggles. He blindly holds out his hands as if he’s seeking out an embrace, the red on his shoulder now seeping into his shirt like rose petals.
“What?” Guillermo tightens his grip on Buddy Jesus’ heels again.
“Felan.” Nandor smiles. His pupils roll up, and he falls face down into the tan oak floor.
-
Guillermo really should be calling some people. An ambulance, or a helpline, or Tanya, Jeremy and Derek, or a new locksmith— because the lock on his door clearly does not provide him with a safe haven.
Anyone, really, instead of having a murderous daddy-of-his-dream bound and locked in his bedroom, unconscious, while he himself sitting on the kitchen floor alone and desperately trying to figure out what to do with his life. Three hours ago he was sipping cocktails from a highball glass to some retro Dua Lipa remix, and now he’s hunted by actual real-life adults who think they are vampires and that Guillermo is a vampire slayer. Listen, having a long history of causing accidental casualty in scumbags and bullies does not make you a stake-wielding destroyer of evil, or their descendant.
Van Helsing. Wasn’t that guy Dutch?
Guillermo has a lot of puzzles to sort out, but he is truly too tired to think. His eyelids are hefty and his poor brain flounders to compose anything coherent even after great effort.
But he shouldn’t go to sleep. Nandor could just rouse from his slumber and whack Guillermo on the head, just like what Guillermo did to him—
Or, alternatively, can he? Guillermo did bind up his wrists and ankles with Ethernet cables. He also made sure his pockets were empty of lockpicks or anything stiffer than a piece of cotton candy. It would be very difficult for Nandor to escape.
So maybe he should take a small nap. Just a tiny one. For extra precaution, Guillermo decides to lean against the bedroom door before going to sleep. With a dulled, plastic-handled steak knife under his fingers and undisturbed silence behind his back, Guillermo feels slightly safer. He sets his alarm for a couple of hours later and closes his eyes.
*
Nandor frees his hands first—by hooking the wires on the edge of a three-tier nightstand and very carefully pulling them apart— Guillermo’s restraints are in no way tight enough if he actually wants to hold a man in place— Nadja can probably tie up Laszlo better for their sex-play.
It is not hard to free his ankles after that.
Nandor presses his ear from inside the door and holds his breath. Filtered through layers of pinewood, he hears another set of soft inhales and exhales, barely perceptible but definitely close. His little man has fallen asleep on the other side of the door after delivering a valiant blow to Nandor’s skull. Rookie mistake. Never close your eyes when Nandor the Relentless is in your house, not even for a second. Reduce your blinking frequency as well if you can— his name is not vainly given. He is called the Relentless only because he would never, ever relent.
Nandor steps on Guillermo’s bed, removes the ventilation hood above his head and squeezes his limbs inside. The wound on his shoulder busts open again from the muscle movements, smearing drops of blood on Guillermo’s ceiling, but Nandor could not care less. Quietly, he crawls towards the next opening. A grey cat with a white muzzle looks at him curiously as he drops down into the living room of Guillermo’s neighbor.
“Hi kitty.” The cat rolls onto its back, paws folded on either side of its tiny, fluffy chest.
Nandor strokes its warm belly with honor and humility. The thin, almost-penetrable four a.m. darkness fills the room to all its corners, but the layout is simple enough that he is able to swiftly navigate toward the shared hallway, and back into Guillermo’s apartment. An arm-length metal figurine quietly rolls away from his feet as he steps inside the door- likely the weapon Guillermo used to strike him.
Poor little man. A strange and unfamiliar weight saddles Nandor’s chest when he remembers that Guillermo will soon turn into a mushy, gooey, bloody mess under his palm, instead of a living breathing person. And to think that it is usually his favorite part of a kill— he likes to pillage, rummage, to plunder through a human’s body parts— Nandor is fairly confused. He has zero idea about this feeling that he is feeling. Guillermo is still in deep sleep guarding the bedroom door, his face flushed, lips plump and thrilling with each tiny column of air his tiny nose takes in. Guillermo is very pretty for a slayer, Nandor admits. And a courageous one too. Under different circumstances, he would perhaps try to get into the human’s bedroom in a more conventional way.
