Danny Lucci, Writer

The night came. I stepped outside. And it hit me immediately. The smell. It was everywhere. Sweet. Thick. Tempting. Drifting through the air from every neck in the city. I wasn’t hungry. Not yet. But it reminded me of my abuela baking—cookies in the oven, filling the whole house. You didn’t have to be hungry to want one. It was only a matter of time. Every person had their own scent. Some stronger. Some softer. Some… better. But all of them called to me. I kept my distance. Something in me—whatever was left of me—held me back.

I turned the corner—and saw him. The one who did this to me. He saw me too.

And he smiled.

“Why?” I asked. My voice came out sharper than I expected. “Why did you do this?”

He tilted his head, like the question didn’t make sense.

“Do you not remember?” he said. Calm. Casual. “You told me you wanted to live forever.”

I stared at him. “What?”

“At the bar,” he continued. “You said it would be amazing. So I made it happen. We only need an invitation like that.”

I moved before I could think. My hand was around his throat, lifting him just enough to make a point. His fangs slipped out. He hissed—but didn’t fight me.

“I didn’t want this,” I snapped. “I woke up and killed my roommate. He was my best friend. What the fuck did you do to me?”

He didn’t panic. Didn’t even tense. He just… nodded.

“When you tell us you want eternal life,” he said evenly, “we give it.”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know that was an invitation?”

He shrugged. Actually shrugged. Then he pushed my hand away like it didn’t belong there.

“Be careful what you say to people.” He looked me over, slow, appraising.

“You’ll never age,” he said. “You’ll never get old. You’ll look exactly like this forever.” He paused. “Just stay out of the sun… and try not to get a stake through the heart.” A faint smile. “You’ll be here a very, very long time.”

I stared at him. “What now?”

That seemed to interest him more than anything else I’d said. He reached into his coat and handed me a card. Thick paper. Heavy. An address stamped on it. And a single drop of blood pressed into the corner.

“Be there at two,” he said. “They’ll help you.”

I looked up—but he was already stepping back. Like his part in this was done.

#

I stood in front of the door. It was… ordinary. Just another house on a street that didn’t stand out. No sign. No signal. Nothing that said this is where monsters gather. If anything, it felt like I was about to visit an old friend.

I knocked. The door opened almost immediately. An older man stood there, smiling like he’d been expecting me.

“You’re new,” he said. Then he paused—leaned in slightly—and sniffed. His smile widened. “Ah. One of us. Fresh, too.” He stepped aside. “Come in. Come in. You’ve got a lot to learn. Hurry—the meeting’s about to start.”

I didn’t argue.

He led me through the house and into a large living room. Five others were already there. They didn’t look like monsters. That was the first thing I noticed. They looked… perfect. Still. Composed. Watching.

And at the head of the room—him. He didn’t just stand out. He commanded the space. Beautiful in a way that didn’t feel natural. Like he’d been designed instead of born. His eyes landed on me immediately.

“You’re not on the list,” he said.

I blinked. “What list?”

“We receive notice,” he replied, calm but precise. “New transitions. I have four this week.” He glanced around the room. “All accounted for.”

His gaze sharpened. “So—who are you?”

“Andres Gallegos Delgado.”

He winced. Not dramatically. Just enough. “No,” he said. “You’re not.”

The room went quiet.

“Not anymore.” Something in his tone made that feel final.

“You’re something else now. And something else requires a different name.” He exhaled, almost irritated. “Who turned you?”

“Some guy I met at a club,” I said. “I thought I was going to get laid. Not… this.” A few of them exchanged looks. The man at the front rolled his eyes.

“Oh. Him.” A pause. “Yes. We’re aware of his… methods.”

“Can you fix it?” I asked. “Change me back?”

He didn’t hesitate. “No.”

Not cruel. Not sympathetic. Just… fact. I swallowed.

“I don’t even know what I am.”

A girl on the couch smiled—soft, almost amused. “A vampire.”

I looked at her. “What?”

She tilted her head. “You got the kiss, right?” she said. “On the neck. Felt like the best thing you’ve ever experienced?”

I didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

She nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “That’s how it starts.” She leaned back, completely at ease. “Welcome.”

“Look,” he said, stepping closer, “do you want to pick your own name, or have one assigned?”

Before I could answer, he put a hand lightly on my arm.

“And for the record—we already have enough El Criaturas, Valerios, and Dantes to overflow hell. Be unique… but not memorable.”

I frowned. “What’s wrong with my name?”

He sighed. Turned to the room. “Alright, class,” he said. “What did we learn yesterday?”

The girl raised her hand immediately. Of course she did.

He nodded to her.

“Names are powerful,” she said, smiling like she’d been waiting for this. “A vampire never reveals his living name. Ever. You choose a new one—something that can’t be used against you. No incantations, no evocations. It’s protection.”

She sat back, satisfied.

He looked at me again. “You understand now?”

I didn’t. Not really.      But I wasn’t in a position to argue.

“Assign one,” I said, shrugging.

He studied me. Actually studied me. Head tilting slightly, eyes narrowing like he was trying to solve something. “You’re young,” he said. “And… you have a look. That matters more than you think.”

He paced once, thinking out loud.

“Riccardo? No. That’s a middle-aged real estate agent.”

A voice from the couch cut in.

“I know,” the Japanese man said. “He looks like an Enrique.”

The room paused. The man at the front stopped pacing. Looked at me again—more carefully this time. He stepped closer, reached out, and pushed my collar back just slightly, exposing my neck. A long second.

Then—

“Yes,” he said. “Enrique.”

He straightened. “Vane.” He nodded once, like that settled it. “Simple. Clean. Doesn’t draw attention. Easy to remember. Easy to forget.” He stepped back.

And just like that—I wasn’t Andres anymore. I was Enrique Vane. I stood there for a second, letting it settle. Then, I exhaled.

“…That might be the most boring name in history.”

A few of them smirked. The man at the front didn’t.

“That,” he said evenly, “is exactly the point.”

“Now,” he said, clapping his hands once, “I don’t have time to give you the two weeks they’ve already had.” A few of them glanced at me.

He didn’t. “So you’ll get the short version.”

He stepped closer. “Three things,” he said. “That’s enough to keep you alive tonight.”

A pause.

“After that, I’ll arrange… personal tutelage.” His eyes flicked over me, measuring. “You’ve probably already killed someone.” He said it like a fact. “Someone close.”

Silence.

He gave a small shrug. “We all do.” Another beat. “The first feed is the most… diabolical.”

Not dramatic. Just precise.

“Your body takes over. It doesn’t ask. It doesn’t care. It finds the easiest source—the one you trust, the one that trusts you—and it drains them.”

He let that sit.

“Rule one,” he continued, “distance. Don’t stay near anyone you care about. Not yet. Not until you can stop yourself. If you think you can—you can’t.”

He started pacing slowly. “Rule two: feed deliberately.”

“Choose. Don’t react. The moment you lose control, you become predictable. Predictable things get found.”

He stopped in front of me.

“And rule three…” A faint shift in his tone. “Leave more than you take.”

He held my gaze. “You don’t have to kill.” A pause.

“But if you do—” Another, smaller shrug. “Be clean about it.” He straightened. “That’s enough for now.”

Then, almost as an afterthought—

“And Enrique?” It was the first time he used it. “Try not to make the same mistake twice.”