I stay in ‘my’ room at 1132 Royal Street for a little while longer. Partly because I can’t stop grinning goofily at Rashid’s texts and partly because I’m not brave enough to test the waters with Mari yet.

Of course it’s not the first time we said ‘ILY’, but it seems we try to limit it to special occasions, so it still feels like something special. And I love the way he cares about me and supports me, even if he doesn’t like the idea of what I’m doing. He trusts me. There haven’t been too many people in my life who’ve done that.

I scroll through my camera roll looking at my ‘Rashid’ folder. Pictures of him playing with my cat Bruno on the floor. Bruno trying to bite his nose off. A selfie he took with my niece Soso. A photo of Rashid with both twins, Ezra propped up on his left leg and Theo on his right. There’s one I haven’t even seen yet. My sister must have taken it because it’s not blurry or sporting an odd angle like Soso’s usually do.

I remember the moment. It was during our last visit at Josie’s. Rashid had stepped out to take a call, and when he didn’t come back inside after a while, I went looking for him. I found him in our backyard, hands in his pockets and staring into the setting sun. When he heard me approaching, he turned around and smiled a little sadly. At least that’s what I thought, but when I asked him, he denied it. He just pulled me close to him and started kissing me. The picture captured that moment. Rashid kissing me, his hands holding my cheeks, with a New Orleans sunset behind us. So cheesy. I miss him so much.

With a sigh, I stuff my phone into my pocket and decide it’s time to re-enter the dragon’s den (aka Mari’s kitchen) and man up. I can hear loud clanging and banging coming from that direction, and I know the coast isn’t clear yet. I roll my shoulders and get ready to grovel.

I walk into the kitchen. Mari’s back is to me. She slams a lump of dough onto the counter and pounds it for all it’s worth. I feel a bit sorry for the dough, but I’m grateful it’s not me. I lean against the doorframe at a safe distance from Mari’s wrath.

“Whatcha makin’?” I ask in a low voice and receive a few colourful Spanish curse words in return.

“It smells really good in here.” I try again. It does smell amazing, whatever she’s cooking.

“Pie,” is her curt reply.

I carefully walk over to the oven. Now that I’m closer, I can see that a delicious-looking golden-brown crust is nearing perfection inside.

“Don’t you dare open that oven door, Wendell Dupree!” She snaps at me. “It’s not done yet!”

I back away slowly.

“What kind of pie is it?”

She huffs and brushes a few errant strands of hair out of her face with the back of her hand.

“This one’s a Cajun Mushroom–Andouille Shepherd’s Pie. Over there…” She points at a pie cooling on a rack in the corner. “… is a Picadillo Pot Pie. And this one… ” She pokes the ball of dough in front of her. “… is going to be a pecan pie.”

“Sounds great, Mari.” I give her my best pleading puppy dog look that never fails to work on Josie. “Can I try the pecan pie when it’s done?”

“They’re all for you, pendejo. I’ll pack them up so you can take them home later. And don’t you even dare ask. Yes, they are vegan.” Mari snaps at me.

While I stand there speechless, she turns around to look me up and down.

“You’re too thin. You’re not eating right.” She accuses me with a hand wave at my slender frame.

A wave of shame and gratitude washes over me. How do I deserve such a friend who is clearly pissed off at me but still cares enough to cook for me? I close the distance between us to give her the biggest hug and kiss her cheek. Her body is all stiff in my arms, and I can feel anger radiating from her.

“Muchas gracias, Mari, de verdad.” I whisper against her cheek.

It takes a moment for her to relax and pat me on the back. “De nada, mijo.”

We stay in the embrace for a while before she slaps my shoulder, pushes me out of the way and accuses me of ruining her pies. I don’t miss the way she wipes her eyes, and mine feel a little watery, too. Must be all the spices in the air. I slide onto one of the high chairs surrounding the kitchen island, and Mari places a small bottle of Diet Coke in front of me without asking.

Flattening the dough of the pecan pie into a pan, Mari finally asks, “Ay, mijo, did you see last night’s Corazón de Fuego? Lucía finally discovered that Ricardo has a twin brother! Un gemelo! After all these years! And then Juan looked up at the painting and saw that Theresa’s dead husband was Roberto. Madre mia, Wendell, can you believe that?”

