My concept of the reluctant vampire sprung from a rabid obsession with medieval history, especially the pre-Renaissance era of the Black Plague. Spurling," said Jonathan, who overheard the whisper, "you owe your situation to me. Her shoulders were gripped hard and a familiar voice spoke. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood.
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