Well, a job is a job. At least he will have the bitemarks to remember him by. Nandor places his fingers gently against Guillermo’s hair. It’s not like he has a choice.
Or does he?
“Guillermo? Wake up now, Guillermo.” He cups the human’s jaw, fondly squeezing into his soft ample cheeks. “Wake up so I do not have to rip your head off.”
Guillermo grumbles in discontent. Nandor digs his thumb in a bit more, swaying the human’s head side to side like a dainty china doll. Finally, Guillermo’s upper lashes flutter apart reluctantly from the lower ones, eyelids still heavy and half down. A dazed visage lingers on his face for a split second, but it’s immediately replaced by a look of pure terror.
Guillermo inhales sharply and swings up his arm upward with a silver flash, before Nandor catches his wrist in midair. Nandor claps his other palm on Guillermo’s mouth, muffling the very beginning of an unstrung scream as a steak knife clatters against the floor. His right knee presses into the human’s abdomen, pinning him in place, causing the latter to let out a series of agonized whimpers.
“Now now, Guillermo, shhh! Do not disturb the neighbor’s cat! I only want to talk with you. I am not going to hurt you, do you understand?” Nandor explains. “Nod if you understand— and also promise not to scream.”
Guillermo nods eagerly. Nandor eases the strength in his grip to about half way, letting his bottom fall back onto the ground. Guillermo gapes at him, trembling like a man caught up in a lightning strike. Nandor can still see traces of his own blood on Guillermo’s teeth, and for some reason, it fills his stomach with blazing lava.
“I’m— please don’t sneak up on me again.” Guillermo’s breaths are rapid and shallow.
“But you snuck up on me first! You bit me and hit me in the head with your Jeebus-guy.”
“My Jeebus-guy?”
Nandor winces. “Don’t make me say the name, Guillermo. You are being very impolite right now.”
Guillermo opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Nandor wonders if he has broken the human’s vocal cord somehow. His victims are usually rather loud— Oh no, do not pull off my arm! Please don’t snap my neck! Why are you writing a date and name on my forehead with a blue marker and dragging me into the dungeon? — Because there are three other vampires living in the house, random victim guy, and sharing victims is very unhygienic. Nandor is not about getting weird germs from whoever Laszlo or Colin Robinson drag into their house.
“You tried to kill me!” Guillermo finally snaps back, his brows knitted together in disbelief. “You broke into my home!”
“Yes, fine, I am glad that you still remember those parts, now stop rubbing it in.” Nandor admits. “But I am killing everyone, not just you, Guillermo. Besides, it is the Council that wants to quack you,” Nandor makes the gesture of slitting his own throat. “So do not take it too personally.”
He watches as the human’s chest rises with conflict and sinks down again, as if he is trying very hard to compress certain unwanted emotions. Is this tiny little ball of yarn really a descendant of Van Helsing? Well, he did kill the Baron, whom Nandor did not particularly miss or mourn for— the old fool had some pretty outdated ideas on how a vampire should talk and act. Besides, he was also a dramatic jerk. He had slept with both Nadja and Laszlo despite a complete lack of cock and balls, and Nandor did not want to be his next.
It is also possible that Guillermo has killed more. If Nandor is not famous for his abnormally thick skull (he has been complemented for this feature by many folks), the head injury could have well cost him his life.
“I don’t believe you.” Nandor perks up his eyebrow— don’t believe what? He is sitting right in front of him, flesh and bones. Did he break Guillermo’s mind too?
“This has to be a prank.” Guillermo mutters. “You can’t just pick me up in a fucking Uber and kill me because I’m not good with goddamn Dracula. Even if you are some sort of professional murderer—”
“—Vampire.”
The human sucks in a long breath of air, looking defeated. “— A vampire, your fingerprints will still be all over my body.”
“I will use my gloves, Guillermo. There is no fingerprint on the outside part of a glove.” Nandor gazes at Guillermo with immense pity. You simply cannot trust a common human person to have any professional vampiric knowledge.
“But—”
“Guillermo! Hands off your little table knife!”
Guillermo makes a face and folds back his sneaking arm. On one hand, Nandor is glad that he still has the fighting spirit; on the other hand, he just wants to have a regular conversation without stabbing someone or being stabbed for once. Why is it so hard?