I mock-gasp in the way I know I’m supposed to. “Wait… a twin? So he’s evil too?”

“Ay, es malvado! Everyone on this show is evil, I swear!”

I chuckle: “I’ll stick to my superheroes, thanks.”

Mari snorts: “Superheroes, bah. At least Lucía knows how to throw a drink in someone’s face.”

I smile, grateful we’re talking again. “That, I might watch.”

The topic of whatever cousin Gina saw at the party never comes up again. After all of Mari’s pies are baked and safely tucked into containers, she gives me another hug and a big kiss. With a final slap on my cheek, she is gone. Barney and I are alone and await sundown and the rise of the vampires.

It is past 2 am when I open the door to my apartment and drag the heavy box with material Daniel Molloy gave me into the room. The vampire slipped my taxi driver a hefty tip (I think I saw three Benjamins being exchanged) to help me haul the box up to my floor, but the guy bailed as soon as we reached the landing. After our talk, Daniel had been itching to go hunting, and I try not to think too hard about who’ll end up as his snack for the night. Apparently, he could have asked another young vampire, one of Lestat’s fledglings called Felix, to help me, but I got the feeling Daniel wasn’t sure if it was safe to let me alone with the guy. Pity, because Felix could have probably carried the box alone, balancing it on his pinky.

My eyes flicker to the Mickey Mouse clock on my bedside table. It’s just after 8am in London. I texted Rashid the moment the car pulled away from 1132 Royal Street to let him know he can stop his pacing: I’m alive and still in possession of all of my blood. His reply came immediately.

RC: Who’s pacing?

Followed by the innocent angel emoji. It makes me laugh but also brings back that warm and fuzzy feeling from earlier. As soon as I settle into my desk chair, sweaty and out of breath, I text him back.

WD: Home now. Wanna talk?

I push my phone into the waiting arms of my Luke Cage Funko Pop – as a superhero he is a certified phone stand – in case Rashid calls me. I can’t wait to get a better look at the contents of my box, but I’ve barely opened it when the alert of an incoming video call sounds. I slide to accept the call and dive right back into the box.

“Um… Wendell?” I can hear Rashid’s slightly confused voice and realise the camera probably only shows him my empty studio. I pop back up to grin at my phone.

“Hi!” I meant to say more, but I’m temporarily rendered speechless by the sight of him. He looks amazing, all dressed up for the office in a dark grey suit and baby blue shirt. Dayum, he cleans up nicely. Not that he doesn’t look good in sweatpants and a t-shirt. Or nothing at all. How is he my boyfriend?

“Oh, there you are! How did it go?” He smiles at me, and I self-consciously run a hand through my hair, which – according to the small preview window on the screen – is its usual mess of curls and all over the place.

Rashid notices my stealthy attempts to flatten it into submission and smiles at me warmly: “You look fine, Wendell. Stop fretting and tell me how your evening went.”

I give up. My hair has a mind of its own anyway, and he’s already seen it in all its unruly glory anyway. So I purposefully mess it up even more before replying:

“Great, it went really great.” I start unpacking the box while giving him a rundown of the day, only skimming over some of the details. “Mari and I had a chat, and she made three pies for me to take home as well as all the leftovers from the feast she cooked for me.” Rashid laughs, and I give him a sheepish grin.

“I also met Daniel’s maker, Armand.” Even on the tiny screen of my phone, I can see Rashid stiffen a little. I can understand why. Armand is a bit creepy. He was the first vampire to come downstairs earlier that night and suddenly just appeared in the parlour. Despite the house being super quiet, I hadn’t heard him move toward me. I’d launched on one of the settees with Barney curled up on my lap and my nose buried in one of Daniel’s books. I’d registered some movement in the periphery of my vision and for one silly moment I thought Rashid was standing in the room. Looking up properly, I could see my mistake. Aside from their shared South Asian heritage, the two men didn’t look much alike.

