My Dear Grigor

Lord Vamperio defeated yet another slayer and basked in the glory of his stake-snapping and garlic-crushing bloodshed for five minutes, monologuing on and on as his golden locks swayed like candlelight, until he finally left so that Grigor could mop. Crimson pooled within the stone grooves and soaked through the equipment left behind by the dead hero—even into his herbs and dried meat. Grigor’s stomach rumbled. As Grigor’s mangy hair and nightmarish eyes stared back at him in the red reflection, he wondered if he had the same things inside of him. Grigor was young like those that sneaked into the castle; he had ten fingers and two feet like them too.

“The lord would never do such a thing to Grigor,” Grigor said. His words felt as though he wrung them from his throat, pausing every two words to clear his lungs. Vamperio never liked it when Grigor spoke words besides yes and my Lord. Alone, Grigor tried to smile, but when he saw all of his wretched teeth and black gums, he shut his mouth. It looked nothing like the sparkling grins and striking scowls the brave slayers carried. It made sense to Grigor, however, because Grigor was not a slayer, or a hero, nor even a man. Vamperio created Grigor from spare parts to assist him until either of them perished.

Just as Grigor had finished scrubbing the mantlepiece, a distant bell chimed three times. Then, Vamperio’s voice came from everywhere at once.

“Grigor! Bring me a glass of Sanguine Merlot, from the 1215 bottle.” Vamperio said, then laughed.

Grigor nodded, by habit mostly, as though the lord could see him through the walls. Vamperio was an exotic vampire. He disliked the taste of human blood and, if Grigor recalled correctly, Vamperio was a dhampyr. It would have been easier for Grigor if the Lord could consume the flesh of his fallen enemies, but he cast that thought away, afraid that Vamperio could listen in. Grigor’s favorite leather shoes clicked in the grimy corridors as he passed ghostly armors and floating skulls into the vast cellar. Spiders caught Grigor’s hair, and he plucked cobwebs from his ears as he scanned the countless bottle labels on the oak wood shelves until he found a corked, black bottle tied with a royal ribbon. A parchment hung from the bottle’s neck, labeled in golden ink. This was the bottle Vamperio requested.

Grigor gently pulled, but it did not move, so he tugged once more and it popped free like an eyeball. Just before it crashed into the ground, Grigor caught it and chuckled. The wine sloshed in the bottle against Grigor’s chest as he scuttled to the kitchen, where a witch spun a wooden spoon taller than her in a deep cauldron filled with rat bone broth soup. Grigor couldn’t wait for his bowl later. He liked all kinds of soup, but tonight’s soup was reserved only for special occasions. Vamperio must be in a good mood to have requested it.

The Sanguine Merlot opened with a soft pop and poured like silk into an etched glass cup, filling the kitchen with exquisite sweetness and smoky notes. Grigor eyed the oblivious witch, then collected a single drop from the bottle’s mouth with his fingertip and pressed it onto the tip of his tongue. Fruity flavor exploded in his cheeks, and Grigor felt too weak, too small for such luxury. Why would Grigor exhibit such shameful behavior like that?

With a heavy tray filled with drinks and cheese, Grigor glided into Vamperio’s warm bedchamber and set the refreshments on an elegant table beside an even more elegant seat.

“Thank you, my dear Grigor.” Vamperio did not raise his gaze from the book he read as he lifted the glass to his lips. The Lord smacked his lips and nodded, swirling the wine carelessly as he flipped through another page.

Grigor watched as the rich liquid inched closer to the glass’s edge, and he wished Vamperio would stop because Grigor’s lips had started to quiver and his mouth grew heavy with saliva.

Vamperio continued. “You know, they aged this wine over half a millennium. My great-grandmother first got it from a talented farmer living within a far kingdom, and she stashed it away in our cellar, saving it for the perfect occasion. Then they burned her alive without letting her even smell it. Foolish, isn’t it?”

“Yes, my Lord.” Grigor said, though it sounded a bit like when he ran his mouth under the running kitchen faucet. Vamperio took another sip. In this angle, bathed in flickering firelight while holding that pearlescent drink, the Lord truly appeared as if he had hopped out of a magnificent painting. Grigor gulped and coughed once.

“Following some rule involving honor and respect, my parents refused to touch the bottle.” Vamperio took another slow sip. “Do you know why I opened this bottle today?”

Grigor paused. Vamperio never asked questions. Usually, Vamperio asked Grigor to fix the fancy suits the Lord wore to battle or buff his nails and fangs with golden files, or whatever other dhampyr needs he had. How should Grigor have responded? Bits of sound tumbled from Grigor’s folded throat, eventually forming speech.

“Because… you wanted to?” Grigor guessed.