“I am legally dead, Guillermo. I have not been alive since 1992.” Nandor explains unprompted. He was turned by an ex-girlfriend— well, the ex-girlfriend and her own ex-girlfriend, who was also a girlfriend of Nandor’s at that time (He was dating 37 people at once during the summer of 1992, all children of ranch owners; but in his defense, it was not the best time in his life since he was very ferociously hooked on horses). They taught him how to really use a knife, even though he now prefers his own hands. They are now living in Argentina with an all-women death cult and write to Nandor sometimes. “I was poisoned and abandoned in the fields. I was declared a dead person, so all the records of Nandor are gone. This Persian Uber driver guy does not exist. But I still have my shamshir and some very effective sulfuric acids. I kill people, and I tear the muscles part, and the rest will be cut up and dissolved. Anything that is left will be put in a duffle bag and sunk down to the bottom of the ocean.”
The human’s face is suddenly drained of color. “Are you... still going to do that?”
Silly question. Nandor shakes his head. Guillermo might be beautiful, but he is truly not the sharpest cookie. He would already be munched on by fish if Nandor had stuck to his plan— maybe save for his lips— Nandor is tempted to keep them separately in a jar just for himself to look at. “And do not ask me for a reason! I can change my mind again very easily, Guillermo.”
The human closes his eyes and sighs— in relief, Nandor assumes. He pushes himself up and crouches forward, his knees settling on either side of Guillermo’s thighs. Guillermo holds in his breath, lowering his gaze to the empty wooden floor like a rueful child and biting down into his lower lip.
“And what do we do now?” he whispers.
Nandor knows the answer, and he also knows that Guillermo would not like that answer. “You need to—” Change your name and leave everyone you know behind. Try to act dead. Make the Council think that you are dead.
But Nandor is sleepy and hungry, and the sun is about to come up (a pet peeve of his for personal reasons— staying awake by then would seriously mess up his sleep schedule).
“You need to feed me before I turn in for my slumber.”
“Feed you.” Guillermo repeats. “You want me to feed you.”
“Yes, Guillermo. I am technically a guest, and you have been showing me very little hospitality.”
Guillermo stares at Nandor like a deer in the headlights, and Nandor stares back at him because he does not know what Guillermo’s gaze means. The human’s throat moves as he hesitantly raises up his hand to his shirt collar, not breaking eye contact for a second. He sighs, as if he has just made a big and emotional decision. Guillermo slowly shuts his eyelids and pulls down the fabric near the base of his neck, revealing a piece of rosy skin almost at the same location where he has bitten Nandor.
“Do it.” Guillermo’s breaths are shallow and out of rhythm. “Take what you need from me.”
Nandor struggles to find his speech. The urge of actually having the human’s soft, exposed, delicious-looking skin pulse under his lips and teeth washes up his spine and makes him very, very excited— but that is just not how it works. The spirit is good; however, Nandor still needs a certain amount of carb and fat to survive, and to fuel his unrelenting homicidal lust.
“Blood-sucking is only a metaphor, Guillermo. Do not be so silly.” Nandor’s voice is coarser than what he’s used to, and the human’s face turns bright red— a view that requires Nandor to go out of his vocabulary-comfort-zone and describe as cute. “But we can try it later if you are so inclined.”
*
“Guillermo, are you having a serious thought?”
Nandor is sitting cross legged on his sofa holding a comically large bowl of breakfast cereal. Realizing that he has been staring blankly at the man's silhouette for way too long, Guillermo shakes himself awake and shrugs meekly. He has more or less reached the stage of acceptance. Typically, on any other day, if he had spotted Nandor somewhere else in that short-sleeved top and linen pants without knowing all those mind-boggling thoughts swimming in his brain, Guillermo would have prayed for him to come and ruin his life.
It sucks. The moral of tonight is to always be very, very careful with what to manifest into your own future, and Guillermo’s is now properly spoiled. He feels a sudden wave of bitterness at the root of his tongue. Why does it always have to be him? Every time, every single time anything crazy happens— it just has to be around this guy— the jinxed, snake-bitten Guillermo de la Cruz.
