“Penny for them?” said Callum.

She looked round, roused from her thoughts. “They’re not worth a penny,” she said. “I was just thinking about this place. I still sometimes have to pinch myself to see if it’s real. You know?”

Callum nodded. “I know,” he said. “But it’s real, Larissa. You and me and the others built it with our bare hands.”

“I know what we did,” said Larissa, and smiled.

They had reached the corner of the lawn, near the first of the row of cabins that led down to the riverbank. They strolled in comfortable silence as the sun dragged itself higher and higher into the sky, covering Haven’s wide expanses of green and brown with warm golden light.

Callum stopped. “You hear that?” he asked.

Larissa frowned. “Yeah,” she said. “I did.” It had been low and distant, but unmistakable; the sound of a number of voices crying out at the same time.

The door of one of the cabins flew open and Emily Belmont peered out, a look of alarm on her lined, weathered face. She had been at least sixty-five when she was turned, and had been a vampire for more decades than she could remember; she was the oldest resident of Haven, which made her a strong contender for the oldest person in the whole of North America.

“There’s been another one,” she said, fixing her small, beady eyes on Larissa and Callum. “Another video. It’s all over the news.”

Larissa felt a shiver race up her spine. “Dracula?”

Emily nodded.

“Come on,” said Callum. “Let’s get back to the house.”

Larissa looked at Emily. “Come with us?”

“No need,” said the old vampire. “I’ll stay here.”

Larissa turned and flew beneath the canopy towards the big house, Callum at her side, her mind racing. There had been no further word from Dracula since the release of his first video, more than six months earlier, and once the initial panic had died down, much of the media had seemed to convince themselves that it was over, that nothing more was coming. She had never believed that, not for a single moment; she was absolutely certain that, wherever he was, Dracula was making preparations and plans, and that it was only a matter of time until he resurfaced.

That time, apparently, had now come.

She flew up on to the veranda of the big house and strode through the door. Callum followed her into the kitchen, where she turned on the television that hung above the breakfast bar and tuned it to CNN. She waited impatiently for a millisecond or two as the screen warmed up, and then the news network studio appeared; the anchor was talking into the camera as researchers and producers scurried in the background.

The headline filling the lower portion of the screen comprised five words and made its point unequivocally: SECOND DRACULA VIDEO GOES VIRAL. Larissa turned up the volume and stood silently beside Callum as the anchor’s voice emerged from the television’s speakers.

“… no comment yet from any official sources, although we are expecting a statement from the Department of Homeland Security later today. The new video appears to have followed the same pattern as the first, with a coordinated release across multiple platforms just after 10am Eastern time. For those of you just joining us, let’s take another look at what appears to be a second message from the vampire who calls himself Dracula, and which has already been viewed more than two million times in the last fifteen minutes.”

The studio disappeared, replaced by a black screen that gave way to a shadowy shot of the vampire who, in what now felt like another life, Larissa and Valentin Rusmanov had once fought to a standstill. There was widespread public doubt about the identity of the vampire in the videos, and whether the threats he had made should be taken seriously, but she did not share it; she knew exactly who he was, and exactly what he was capable of.

“Time grows short,” said Dracula, his molten eyes staring directly into the camera. “To each and every one of you, I say this: prepare yourself for what is coming. Those who kneel before me will be spared. Those who do not will die. The time to choose has come. My rise is now at hand. This will be my final communication.”

The video faded back to black. There was a long, pregnant pause, until two familiar words appeared, ghostly grey rising to glowing white.

“Eighty-two,” said Paul Turner. “Eighty-two successful tests. That’s incredible.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Professor Karlsson. “The reactions have continued to be violent, but the new precautions have prevented injury, and all eighty-two subjects show no trace of the vampire virus. They’re cured, sir.”

Turner stared at the two men standing in front of his desk. He understood the Lazarus Director’s words, but he could still not fully accept their meaning; it felt somehow nebulous, as though if he let himself believe that what he had been told meant what it should mean, it would somehow all fall apart and drift away.

“Eighty-two,” he said. “Eighty-two vampires cured.”

“Yes, sir,” said Matt Browning. “The process appears to be stable.”

Turner took a deep breath. “Would you recommend it for public release?”

Browning frowned. Karlsson glanced over at him and shook his head.

“Absolutely not, sir,” said the Professor. “Under normal circumstances, I would recommend at least a further year of double-blind testing, and that parallel testing be carried out in a minimum of four other laboratories around the world.”

“But these are not normal circumstances,” said Turner. “As you yourself have often said.”

“True,” said Karlsson. “And there have been precedents, although obviously not for anything exactly like this. There was an outbreak of the Ebola virus in West Africa not that long ago, and the World Health Organisation authorised the public release of an American drug that was still in its testing phase. But that decision was taken in the light of Ebola’s high mortality rate, as the infected had literally nothing to lose. I don’t know if the same could be argued in this case, sir.”

“What about voluntary consent?” asked Turner. “If those who wanted the cure signed releases stating they understood the risks?”

Karlsson shrugged. “It’s a possibility,” he said. “But this is uncharted territory, sir, for all of us. I do know one thing, however. An application for a WHO exemption couldn’t come from us. It would have to come from the government.”

“Let me worry about that,” said Turner. “How quickly can you give me a report on the tests you’ve carried out so far?”

“We’re keeping a running report, sir,” said Browning. “I can put a top sheet on it and have it to you in an hour.”

Turner nodded. “Excellent,” he said. “Truly excellent work, gentlemen. I can’t overstate my gratitude to you both, and all of your team. Professor Karlsson, I need to talk to Lieutenant Browning for a few minutes, so you can consider yourself dismissed.”

The Lazarus Director narrowed his eyes, but nodded and headed for the door. Turner watched him step through it, then faced Matt as soon as it was closed behind the Professor.

“Do I need to tell you what this is about, Lieutenant?” he asked.

Matt shook his head. “PROMETHEUS,” he said.

“That’s right,” said Turner. “It’s time.”

“Why me, sir?”

Turner frowned. “Why you what?”

“Why is PROMETHEUS something you want me to work on, sir?” said Matt. “There are people more qualified, and far more senior. Especially for something so important.”

“Lieutenant Browning, you’re the only person who is both a member of the Lazarus Project and a serving Blacklight Operator,” he said. “Which means you’re perfectly placed to develop PROMETHEUS. Karlsson could handle the science, but he would not understand the military need. I could give it to Angela Darcy, or Jack Williams, but the science would mean less than nothing to them. And more importantly than all of that? I trust you, Matt. This needs to remain classified at the very highest level until we’re ready to begin implementation, and I trust you to do what needs to be done. Is that good enough for you?”