'Is this really the place?' I said, eyeing the high walls and imposing-looking gates of the address Sébastien had provided.

'Apparently so,' Michael replied, his voice tight and clipped.

Since we'd discovered that the others had been taken, any sense of familiarity and loss of tension between us had been all but eradicated, as Michael had slipped back into the cold, distant character I had first met, albeit without the arrogant cockiness.

As dawn had been approaching when we'd arrived in Seasalter, we'd had no choice but to hunker down behind closed shutters as daylight drenched the cottage and Michael's mood had me fighting the urge to fling open a door and run down to the beach just so I could feel the endless expanse of air around me. Like a caged animal, he'd paced the cottage, hardly slept a wink and had barely spoken a word after he'd declared all-out war on Sébastien Dufort.

Of course, I couldn't help but feel naturally responsible. Sébastien was a sly, manipulative arsehole, who'd agreed to help Michael for his own selfish means, and yes, everyone had known he wasn't to be trusted, but that didn't stop me from wishing I could dig a hole, throw myself into a coffin and close the lid. If I'd told Michael immediately after the bathroom incident, then maybe – just maybe – Sébastien wouldn't have had the chance to enact his plan. Instead, feeling desperate and alone and scared, I'd kept it to myself and sealed their fate, when I should have realised that I wasn't alone at all.

I'd not lied when I'd told Maz I wasn't a people person, but I knew I was going to have to learn, and quickly, if I was going to get through all this without screwing everything up again.

Parked in front of the gated entrance, I studied the metal plaque fixed to the wall, etched with the words Hexton Manor Residential Care Home.

'But, a vampire, living in a retirement home?' I pondered, wrinkling my brow in doubt. 'I mean, I know he's technically retired from the Vampire Council, but he'd be the longest living resident in this place. Surely at some point, they're going to wonder why he hasn't... you know...' I made a slicing gesture across my throat and grimaced.

Michael didn't even crack a glimmer of a smile at my pathetic attempt at humour, not that I could blame him. There wasn't even a sniff of comedy to be found in this whole fucked up mess.

'I guess there's only one way to find out,' he said, reaching out through the open window and pressing the buzzer.

We'd left Seasalter just after sunset and made the journey in just shy of two hours, with Michael keeping his foot pressed to the gas in a way that had me gripping the side of the passenger seat and praying to every god ever created that he didn't kill us both along the way. Now, it was reaching eight o'clock in the evening and out here in rural Hertfordshire, night already weighed heavy all around us, as if the indigo skies sought to press us deep into the earth. I shrank back into my seat, feeling a prickle on my neck that had very little to do with my vampire companion and everything to do with the ominous sensation creeping under my skin.

When no one answered, Michael pressed the buzzer again – twice.

After a few more seconds, the intercom came to life with a crackle and hiss, and a man's voice said, 'Yes, how can I help?'

Michael leaned closer. 'We're here to see Mr Montague Kerr.'

There was a pause. 'And do you have an appointment?'

Michael looked at me, frowning. 'No, we don't, but it's important we see him.'

'I am sorry, sir, but I'm afraid it's quite impossible to see Mr Kerr without an appointment.'

A frustrated growl vibrated in Michael's throat, and he was about to respond – mostly likely with expletives from the scowl on his face - but I grasped his arm and leant over in my seat, so I could speak through his open window. Michael's grip tightened on the wheel, and I could feel his eyes on me as I spoke, practically leaning over his lap to be heard.

'Excuse me, sir? We're so sorry to turn up without an appointment and we understand if it's inconvenient, but we really do need to speak with Mr. Kerr. Sébastien Dufort sent us. If you could just tell Mr. Kerr...'

'Sébastien Dufort?' The voice responded sharply.

I glanced at Michael, who nodded.

'Uh... yes, that's correct, sir,' I confirmed. 'We wouldn't be here if it wasn't crucial that we speak to Mr. Kerr immediately. We believe he can help us with an urgent matter. We won't take up too much of his time.'

Static prickled through the intercom. Michael nudged me and nodded upwards, gesturing in the direction of a surveillance camera fixed onto a post, the light blinking red as it pointed directly at us. I swallowed, my heart thudding in my chest.

'Very well,' the disembodied voice finally said. 'Proceed through the gates and take the left pathway at the fork. You will be directed from there.'

With that, the intercom went dead, and the gates clicked open, whirring as they withdrew on either side. We drove through the estate, keeping the speed low, until we reached the fork in the road, where Michael touched the brakes. To the right, in the distance, stood a grand house, a few lights in the windows like tiny ghostly beacons haunting the dark. To the left, the path wound into a thick copse of trees and an impenetrable gloom.

'This reminds me of that quote from Alice in Wonderland,' I said, keeping my voice not much more than a whisper, as if any sound would attract something creeping in the shadows. Michael shot me a look, and I gave him a half-smile that felt forced, because Alice only made me think of a time when I'd felt least alone. 'My Gran used to read it to me. In that direction, lives a Hatter, and in that direction, lives a March Hare. Visit either you like: they're both mad.'

