"What?" I snapped. I was irritable after three weeks of sleeping rough.

"I smell blood," he said.

Pausing, I sniffed the air, and after a few seconds I got the whiff, too, strong and sickly.

"Stay close behind me," Mr. Crepsley whispered. "Be prepared to run the instant I give the order." I nodded obediently, then trailed after him as he crept to the opening and slid inside.

The cave was dark, especially after the brightness of the moonlit night, and we entered slowly, giving our eyes time to adjust. It was a deep cave,turning off to the left and going back sixty or more feet. Three coffins had been placed on stands in the middle, but one was lying on the floor, its lid hanging off, and another had been smashed to pieces against the wall to our right.

The wall and floor around the shattered coffin were dark with blood. It wasn't fresh, but by its smell I knew it wasn't more than a couple of nights old. Having checked the rest of the cave — to make sure we were alone — Mr. Crepsley edged over to the blood and crouched to examine it, dipping a finger into the dried pool and then tasting it.

"Well?" I hissed, as he stood, rubbing his finger and thumb together.

"It is the blood of a vampire," he said quietly.

My insides tightened — I had been hoping it was the blood of a wild animal. "What do you think —" I started to ask, when there was a sudden rushing sound behind me. A strong arm wrapped around my middle, a thick hand clutched my throat, and — as Mr. Crepsley shot forward to help — my attacker grunted triumphantly: "Hah!"