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It starts in the library, with a dusty wooden box on Nandor’s lap.
“And this one- oh, look at this, Guillermo! So stylish.”
A polaroid of Nandor and Nadja sitting together on a couch, Nandor’s arm slung around Nadja’s shoulders, both of them wearing large sunglasses and hats, grinning at the camera with their fangs bared. Nadja is wearing a blouse not dissimilar to the one she currently is, but Nandor was apparently feeling more trendy at the time and has some sort of red button-down unbuttoned almost to his navel, tucked into jeans that surely flare at the ankles where they cut out of frame. Caroline the Bone-Snapper’s Bachelor party, ‘76 is scrawled across the bottom in Colin Robinson’s neat handwriting, and Nandor smiles at the memory.
“Oh, I miss those. Caroline used to spend weeks preparing, seducing all these bachelors, and then she would invite them all over on the same night and we would feast,” he looks up to Nadja, who is casually leafing through some ancient book on the sofa across from them.
“Do you remember Caroline's parties, Nadja? Such a good time.”
“Oh, yes,” says Nadja, looking up from her book. “I always thought it was a bit stupid of her, you know- why not just hypnotize these men, or at least get a familiar to do this work for you. But it’s the thought that counts, I suppose.”
“Where is she now?” Guillermo asks, and Nandor turns to him.
“California, I believe,” he looks back to Nadja for confirmation, who nods.
“Yes. Bloody idiot- joined up with some vegan cult or some shit that only eats squirrels and common house cats. Insisted I call her caroline the people-hugger or something else completely idiotic the last time I telephoned.”
“What a shame,” Nandor says, mostly to himself, shaking his head as he returns to the box. “She’ll be back to snapping bones and seducing bachelors before we know it, of course, but it is no good in the meantime.”
He continues to rifle through the box, and Nadja returns to her book.
Nandor had appeared in the doorway of Guillermo’s former bedroom- now a study space of sorts, after Guillermo and Nandor had finally sorted the mess of their relationship out, and Guillermo had subsequently been turned and then moved into Nandor’s room with a shiny new coffin- with the ornately carved wooden box tucked under one arm.
“I would like to show you something, my love,” Nandor had said.
Guillermo, still relatively unable to turn him down after over a decade of loyal service, particularly weakened by the affectionate term, followed him into the library, and they’ve been pouring over the contents of the box for nearly an hour.
“It is important to keep a history when you are a vampire,” Nandor had told him, when he first opened it up. “After so many years alive, things can slip through the cracks. It is easier, now, with the cameras and the mobile telephones, but we still must keep records.”
So they’ve gone through almost the entire box, in a sort of vampiric history lesson. Guillermo supposes this is meant to be part of his training- not that he needs much of it, with how much he’s seen throughout his stint as a familiar -but it’s really just nice to spend time with Nandor. For all of Nandor’s “relentless” nature, he’s been remarkably shy about admitting that he simply wants to be around Guillermo since the change in their relationship. Guillermo supposes that he’ll grow out of it eventually, but aiding in Guillermo’s unholy transition is his go-to excuse for the time being.
“Guillermo,” Nandor says, bringing him back, “pay attention- this is very important. You see, due to us all being turned so many years ago, we do not have any of these proper photographs of us before our deaths. So this one here is very rare.”
He passes a very old, delicate slip of paper to Guillermo, who holds it gingerly. It’s a sketch of a little girl- not intricate enough to be a proper portrait, but still done with enough care to create a nice image of her. She looks very young, maybe about seven or eight, and is standing in profile as she smiles at something the artist didn’t add to the scene. Her dress falls just to just above her ankles, revealing bare feet, and her hair is braided to hang down her back.
“Is this you, Nadja?” Guillermo asks, as he passes it back to Nandor, looking at her. Nandor holds up the drawing for her to see, and she reaches for it.
“No, actually, this is my dear Laszlo,” she says. Guillermo is vaguely recalling an article he’d seen about young boys wearing dresses for practicality’s sake a few centuries ago, when- “back when he was a little girl, of course.”
Nandor doesn’t react to this, but Guillermo frowns. “What?”
Nadja looks up from the sketch, equally confused. “When Laszlo was a little girl. Are you having the hearing problems? Your turning should have fixed this by now, surely.”
“No, I heard you, just- what do you mean?”
“Laszlo was not always a man in the traditional sense,” Nandor interjects.
“Did you not know this?” Nadja asks, and Guillermo shakes his head. “I suppose he does like to keep it private. Probably we should not have said anything.”
She winces, sucking air through her teeth as her expression displays a lighthearted whoops, my bad . Guillermo feels faint.
“Why are you looking like you are going to be sick?” Nandor asks.
“I’m fine,” Guillermo says, purposefully steadying his voice. He can still feel both Nandor and Nadja eyeing him, so he reaches into the box and procures a picture of Colin Robinson standing on the deck of a ferry. He checks the back, and sees only 2002 in Nadja’s cramped writing.
“What’s happening here?” he asks, and Nadja returns to her book as Nandor is distracted by a story about Colin Robinson draining some guy’s energy so thoroughly that he nearly fell overboard.
The thing is. The thing is .
The thing is that, logically, Guillermo knew there was no way he was the first-ever trans vampire. Creatures that have existed for centuries upon centuries, and some guy from The Bronx is the first one not to be cis? Please. He’s seen far too much shit to be that naive.
