They were standing in front of what appeared to be a small village; a loose arrangement of wooden buildings that ran from the bank of the river to the rising slope of the woods at the rear of the plain. A wooden wheel had been set into the clear rushing water of the Shiel, and a small generator sat humming next to it; a thick bundle of wires ran across the grass and disappeared into the village. Jamie noticed with bemusement that heather had been twisted into the wires at irregular intervals, like a kind of decorative camouflage. In front of them, a metal arch had been sunk into the grass and wound with vines and flowers. A single word had been placed at the top of the arch, the letters crafted from twigs tied together with green cord.

“Valhalla,” read Jamie. He looked at Larissa. “What is this place?”

The vampire smiled at him. “This is where we’ll find answers,” she replied.

“Let’s get on with it then,” said Frankenstein, and walked toward the sculpted arch. Larissa strode quickly after him, with Jamie and Morris following slightly behind.

They walked under the arch and onto what passed for Valhalla’s main street. Wooden houses, two and three deep, ran along both sides of a rutted dirt track, the grass long since worn away by feet, hooves, and tires. There were at least thirty homes, ranging from simple wooden cubes to more lavish dwellings, with raised porches and tiled roofs. The road sloped gently upward, flanked by carefully tended flowerbeds, wild shrubs, and strings of multicolored lightbulbs, toward an open circular area. From this clearing, the track diverged left and right, forming a T shape; more buildings were set into the lower levels of the hillside, among tangles of gorse and wild flurries of heather.

Standing at the back of the clearing, facing down the road, was a wooden house. The largest building in the village had a series of wooden steps leading up to a long porch, on which sat two benches, from where the occupants would be able to look out across Valhalla to the river and across to the rising eastern slope of the glen.

“Why don’t we know about this place?” wondered Morris aloud, as they made their way up the track.

“Admiral Seward seemed to know about it,” replied Jamie. “I wonder who else did?”

As they walked, the doors of several of the houses opened, and people stepped out to watch them as they passed. Jamie saw instantly that they were vampires: They stood easily in the doorways of their homes, a feeling of calm, almost of welcome, exuding from them. There were men and women, young and old, vampires of every race and color. Some were dressed in worn clothing, T-shirts, and jeans that had borne the brunt of years of outdoor work. Others were dressed in suits and ties, or shirts and trousers. One vampire, a graying man in his forties, was naked; he stood casually outside a house that was covered with colorful murals of flowers and water. Jamie found himself nodding at them as he passed, and they returned his greeting with nods and smiles of their own.

“Someone’s coming,” said Larissa, and pointed up the track.

A vampire in his late twenties, in a beautiful charcoal-gray suit and a bright scarlet cravat, was walking down the road toward them. Beside him, a small figure was floating through the quiet air, and Jamie heard Larissa gasp.

It was a boy, no more than five or six years old. He was wearing a T-shirt, a pair of shorts that had seen better days, and a wide, welcoming smile that faded as soon as he saw Larissa.

“I knew you would come back to haunt me,” he said, softly.

“Hello, John,” Larissa replied. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Again?” asked Jamie. “Do you two know each other?”

“We met once before,” said the vampire child. “Several years ago.”

“When?” demanded Jamie. “How?”

“The day I was turned,” said Larissa, softly. “I didn’t know where to go, so I went back to the park and—”

“Please,” interrupted the vampire in the suit. “I’m sure your story is fascinating, but we do have rules here. People are not encouraged to just turn up out of the blue, without one of our own to introduce them. I’m afraid I need to ask you who you are and what your business is here.”

Frankenstein answered him, his deep voice rumbling around the silent valley.

“I am Victor Frankenstein of Department 19. This is Jamie Carpenter and Thomas Morris, both also of Blacklight. And this is Larissa, who is one of you.”

“And your business?”

“We want to ask Grey some questions,” said Larissa. “Is he here?”

“He is,” replied the vampire. “He’s been away, but he came home three days ago.”

Larissa bared her teeth.

Only Jamie saw her do it, and he cocked his head to the side. She shook her head at him, quickly.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” continued the vampire, smiling widely. “My name is Lawrence, and this is John Martin.”

Jamie could not restrain himself any longer. He was overwhelmed by this strange, idyllic village. There was a palpable sense of peace and well-being emanating from the buildings and their residents, a feeling of contentment and happiness.

“What is this place?” he asked.

Lawrence smiled at him. “In Norse mythology, Valhalla was the place where heroes go when they die. This is the equivalent for vampires who have sworn not to taste human blood: a place where you can live in peace.”

He gestured to a fenced-off area at the edge of the village. A herd of cattle, huge Angus cows with shimmering flanks that gleamed white in the moonlight, were grazing idly at the lush grass.

“They provide all the blood the residents need. There are vampires here of every age, gender, nationality. You can come and go as you please, as long as you obey one rule: you must never harm a human being, under any circumstances.”

He held out his arm toward them. Tattooed on the inside of his left arm was a thin black V.

“This is the mark of Valhalla. I was brought here in 1967 by Grey, the man who founded this place. I can leave for years on end, but this means I will always be welcome.”

Jamie stared at the tattoo, then frowned at Larissa. She met his gaze and shook her head.

“How does all this work?” Morris asked. “Is it some kind of commune?”

Lawrence laughed. “Basically, yes,” he replied. “Anyone who agrees to obey our rules is welcome to be here. Some stay for weeks, other for years, decades, even. We generate the power we need, we tend the herd that provides us with blood; all residents are expected to help with whatever needs to be done to keep Valhalla running smoothly. Apart from that, they may do as they wish.”

“It sounds great,” said Jamie, smiling.

“It’s the best place in the world,” said Lawrence, simply. “I’ve seen most of it over the years, and there is nowhere I’d rather be than here.”

“It sounds like a bunch of sixties crap to me,” muttered Frankenstein.

Lawrence shot him a sharp look. “It’s a life of peace,” he said. “If that sounds like crap, then I feel sorry for you.”

Frankenstein grunted, but he said nothing more.

“Follow me,” said Lawrence. “I’ll take you to Grey.”

The vampire led them up the track toward a clearing. John Martin floated alongside him, casting nervous glances at Larissa.

“This Grey,” said Frankenstein, in a low voice, “he is the one you’ve brought us here to see?”

Larissa nodded.

“Exactly who is he?”

“He’s supposed to be the oldest British vampire,” she replied. “He’s been around for more than two hundred years; if anyone knows anything that can help us, it should be him. And he hates Alexandru, and all the vampires like him. They’re the opposite of everything Valhalla stands for. Apparently.”

“Have you been here before?” asked Jamie.

Larissa shook her head.

“Why not? Why didn’t you leave Alexandru and come here?”