He looked like a boy masquerading as a gentleman. Armand’s shoulder-length, wavy black hair framed his face like an angel’s. He was slim, probably even slimmer than me, and his eyes were a bright orange. I was fascinated immediately, but I sensed his ancient power right away. My nerves were tingling. He just stood there in the room, looking at me, his face completely unreadable. Okay, that was something else he had in common with Rashid. Barney brought me out of my momentary stupor by jumping off my lap and hissing at the newcomer before dashing out. Obviously there was no love lost between them.

I remembered my manners and stood up.

“Hi, um… I’m Wendell. Wendell Dupree. I’m, ah, here to meet Daniel Molloy. I, er, work with him?” My voice went up a notch at my last words. Technically I didn’t work for Daniel. Yet. While I already helped him with a few smaller research jobs (stuff I’m sure he could have easily done himself but let me do as a form of test), we hadn’t signed a contract or agreed on any terms. Yet. I wouldn’t care about any of that, but I thought it was better to let my first employer’s representative, Bas Mutters, know there might be a second employer on the horizon, and Bas gave me clear instructions on which legal documents needed to be signed and by whom.

Armand just kept staring at me. I didn’t think he blinked once the entire time. Then he lifted up a tablet that he held in one hand, cradled it against his chest, turned around and left.

I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding when I was alone in the room again. It was only then that I remembered I was supposed to shield my thoughts and not let any of the vampires read them. Well, spectacular fail there.

“Armand is a total gremlin,” I can hear Rashid say, bringing me back to our video call. “Some of the other Talamasca agents call him the ‘Cheeto demon’ because his eyes are so orange.”

I snicker. They are totally not wrong.

“Were Louis and Lestat there?” Rashid asks me, and I squint at him, feigning suspicion.

“If I answer the question, does that make me an informant for the Talamasca?”

Rashid rolls his eyes in reply, and I laugh. “No, they weren’t. Daniel said, they’re somewhere called Night Island?”

Rashid nods. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

When I give him a look to elaborate, he continues. “It’s a private island off the coast of Miami, Florida, owned by Daniel Molloy. It’s a luxury retreat for tourists, with a gigantic mall, hotels, theatres, restaurants, nightclubs, and shops with opening hours basically from dusk till dawn. Hence the name. Making it the perfect holiday location for vampires.”

While Rashid is explaining the significance of the number one holiday destination for my fanged friends, I continue to sort through the contents of the box and pile item after item on my desk, accidentally blocking Rashid’s view on my phone.

“What’s all that?” He chuckles softly.

I clear a small path on my desk so I can see him and my phone again. “This, Mr Talamasca, is my new assignment! I have assignments now!”

I grin widely at the camera, and he smiles. “So your meeting with Daniel Molloy was a success?”

“Yes,” I confirm. “He tried to read my mind, but he couldn’t. At least that’s what he said.” That is the short version of it, and I’m not sure Rashid wants to hear the full story.

When Daniel came down, he greeted me warmly and started making small talk. He could probably hear my pulse going a hundred miles per hour and tried to put me at ease. I couldn’t even say why I was suddenly so nervous. It wasn’t fear, not even when I learnt I was alone in the house with Armand and Daniel. Honestly, I’ve been in many dangerous situations in my life – being a Black, queer, homeless teenager among them – that this one wasn’t making me run away screaming. It was maybe not very smart, but I trusted Daniel and somehow got the feeling that Armand wouldn’t harm me as long as Daniel was there.

I was probably more nervous about the prospect of working with Daniel and screwing this chance up. At first it only seemed like a nice opportunity to make some extra cash, but trying to find answers to his questions over the past few weeks was actually really fun. I always liked learning and discovering new things. I was probably the odd one out among my childhood friends because most of the time I really liked going to school.

I was never one of the brainy, nerdy kids who sat in the first row and whose hands flew up in the air before the teacher had even finished asking a question. Not a teacher’s pet. I was more the quiet kind that sat in the back row and soaked up knowledge like a sponge. After school, I often hid in the library. Partly because it meant I was away from home and my Dad, but also because I enjoyed reading. They had a small collection of comics, but when I read them so often that I could recite them by heart, I moved on to other books. Huckleberry Finn and The Three Musketeers were among my favourites and I often daydreamed about fighting for honour and justice alongside Athos, Porthos and Aramis.

