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“Jon, are you sure this is the right way?”
“No, Martin, I’m not.”
“Wait—but you said—okay, back at that turn? With the rat that had like, a throne made out of an empty can? You said you knew your way out of here.”
“Well, I was lying.”
“Jon.”
“I don’t know why you’re so surprised. That’s what I do, isn’t it?”
“That’s not fair.”
“God. Is anything? How do we even know we’re making our own choices right now and not being manipulated by the avatar of thousands of years of human fears made manifest?”
“Well… we don’t. That’s—hang on, what was that?”
“What?”
“That sound. Wait, there it is again… Jon, is that your stomach? Are you hangry?”
“Well, I…I suppose in all the confusion, I didn’t make time for a statement today.”
“Unbelievable.”
--
By Vampiric Council standards, it had been a very good day. Nandor checked everything off the to-do list he dictated to Guillermo, and it was very satisfying to draw little checkmarks in the little boxes. Because he did so well today, the page was full. On his next day as Council Leader, Guillermo would tear off the old page and start a new one—especially important because each new page also meant a new horse galloping across the top.
It's the next horse Nandor is thinking about when he walks into the Council Library. Guillermo looks up from a book he’s been eyeing skeptically.
“Done for the night?” Guillermo asks, getting to his feet.
“Yes, it was a very productive day,” Nandor says. “We have set many exciting new projects in motion!”
“We as in you and Nadja?”
“No! We as in me and The Guide.” Nandor snorts, folding his arms. “Nadja would not approve of a blood delivery truck, which is very stupid of her.”
“A…sorry, did you say a blood delivery truck?”
“Yes! One of those tiny truck cars that drives very slowly and plays all of those tunes stolen from Laszlo. That truck!”
Guillermo frowns. “You mean like a Mister Softee?”
“No, I do not mean a human! A truck! Like your car except without so many unnecessary windows!”
“Okay,” Guillermo says slowly. “So again, the windows are so I can see other cars. And yes, I know what you mean. Mister Softee is a kind of ice cream truck.”
Nandor thinks about this for a moment. “You mean it is like Colin Robinson. If ice cream trucks were vampires, this Mister Softee is an energy vampire?”
Guillermo pauses, remembering the tumbling chimes of the Mister Softee truck that would permeate his dreams during the weeks the heat index felt like the world was trying to cook them alive. “That’s not a bad way to think about it.”
Nandor brushes away nonexistent dust from his cloak. “This is the kind of important analytical thinking you must develop as council leader, Guillermo. Pay attention and perhaps one day you can join the wraiths.”
“Yaaay,” Guillermo says, deadpan.
It is, frankly, a terrible plan. Aside from the general issue of overhead for food trucks and extremely likely noise complaints they’ll get for driving a truck around playing music in the dead of night, Nandor cannot be trusted around vehicles. No matter how many times Guillermo explained “horsepower” is a unit of measurement and no, there are not actual horses in the engine and yes, I’m sure, Nandor, the vampires have still gone through three cars because Nandor insisted on putting oats in the gas tank so the “horses may have a special treat.”
Before Guillermo can start to deter Nandor from this plan, there’s a great commotion from the other side of the room. One entire bookshelf hinges open and two humans tumble out of a passage Guillermo is very sure doesn’t belong to this building.
“Oh,” one of them says in a bright voice. “Hello! Sorry for dropping in like this—um. Where is this?”
Behind him, a taller man scans Guillermo, then his gaze fixes on Nandor. Guillermo watches Nandor’s entire body go taught, the same as when he’s about to snatch up an unsuspecting human for dinner.
“You have trespassed into the Vam—”
“Council Library!” Guillermo interrupts. “Staten Island branch. Hi. I’m Guillermo. This is Nandor. Can we help you?”
“I think we’re a bit lost,” the first one says. “I’m Martin, and this is Jon.”
“Charmed, I’m sure,” Jon says, still staring at Nandor.
“The pleasure will be only for me,” Nandor replies.
“It’s ‘the pleasure is mine,’” Guillermo says out of the corner of his mouth.
“I know what the saying is, Guillermo!” Nandor snaps. “Don’t you sense what he is?”
“What I am?” Jon retorts. “You’re one to talk.”
“I have not barged into your place of work without an invitation!”
“Technically, you can’t,” Guillermo mutters to himself, but by the way Nandor’s lip curls, Nandor heard him.
