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Angela looked at Honorato in alarm. “Seriously?”

Honorato pulled out his notebook and pen. “The assignment is to research the anthropological significance of a particular tradition, behavior, or belief found in multiple cultures around the world.” He tapped the cover of the book on top of the pile with his pen. “Well, there’s vampire lore all over the globe. You’ve got the Roman strix, the Scottish baobhan sìth, the Chinese jiangshi—”

“But vampires?” Angela cut in. She tried to hide her unease by feigning a lighthearted giggle. “I mean, do you really think your professor will take this seriously?”

“Sure, why not?” Honorato replied. “Look at it from an anthropological perspective. Why was this belief so widespread?”

“Globalization and Hollywood?” Angela suggested.

“Nope, vampire myths existed all around the world long before movies and colonialism.”

Angela bit her lip. “What led you to this topic?”

“I remembered this story my grandparents used to tell me about a witch called the asema.” Honorato opened a book titled Life Devourers: Vampire Legends across the Globe. He flipped through the book until he came to a page with the illustration of a fiery ball of light flying across a field toward a secluded cottage. “It’s a legend from Brazil and Suriname. The asema looked human, but at night, it would change into a fireball and sneak into houses to drink the blood of those sleeping within. Oh, and the fun part, it would have to take off its skin to transform.”

“Oh, lovely.” Angela frowned at the book. “All right, I’ll bite. Why do you think vampire legends are so widespread?”

Honorato folded his arms on the table. “Well, when blood isn’t flowing, there’s no life. People from prehistoric times observed this and thought it meant that blood was life itself. This led to the theory that certain people or creatures could extend their own lives by consuming another person’s life force—that is to say, their blood.”

“So the reason there are so many vampire myths around the world … It’s not because these ancient cultures all encountered actual vampires?” Angela teased.

Honorato laughed. “That’d be freaky, but nah, it was just a bunch of superstitious people misunderstanding the mechanics behind blood flow.”

“Oh … good.”

Honorato blinked. “What?”

“Nothing.” Angela’s cellphone rang, and she flinched, having forgotten to set it to vibrate. She searched her bag for the device, embarrassed that she’d disturbed the silence.

“Shush!” the librarian hissed, glaring at Honorato.

“It wasn’t me!” Honorato protested, earning another “shush” from the librarian.

Angela fished her phone out and answered it. “Hello?” she whispered.

“Angela, it’s ten past six,” Corin’s anxious voice informed her.

Angela looked at her watch and groaned. “Sorry, I lost track of time. I’m coming home right now.” She hung up and collected her things. “That was my uncle. I have to go.”

“Since when does Cory have you on a curfew?” Honorato asked.

Angela froze. “Um, it’s … not a curfew. We just had dinner plans.” She stood up and pulled on her coat and bag. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

Honorato shrugged and opened his notebook. “All right. Take care.”

Angela stepped outside, enveloped in the sound of raindrops pelting the hood of her raincoat. She descended the library steps and headed for the subway on the other side of the Collegiate Gothic style campus, passing buildings with pastel brickwork, dormer windows, and crenelated parapets. Angela reached the edge of campus and hurried across the street to the subway entrance. She made her way down the stairs, through the turnstiles, and rode the escalator to the empty station below. She pushed her hood back and shook her hair free.

The subway platform was lit by old flickering Edison lamps, several of which no longer worked. The brick walls and arched ceiling were gray and worn with yellowed mortar. Angela stood near one of the large brick columns and listened to the echoes of distant subway trains reverberating through the tunnel. She peered to the far end of the platform. There was no one else around. Angela checked her watch and groaned, having missed the 6:15 train by a few minutes. The next train wouldn’t arrive until 6:35.

Someone slipped around the column and grabbed Angela from behind. He shoved her against the pillar, slamming her cheek into the bricks. Angela failed to erect her empathic barrier, and a suffocating chill engulfed her. There was something wrong with her attacker. Angela could feel his nausea, and severe muscle pain wracked his limbs. She seized up, her mugger’s sickness inundating her senses.

“Stop struggling,” the attacker growled in her ear. Angela tried to obey the order but couldn’t steel her thoughts against his fevered anxiety and pain. A spasm tore through her body. “Bitch, I said don’t struggle!” The assailant twisted Angela’s arm, and she cried out in pain. The sensation of scorching heat ripped through her mind.

Flames erupted along the attacker’s jacket sleeve, and he stumbled back, knocking Angela to the floor. She looked up and watched in fear as her burly assailant yanked off his jacket and flung it to the ground, stomping out the fire with his steel-toed boot.

The attacker turned to Angela, a wild look in his haggard eyes. He was pale, and sweat covered his face. “What just happened?” he snapped. “What did you do?”

Angela shook her head. “I didn’t do anything,” she whimpered, edging away until her back pressed up against the column.

The attacker pulled a gun from his waistband and pointed it at Angela. “Don’t fuck with me! Tell me how you started that fire, you freak!”

Angela shielded her face, then heard a grunt, followed by the sound of something thudding against the wall. Trembling, Angela lowered her arms to look.

A towering, well-dressed figure held Angela’s assailant up against the nearby wall with one hand, his gloved fingers constricting around the mugger’s neck. His long hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, revealing a familiar scarred face.

“You!” Angela cried out in surprise.

Angela’s rescuer—the man from her dream—looked over his shoulder at her. His once handsome face was deathly white, and his facial features were more pronounced and feral with gaunt cheekbones, a thickened brow ridge, and dark sunken eyebags. Hunger gleamed in his blood-red eyes, his pupils thinned into snakelike slits.

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