High school dance? Accidentally electrocuted Melisa Barnes and apparently brought back her repressed memories, resulting in her going full Carrie and breaking both of Lady Trunchbull’s legs (she deserved it— but still).
Frat party? Tagging along as a favor for the Panera Bread manager, getting incredibly flustered after just one sip of Jägermeister, scared a dudebro into jumping out of the window by pushing over the wrong door while the guy was browsing some websites Guillermo wished he could unsee. Six months of coma, never fully recovered.
Never invite Guillermo to a potluck, because he doesn’t even want to recall the story.
Every time. Every god-forsaken time. Guillermo talks to no one from his past (besides Jeremy, because he is just the right blend of sweet and oblivious).
After a brief moment of silence, he props himself up, fists clenched tight. “You are a serial killer. Or a mercenary. Or something— you needed to hunt me down because I was a vampire slayer, and somehow I was on the bloodline of Van Helsing.”
Nandor delivers a full spoon of Cap'n Crunch's Crunch Berries into his mouth. “Did I tell you all this?”
“Yes, you did. When you were being creepy in the car.”
“Then you are correct,” Nandor hums. “Except for the titles. I am Nandor the Relentless, the head vampire of Staten Island. And I kill for my own leisure.” He takes another spoon. “Maybe I should not tell you my full name? Or should I? How long do you talk to someone before letting them know your whole deal?”
Why is his killer this hot but also this weird? “No, you should not let any victim know your full name, Nandor. Especially the ones you let live.” Guillermo sighs. “As I said, what should I do now? Am I still in danger, or do you just tell the Council that you’ve finished me off?”
“Ah… right. They will want to make sure that you are dead. Disappeared. More assassins will be sent if those guys are not convinced.” There’s a tinge or seriousness on the vampire’s face, and Guillermo is slowly seized by apprehension. “You should now change your name, sell everything in your property on the black market and leave everyone you know behind.”
Nandor fixes his gaze on Guillermo’s face and nods, each word adding more twinges in his stomach. The deadweight of reality suddenly dawns on him and he cannot feel his own heartbeat.
“Guillermo, you need to vanish.”
He finds himself standing up, fingers digging into his own palms until the top knuckles are numb and his skin is on fire. To vanish. To vanish? What does that even mean to him, when he has been pretty much rooted in the same city for twenty-five years and leaving marks all over the place— the good ones, the meh ones, and the overwhelmingly bad ones? He can’t just erase them all and start a different life—
“I can’t just become a new person, Nandor. We’re not in the 70s.”
“The 70s were a better time.” You were at most a six-year-old in the 70s because you are not actually immortal. Guillermo stops himself from bickering back. And I am not Nicholas Cage or John-Trov. He definitely shouldn’t just leave. It would be highly irresponsible to just say fuck it and go away for some stupid— well, stupid but so very scarily real excuse, because that would almost ensure the total destruction of every thread in his life.
“I can’t just leave my mom and my friends.”
What kind of person just abandons their old life and goes off the grid because of some vampire?
“It is only temporary, Guillermo. You hide under somebody’s bed for three or four months, let your mother and friends find out that you are missing, and wait until the Council thinks that you are dead.” Nandor flashes him an awkward, toothy smile likely intended to be comforting. “Then you can come back very quietly into your apartment! And then everything will be Okay-A.”
“It will not!” Guillermo rolls his eyes. “It will not just be A-Okay.”
“What I just said.” Nandor blinks, “O-Akay.”
“A-O… Never mind.” Guillermo’s head is hurting. “I can’t just give up my job!”
“Ah. You enjoy your position as customer-servicer?”
“I fucking hate it. Fuck customer service.” The words blurt out without going through Guillermo’s brain. “But I can’t support myself without a job. My savings won’t go that long. I will lose my apartment too! I can’t be employed and homeless, Nandor.”
The vampire falls silent. Maybe Guillermo should choose to get crushed by Nandor’s biceps instead of by the crippling economy. He is screwed either way, but at least he will die knowing he has fulfilled some repressed twink’s ultimate boner-inducing fantasy.
“You can come with me.”
“I can— what?”
