“Popular media perceives we vampires to be flesh-eating, fiendish creatures. The reality is much more civilized. I’ve never bitten a human. Well, maybe once, but it didn’t even draw blood.” Leon James scrawled in his century-old journal, updated only when he’s in a spiteful mood. A glass tumbler stained with blood sat to his left, emptied.

“The reality, which is simultaneously hilarious and humiliating, is that I’m much closer to a phlebotomist than anything portrayed in any movie. One thing the movies were spot-on with is our ability to manipulate minds. That’s all it takes, aside from a few medical supplies. We scout out a human who is home alone, put on the charm, walk in the house, draw a pint, and go.” The quill snapped in half as he punctuated his last statement. He flipped the diary closed, finished his drink, and rose from his chair.

Picking up his doctor’s bag on the way out, he smirked. “They’ll remember nothing but an accidental afternoon nap. Humans will believe anything.”