“Whoa, hey, it was an accident,” Martin says. “Took a wrong turn and ended up—sorry, did you say Staten Island, as in New York? As in America?”
“Yes,” Guillermo says slowly. “Were you expecting somewhere else?”
Martin and Jon exchange a look, then together say, “Helen.”
“Who’s Helen?”
“Who gives a shit,” Nandor snaps. “You have trespassed and must be punished! And I am also hungry so this works out!”
“Nandor, wait!” Guillermo says.
Nandor strides forward, reaching for Martin. Jon yanks Martin behind him, one palm pressed against the center of Martin’s chest. He turns the rest of his body to face Nandor, sliding his feet apart into a wide stance.
Okay, Guillermo thinks with a resigned sigh; so tonight ends with a fight.
“Back off, bloodsucker,” Jon growls.
Nandor hisses. “What did you call me? That is very rude, you know!”
“Oh—oh, God,” Martin says, grabbing at Jon’s forearm. “Jon, he’s got fangs.”
“I can see that, Martin,” Jon says through gritted teeth.
“I will snack on you if necessary,” Nandor threatens Jon. “I am that hungry!”
“You could try,” Jon replies. “I get the feeling I’d burn your mouth.”
“Maybe it would be worth it just to kill you.”
“Are you so sure you’d survive me?” Jon asks, showing his own teeth in an unfriendly smile.
“Ooohkay, I think that’s enough,” Guillermo says, sliding smoothly between the two of them. “I think we’ve established you’re both very tough and it’s unclear who would win in a fight.”
“I would!” Nandor shouts, wounded. “How could you doubt me, Guillermo? My own famil—bodyguard!”
“I know,” Guillermo soothes in an undertone, smoothing the edges of Nandor’s cloak. “But it’s diplomacy. They’re our guests, even if accidentally. Think of how you’ll get this experience and Nadja won’t.”
“You are right,” Nandor says. He throws his shoulders back. “You are welcome here, but only temporarily. We can’t have a human and a…” he eyes Jon. “you wandering around the Vampiric Council’s headquarters.”
“Is there someone else? You mentioned a Helen?” Guillermo asks.
“She’ll be fine,” Jon replies darkly. “Look, we are sorry. If you can point us to the nearest door, we’ll be on our way.”
“It’s not really safe to go around unescorted until after the sun’s up,” Guillermo replies apologetically. “In a few hours, I can show you the way out.”
Jon sighs. “Okay, fine. But if you”—he points at Nandor—“try anything, I will kill you.”
“Fine! Same to you,” Nandor replies.
“Feel free to look around,” Guillermo says. “Maybe don’t touch any books you don’t recognize.”
“This place is massive,” Martin says in awe, his head thrown back and spinning in a slow circle. “Do you think they have artifacts?”
“I’m sure they do,” Jon replies unimpressed, but trailing after Martin with a fond expression at his excitement.
“Oh, Jon, look! They have a first edition of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s Voices of the Night,” Martin exclaims, taking the volume from the shelf with reverence.
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t—” Guillermo tries, but Martin is already opening the book.
Martin blanches, then blushes fiercely. “O-oh my…this isn’t”—he clears his throat—“well.”
Jon peers over his shoulder with interest, the same sort of curiosity he once showed towards an uncatalogued artifact. He takes the book from Martin and looks at the cover. “This, ah, collection appears to be by someone called Henry Widesgirth Longfellow.”
Martin stares at his feet. Jon rests a hand on his back and leans down to murmur, “it’s all right, Martin. Honest mistake.”
“Oh, making it worse, Jon!” Martin says, and edge of desperation in his voice. “Just—put it away, all right, and then maybe find a door I can disappear forever into?”
Jon puts the book away. He hooks a knuckle under Martin’s chin and lifts until Martin meets his eyes. “No doors. No disappearing. Clear?”
“Yes, boss,” Martin mumbles.
“Good,” Jon says, brushing his thumb along Martin’s chin before releasing him.
Martin blushes again and clears his throat. “Can I make anyone a cuppa?” He tries.
“I do not drink tea,” Nandor sniffs imperiously.
“What do you drink?” Jon asks, staring intently at Nandor.
“Tea sounds lovely, Martin,” Guillermo replies.
“The blood of humans I hunt and kill,” Nandor replies. “Hey! How did you do that?”
“It’s a gift,” Jon says.
“Jon,” Martin says, a warning.
“Well, I have one of those, too!” Nandor says.
“Nandor,” Guillermo tries.