Trying to survive on the streets sort of took this away from me for a while. Back then, reading wasn’t possible. My mind was constantly on overdrive: too busy watching, listening, always on alert for the next threat. Now, I can lose myself in a book again. My curiosity and hunger for knowledge are back. Earning extra money will be the sweet cherry on top.

I just really didn’t want to screw up this chance. Maybe it was also the fact that Rashid believed in me and thought I could do well with it. I didn’t want to disappoint him. So maybe it was a combination of it all: trying to prove myself to Daniel, meeting Rashid’s expectations and seeing this as a great fucking opportunity to make something of my messed-up life. In the proximity of two of the world’s deadliest predators. I guess my heart had a reason to race like an F1 driver.

I was still caught up in my own thoughts when Daniel threw me a curveball.

“So I heard you and a certain Talamasca agent are shagging it up?”

Shit. Mind control. I was supposed to keep my thoughts to myself. Ninety-seven… eighty-nine… eighty-three… uh… seventy-nine… seventy-three… seventy-one… sixty-seven… sixty-one… fifty-nine…

I can hear Daniel chuckle. “Oh, he taught you some tricks, didn’t he? Which means: It’s true then?”

Fifty-seven… no shit, that’s not a prime number… fifty-five… no, that isn’t right either. Fuck that shit.

“You can admit it, you know,” Daniel smirks at me, obviously enjoying my desperate attempts at blocking him out.

‘If prime numbers aren’t doing it for you, find something else,’ I can hear Rashid’s voice in my head. No, don’t think of him right now! George, John, Thomas, James, James, John, Andrew, Martin… that was something I taught myself on the streets. In the early days as a hustler, when a client pounded into me and I just wished I could leave my body, my brain rattled off the first names of our presidents. All 47 of them. Later ‘dissociation’, as Rashid called it, worked without a party trick. Gah! Do not think of him!

“Does he ever loosen up? He probably told you we met in Dubai. He was always so stiff, like he had a stick up his ass…” Daniel smirked, and I knew he was only saying that to rile me up. I gritted my teeth. Time to bring in the big guns. Black Panther, Daredevil, Luke Cage, Ms Marvel, Nightwing, Storm, Blade… Was it rude to think about Blade around vampires?

“Come on, give an old man a little something. Just one dirty little secret about good old Rashid…”

Spider-Man, Moon Knight, Jessica Jones, Hawkeye… keep going…

Daniel shook his head, chuckling softly. “All I’m going to say is: if he’s only half as good between the sheets as he is with teaching this mind control thing… damn… I might have picked the wrong one in Dubai.” He glanced in the direction where Armand had disappeared. He was joking. Obviously. Or so I hoped.

One of his hands lands like a big paw on my shoulder. “Relax, Wendell. It’s fine. People should be allowed to have secrets.”

I tried Rashid’s breathing exercises and cleared my mind. I pictured an empty room – white walls, one chair, one window overlooking the Mississippi, flowing lazily through its riverbed.

Daniel whistled softly. “Damn, that’s really impressive.”

I let out a breath and couldn’t stop myself from smiling a little smugly. I wasn’t sure if I was really achieving my goal, but his words made me a little proud. Daniel would probably continue to hound me for details. He was an investigative journalist after all. Being curious was in his nature, so I concentrated on building up the room, strengthening its walls… and firmly keeping all thoughts of Rashid locked behind a door. We knew our relationship probably wasn’t news to the vampires, but they didn’t need to know all the details.

“So, what’s your assignment then? That is quite the collection…” Rashid’s words once again bring me back to the present.

“I know! It’s a mess!” I don’t think I can hide my excitement. “It’s like discovering a treasure trove. Back in college, Daniel had this friend, Edwin Crane. They were best buddies until they graduated and kind of drifted apart. Daniel became this Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist, and Edwin, well… didn’t. Edwin died years ago, and his widow, Margery, contacted Daniel. She said she had to sell the house, and her kids were making her get rid of all of Edwin’s old junk, and she found some things that might be worth something. Not money, but good for a story. Daniel never got around to it, so he dumped it all on me. There’s more, but he said this one is as good a starting point as any.”