It’s just that all of that was hypothetical . Now, as he hovers in the kitchen window, watching Laszlo attend to his garden, the knowledge that one of these other vampires is currently wrestling with pruning shears and a topiary of his mother’s vagina some thirty feet away from him is a little overwhelming.
Guillermo decides to just bite the bullet, and walks over to the back door, pulling it open so he can step into the cool night air. He’s been avoiding Laszlo for three days, now, wanting to broach the subject with him but having no idea where to start.
“Guillermzo!” Laszlo booms, as Guillermo steps into the yard. He’s making somewhat more of an effort, since Guillermo’s turning, but definitely isn’t all the way there yet. “What brings you here?”
Guillermo winces. “Why are you shouting?”
“My darling wife mentioned that you’ve been having some hearing issues!” Laszlo calls, still far too loud for three-thirty AM in a relatively residential neighbourhood.
“My hearing is fine,” Guillermo says. Laszlo makes a face, shrugs, and clips an errant branch.
“I wanted to ask you something, actually,” Guillermo continues.
“Ask away!” Laszlo says, at a more normal volume (relative to Laszlo).
“It’s about your old life. Before Nadja turned you.”
Laszlo hesitates, carefree expression shifting into one more guarded, though it would probably look much the same to the untrained eye. He doesn’t look away from the topiary as he speaks, and snips aimlessly at small branches. “Not much to say, is there? Things were very bleak for me before my beloved lady wife freed me from the burdens of the living. Besides, it was a long time ago- I don't remember so much of it.”
“Right. It’s just that, uh, Nadja and Nandor mentioned that-”
“Let’s cut the shit,” Laszlo says, abruptly turning away from his plant to look at Guillermo. His voice is clipped and harsh in a way that Guillermo almost never hears, and the shears in his hand look vaguely threatening in a way that they didn’t a second ago. “You’ve seen the drawing.”
“Uh- yeah.”
“And now you have all manner of questions.”
“Well, kind of,” Guillermo pauses, and realizes he doesn’t actually know why he wanted to talk to Laszlo about this. To hear the truth come out of Laszlo’s own mouth, maybe? “I don’t know.”
“That fucking drawing,” Laszlo says, more to himself than anything. “Nandor refuses to let me burn it. Says it’s ‘an important part of our history’. I ought to cut his dick off and throw it in that shitting box, see how he feels then.”
He gets lost in his own thoughts for a moment, before he shakes them away and turns back to Guillermo, closing the distance between them with a whoosh so he can press the tip of his shears into Guillermo’s chest. “If you’ve come out here to attempt to blackmail me, I'd think better of it.”
Guillermo’s eyes go wide. “No! No, nothing like that. The opposite, actually.”
“The opposite? What do you-” Laszlo hesitates, and the anger and confusion that are mixed together on his face bleed into quiet recognition. “Oh.”
Guillermo watches as he steps back, lowering his shears and looking Guillermo up and down.
“Sorry about that,” he says, and Guillermo shrugs.
“It’s fine.”
“I’m just- I’m a bit touchy about it, as I'm sure you’ve noticed.”
Guillermo nods in understanding. He’s touchy about it, and he didn’t live through the sixteenth century.
“How did you, uh, do it?” Guillermo asks. “If you don’t mind.”
Laszlo heaves a sigh, and rubs his free hand over his face. “Oh, you know. People tend not to argue with you about certain things when you’re a bloodsucking monster. Throw in a deal I made with a witches coven that involved a dozen quarts of semen every twenty-five years for a few centuries, and I was set.”
“So much semen,” Guillermo says, mostly to himself, and Laszlo waves his hand in an it is what it is sort of gesture.
“Yes, well, I made do. Technology wasn’t what it is today.”
“No, I get it, it’s just- I don't know. It’s cool to hear about this stuff.”
Laszlo looks vaguely amused. “About my semen?”
Guillermo rolls his eyes. “No, about… you. I didn’t know there were other vampires like, uh,” he stumbles, slightly, “us.”
“Oh, there are plenty! You really think everyone lives for centuries upon centuries without figuring out something’s wrong?” Laszlo shakes his head. “We’re in an abundance, gizmuillermo.”
Guillermo smiles at the fond way he speaks, despite the garbling of Guillermo’s name, and Laszlo smiles back. He has plenty more questions for Laszlo, all sorts of other things to talk to him about, but Laszlo looks like this short conversation has been more than enough for him for the time being.
“Thanks for this, Laszlo,” Guillermo says, taking a step back toward the house. Laszlo nods, vaguely sheepish (a distinctly un-Laszlo trait).
“Any time, chap.”
(“Do you think I could see that box?” Guillermo asks, later, upon finding Nandor rifling through a closet upstairs looking for god-knows-what. “The one with the pictures in it, that you showed me the other day?”
Guillermo isn’t above flashing Nandor the puppy-eyes to get what he wants, but he doesn’t even have to bother, because Nandor lights up immediately.
“Of course! I’m so glad you’ve taken an interest in this, Guillermo. Let me go fetch it. Also- this reminds me. We should probably get some pictures of you in there, considering you are now a part of the household history.”
“Sure thing,” Guillermo says, as Nandor hurries off to go retrieve the box.
The lighter in the front pocket of his pants presses against his thigh, and he contemplates just how much of the charm he’s going to need to turn on so that Nandor will leave him alone with the collection long enough to remove an old slip of paper from it’s home.)