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never felt totally comfortable in his presence and how could they considering his appearance? Skin the hue of a snow-covered field. Wavy silver hair that hung to his shoulders. Grey eyes capable of such intensity; the bravest soul withered under their glare. To compensate, he did his best to make the class enjoyable. He employed the motto of “no one left behind” long before the idiots in Washington stole it. Open book tests and grading on a curve ensured all of his students passed the course, which in turn made him one of the most popular professors at the college, another sore subject with Van Adams.
    He sat at his desk and sorted through paperwork. Karen fidgeted in her seat on the front row. She wore a black mini skirt that left little to the imagination, not that he needed to use his after her previous peep show. She held a paperback on her lap. He smiled at the title. “I see you are reading about vampires, Miss Webster.”
    She stopped fidgeting. “Uh, yeah, I guess.”
    “Perfect sparkly vampires.”
    “Yeah.” She shifted in the seat. “Edward is sexy.”
    He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “And what makes him sexy? Because the author tells you he is?”
    “He sounds sexy.”
    Soft laughter filled the classroom. She stared at her lap and flushed.
    “Do not listen to them. Vampires are sexy creatures, yes? Even old ones, I do believe.”
    She looked up at him and flashed dazzling white teeth.
    “Would you not think me sexy if I were a vampire?”
    She continued to smile. “Very sexy.”
    One day he might have to find out if she was serious. He pulled a textbook from his attaché, stood, and strolled to the podium. “As I recall,” he said, putting on his glasses, “you were to read the chapter on Slavic mythology.”
    A groan went up.
    “Now, children, why do you complain if you fail to do your assignment? Could it be you were too busy making mischief of some sort? Were you using drugs? Binge drinking? Or perhaps your libidos ran wild.” He shook his head. “Very well.” Moving out from the podium, he walked straight to Karen. “May I see your book?”
    She held up her textbook.
    “No, the other one.”
    She looked to her left and right before sheepishly pulling the novel from her backpack. “Do you want to read it?”
    “No,” he said, taking the book, “I know all I need to know about vampires.” He remembered Stephanie, alone and afraid inside his basement. If only real life could be like fiction. “This novel is about sacrifice, yes? Does not the protagonist sacrifice her life in order to be with the vampire? Maybe not in a literal way, but she is willing to change herself. Humans have sacrificed other humans since the dawn of time. The Incas favored the sacrifice of children in a practice known as Capacocha. Fattened up on a diet of llama meat and maize, they were sacrificed at high altitudes to be closer to the gods.”
    Several of the students squirmed on their chairs.
    “Terrible, yes?” he continued. “The Aztecs held ceremonies involving human sacrifice at least once a month. Their first recorded sacrifice was that of King Coxcox’s daughter, who they killed and skinned while creating Tenochtitlan. They believed sacrifices were necessary to pay a blood debt to the gods, who had sacrificed themselves to create the world for men.” He closed the book and brought it against his forehead. “A blood debt to the gods. What god could demand such a toll? The same one who created vampires?” He lowered the book. “It is a curse to live through the death of others, would you not agree?”
    “You talk as if vampires are real,” Spriggs said.
    “I am a vampire.”
    “What kind of drugs are you taking?” Spriggs asked.
    Mr. Howard went to Karen and held out the book. She stared up at him through half-closed eyes. Bedroom eyes. “Our friend Mr. Spriggs does not believe me a vampire. Who would like to see me kill Mr. Spriggs and drink his blood?”
    Hands shot up around the