I was yawning the next morning as I hung around the Dupont Circle exit. Brewing the potion had taken a lot longer than I had expected, and I hadn’t gotten to bed until a few hours earlier. Lack of sleep was only one problem. The few hours I had managed were full of dreams, most of them bad ones. Of course, I had the Paul dream again, as if I’d needed it. You’d think the Universe would have gotten the message that I’m on what I decided to call “The Case of the Haunted Vampire.” Don’t tell me it’s corny. Sherlock Homes got “The Adventure of…” I get my own story names.

See what happens when I’m tired.

The Paul dream was no big deal. I’m used to it. The other ones were another matter. In them I am splitting over and over aga...

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