Man...this is the worst vampire book ever. And it had such promise. Newly minted vamp, 1930s setting in Chicago, charming gangsters, potential for romance... I gave it two stars because Elrod did do a good job of capturing the atmosphere of the time, and I found that kind of interesting. But the rest? Meh. The writing is pretty flat and we're given copious amounts of tedious detail on everything but the things we're interested in. Like what kind of entertaining mischief could you get into if you were a vampire in Chicago in the 1930s?! No idea.
Journalist Jack Flemming wakes up dead (or, undead) and doesn't remember who killed him or why. He has a hunch, though, why he's a vampire. But that story line goes nowhere. As does the story line about why he's even in Chicago. Ditto for the plot potential for his new vamp powers, which could be cool, but he hardly ever uses with much effect. Case in point: The same gangster tries to kill or beat him to death at least TWO MORE TIMES (spoiler alert), and Jack doesn't do ANYTHING. Seriously?! Not even mind control to, you know, convince the gangster to quit kicking the shit out of him? No, because he feels too CONFLICTED about using mind control. Against a guy who killed him. And then tries to kill him again. By beating him to death.
And Flemming never eats anyone. Not even muggers or creeps. Where's the fun in that? Instead he goes to the stockyards to suck on cows. It's like if Woody Allan became a vampire, but with less personality.