Chapter Sixteen

Malcolm Jameson stood in the doorway of his penthouse suite and looked out onto the Manhattan skyline.   He was hungry and irritable.  If that oaf, Peter, didn’t arrive with his dinner soon, he’d eat him instead. 

He’d seen so many changes in his four hundred years of vampirism, but none so great as the way mankind buried knowledge and facts about the supernatural and magic world in mythical tales and lore. Had that not been the case, he questioned if he and his vampire family would still be around.  Modern equipment and science had progressed to the point they could easily track them down and kill them.  Of course, first, they’d have to believe they existed.

In an effort to keep a low profile, he’d taken to acquiring blood from blood banks and hospitals; only rarely venturing out to enjoy the sweetness of warm blood; fresh from its source. 

He’d tried to live on animal blood when he was firs