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‘made man’ in America, now we have re made you! But just as your American bosses had rules, so we have them in addition to those my brother has spoken of. First of all, you can never make more like yourself. The blood is the life, it’s true, and for sustenance you may take what you need as you need it, but never drain a man—or girl—to the last drop! Kill someone like that and you make a new vampire; but one without understanding, ignorant of the dangers, who may bring retribution to your doorstep. And for the same reason you may never use our name nor even mention it! Make no attempt to avoid us, or try to escape our influence by flight; don’t even consider such treachery. We have familiar creatures superior to the weaklings you dealt with, thralls who will track you down to the ends of the earth and either destroy you or return you here, to us. And Mike, there are other ways—far more painful, lingering ways—to kill such as you than by shattering your brain with a bullet!”
    As Anthony paused, then Francesco—grinning at Mike, glaring at him through blazing eyes—had nodded knowingly in agreement with his brother, before adding: “Oh yes! Indeed there are other ways! And now you must come with us, for there is someone who may wish to meet you—and something we want you to meet.”
    Still dazed and unsure of his whereabouts, his condition—in fact praying, even a hoodlum like Mike, praying he was still asleep and nightmaring—he could only obey and walk unsteadily between the twins, across the floor of the great cavern towards what seemed to be the wall of a well. But it wasn’t a well, and halfway to it Mike had felt once again that sensation of something stirring, seething, lusting: something in the pit. And to his enhanced vampire sensibilities it seemed he could even hear a voice, growing louder and ever more demanding:
    For me? Is he for me? A girl would be better, but I am ever hungry and my needs are great. For what you have given me…I am grateful, certainly, but you promised me a girl!
    Worse still, Francesco had at once answered what the terrified hoodlum had hoped or prayed was only his imagination, only a voice in his disordered head:
    “Yes, father, and I will deliver, but I need a little time. As always, there are difficulties to be overcome. However, this one is not for you. He is one of ours, a new one who displays a degree of promise, but who yet needs convincing of the requirement for the strict rules that regulate our organization—and more especially of the penalties for disobedience.”
    Oh, indeed? had come an answering grunt, sounding more than a little disappointed. Is it so? One of ours, freshly made? But a moment later: So be it. Perhaps I can ‘rise’ to the occasion, eh? Oh, ha-ha-ha!
    The voice had “echoed” like a belching blast from an alien abyss, and finally Mike had known the truth: that while it was indeed in his mind, it was not of his making; that it had been put there by some fearful Other! And though he had tried to dig his heels into the rough floor of the cavern, still the Francezcis had dragged him to the pit, where its electrified grill had been raised up on its gear, leaving a gap of just eight or nine inches.
    And as the three had arrived at the rim of the pit, so its grotesque occupant had come surging up the shaft, and Mike had known the true meaning of horror! He might have struggled free but the Francezcis had held him as easily as they might hold a child, letting him gaze with eyes that only half believed what they were seeing—until the pallidly pulsing mass of the thing in the pit had ejected through the gap between the wall and the grill an assortment of clattering bones, flensed to a gleaming whiteness.
    At which Mike’s already slack jaw had dropped more yet. For among that pile of debris he had seen a pair of polished, human skulls, and he’d known at once, instinctively, who they and the rest of the bones had belonged to!
    “Just one of