Dorothy, the so-called vampire-curer, set off back down the tunnel, its end disappearing down another underpass, this one so narrow, its walls brushed Justin's shoulders leaving behind smears of green goop. He'd lost his orientation and was no longer sure which part of city they were underneath.

The underpass brought them out on a backstreet. The dark skies made it difficult to pick out any landmarks that might give him a clue as to their location, but the street had an abandoned air—tenement buildings with boarded over windows and most of the few street lights there were busted.

Dorothy crossed to the iron railings in front of the row of buildings opposite the tunnel exit. This building looked as if it might have been an office at one point; perhaps in the glory days of Dunrovia in the late 19th century when industry boomed and before the wars.

Every tenement had a basement accessible down a narrow metal stairway. She gestured towards the nearest one. "Down here."

The solid wood door open in creaking protest to what appeared to be a small flat, three rooms other side of the hallway their doors ajar, and one at the end, bright light escaping underneath. A bleeping sound started up, and Dorothy shot off in the direction of the room, her cloak swishing as it caught on the edges of the doorway.

Justin and Griffin hurried after her. The smell struck Justin at once—unvaccinated blood in all its rich, tangy glory. The room, hospital-like white walls and flooring, contained a narrow bed, a young man on it, blinking at the three of them.

He was attached to a drip and a heart monitor. The green lines on it showed a pulsing heart moving at 59 beats per minute and his temperature 35.6 degrees C.

Justin took deep breaths, hyper-conscious of the pulse on the man's neck.

Griffin clapped his hands. "Dorothy, you're a marvel. Truly outstanding. How long did it take this time?"

"Six hours—a 75 percent improvement on the last."

The man put his hand to his mouth, running the tips of his fingers over his canines—the teeth there now rounded points instead of sharp needles. He couldn't be much older than Justin.

"I'm... cured," he croaked as he swung his legs off the bed.

"Careful!" Griffin called out. The man's legs gave way underneath him as he tried to stand up and crumpled to the floor. Justin reached out a hand to haul him up.

"What's your name?"

"Rhys. I've been a vampire for two years. I can't wait to see my family again."

Would they welcome him back? The family that hadn't needed to splash out all that money on security to protect unvaccinated people and all the stress that protection involved for the past two years.

Someone had tacked an old mirror on the back of the door to the room—a smeary bit of glass that only showed the head and shoulders. Rhys stood in front of it staring at himself. "Oh my God," he said, eyes shining. "This is the first time I've seen myself in so long."

He opened his mouth, stretching out the gap between his jaw and nose. No sharp teeth. Tentative fingers tapped his temples, stroking down the skin to his throat. "It's so warm!"

He grabbed Justin's hand. "Feel it!"

Justin's hand was on the guy's throat before he could stop it. The pulse thudded against his fingers, a warm clot of blood moving freely around a body as it delivered the oh-so-vital oxygen to the nerves, cells and vital organs that needed it. He took deep breaths, steadying himself. Once upon a time, he'd fought off other vampires as they tried to attack a room full of unvaccinated kids. Same situation here.

His breathing returned to normal. The urge had passed. Two vampires Justin didn't recognise poked their heads around the door, nostrils pinching. Justin shoved Rhys behind him, determined that this was not going to be another Janette situation.

Griffin flapped his hand. "No need to worry, Justin! These two are here to escort Rhys to the venue we're using to house the converts. They're disciplined enough not to attack him."

Vampire one and two smiled, the tips of their teeth peeking out. Their skin had that marble smooth quality that developed with old age. They must be at least two hundred years old, which at least suggested they possessed tonnes more self-control than poor, dead Letitia.

Justin stood aside. "You'll be alright," he told Rhys, "I'll be checking up on you later."

An empty threat, seeing as he had no idea where vampires one and two were taking them. He exchanged a handshake with the first vampire, bumping his fist, drawing it back and hugging the guy, fist bumping this time against his shoulder blades.

Hurt this guy, and I will find you, rip your head off and trample your ashes into the ground.

He drew back, as the vampire stared at him. No-one else in the room could project their thoughts. The bland smile he gave reinforced the message. Trample your ashes into the ground.

For now, Rhys was safe. What choice did the guy have anyway? He either trusted the vampires or made his own way to safety through dark streets trying to find a venue he didn't know the address of, while that too tempting smell wafted all around him and sent out a siren-call to any vampire in the vicinity.

Rhys grabbed his coat from the back of chair and followed the two vampires, questioning them about whether there would be food and drink at this house. Anyone who hadn't eaten for two plus years would feel the same as soon as they'd been cured. Yes, yes, safety was important but after that... the first thing any right-thinking vampire would do as soon as they found themselves human once more was tuck into a big bowlful of [insert your favourite food fantasy here].

The front door slammed. Justin's thought projecting abilities still ran to the two vampires accompanying Rhys. He sent them another threatening message just to be on the safe side.

"Marvellous, isn't it?" Griffin said, pointing at the bed and the equipment around them. "Who wouldn't want to get involved in this!"

No-on else might be able to get into others' heads but Griffin had mastered the art of blocking others from mind reading him. Justin's attempts to work out what his former tutor was really thinking hit that force field.

"What's in the solution?" Justin asked Dorothy, pointing to the IV bag hanging from the pole.

"I can't possibly tell you. I'm lodging a patent for this cure, so it's vital I keep the formulation to myself for now. Besides, the drip is only part of the process."

At that she shut up, rousing Justin's suspicions. From the little he'd seen of her so far, she seemed like someone who enjoyed boasting about her skills. There must be more to it than not wanting to reveal a chemical formula.

"When will my new lab be ready?" she asked. "I'll need far more rooms than this."

"And remember," Griffin threw in, "we're sure people are onto us. We must get Dorothy out of here as soon as possible and into somewhere much safer."

Hadn't he told Griffin he wanted no further part in his stupid scheme? And yet he and Dorothy tipped their heads to one side and regarded him as if they expected him to click his fingers and a fully-fledged lab to materialise in front of their eyes.

And yet and yet and yet...

It didn't matter. He had seen enough to convince him. Curing the bulk of vampires in Dunrovia would deliver amazing benefits to everyone and flick a metaphorical two fingers up at Sunshine Health and Vampire Security, the companies James Hamilton must have been talking about in that film.

Talking of which... if he headed for the old warehouse tomorrow, he might find Fraser and that other USB stick and organise the clean-up of the basement so Dorothy could move her operation in there.