He glanced at the tracking chip he had cut out of his arm so many months ago.

For now, at least.

Larissa Kinley perched on a stool in the kitchen of Haven’s big house, watching the analysis of the discovery of the cure. Similar statements had now been issued by the governments of the United States, France, China, Germany, Brazil, Russia and more than a dozen others, although none of them had been able to match the Prime Minister’s for sheer jaw-dropping impact.

It was almost four in the morning, but she, along with the majority of the residents of Haven, was still awake. She had been about to go to bed when the Prime Minister walked out into Downing Street, but sleep was now the furthest thing from her mind. It had been difficult to comprehend the sheer magnitude of the announcement, and for a community of vampires that had shunned the wider world in favour of peaceful isolation, it raised a number of questions that they were not going to find easy to answer. Larissa knew it would only be a matter of time until people started asking each other whether they were going to take the cure, and she wouldn’t be able to blame them; it was the biggest thing to happen to the realm of the supernatural since Dracula had first been turned, more than five centuries earlier.

As the news coverage droned endlessly on and on, Larissa felt as uncertain as she had in the final weeks before she left Blacklight and began the process of founding Haven. The inner peace that the community had provided her with was gone, replaced by concern for the future and the realisation that she too had a decision to make.

If anyone had asked her seven months earlier whether she would be interested in taking a cure for vampirism, she would have answered yes without a moment’s hesitation; she had said as much to Jamie and her friends on a number of occasions, and had not been lying to them.

Now, though? She was no longer sure.

During her years with Alexandru – and even after she joined Blacklight – her vampirism had been a miserable, isolating condition, one that filled her with shame and singled her out from her friends and colleagues. At Haven, surrounded by people who were the same as her – biologically, at least – it was different; she no longer saw herself as a freak, as something to be distrusted and whispered about. At Haven, she felt accepted, and welcomed, and she wasn’t remotely sure she wanted that to change.

“Still awake?” said Callum, from behind her.

She turned, and smiled at the Texan vampire. “Still awake,” she said. “There’s coffee in the pot.”

Callum nodded. Larissa returned her attention to the TV as he lifted a mug from the drying rack beside the sink and poured coffee and cream into it.

“This is crazy,” she said. “Half the countries in the world have announced they’re going to distribute the cure.”

“Hardly surprising,” said Callum. “This is the first bit of good news they’ve had in a long time. Can’t blame them for making the most of it.”

“The Prime Minister is making a big deal about it being developed by Blacklight. You would think he’d been putting in shifts in the Lazarus Project labs himself.”

“Now that is crazy.”

“The Prime Minister trying to take all the credit?”

Callum shook his head. “That your friend Matt is probably at least partly responsible for all this.”

Larissa smiled widely. “If I know Matt,” she said, “there won’t be any ‘partly’ about it.”

He nodded, and took a sip of his coffee. “You need a top-up?”

“I’m good,” she said. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do, Callum?”

“Can’t think about anything else,” he said. “You?”

“The same.”

Callum put his mug down and looked at her. “And?”

Larissa shook her head. “I have absolutely no idea.”

As he sat down beside Professor Karlsson in the Ops Room, Matt Browning reached the conclusion that he was more tired than he had ever been.

He doubted he had slept for more than two uninterrupted hours at any point in the last week; his brain felt as thick and slow as treacle, and his body trembled constantly from a combined excess of caffeine and adrenaline. The Lazarus Project, which was hardly a relaxed environment at the best of times, had shifted into overdrive, a relentless regime of testing and reporting and observing and checking and double and triple-checking. Matt, who was usually glad his work got him out of all but the most vital meetings, had been genuinely relieved when the order to attend the mandatory briefing that was about to begin had come through; for at least a few minutes, he could allow his brain to stop churning and ignore the relentless voice inside his head that told him he could, and should, be working.

He glanced round at his boss, who gave him a small, tired smile. Matt returned it, and realised how much he envied Karlsson, and the rest of his Lazarus colleagues. They were killing themselves to finalise and produce the cure they had been gathered together to find, but none of them were dealing with the extra pressure that he was, pressure that could be summed up by a single word he had already come to hate.

PROMETHEUS.

The project’s origin lay in a throwaway remark he had made during a conversation with Cal Holmwood almost a year earlier, a conversation that he had been forbidden to discuss with anyone else at the time, and then forbidden from doing so again by Paul Turner after he had been promoted to Director and inherited his predecessor’s notes. Since then, there had been three short meetings, in which the hypothetical details of PROMETHEUS had been hammered out, details which had made Matt increasingly uneasy. He had been able to console himself with the knowledge that the concept was unfeasible until the day came that there was a workable, reliable cure for vampirism.

Now, that day had arrived.

There was a rush of whispered voices as the Director strode through the door and up on to the low stage at the front of the Ops Room. He looked out over the massed ranks of the Department, his gaze settling momentarily on Matt, then called for attention. Instantly, the room fell silent.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Turner. “I am assuming that you all know what this briefing is about, so I’ll get straight to the point. For the last year, the Loop has been home to a handpicked team of the finest scientific minds on the planet, working together on what has been codenamed the Lazarus Project. I am aware that the project and its staff have been the subject of a great amount of speculation, the result of the strict conditions of secrecy in which they have been operating. As you will no doubt have inferred from the Prime Minister’s announcement, they were gathered together with a single goal, to find a cure for the condition that we know as vampirism, and I am delighted to confirm that they have succeeded in their task.”

A low murmur of excitement rippled through the Ops Room, and Matt jumped in his seat as a number of hands clapped him on the back; he turned round to see Operators he didn’t know grinning at him.

“Before I go into what this means for the Department,” said Turner, “and for the world outside, I would ask each and every member of the Lazarus Project to stand up.”

Oh God, thought Matt.

Professor Karlsson immediately did as the Director had asked. Matt turned in his seat, saw the rest of his colleagues getting nervously to their feet, and realised he had no choice but to join them. Slowly, his cheeks burning with sudden heat, he stood up and glanced over to where Natalia was also standing, her face a bright shade of pink, a wide, embarrassed smile on her face.

“Men and women of the Lazarus Project,” continued Turner. “What you have done is nothing short of miraculous, and everyone in this room, every single person on this entire planet, will be forever in your debt. My profound thanks to each and every one of you.”