Prologue

It was a foreboding and ominous day. However, the weather simply refused to co-operate with the mood the day was taking on. The weather often has a funny way of doing that. If we all lived in a cinema, the rain would always be right on cue, it would be roasting hot when we were on long car trips, and there would ALWAYS be a thunderstorm on an ominous day. But as you may have already noticed, this is a book, and not a movie. If there has been any confusion as to what media format you received, you should march directly to your librarian, demand the correct object, and return home without turning another page. At any rate, we were talking about the weather, (actually I was talking about the weather, you really have no part to play in a literary conversation) and its constant incongruence with the mood of any given day. The weather, however, was far from the first thing on CIA Agent Harris’ mind. He didn’t even know that the temperature was a comfortable 95 degrees Fahrenheit in the surrounding city.

Agent Harris sat in the waiting room, watching the secretary at the desk go about her work. It had been a long wait, about an hour at this point, and agent Harris had gotten sick of playing pong on his blackberry, reading consumer reports, and twiddling his thumbs. Needless to say Agent Harris was bored. His boss had called a meeting with him, and he had heard rumors that he himself was in line to head up a new department. But new departments don’t always mean promotions.1 No one had ever seen the boss personally before either. There was more of an understanding that there WAS a boss, and that he watched them at all times.

“He will see you now,” said the secretary, whose nametag read Isabelle.

Agent Harris stood, emotions that mixed fear and excitement coursed through him. On one hand, he was talking to one of the major players in the US government. On the other it may mean he’d be working in Singapore undercover for the next 20 years. He straightened his tie, and wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers. He strode slowly up to the single unmarked door to the left of the desk, trying to look confident. All of a sudden, the door slid open and he was hit with a blast of stale air like one would when entering a pressurized room, that hadn’t been opened since the 15th century. The room was small and no one was inside. Actually nothing was inside. Agent Harris gazed confused into the small space.

“Please step inside,” urged Isabelle.

Agent Harris turned back to the door and stepped hesitantly through the doorway. The door swooshed close behind him. Perhaps when the room was designed there was no such thing as claustrophobia, but the 3’ by 3’ closet was barely large enough to fit Agent Harris’s broad self. Slowly a panel at eye level opened and behind it was a small screen, which flickered to life. On it was a flat green line, like a heart monitor. At that time, this was an accurate measurement of Agent Harris’s pulse.

“Hello Mr. Harris,” came a voice echoing loudly in the small space. It sounded un-naturally deep, and he soon realized it was being masked. As it spoke, the green line on the screen flickered up and down, “We’re here, as you may have already heard, to talk about you taking over a new department. It will be called R.E.-V.A.M.P.”

“Re-vamp?”

“It stands for the Re-establishment and evaluation of Vampric Activities and Management of Personal.”

“Vampires? You’re joking, right… Sir?”

“I do not joke Mr. Harris,” said the voice sternly, “There have always been Nosferatu, even since immigrants came to the Americas. There used to be a department especially for dealing with the supernatural. It was, unfortunately ended during the Cold War due to a lack of funding. One of their greatest successes was the blood bank, most of which are still operating. Luckily the vampire population hasn’t grown very much since then, and they generally keep to themselves.”

“Wait, so when I donate blood every year, I’m not actually helping injured people?”

“Yes, you are helping the hospitalized patients, but they come second to the vampric population.”

“So my government has been hiding this huge secret from me all my life?”

“Indeed,”

Harris thought for a moment. This, surprisingly, was very hard to believe yet not surprising at all.

“Sir, what exactly will I be doing in this department?”

“Keeping tabs on known vampires, finding any that haven’t registered, and keeping the public totally in the dark. Now if you will Mr. Harris, I am excusing myself to lunch. A packet will be delivered to you momentarily detailing your next actions.”

The screen blipped off before Harris had a chance to respond. After about thirty seconds of silence, he expected the door to open and be greeted by Isabelle. Instead, a small brown package fell from the ceiling in front of him. It happened so suddenly that he jumped back and hit the door behind him, which in turn opened, causing him to fall through and land smartly on his rump. He collected himself, picked up the package and went to his office to review its contents.

1 Last year Harris’s partner Agent Spencer got sent to a head of new department, which did no more than check boxes on pay checks and tax refunds.