“It seems he thinks otherwise,” said Marie. “If what I saw on the news is anything to go by.”

Valentin sighed. “I saw it too,” he said. “Dracula is a creature of rage and vengeance. He would burn down the entire world rather than fail to impose his will upon it.”

Marie grimaced. Her good mood had evaporated, replaced by unease about the future and, in particular, the part her son would be required to play in it.

“What will happen?” she asked. “If Dracula wins, I mean. What will the world look like then?”

Valentin shrugged. “I cannot say,” he said. “The world he wanted to conquer when I served him was very different. But I would imagine that you will be very grateful that you have taken the cure. I don’t think the long life of a vampire is going to be something to cherish if Dracula is victorious.”

Marie stared at him for a long moment, then drained her mug and stood up.

“Thank you for the tea, Valentin,” she said. “And the conversation. I’ll miss talking to you when this is all over.”

The old vampire smiled. “The feeling is mutual,” he said. “You have been a beacon of grace and civility in this drab place, and I will always think of you most fondly.”

Marie smiled, and turned away. She walked through the purple barrier without pausing, and almost crashed directly into Matt Browning. They leapt awkwardly out of each other’s way, their faces reddening, embarrassed apologies spilling from their mouths.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

“No, I’m sorry, that was my—”

“Please, I should have been—”

“Are you OK? Did I—”

Marie stopped talking, and smiled. Her son’s friend did likewise, his cheeks pink, a nervous look on his face.

“Let’s start again,” she said. “Hello, Matt. It’s nice to see you.”

“You too, Mrs Carpenter,” said Matt, nodding vigorously. “How are you doing?”

“Much better than I was,” she said. “All thanks to you.”

The colour in his face deepened, and she briefly wondered whether it was possible for a person to actually explode with embarrassment.

“That’s good news,” he said. “Really good.”

“What about you?” she asked. As she looked more closely, she could see that the teenager’s eyes were red and puffy and, with the exception of his crimson cheeks, his skin was ghostly pale. “Are you sure you’re all right, Matt?”

He winced. “I’m fine,” he said. “Just … I’m fine. Rough meeting.”

Marie nodded. “If you’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” he said. “Thank you, though.”

“You’re welcome. Have you seen Jamie?” she asked.

Matt frowned. “Why?”

Marie smiled. “I’d like to see my son,” she said. “If you see him, will you tell him I’ve been discharged? In case he doesn’t know?”

“Right,” said Matt, his frown not quite disappearing. “I mean, yes. Of course I will. If I see him.”

There’s something going on here, she thought. Have he and Jamie had a fight? It feels like it.

“Thank you,” she said. “So what are you doing down here?”

Matt nodded towards the purple barrier. “I’m here to see Valentin.”

Inside the cell, the vampire got to his feet.

“Is it time?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Matt. “It’s time.”

All activity inside the displaced persons camp stopped as the helicopters rumbled over the horizon.

They were Russian Mi-26s, the largest transport helicopters ever to fly, but there were no Russians inside their huge holds; they had been sent to Toulouse airport by the SPC to meet the plane that had brought General Bob Allen and his NS9 team across the Atlantic, and carry the Americans to their destination. It was a display of international teamwork that would have been unlikely as little as five years earlier; the thaw that followed the end of the Cold War had taken a long time to penetrate the highly secretive world of the supernatural Departments.

The helicopters landed with a series of deafening thuds. Their engines and rotors began to wind down, and a loud beeping noise echoed out across the fields as the loading ramps at their rears were lowered slowly to the ground. Bob Allen stopped halfway down one of them, and looked out across the fledgling camp.

Surrounding the landing site were a dozen large white tents, emblazoned with the logos of the Red Cross and UNICEF. Beyond them, parked neatly along one edge of the field, was a row of trucks and jeeps, and on the other side of a low hedge he could see hundreds and hundreds of parked cars; it looked like the outskirts of a music festival. To the north, there were at least two fields of grey and blue tents, all of them bearing the legend HUMANITARIAN AID. It was a sight General Allen had never expected to find in the countryside of a developed European country; it looked like the camps he had seen during his military days, in places like Rwanda and Sierra Leone.

Behind him, Danny Lawrence led four squads of Operators down on to the grass while the technical support team started unloading towering pallets of containers and flight cases from the second helicopter. Allen didn’t waste time giving them the order to start assembling the command centre; he knew they would do their jobs without him needing to. He glanced round, saw Danny order the Operators to survey the camp and report back, and smiled; he had complete faith in his team, even in circumstances as strange and unprecedented as these.

“General Allen?”

He turned to see a French Army Captain standing in front of him.

“I’m Allen,” he said.

“Captain Mathias Guérin,” said the man, and extended his hand. “Welcome back to France, General. I am sorry it is not in better circumstances.”

Allen took Guérin’s hand and shook it. “Thank you, Captain,” he said. “I take it the Germans aren’t here yet?”

“We are expecting the FTB within the next two hours,” said Guérin. “Although I understand you will remain in charge?”

“That’s correct,” said Allen. “I will act as Commanding Officer, under NATO authority. Can you give me a progress update?”

“Yes, sir,” said Guérin. “More than eight thousand people have left the city so far, of which more than five thousand are here in this camp. Reconnaissance indicates—”

“What’s the population of Carcassonne?” interrupted Allen.

“Forty-eight thousand permanent residents, sir,” said Guérin. “Although there are likely to be at least three or four thousand tourists currently visiting the city.”

“So more than fifty thousand people?” said Allen. “That’s a hell of an evacuation.”

“Yes, sir,” said Guérin. “Reconnaissance indicates that a large number are preparing to leave later today, and we believe that many more will do so as the deadline approaches tomorrow.”

“Believing so isn’t good enough,” said Allen. “We need to make sure they go. This is a mandatory evacuation.”

“We are doing everything we can, sir,” said Guérin. “Many of the city’s police and emergency personnel appear to have already left, but those who are still here and still working have been deployed to keep the roads open and manage the crowds at the train station. SNCF has agreed to run extra rail services through the night, but are stopping them at noon tomorrow. The airport is closed to all non-military flights, and the Red Cross and UNICEF are going door to door inside the city, telling people that they are required to leave and assisting those who cannot do so on their own.”

Allen nodded. “Dracula?”

Guérin’s face paled, ever so slightly, but his voice remained calm and steady. “There have been no vampire sightings since last night,” he said. “Satellite thermal imaging shows heat blooms all over the old city, but the stone is thick, and it is impossible to tell the vampires from the hostages.”

“Tell me about them,” he said.

“One hundred and eleven names on the list that was distributed to the TV crews,” said Guérin. “Thirteen nationalities. French, German, British, American, Chinese, Japanese, Swedish, Spanish, Korean, Canadian, Russian, Norwegian, Turkish. No demands as yet.”