“It won’t work on me,” Jon says. “Stand back, Martin.”
Nandor huffs. “We shall see.” He extends one hand, thumb and first two fingers pointing at Jon. “You will tell me what you are doing and who you are.”
“Jonathan Sims,” Jon gasps through gritted teeth. “Nngh…the Archivist. I’m… collecting… no! I won’t—I won’t tell you! What master do you serve?”
“Girlyjim,” Nandor says before he clamps his mouth shut. He keeps gently rotating his extended arm, faltering as Jon gets out half a question, but doesn’t finish.
Guillermo edges over to Martin, who’s backed several yards away after Jon’s warning.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” Martin replies. “I’ve never seen anyone resist his questions before. I imagine it’s the same with the... is it hypnotism?”
“…Sure. Exact same, yep,” Guillermo says. “Uh oh.”
Nandor sways on his feet. Jon has sunk to his knees.
“You will—stop—being annoying,” Nandor gasps out, just as Jon manages, “how do you know Helen,” and the two of them teeter, then slump over, unconscious.
“Huh,” Guillermo says. “Well, that’s never happened before.”
“Eh, fairly normal occurrence for us. He usually wakes up in an hour or so—probably the same for your…Nandor, was it? Here, I’ll help you move them to those sofas.”
--
Martin, once removed from being an unwilling participant in the supernatural dick measuring, is delightful. Turns out, he and Jon have many similar challenges as Guillermo and Nandor. Guillermo thinks about how funny this is, these two in a romantic relationship having such a similar dynamic as Guillermo and Nandor, who are not in a romantic relationship. Very funny. Not at all something he should unpack.
Nope.
While Nandor and Jon sleep off whatever energy they drained (or took too much of?), Guillermo and Martin swap stories.
“He got involved in a vampire cult.”
“No,” Martin gasps. “They have those even if you’re a vampire?”
“Yep,” Guillermo says with a shrug. “There’s a lot that doesn’t actually change very much when you become one.”
“God,” Martin mutters, slumping back in his seat. “Imagine all the depressive episodes and existential crises. Feeling like you’re all alone in the world, no one to care for you. Staring down the cent”—he shakes himself, sitting up straight. “Sorry. Ignore me. You were saying something about a vampire cult?”
“Oh, yeah, trying to live as humans. Pulled out their fangs every night. They grow back, so it had to be a whole regular thing.” Guillermo helps himself to another cookie. “I think he was also trying to eat broccoli? It seemed best not to ask after we deprogrammed him.”
“That seems wise. Broccoli, though. That’s how you know it’s a cult,” Martin says. He points at Jon, sprawled over another couch, his mouth slightly open while he sleeps. “That idiot went into a trap where we’d banished a monster and had said monster remove two of his ribs so he could then go into another trap.”
“His ribs? Why?”
Martin throws up his hands. “No idea! I only found out because he kept one in his desk.”
“In his desk? And it didn’t rot? What happened to the second rib?”
“Guillermo, you are asking the same questions I did, but at a much lower volume,” Martin says with a long-suffering eyeroll. “He just told me not to worry about it.”
“Oh yeah because finding the bones of your living boyfriend in his desk at work says, ‘everything is fine.’”
“Is it easier if he’s dead?”
Guillermo gives Nandor a long evaluating look. He’s face-down in some elaborately plush pillow that would suffocate anyone who needed to breathe. He looks back at Martin with a tight smile. “You might be surprised at the sudden drop-off in self-preservation.”
“I see,” Martin replies, looking past Guillermo to Nandor. “At least he’s got a nice arse.”
Guillermo chokes into his tea.
“Oh, sorry, was that overstepping? I, uh, haven’t talked to…other humans in a while. Bit rusty, I expect.”
“No,” Guillermo manages, waving a hand. He wipes his face. “No, no, I mean. We’re not dating.”
“Really?”
“Well, no,” Guillermo says with a smile. “I’m his bodyguard.”
Martin stares at him for a full 15 seconds. “And that’s not a euphemism.”
“No, I’m literally his bodyguard! I make sure other vampires and vampire hunters don’t hurt him. Also, I make sure he doesn’t do something stupid and get himself killed.”
“Like joining a vampire doomsday cult?”
“I don’t know if it was a doomsday cult, exactly. They were trying to become human again.”
“Mmhmm. And how did it end.”
“…um, they all walked into the sun and burned alive.”
“Doomsday cult.”
