10. He has a hot (sane) older brother who has told you his younger brother is crazy.

9. You have seen historical and forensic evidence that he is a murderer.

8. He takes you through a portrait gallery talking about his dead, crazy ancestors.

7. He explains where he lives in psychedelic colors when in actuality he is colorblind.

6. He knows dead languages.

5. Foreplay involves knives.

4. He gives rodents instead of roses.

3. He encourages you to drink hallucinogenic and banned alcoholic substances, even though you are (physically) below the legal drinking age.

2. He recites poetry to you.

...and the number one reason to tell that that you're in danger of falling for a serial killer:

1. You've been a teenager for over 100 years and have never had sex. Leng was a nihilist and Proctor hasn't been any more "forthcoming" than his master. It's about time....   read more »

Ephram Taff depressed the security switch beneath his desk in response to the light rap on the studded, metal-banded doors of heartwood mahogany, breathing out a soft sigh as he did so. No one beat a tattoo quite like Georgia did.

The locks disengaged with a soft, well-oiled snick and she approached his desk like an actress on the red carpet, as poised as though a thousand eyes were on her with a dozen cameras capturing her every angle, her every move. Ephram watched her come. Well, she was right about the cameras; he’d monitored her ever since she entered the building, thirty-one stories below.

He waited for her to come to a stop before the massive desk where he sat silently studying her, one finger pressed to his lips. A minute passed but Georgia never flinched beneath his regard, displaying her characteristic preternatural composure. He spoke at last. “You know what I want.”

“Yes.” She had never been disposed to call him ‘sir’, but Ephram knew the connotation was there and it was enough for him. On the whole he preferred to allow her to keep her pride and some notions of independence, but they both knew who was boss —...   read more »