For the first time in the last twenty-four hours, Michael's mouth twitched. 'Thanks. I feel so much better now you've said that.'

'So, what's it to be?' I asked. 'Doom or certain doom?'

He exhaled and raised a brow. 'Well, he told us to take a left, so I guess we choose doom.'

'Which may only be possible doom.'

'I like those odds.'

'Me too.'

Michael guided the car along the left lane, as it wound through the evergreens that lined the route, so tall and thick that it felt like we were in a subterranean tunnel and not traversing the grounds of the Hexton Estate. Just as we broke from the trees out into the open, full beam headlights hit us hard from up ahead. Michael cursed and braked sharply, as I tried to shield my eyes from the blinding glare.

'Michael...' I gasped, peeking out from under my hand to see two armed men, stalking towards the car. Drawing close, one tapped on the hood, motioning for Michael to wind down his window, the gun steadily trained upon him the whole time.

'I need you to both step out of the car, sir,' the guard said. His wasn't the voice from the intercom. 'We'll be escorting you from here.'

Michael's face darkened.

'It's fine,' I said to him, even though my heart was now thundering. 'Come on, we've made it this far.'

Once out of the car, I moved to his side, disgruntled when the guard told me to leave my backpack behind. We followed them to the waiting Jeep where we were told to climb into the back, and we did, even though I could sense Michael was growing seriously more pissed off by the second.

'So, I might have been wrong about the possible doom thing,' I said to him, hoping to get him to ease off with the death glares he was firing at the two guards, but he remained tight-lipped as we travelled the short distance to our destination.

Getting out of the car, I saw our destination was a large Tudor style cottage that remained within the grounds of the estate, but which had its own gated entrance and large gravel driveway. Neatly clipped hedgerows marked its borders. A single lantern cast a golden hue over the porch, lighting up the figure of a man standing in front of the open door.

'Why does a place like this need an armed guard?' I whispered to Michael as he quickly joined me on my side of the Jeep. 'It looks like a quaint country manor house, not a high security facility.'

'I would hazard a guess that it's anything but a quaint country manor house and the man in charge, is anything but the lord of a quaint country manor house.'

We started towards the house, the gravel crunching loudly underfoot in the silence of the evening. When my curse suddenly hit as we drew closer, it hit hard and strong, and I had to jerk to a halt, suddenly overwhelmed, as if the Cerberean army were descending upon us once again. Try as I might, I couldn't will my feet to move, as my legs weakened, the pins and needles sensation intensifying and attacking every muscle with razor sharp needles.

'Fuck...' I gasped and Michael stopped abruptly, grabbing hold of my arm to steady me. Oddly, the sensation of his touch on my arm didn't seem to bother me as it usually did, as my body fought against whatever my curse had decided to throw at me this time.

'Sarah, what is it?' he said. 'What's happening?'

'V-vampires,' I managed to force the words out. 'And a lot of them. Somewhere...' I glanced around, sure that at any moment, they'd come charging out of the evergreens, their dark eyes glinting in the moonlight.

On the porch, the man cocked his head to one side, studying me with a keen interest that made me feel like a lab rat about to be dissected.

Michael scanned the area too, his brow furrowed. 'Not getting anything...' he murmured. 'Sarah, there's only one vampire here other than me.'

He gestured to the man on the porch, who took a step closer until I could see his face fully in the golden shimmer of the lantern light. The man was most likely in his late fifties, handsome with a short well-groomed beard and moustache, and soft silver waves of hair swept back from his forehead. Smartly dressed, he wore his crisp white shirt rolled up at the sleeves and belted into grey tweed trousers. A matching waistcoat finished the look, with a silver watch chain draped from his pocket and fastened around one of the buttons, a small coin attached to the end.

'It will pass soon, girl,' the vampire called out, his accent clear and brisk English. 'But if you come inside, I have something that will help. Come along now, both of you.'

With that, he turned swiftly on his heels and disappeared inside the house.

Behind us, the two guards waited by the Jeep, their stance no less threatening than it had been before.

I looked up into Michael's face, trying to steady my breathing and focus on not letting my legs collapse underneath me.

'What's it to be?' I said, through gritted teeth. 'Him or them?'

'I think your Gran was right. Visit either you like: they're both mad,' Michael replied, a grim expression on his face.

'Then I'll go for the mad old vampire with his miracle cure for this utter fuckery.'

'You have such a magical way with words,' he said, guiding me carefully towards the doorway, as each step forward felt like another stab to my veins.

Inside the hallway of the cottage, and with the vampire was nowhere to be seen, I held onto Michael as we followed the sound of someone moving around, until we found ourselves in a parlour room, where the walls were lined with bookshelves crammed tight with tomes of all different sizes and colours. A fire crackled heartily in the hearth and an open book rested on the arm of a nearby highbacked armchair, its tired-looking spine facing upwards. Heavy velvet drapes covered the window to the right of where we stood in the doorway.