“Okay, fine,” Guillermo sulks. He perks up. “Hey, want to see something cool?”
“Sure, okay. Probably can’t get worse than someone’s rib or really filthy poetry with extremely detailed diagrams, right?”
Guillermo has a flash of The Guide handing him a certain jar when he first set foot in the Council Library.
“Right,” he lies.
“Okay. Show me what you’ve got, de la Cruz.”
And so Guillermo demonstrates the Cloak of Duplication. It’s still set to Nandor, and Guillermo has a good idea of who to try next.
“Whoever you boop it with, it’ll copy their form onto yours,” Guillermo says. “Want to see if Jon is telling the truth about missing two ribs?”
This is how Jonathan Sims, the Archivist, wakes up in an unfamiliar place and sees an unfamiliar man feeling up his doppelgänger.
For the first time in a long time, Jon selects a deeply human response: he screams.
Guillermo and Martin both jump. Nandor shoves himself upright, nearly toppling onto the floor.
“Oh, God, Jon, it’s me! It’s Martin!” The not-Jon says. “It’s this cloak—duplicates people, hang on.”
The not-Jon slides a cloak off his shoulders, and Martin smiles back at Jon. “See?”
“What the hell were you thinking, Martin?” Jon demands, his voice coming out less commanding than he would like.
“Are you really missing two ribs?” Guillermo asks, distracting Jon while Martin quietly puts the cloak back.
“I—what? Yes. I had them removed so I could find my way back to the surface after going into The Buried.”
“And what’s The Buried?”
“I don’t think I should tell you that.”
“Okay. Just seemed important and maybe you’d like to get it off your chest? But I mean, you don’t have to tell me—I’m not anyone special.”
“No, I. I’m sorry; I didn’t mean it like that. The Buried is the fear of being trapped or buried. Literally and metaphorically.” Jon pauses, replaying the conversation. “Hang on. How did you do that?”
Guillermo shrugs.
Jon’s voice deepens. “Tell me how.”
“No, now you’re being rude, so.”
Jon blinks rapidly several times, then looks at Nandor.
“He is my familiar and bodyguard and a very powerful slayer in his own right,” Nandor brags. “Of course he would not fall victim to your interrogation party tricks.”
“Seemed to work on you just fine,” Jon replies nastily. “Or would you like a second demonstration?”
“No, nope, no,” Martin cuts in. “No more demonstrations. Like Guillermo said, you’ve already proven you’re both very tough and scary. Enemies tremble before you, et cetera. We should really be moving on—sun will be up soon.”
“Yes, Martin’s right. If you could just show us the way out, I’m sure we can handle it from there.”
Guillermo considers this for a long moment. It’s unlikely they’ll encounter any vampires this close to daybreak. “Okay. The hallway that will take you back up to the ground floor is that door over there… next to that other door, which should not exist.”
Jon and Martin exchange another of those cryptic knowing looks.
“It’s your turn,” Jon tells Martin.
“Why me?”
“She likes you better.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean eating me is off the table.”
“I’ll be right here.”
“Fine,” Martin groans and knocks on the door.
The door swings open with an eerie creak, nothing but velvet blackness beyond. A woman leans in the doorway and smiles at Jon and Martin.
“All done with your playdate, boys?” she asks. “Shall we move on?”
“Very funny, Helen,” Jon says. “Come on, Martin.”
“You’re too kind,” Helen says, standing aside to let them walk past her. She gives Guillermo a smile that reminds him of a shark. “Well, you are a delicious morsel, aren’t you?”
Nandor puts one hand on Guillermo’s shoulder, fingers curling against Guillermo’s collarbone.
“Ah. Too bad, then,” the creature that is Helen says and blows Guillermo a kiss.
She shuts the door behind her. Guillermo is sure he doesn’t blink, but the door is an ordinary wall again, and he didn’t see it happen.
“Guillermo?” Nandor finally says.
“Yes?”
“Take out the to-do list. See if we can get some traveling doors for the Council Library and Chambers. They seem very convenient.”
“Yes, Nandor,” Guillermo replies and pretends to write this down.
He does not tell Nandor the likelihood of this succeeding is nonexistent, unless they convince Helen to work for them. Guillermo considers what it would be like for Helen to work here. What would happen when she and The Guide inevitably became inseparable.
Bad things. So many bad things.
So instead, Guillermo doodles a spiraling web around where Martin’s name sprawls over the page, along with his email and phone number.
In case you ever need a brew & bitch.
Martin xx