“What year is it?” Caitlin asked quietly, almost afraid to know the answer. Her heart beat faster.

“You are in the 18th century,” he answered. “To be more precise: the year 1790.”

1790. Assisi. Umbria. Italy.

The thought of it overwhelmed her. It all felt surreal, as if she were in a dream. She could hardly believe this was really happening, that she was really, actually, here, in this time and place. That time travel really worked.

She also felt a bit relieved: of all the times and places she could have landed, Italy in 1790 didn’t sound too foreboding. It wasn’t like landing in prehistoric times.

“Why were those people trying to kill me? And who are you?”

“Despite all of our advances, this is still a somewhat primitive and superstitious time,” he said.

“Even in this age of luxury and decadence, alas, there are still scores of commoners who live very much in fear of us.

“You see, the small mountain village of Assisi has always been a stronghold for our kind. It is frequented by vampires, and always has been. Our kind of vampire only feed on their livestock. Still, over time, the villagers begin to take notice.

“Sometimes they’ll spot one of us. And when they do, the situation becomes intolerable. So every now and again, we let them bury us. We let them go through their silly little human rituals, let them feel as if they’ve gotten rid of us. And when they’re not looking, we simply rise again and return back to our lives.

“But sometimes, a vampire rises back too soon, or is seen rising back, and then there comes the mob. It will blow over. These things always do. It brings unwanted attention to our kind, but only temporarily.”

“I’m sorry,” Caitlin said, feeling badly.