Marvel was almost dislodged from his seat on the coffin by a dead dog, which was hurled against him, and struck him in the face. My concept of the reluctant vampire sprung from a rabid obsession with medieval history, especially the pre-Renaissance era of the Black Plague. “A little touchy this evening, aren’t we, Missy?” Michelle chided her friend. The latch had not fully caught. All this Woman-who-Diddery —no damn good. He saw the expression on the girl's face and understood what it signified, that it was the reflected pattern of his own. “Are you in a hurry? Will you come in and have some coffee?” He hesitated, and glanced towards her companion. No, I thank you.
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