“He went hunting,” Basil explains. “If he hadn’t gone hunting, he’d still be alive.”

“Hunting, for—”

“Hunting for a blood meal. Because he was hungry. Can you feel the hunger, Alex? Can you feel it eating you?” Alex nods, convulsively. “I’ve been reading up on you, you know. Almost everyone’s file ends up in the Archives eventually. I read your Miss Murphy’s folder years ago, and the reports on her progress: saw she’d make an excellent client. If I ever need to dispose of her, I can shut her down with a single anonymous phone call. Mr. Menendez is, shall we say, surplus to requirements, and I have arranged for him to be let go as part of the downsizing. He’s another solitary hunter. We can’t permit that. The others—you, for instance—are promising. If you can follow instructions to the letter, we can work together. I can feed you, you know—safely. It has been a long time since I have had slaves, but I think a Praetorian bodyguard of vampires will suit me nicely during the troubled times to come: CASE NIGHTMARE GREEN and all that. Drink your tea, lad, it’s getting cold.”

“But—but—” Alex looks at Pete. The vicar is clearly frightened, and is making the most peculiar hunching/crouching motions. After a few seconds Alex realizes that Pete really does think his feet are glued to the floor: it’s as if he’s stuck in a tar pit. “Why am I here?” he finally asks. “If you didn’t bring me here to kill me.” He blinks. “You were in on the Senior Auditor’s meeting. On the inside of his scheme to unearth the vampire in the Laundry . . .”