I hold up some items from the box. “There are tapes of Edwin’s interview with a guy named Jack Delaney and some of the guy’s diaries.”

I thumb through a notepad that I found among all the other clutter. It contains notes upon notes, all handwritten in a neat script, detailing annotations from Edwin Crane.

“Apparently Jack Delaney was born in 1922, in Honesdale, Pennsylvania. He was a mechanic in the U.S. Army during D-Day and then stationed in France.”

As I continue skimming the notebook for further clues about what I might find out during the interview, a loose piece of paper falls out. I dive under my table to retrieve it and bump my head coming back up. My phone slips out of Luge Cage’s grasp, which means the camera is now pointing at the ceiling. My hero is failing me.

“Oops, sorry about that.” I settle my phone back against the Funko Pop again. “Look, what I found!”

I hold the postcard-sized piece of paper into the camera and hear Rashid whistle appreciatively.

“Is that Jack?” I turn the paper in my hands to get a better look at it. It’s a pencil drawing of a young man, hair sketched in light strokes, strong features softened by the tilt of his head and the distant, unguarded gaze of his eyes. He’s maybe not classically handsome, not by today’s standards anyway, but there is definitely something about him.

“It says ‘Jack’ down here.” I show Rashid the part of the picture. “But it is signed ‘SP’. I wonder who ‘SP’ was?”

Rashid smiles back at me from my phone screen. “You’ll figure it out, Sherlock. The game is on!” He lifts up a hand to look at his watch and then runs a hand through his carefully combed hair, making a few strands stick up at odd angles. I’m loving it, and my fingers itch to reach out and smooth his hair back down. Unfortunately that doesn’t work on a video call. “Listen, Wendell, I’m sorry, but I have to go or I’ll be late for a meeting. And you should get some sleep.”

I look around at the mess on my desk, and I can hear Rashid laugh again. “I can practically hear what you’re thinking all the way over here. Look, either Jack Delaney is living his happily ever after at the tender age of 112, or he’s long dead and gone. Either way, his diaries and tapes won’t go anywhere while you rest. Don’t stay up all night going through your new toys!”

I grumble something in protest, but I know he’s right. I’m actually wiped, and without the adrenaline buzzing through my veins about what I might find out about Jack Delaney from Honesdale, PA, I would be in deep slumber already. Rashid and I make plans to talk again tomorrow, and he promises me to text me as soon as he’s on his way back to his flat. 34 days and counting.

After we end the video call, I still can’t drag myself away from my new assignment. Saying that also makes me feel a little less insignificant, more like I’m actually doing something productive. Daniel wants me to go through the box and make some kind of inventory. List all the items. Then read Jack’s diaries, summarise them and take notes of anything that sounds important. Then move on to the interviews on tape. Listen to them, transcribe them, and again summarise them, take notes. It’s going to need a bit of time, but Daniel assures me there’s no rush. Apparently he’s been sitting on this material for a while now, and a few more months or years, give or take, won’t make a difference. Daniel is paying me by the hour, so it’s totally up to me how much time to invest.

I start ordering the items on my desk in piles before I force myself to stop and get ready for bed. My brain is still buzzing when I lie down. I hug my pillow and wrap my covers loosely around myself. At one point I hear a soft meow, and a dip in my mattress alerts me to my cat’s presence. Bruno kneads the sheets in a circle before tucking his paws under his chin. His eyes are glowing in the dark, watching me, like he wants to make sure I’m sleeping while he acts as my guardian. I reach out to ruffle the fur on his head before obediently closing my eyes.