“You can come with me in my car, and stay with me in Staten Island, Guillermo. You shall be employed by me, Nandor the relentless, and I shall satisfy your daily human needs.” Nandor puts down the cereal bowl and leans forward, eyes twinkling with anticipation, “You will be my assistant. My familiar.”
Damn it. That should sound over-the-top cringy, but somehow Nandor’s tone makes the whole proposition entirely different. Guillermo can pinpoint the exact moment his own brain goes into short circuits; there’s no way he would take that offer because it is straight up insane— but Nandor’s face is bright and he is actually smiling, and there are tiny starlight-shaped crinkles around his eyes and the bridge of his nose. He is clearly so pleased with his grand artifice.
Maybe Guillermo is the kind of person who abandons their old life and goes off the grid because of some vampire.
“I will not murder people for you, Nandor.” Guillermo stands his last moral ground.
Nandor tilts his head and spends a moment wrestling with Guillermo’s actual work duty. “I thought you had a very fitting experience. But no, Guillermo, you only need to clean up after me. Maybe clean the house too… but you have to be careful.”
“Careful of what?”
“My roommates, especially Colin Robinson— you will see. And also the spider houses. Mostly the spider houses.”
*
Three Months Later
“Hey big boy, wake up now!”
Nandor feels someone shaking his shoulder. He groans and wriggles towards the source of that voice, eyes still screwed shut. He reaches out to the edge of the bed until he catches the cushy, snug linings of Guillermo’s sweater underneath his fingertips. Nandor sighs contentedly and spreads out his arms, tugging the warm body against his bare chest.
“Nandor… You have stuff to do today. Now get up before I take away your blanket.”
“Mmmm,” Nandor hums absentmindedly, settling his cheek against Guillermo’s lap, “You cannot do that. I will fire you for it.”
“Well, then let go of me first.”
“No.” Nandor peeks up under his eyelids. Guillermo’s hair is bouncy yet nicely combed, his glasses casting a light shadow by the flameless candlelight. His human is trying to keep a straight face despite the subtle angle at the corner of his mouth, and he is clearly failing.
Nandor moves up his forearms and pulls Guillermo down into the sheets. He rolls against Guillermo’s back, wrapping himself around his chest and waist, hands sliding into the hem of Guillermo’s sweater and pressing into his skin. His human does not protest.
“What if I do not do any stuff today, Guillermo? I am feeling… a bit less relentless right now.” Nandor whines. He can feel his human’s heartbeat resonating with his own, gently picking up pace against the hollow of his chest. He just wants to cling against Guillermo in bed like this, and maybe do something else later.
Guillermo shakes his head. “But I arranged a victim for you, Nandor. He’s going to come at half past eleven.”
“Oh. Thank you then.” Nandor holds him closer, “What did this one do?”
“Well, I told him I was a 14-year-old girl named Amelia, and he is meeting me in the backyard after my mom and dad go to sleep.”
“Is he going to be feisty? I like the feisty ones.”
Nandor feels his human’s fingers moving up his arm and interlinking with his own. “You only like the feisty ones because you want me to come help.” His heels gently kick against Nandor’s shin. “You just want to see me fight.”
“Yes, Guillermo, save me from the big bad guys with your knives and your very tiny hands.” He pecks at the back of his human’s neck. Guillermo squirms against his lips.
Nandor flips himself over and pushes Guillermo onto his back. Guillermo chuckles, and Nandor feels the foregoer of a smile creeping up his face. Finally, he finds himself laughing into the crook of the smaller man’s neck, whose fingers are now kneading into his hair and tenderly caressing the back of his skull. For the very first time in many years, he feels sated.
“Do you think we have convinced the Council yet, Nandor?” Guillermo asks. “Also, my hands are not that tiny.”
“No, Guillermo, it is way too early.” Nandor plants another kiss upon the warm, flushed skin under his nose tip, as he feels his human’s hands smoothing down to the small of his back. “You will have to stay with me for many, many more months. Maybe even years.”
Guillermo’s breath flutters as Nandor unbuttons his shirt collar, but he pushes himself up against Nandor’s hips, a daring curve between his lips. “I was thinking the same.”