So clear I could practically see the shine on it. I nodded without bothering to say anything, and when Patrick Davis gestured to me, I followed. Before I got in the blacked-out van, though, I turned around. Dr Anderson was behind me, with Claire next to her.

‘Just one thing,’ I said to Anderson. ‘I owe Dr Davis something.’

She probably knew what was coming, because she didn’t make a move, and I didn’t wait for permission. Sometimes, it’s just better to ask for an apology.

I punched him in the face, and damn, it felt seriously good, all the way down my arm and into my guts. Just a little violence, to let off the steam from the boiling pot.

‘That’s from Liz,’ I said. ‘Asshole.’

Dr Anderson laughed. Davis went down hard, cradling his probably broken nose, and someone made a joke about nosebleeds and vampires, and I didn’t listen because I swung into the passenger seat, buckled in, and rested my head against the glass. For a second or two, the red haze refused to clear. That’s the danger of letting the beast off the chain for a bit; sometimes, he just doesn’t want to come back. But by the time the driver was strapped in and the door had slammed shut, I was my old, cheery self again, and I gave him a smart-assed thumbs up.

‘You’re damn lucky one of us didn’t put a bullet in you,’ he told me.

‘I live a charmed life,’ I agreed. ‘Head out of the lot and turn left. I’ll give you directions.’

Claire and Dr Anderson hadn’t gotten in the van with us. I turned my head and watched the two of them standing there with another set of guys in suits, and I hoped like hell that I was doing the right thing, because if I wasn’t, if somehow I had gotten all this wrong …

Then we were all going to suffer for it.

The warehouse looked as deserted as ever. I made the driver park a block down, just in case Michael had recovered enough to give some kind of warning; I ended up at the head of a column of four guys, including the driver. He was a bland, blank sort of guy, but then you put a dark suit on most men and they start blending together. He was African-American, but that didn’t make him any different from the others, except the usual height and weight and jacket size variations.

‘So what’s your deal?’ I asked him, as we moved down the alley toward the warehouse. ‘You work for some kind of company?’

‘Yeah, kid, I’m a vice president at Van Helsing Incorporated.’

‘Ha, very funny, yeah, I’ve read Dracula, surprise.’ Jackass. ‘What I mean is, are you some kind of true believer or just hired on?’