All I can see are his eyes, his gaze locked with mine. Darker than usual, his pupils blown in the low-lit room. The boarded-up windows block most of the sun and radiating heat of summer outside. Only a few streaks of light leak through the gaps in the plywood planks, motes of dust lazily drifting in their wake. His eyelids flutter closed when I move, his murmured words of encouragement momentarily replaced with an intake of breath. I hesitate. Am I hurting him? But his free hand, the one he’s not using to steady himself on the old mattress underneath us, squeezes my fingers where they hold on to his hips. He nods. It’s fine. He’s fine. More than fine. Go on. The old house seems to groan and sigh in rhythm with us.

My name becomes a repeated mantra on his lips, mingled with words of affirmation, muffled as he buries his face on the insides of both arms. Coherent words are gone. Coherent thoughts are gone. All that is left is me and him, moving together. This incredible connection between us. We’re so close. There’s nothing separating us. My eyes wander down to the point where our bodies are linked. So different and so perfect. Muscles shifting underneath the skin on his back make the line of freckles dotting his shoulders and the single tiny mole on his lower back dance. So beautiful. The rosy flush creeping up his pale skin, glistening with a sheen of sweat. So breathtaking. He is mine.

When I drop down next to him, barely avoiding crushing him with my full weight, he reaches out for my face and pulls me close, whispering something soft against my lips between kisses. His eyes are bright, shining with emotions I’ve never seen directed at me before. My chest fills with pride that I’m the one who makes him feel so good. I snuggle into his side, my palm cradling his thigh just above a small tattoo. ‘Nola’ it says in simple letters. The name of his dog, that his mom had put down when they moved down here, to New Orleans, ironically. He pulls a ratty thin blanket over us as a wave of blissful happiness rushes through me. I’m his. Forever.

When I wake up, this feeling of all-consuming euphoria is quickly replaced by sorrow. And shame. Is this really still the ghost of my former boyfriend giving me his blessing? By reminding me of what I had with him that I haven’t shared with Rashid yet? I bury my face in my pillow. I’ve gotten used to my too vivid dreams by now. They appear almost every night: random scenes from my childhood, memories I haven’t allowed myself to dwell on often. Some involve my Dad, but most of them are about Remy.

This one is one of the last memories I have of him. We stayed in the abandoned house with the old mattress flecked with stains of indeterminate origin for as long as we dared. Even as we’d made it outside, we didn’t want to say goodbye and kept making out in the overgrown backyard of the house. When it was almost dark, Remy finally peeled himself away from me, booped me on the nose, gave me one of his big grins that lit up his face and said, “See you in school, Lell.” The last words he ever said to me and the last time I ever saw him. I arrived at school on Monday to the news he’d been shot and found myself on the streets somewhere downtown later that day. Most of what happened in the weeks following Remy’s death are a hazy blur, and I’m grateful for it.

It’s still the middle of the night, too early to get up, but I still do to change my sheets and take a shower. As the cold water pelts down on my body, I can’t stop wondering if my dreams aren’t my conscience telling me something. Daniel Molloy said everyone is allowed secrets. But maybe I feel guilty because I’m not as intimate – physically and emotionally – with Rashid as I was with Remy. I know it’s not fair to Rashid to keep him at arm’s length, but I’m just scared of what will happen if I let him in the way Remy consumed my world.

---

Translation for the Spanish dialogue:

• “Pendejo” – “Dumbass”
• “Muchas gracias, Mari, de verdad.” – “Thank you very much, Mari, really.”
• “De nada, mijo.” – “You’re welcome, kiddo.”
• “Corazón de Fuego” – “Heart of Fire”
• “Un gemelo” – “A (male) twin”
• “Madre mia” – “Oh my God!” (literally: “my mother”)
• “Ay, es malvado.” – “Oh, he’s evil.”

Quotes:

• And then Juan looked up at the painting and saw that Theresa’s dead husband was Roberto. (Daniel Molloy, “Interview with the Vampire” (AMC), episode 2×02 “Do You Know What It Means to Be Loved by Death”)
• He looked like a boy masquerading as a gentleman but I sensed his ancient power right away. (Louis de Pointe du Lac, “Interview with the Vampire” (AMC), episode 2×02 “Do You Know What It Means to Be Loved by Death”)

Big shout out to the Facebook group “Lestat Lovers” where the term “cheeto demon” for Armand originated. You’re all Talamasca agents now!