Five years later

After I returned from the dead, I had to go through my papers. Both update the old ones, and get new ones. Which resulted in a series of annoying questions.

Are you truly undead, Mr Silva? Why, of course not. All dead bodies get up for a stroll every now and then.

Are you a strigoi? We must check if you can be harmed by such and such. To make sure you're classified properly.

Have you ever felt the desire to murder/and or rape people who wronged or annoyed you? Or just happened to be around you?

How much lifeforce have you consumed up to this point, and how much do you feel the need to consume daily? None, and none.

Until five years ago.

So, lifeforce is sometimes confused with the soul itself, but that's like saying steel is iron. Lifeforce-or mana, or chi, or what have you-is created by the synergy of the body, mind and soul. There are some exceptions, since trees have lifeforce but not minds, and golems rarely have all three, but generally, you have to be a living being to have it.

To strigoi, consuming lifeforce is completely unnecessary, but also almost irresistible-especially if you do it once. It's like only eating one chip.

But I'm rambling.

The point is, pops eventually convinced me to start doing it, in small doses. That tree is rotten, or that neighbour's cow is dying. They're going to die, anyway, so why not take advantage?

And, I admit, it has a relaxing effect on me. Kind of like those flavoured cigarettes that totally don't mess up your lungs.

The greater power is nice, too.

I imagine feeding on dying beings empowers me because of the symbolism, not the energy involved itself. After all, a dying cow-or a healthy one, or a herd-wouldn't even register when talking about strigoi-scale strength. And yet, I've gone from being ripped open by Lucian during sparring to matching him. My reflexes have sharpened, to the point bullets now appear frozen in midair rather than merely slow. And my shapeshifting had grown more refined.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Before, I could only perform what the supernatural community calls 'broad' shapeshifting, changing my whole body at once. Now, I can change individual limbs into mist, become a chimeric creature, or change my appearance without makeup.

I was clean-shaven when I died, which made me look younger than I was, if not better. Pops has worn a chest-length beard for as long as I remember, but I've always shaved because it was easier than constant grooming.

I'd have shaved my head, too, but I didn't want to look like a featherless goose.

Since I've started teaching again, I've worn a moustache. Personally, I think it makes me look more friendly(for which I need every edge I can get) but several of my students have told me I look like an undead porn actor.

Which I guess is a compliment?

As I walked down the high school hallway to my next class, I saw one of the janitors, Gheorghe Jianu. He was older than me, but younger than pops, though he also had more grey hair than my father. Work environment, probably.

I waved in greeting as we approached each other. 'Keeping clean, man?'

I heard as much as felt his sigh. 'Yeah, Silva. Though I might puke if you keep talking.'

'Aw, no need to be nervous around me,' I was only half-joking. These days, I was doing my best to be as non-threatening as I could. You know that saying about there being no atheists in a foxhole? Well, the post-Shattering world is a trench network. People can get really pious when threatened.

Gheorghe snorted as he passed me, dragging his trolley of cleaning supplies behind him. 'Because you're so cuddly, right?'

The door to the classroom was locked. Like every door in the school, you had to stand in front of it for several seconds before you were confirmed as a student, teacher or other staff member. Too many things that could go wrong with shapeshifting outsiders. Though it got on the shifter students' nerves, because they had to keep to one appearance.

Supernatural world struggles.

After a few seconds, the door opened, and a recorded voice announced that David Silva, parabiology teacher, had arrived to begin his class.

Sounded like a really important guy, with the way the voice said it. I'd be nervous to meet him.

'Good day, class,' I said as I walked inside and placed my bag on the desk. The class was already on their feet by the time the recording started.

'Good day, Mr Silva,' Thirty more-or-less sleepy voices chorused in reply. I had the dubious honour of teaching the first two periods on Monday, which meant the children came from their weekend to be greeted my by grey mug. They were usually as enthused as they sounded. I understood how they felt.

When I was their age-yes, yes, I was old enough to talk like that- I got really nervous each time I was called to the board, or the front of the class. Looking back, I've got no idea why. The worst thing that could have happened would be messing up, then getting sent back to your seat with a bad grade after being laughed at. When you were the teacher, you were always at the front of the class, always the center of atten-pfft. Sorry. Couldn't finish that sentence with a straight face.

I could've been the Devil incarnate, but I doubt I could keep some of these brats away from their phones.

Twenty of the thirty students were human, seven of them mages. Their powers were weak enough they hadn't been sent to a specialized school. Urziceni Central School was for general education, but so far, it was enough for them.

Unless something happened to mark their psyches, and give them a burst of power. But the chances for that were slim to none.

The other ten were split between different species (or maybe I should call them races, given most can breed with each other and with normal humans, but rarely with other species). We had three werewolves, a werebear, a set of iela triplets, two vamps and a zmeoaică-a female zmeu. She was the oldest in class, nineteen, and always flirted with me.

I think. I'm not really good at picking up on things like that.

Well, she flirted with basically anything that could respond, and a few things that couldn't. Imagine Lucian with more hormones and no experience in reeling them in. She had gotten used to her advances being rejected by my libido-less arse, but still kept at it.

'Today,' I started, taking my laptop out of the bag. 'We are taking a break from the usual subjects, as we are going to watch a special documentary. The Mars Colonization Effort has begun, and they're transmitting live. You might see a few relatives or friends on screen...'