The vampire himself stood with his back to us, in front of an open dark oak bureau. On the desktop stood a small apothecary cabinet, and the man was busying himself studying the labels of tiny bottles stacked inside. Running his finger along the rows of vials, he finally found the one he wanted, and muttered 'a-ha, there you are,' before uncorking it and pouring a measure into a small glass flask.

Michael squeezed my arm and nodded towards a panel of security monitors close to where we stood, and, by its side, an intercom system. From here, I could clearly see the image of the estate front gates on one of the small screens.

'You're Montague Kerr,' Michael said. He was trying to sound confident and self-assured, but I knew what this meant to him. He couldn't mask the hope in his eyes no matter how hard he tried.

The vampire tilted his head but didn't turn around. Instead, he added a couple of drops of brown liquid to the flask, then using a tiny spoon, he scooped a small amount of a white, waxy substance from a paper packet he'd carefully unfolded so not to spill the contents. Mixing it all together thoroughly, so the spoon clanked against the sides of the glass vial, he finally spun to face us, a grin on his face as he approached me holding out the flask.

'Here now, girl, drink up!'

When I just stared at the flask as if it were a coiled snake and took a step back, the vampire tutted and thrust the flask at Michael. 'If she will not take it from me, then best she accept it from someone she trusts.' He looked at Michael expectantly from under brows that were as well-groomed as his facial hair.

Michael looked doubtful. 'Yeah, actually, she doesn't really trust me that much either.'

The vampire narrowed his eyes. 'You are a vampire, she is a Sensor, and yet it is at your side she now stands. I would suggest there is more trust than you would think. Now, if you would please...' He waved his hand in a get on with it gesture.

Taking the flask, Michael said, 'What is it?'

'A potion to calm the blood. A mixture of D-Camphor, hawthorn berries and morphine.' The vampire looked at me. 'You will not appreciate the taste, but you will appreciate it dousing the flames, that I can promise you.'

I glanced at Michael, who shrugged, and I gingerly accepted the flask, inhaling and instantly wishing I hadn't. The acrid stench was foul and from what the vampire had said, the taste clearly wasn't going to be much better, so I took a deep breath, regretting it immediately and pressed the flask to my lips before I could talk myself out of it.

The vampire wasn't wrong. In fact, as the liquid hit my tongue and I realised it tasted even worse than it smelt, I almost gagged and had to swallow it quickly, desperately hoping I wouldn't be foreced to vomit on the nice vintage-style rug. Clapping my hand over my mouth, I closed my eyes.

'Deep breaths, girl,' said the vampire. 'It will pass.'

He was right about that too.

After a couple of panic-inducing minutes, the nausea that had lodged in my throat faded and the sensation surging through my body began to ease, dulling to a faint prickling of the skin, as opposed to feeling like my veins were burning me from the inside out.

'Better?' the man asked, and I nodded, still eyeing him with some suspicion.

'Good then,' he beamed. 'Then I can finally make the proper introductions.' He stepped forward and reached out his hand to me, palm facing upwards. Warily, I placed mine in his, and he – also warily, I noted – raised mine to his and pressed a chaste, barely-there, polite kiss on my knuckles. 'Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss... er?'

'Oh,' I said, the acrid flavour of the potion making my tongue feel thick in my mouth. 'Solomon. My name is Sarah Solomon.'

'Miss Solomon,' he repeated, before looking at Michael and holding out his hand to him in greeting. 'And you, sir?'

Michael took his hand with the same amount of uncertainty as I had. 'Michael Quinn.'

The vampire rocked back on his heels a little. 'Quinn?' He muttered almost to himself, and then as if recalling something locked deep within his mind, his eyes widened. 'Quinn. Yes, of course. Of course! How could I not guess? I am very pleased to meet you, Mr. Quinn.'

He continued to stare at Michael, his gaze running over his face as if quite enamoured, before shaking his head and uttering an apology, his expression morphing quickly into something dark and terrifying that chilled me to the very core.

'Apologies, you were correct in your assumption, my dear sir. I am Montague Kerr, and while it is a pleasure to make the acquaintance of you both, I must now ask of you: why on God's Earth has that dastardly fiend Dufort sent you to my door? That despicable creature knows only too well, what fate awaits both him and anyone who dares to search for me here.'

As he spoke, I could see the tips of his elongated incisors, sharp and deadly, and I scolded myself for thinking it had ever been a good idea to walk willingly into the lair of any vampire, particularly one who had once sat as Leader of the Vampire Council.

'Do not let my outward façade fool you,' Montague Kerr continued. 'I am quite capable of despatching anyone to the Ninth Circle of Hell. Yes, even the formidable Children of Prophecy such as yourselves. Quick now, speak! Before I decide to rescind my welcome!'