“You are absolutely right.” Vamperio lifted the open bottle to Grigor. “Would you like a taste?”

Grigor shook his head viciously. He hadn’t known how important the bottle was.

“Grigor does not deserve it. My Lord, Grigor is just your humble assistant,” Grigor whispered, hard on each consonant. “Please enjoy yourself. Grigor shall take his leave, there is much to do in your castle.”

“Suit yourself.” Vamperio leaned back into his seat, brows softened. Flecks of ash rolled around Grigor’s feet and ushered him to the doorway.

Grigor did have much to do. He reset the hidden spike traps in the library. The bumbling fishmen in the moat took the bones Grigor dropped in without looking up. Grigor polished the floating swords, in exchange for a sliced fingertip, so that their shine cut through darkness. Before he could eat, he had one last task to complete. A poltergeist removed three paintings from the entrance corridor. The corridor was the one the slayers always used, marked by two massive iron-reinforced wooden gates, which they burst through every time. Grigor wondered why none knocked and, when he watched Vamperio rip out the hearts of men, he also wondered what drove the slayers to fight a dhampyr.

Grigor hung Vamperio Beneath the Moon when the front gates blew open, filling the hall and Grigor’s lungs with frigid air. Trembling, he hid below the painting, observing a woman, Vamperio’s height, enter. Gleaming steel chains dragged behind her, and she cradled a silver axe.

“Another slayer!” Grigor stammered beneath his breath and he tried to run, as he always did whenever he spotted an intruder, but the slayer closed the gap and raised her weapon.

“You must be one of his thralls! Where is the vampire?” She asked.

“No, Grigor will not say. Please leave, you will lose like the rest before you.” Grigor’s words sounded more confident than he was, despite the stuttering. He hobbled against the ornate wall, back hunched, and watched as the woman’s knuckles whitened around the axe’s handle. “Or will I have to show you the door?”

“Now, Grigor, how about you return to your room?” Vamperio’s hand, from the shadows, pulled Grigor away from a probable doom. The dhampyr stepped into the candlelight, elegantly dressed, carrying a neat scowl. “I would rather you saved your energy. This will get quite messy.”

Grigor bowed low and retreated. Behind him, the woman howled and Vamperio laughed, and with each sound, Grigor’s heart beat harder and harder. Once he reached his room, Grigor slumped over a stool with his trembling, knobby fingers in his hair. Grigor imagined the gruesome fight in the halls, the other creatures of the castle running for safety, and the meticulous work that would follow to clean blood off varnish. He would be called soon, so he waited and waited for the ring of a bell that didn’t arrive.

When an hour had passed, Grigor’s knees rattled against each other enough to bruise. Did he not hear it chime? Or had Vamperio forgotten to call for him? Or worse? Grigor shot out of his bed and cursed under his breath—he should have stayed, despite being so small and weak, he should have fought. Just as Grigor’s palm touched the golden doorknob, Vamperio burst through the room with a trail of blood behind him and toppled onto Grigor.

“My Lord!” Grigor said, ushering him onto the tiny bedframe. Heat seeped through his fingers, and for the first time in Grigor’s life, Vamperio bled. Grigor babbled sounds and half-sentences until he bit down on his tongue and asked, “Are you alright?”

“You are so foolish, Grigor, to stand against an enemy unarmed. You’re lucky I arrived when I did,” Vamperio said, then sighed. The wound on his chest shrank, which didn’t surprise Grigor. Vamperio was full of wonders after all. Still, Grigor pressed a bunched cloth to Vamperio. “Your job is to keep my castle running, not fighting. You leave that to me.”

“Yes, my Lord. My apologies,” Grigor stammered. He wished he had just run away like he usually did. Tonight, Grigor was full of regrets.

“What lord would I be if I let you die?” Vamperio coughed. “She shouldn’t even have considered you. Don’t worry, she won’t find you again. The slayer is vanquished.”

Grigor stood. “Grigor will make sure it is spotless–”

Vamperio pulled Grigor back down beside him. Even injured, Vamperio continued to radiate beauty and elegance that transformed the modest room into one of royalty. Grigor didn’t belong there, and he could not have deserved to see the formidable Vamperio’s sullen eyes. They bored into Grigor’s tiny, muddy soul, but he couldn’t look away.

“Right now, all I need is you to be my friend, my dear Grigor. Not as my underling, or butler, or whatever job of the day. My friend. Can you do that?”

Silence filled the tiny, dank room as Vamperio’s scarlet eyes watched Grigor. Grigor—no, I considered my words before answering. Air sucked inward between each gap in my teeth, I straightened my bent spine and steadied my raspy voice.

“I would love to,” I said.