During the next shoot, when the producers walked on set to fire Paco, Esteban unleashed his true power. He didn’t hurt them. He simply transformed into a bat, flew circles around their heads, and whispered embarrassing secrets from their childhoods into their ears — secrets they’d told no one. Then he turned into mist and reformed behind them, fangs glinting.

But the trouble began when the studio executives arrived — two slick producers who wanted to cut the budget and add product placement for garlic-scented deodorant. They laughed at Esteban’s “special effects” and threatened to shut down the movie.

When Paco yelled “Action!” and Vlad stumbled through his lines (“I will succ your bluuud!”), Esteban watched from behind a tombstone, utterly bewildered. Then he started laughing. Not an evil laugh — a genuine, wheezing, centuries-old laugh. He hadn’t laughed since the Inquisition.

On the third night of shooting, something strange happened. A real vampire — ancient, tired, and lonely — wandered onto the set, mistaking the fake castle for an actual vampire den. His name was Esteban, and he hadn’t spoken to another immortal in centuries.