Jefferson Stark is pissed. As the world’s only authentic vampire, he’s had a belly full of bland Barbie-and-Ken blood-suckers and those silly Hollywood monsters with fangs and capes. Real vampires don’t drink blood, turn into bats, or burn in the sunlight. They just read good books, download videos, and sip tea brewed from the ashes of a human heart. Jefferson looks like road kill and smells like a dirty diaper, so he doesn’t get out much. Now, for the first time in 200 years, he’s going to be proactive. He’s going to eliminate everyone who writes romantic vampire fiction. It will be his contribution to American literature, a little “thank you” gift from the undead to you – the soon-to-die.