LITMIR.BIZ

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had belatedly filled the London newspapers.

      Carpenter reached into his pocket, withdrew a narrow wooden stake and let his arm drop to his side, concealing the weapon in his hand. He stepped forward, slowly, not wishing to announce his presence before it was necessary, then suddenly found the path to his target blocked by a group of laughing men and women, as they carried a tray of drinks and cigars away from the bar and back towards the tables. He pushed one of the women gently out of the way, trying not to lose sight of his quarry, and she rounded on him, hissing loudly, the same dark red glow emanating from the holes in her delicate feathered mask. His heart leapt, but he stepped past her.

      Haslett was gone.

      Carpenter cursed, and ran to where his quarry had stood, attracting looks of disapproval from the throng of drinking, dancing men and women. He looked around in every direction, but there was no sign of the Englishman.

      Behind him the band struck up a new number, and the activity on the dancefloor intensified. A grandmother clock set between two long mirrors behind the bar tolled once, and Carpenter looked at it; the hands on the ornate face told him that it was a quarter to midnight.

      He no longer wanted another drink. He pushed on into the crowd, looking for Haslett, or for Frankenstein, but could see neither man. He passed a heavy locked door that he presumed led into the rest of the house, then found himself caught amongst a large group of guests and was carried out onto the dancefloor, his feet barely touching the ground.

      He pulled free of the good-natured hands that grabbed at his arms and spun, disorientated. He tried to make his way towards the band, but a pretty red-headed woman blocked his path, smiling seductively at him, the tips of her incisors sharp and gleaming beneath the fractured light of the enormous crystal chandelier that hung above them. He turned about and struck out in the opposite direction, but had no more success. A ring of men and women rotated in a frenzied circle of kicking feet and flailing arms, their momentum spinning him like a top. As a young man swung past him, his long blond hair flying out behind him, Carpenter saw the red glow beneath the material of his feline mask, and his skin ran cold. He turned and almost ran into the wide chest of an elderly man, who was dancing with great enthusiasm with a girl young enough to be his granddaughter. The man turned and snarled at him, his white mask glowing red, two pointed teeth appearing beneath his bottom lip.

       Oh God, there are hundreds of them. What have I done?

      He reached into his pocket and pulled the stake free, but a girl wearing a diamond tiara above a Japanese kabuki mask thumped into him and the weapon clattered to the floor. He swore beneath his breath and stooped to look for it, but a dozen feet kicked it beyond his reach. Carpenter stood up and a wave of terror so strong it was almost physical flooded through him.

      Standing before him was a luminously elegant man. He wore no mask, and his face, the features hinting at an eastern European ancestry, was so pale it was almost transparent, the veins tracing a faint pattern of blue across the milky flesh. Around them the dancing seemed to have intensified, if that were possible, yet no one collided with the man, or even appeared to come close to doing so. It was as though he were surrounded by a magnetic field that repelled the revellers.

       It is him. Dear God, it really is. The youngest of the three.

      Valentin Rusmanov regarded Carpenter with a look that made him feel like a specimen in a laboratory. The man’s eyes were the same pale blue as the veins beneath his skin, and had a hypnotic quality to them; he felt himself sinking into them, and struggled to pull his gaze away. He was about to say something, although he had no idea what it was going to be, when thundering peals of bells began to count the chimes of midnight.

      Everything stopped. The chimes rang on, three, four, five, but they were now the only sound in the room. The dancing had ceased, as had all conversation. Carpenter looked around, sure what he would see, but fear still flooded his system when he saw that he was right.

      Everyone in the room was staring silently at him.

      The final chime rang out, echoing in the quiet air, and from the back of the room a voice shouted ‘Unmask!’ There was a second of hesitation, then Valentin nodded and there was a frenzy of movement as the guests removed their masks, a red glow filling the room as they did so. Carpenter looked around helplessly as the hundreds of men and women turned back to face him.

      He was surrounded by vampires.

      They regarded him with smiles on their faces, their fangs now fully extended, their eyes gleaming terrible crimson.

      This is how it ends. Torn to pieces on my first mission. My father would be ashamed.

      Chapter 23

      ROUND TWO

      Jamie marched along the cellblock corridor, Frankenstein following a couple of steps behind. Jamie had refused to go to the infirmary and have his neck properly dressed, had not even changed his acrid-smelling uniform. Several Blacklight Operators had stared at the white wad of bandages as he stormed through the hangar, the huge Colonel following in his wake.

      Jamie stopped in front of Larissa’s cell, the UV wall shimmering in front of him. She was lying on her bed, her eyes already fixed on him, as though she had been expecting him to arrive. Then Jamie realised that she had probably heard him from the first moment he entered the block; he found it strangely easy to forget that she was a vampire.

      She smiled at him, and then it died on her lips as Frankenstein stepped into her field of vision and stood next to Jamie. She had a book splayed over her lap, and she immediately brought it up to her face, obscuring it from their view.

      “I need to talk to you,” said Jamie.

      The book didn’t move.

      “Did you hear me?” he asked, anger rising in his voice. “I said I need to talk to you.”

      “I heard you,” said Larissa, from behind the book. “And there’s nothing I’d like more in the world than to talk to you back. But I don’t do threesomes.”

      Frankenstein muttered something under his breath.

      “Nothing personal,” said Larissa.

      Jamie looked at the monster, ready to plead with him to leave them alone, but Frankenstein was already turning away from him.

      “Thank you,” he shouted, as the huge man’s footsteps thumped away along the corridor. When the door at the end of the block clanged shut, Larissa put the book down, jumped off the bed and walked over to him, a wide smile on her face.

      “I knew you would be back,” she said.

      “This isn’t a social visit,” Jamie said, sharply.

      Her eyes dropped from his as he spoke, and then widened as she observed the bandage over the right side of his neck.

      “What happened to you?” she asked. “Don’t tell me someone bit you?”

      The concern in her voice made Jamie’s heart flutter.

      “Nothing like that,” he replied. “I got burnt. On a mission.”

      “A mission!” she exclaimed. “Was it a super-secret one? I bet it was. Ooh, tell me all about it!”

      Jamie blushed a deep scarlet, and Larissa laughed.

      “I’m sorry,” she said. “You just looked so serious with your bandaged neck and your dirty uniform. Did you come down here to tell me off?”

      “I came down here to ask you about Alexandru,” he said. “I came down here because I thought you might be the one person willing to help me.”

      Larissa tilted her head to one side, and fluttered her eyelashes.

      “That’s so sweet,” she said, choking back fake emotion. “Am I your only hope?”

      Jamie turned away from her and strode up the corridor, forcing himself to slow his pace, determined that he would not run away.

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