She laughed. “You heard him. You can’t come in unless you’re introduced by one of them. Truth is, I wasn’t even sure this place existed. I thought it might just be a legend.”

She lowered her head, and Jamie stared at her as they entered the clearing at the end of the track.

A wide metal shed with an open front stood in the northwest corner, set into the hillside. A small tractor was parked inside, beside an ancient-looking plough and sacks of fertilizer and grass seed. They walked up the steps of the large house and waited on the porch as Lawrence disappeared inside.

He emerged a minute later and told them that Grey would see them.

They followed him into the house, and Jamie looked around as Lawrence closed the door behind them. They were standing in a large square living room, made entirely of wood. The floorboards were uneven and creaked beneath their feet, and the walls were painted bright white. It was surprisingly domestic; a rug lay over the middle of the floor, red curtains covered the windows, and two large homemade bookcases stood in the corners that faced the door. They were piled high with books: some that looked as though they had to be at least a hundred years old, others that appeared brand new. Two doors led further into the house, and Lawrence walked over and stood beside one of them.

“Only Mr. Carpenter and Mr. Frankenstein are to go through,” he said, a hint of apology in his voice. “Grey does not like crowds, and he believes that what he has to say is only of interest to the two of you.”

Morris opened his mouth to protest, but Jamie fired a warning look at him, and he closed it again. Larissa nodded.

“Please make yourselves at home while you wait,” said Lawrence. “Gentlemen, please come with me.”

He opened the door, and Jamie and Frankenstein stepped through it.

The room was a study, dominated by a large window that looked out onto the hill that rose behind Valhalla. A homemade desk stood before it, and in a chair behind the rough wooden surface sat Grey, smiling at them as they entered.

It was immediately obvious how the vampire had got his name; his head was covered in a mane of hair that was almost silver, swept back from his high forehead and temples, descending below the level of his collar and on to his shoulders. His face was that of a man in his late sixties, lined and creased, but the eyes twinkled with life, and his lips were curled into a broad, welcoming smile.

He stood up from the chair and walked around the desk. He was wearing a blue-and-white checked shirt, faded blue jeans, and battered brown boots. He looked like a cowboy on the verge of retirement; all that was missing was a worn ten-gallon hat. He extended a hand toward Jamie.

“Mr. Carpenter,” he said, and the teenager gasped. Grey’s voice was unearthly, a rolling blast of bass and treble, a sound that was both swaggeringly large and charmingly soft. “It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you. My name is Grey.”

In the living room, Larissa’s heightened ears heard this greeting, and crimson spilled into her eyes. She reached out, grabbed Lawrence by the lapels of his suit jacket, and threw him across the room. He was taken utterly by surprise and didn’t react until he crashed into the wooden wall, splintering the planks, shattering the glass in the window above him, and shaking the entire house.

Morris started to say something, but Larissa was already moving. She crossed the room in a flash, threw open the door of the study, and disappeared inside.

31

ONE RULE FOR EVERYONE

The door to the study crashed open, and Jamie jumped around in time to see Larissa fly across the room, her eyes molten red, and grab for Grey’s throat with hands that were curled into claws.

Surprise flashed briefly across the ancient vampire’s face, but then centuries of instinct took over. He reached out, gripped Larissa by the neck, flipping her over in midair and slamming her onto the floor on her back. The air rushed out of her, and he knelt across her chest, pinning her shoulders with his knees, looking at Jamie and Frankenstein with dark, gleaming red eyes. Morris rushed into the room and gasped at the scene before of him.

“What is the meaning of this?” Grey said, his voice like midnight ice.

Jamie looked at Larissa, who was squirming and cursing under Grey’s weight. “I don’t know,” he said, honestly. “Larissa, what the hell are you doing?”

The vampire girl howled, bucking and kicking like a wild colt.

Then, abruptly, she stopped struggling, lifted her head, and spit in Grey’s face.

He recoiled, disgusted, and wiped his face with his shirtsleeve.

“Ask him!” she yelled. “Ask him why he didn’t just kill me and get it over with!”

“Oh God,” said Jamie, realization flooding through him like cold water. This was the man with the tattoo from Larissa’s story. He reached for his T-Bone without realizing he was doing so, until Frankenstein stepped forward gripped his arm.

Grey’s eyes reverted back to dark green. He looked down at Larissa, and Jamie saw recognition leap into his face. Then he looked at Jamie and Frankenstein, remorse contorting his features.

“I didn’t recognize her,” he said. “I thought she was here to kill me.”

“I am,” spit Larissa. “I’m going to kill you for what you did to me.”

“What’s she talking about?” rumbled Frankenstein.

“He’s the one who turned me,” said Larissa, her voice dripping venom. “He bit me and left me for dead. But I didn’t die.”

“This is the man you saw in your garden?” asked Jamie. “The one from the fair?”

Morris looked at him, confusion all over his face.

“This is him,” said Larissa. She had stopped struggling, but her chest was rising and falling rapidly. “I’ll remember his voice forever.”

Grey looked down at her, and an expression of such anger crossed his face that Jamie was absolutely sure that he was going to reach down and kill Larissa there and then. But the moment passed; instead Grey stood up slowly and reached a hand down toward Larissa. She slapped it away and pushed herself to her feet. The two vampires stood, eyeing each other warily.

Then suddenly the room was full of vampires, and everyone started shouting at once. Lawrence was first, his eyes a blazing red, his neat suit rumpled and torn. He stared at Larissa with fury in his eyes, then saw the expression on Grey’s face, and went to his friend. The residents of Valhalla followed him into the study, drawn by the commotion. Their faces were full of concern for Grey, and suspicion for the outsiders who had punctured their peaceful village.

“What’s going on in here?” demanded one of the vampires, a woman in her thirties wearing a pretty yellow sundress. “Grey, are you OK?”

“I’m fine, Jill,” he replied, and gave her an unconvincing smile. “Everything’s fine.”

“Everything is not fine,” said Larissa, fiercely. “This is the vampire that turned me four years ago. I don’t know how you make that fit with your precious rules.”

Jill clapped a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide.

“What’s she talking about, Grey?” asked John Martin.

There was a murmur from the rest of the vampires in the room. Jamie looked around, saw that there were at least fifteen of them in the study, and a chilly thread of fear crept up his spine.

If they turn on us, we’re dead.

Grey looked at the men and women crowded in his study. His face wore a shiny veneer of calm, but it faltered under the gazes of his friends. An expression of terrible misery emerged, as if from a great depth.

“She’s telling the truth,” he said.

There were gasps throughout the room, and a vindicated snarl of triumph from Larissa. “I told you,” she said. “He—”

“Shut up,” said Lawrence, his eyes almost black. “Not another word from you.” He turned to Grey, who was standing alone in the middle of his study.